Surrender to a Sex Therapist by Anita Lawless

desk.
    He turned his smoky grey eyes on me, tented his long, thick fingers in front of his square jaw. “Ms. Kitteridge. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
    I put a hand on my hip, wrinkled my nose, and blurted, “I wish I could say the same.”
    Lynette went into ‘smooth the tension and save the deal’ mode. “How about we take some coffee into the studio? I’m sure Katey would like to show you some design samples.”
    “ No,” I retorted. The man instantly rankled me, and I couldn’t stop myself. “I have something to discuss with Mr. Devereux first.” I turned my focus on him, taking in that sensuous, pouty mouth, large eyes, cheek bones that weren’t too sharp but nicely defined. Steeling my resolve against his immaculate beauty, I continued. “I’ll design your suit, but there’s no way I’m going to live with you.”
    Not missing a beat, he slid from the chair like a sinuous snake and flashed an innocent look at Lynette, then at me. “But wouldn’t it make the haute couture so much easier? I can pay you all very well for the time, I assure you.”
    He was on his best behavior today, and it was unnerving. The Blaine I had heard about from many a source, jilted and otherwise, was never accommodating or compromising. When you had his kind of money, you didn’t need to be. 
    I shook my head emphatically. “No way. I’m not living with you under any circumstances.”
    Lynette gave me that look that was part begging, part demanding. The woman knew how to persuade. She did what I thought of as her ‘faux pee dance.’ A shifting of hips back and forth that made it seem like she had to go to the bathroom, but really she was stressing the outcome and trying desperately to sway me. 
    “ Fine.” I huffed a defeated breath. “It shouldn’t take long to finish the job. I’ll stay with you until it’s complete.” When he smiled, letting the mask slip so I caught a glimpse of the predator beneath, I laid a firm hand on his equally firm chest and made him keep his distance. “But there will be rules, Mr. Devereux.”
    His wolf smile grew wider still, and the mask fell off. He took the hand from his chest and kissed it. “Of course, Ms. Kitteridge.”
    ***
    In the limo, three days later, on the ride to his country estate, he pinned me with those smoky eyes and said, “I get the distinct impression you don’t like me, Kitty, and yet we’ve never met.” 
    I stared at his silk Armani tie rather than meeting those too penetrating eyes. “No one calls me Kitty.”
    He shrugged. “I do.”
    I crossed my arms over the polka-dot bodice of my spring dress. “That, right there, is why I don’t like you.”
    He quirked an eyebrow up. “You have a problem with self confidence?”
    “ No,” I said. “But with dripping arrogance? Yeah, I’ve got a little problem with that.”
    He gave me a sideways smirk and chuckled. He leaned forward and put a hand on my knee. “We’ll have to agree to disagree on that one, sweetie.”
    “ Don’t call me sweetie, either,” I snapped, brushing his hand away.
    He held his palms up in a gesture of surrender that surprised me. “Is this about the hating women thing?”
    I felt my face heat, and I covered it with one hand. “Lynette told you that?”
    He plucked some ice from a round chest in a mini bar in the back of the limo, plopped it in a glass, and poured amber colored scotch over the clear cubes. All the while, he smirked smugly at me. “You shouldn’t believe rumors and tabloid gossip columnists.” He took a sip.
    “ Some of those rumors come from very good sources,” I countered, swatting an annoying strand of sable hair from my eyes.
    “ Still, there are three sides to every story,” he said, moving from his seat across to sit by me on the opposite side of the stretch luxury car. “Yours, mine, and the truth.”
    He had me there , I thought, as he trailed a finger up my slender arm. “Touche.” Then I plucked the finger away and returned his