Vengeance by Shana Figueroa Page A

quadriceps, biceps, and abs filled her vision, all rippling beneath a sheen of sweat. A few long scars on his back and legs marred his smooth skin, and she wondered where he got them, what they felt like. For a fleeting moment she imagined licking all that salty water off him.
    “Jesus, Max,” she said after she came back to her senses. “Some people consider spontaneous nudity to be rude.”
    He shrugged. “I’m not prepared for company in the guest house. Anyway, I don’t have anything you haven’t seen before.”
    Of course not, but he still made her mouth water. Whether he was naturally fit or worked hard to look that way, his body matched his face for beauty in a way that confirmed how unfair the universe truly was. To give one man the build of a quarterback without the bulkiness, the face of a cologne model, the intelligence of a college professor, and millions of dollars seemed like a cosmic joke at everyone else’s expense.
    “And Kitty’s not my girlfriend,” he said as he stepped under the steaming showerhead, then whisked the curtain shut so only his head was visible. “I don’t have a girlfriend. It’s not practical with our condition. Women don’t like it when you’re always passing out during sex.”
    “I’ve had some decent relationships. You just have to work around it.”
    “That’s easy for you to say. You can just lay back and enjoy the ride. I’m expected to perform .”
    Val hadn’t thought about what her ability might be like for a man. He made a compelling case for how much worse it could be, especially for someone like Max whose looks, intelligence, and money allowed him access to almost any woman he wanted—women with high expectations. His perceived deficiency between the sheets could be crippling.
    While he finished his shower, she picked out a leggings-skirt combo and a long-sleeved cashmere top; not her usual style, but she needed all the help she could get in the fashion arena. She looked around for somewhere to change and found none. There really was no opportunity for privacy in Max’s home. Even the recessed bathroom was missing a door. It must’ve been quite a while since he’d had a visitor’s comfort to consider.
    She doffed her borrowed shirt and boxer shorts and changed, telling herself that she didn’t have anything he hadn’t seen, either, while pretending to ignore his half-second glances in her direction. So he liked the way she looked, too, made him squirm a little like he’d done to her. Val bit her lip to hide a smile. Turnabout was fair play, after all.
    “Why do you own a sex club?” she asked as she pulled the boots on. “Are you just into freaky stuff?”
    “There’s some of that, I guess,” Max said with a laugh. “I—” He stopped lathering his hair and looked away for a moment, as if considering how honest he should be. “I originally intended to use it to conduct randomized experiments on people.”
    Val cringed. “That’s sick.”
    “I eventually came to that conclusion, yes. But by then I’d already bought it and done all the refurbishing, so it became an escape instead, and the observation room my office.”
    “ Observation room?”
    “Poor choice of words—”
    “Were you watching me ?”
    “No,” he said with a sliver of anxiousness, enough to convince her he was lying.
    Val felt her cheeks heat up. Oh God, he’d seen her with Dirty John. She’d hoped to go through life pretending the unfortunate incident never happened, but now she had a damn witness. Of course Max had probably seen freakier people doing freakier things a million times before, but he’d still violated her privacy—like she’d violated his when she barged into his house. Maybe they were even—almost. She stood and marched to the shower.
    “The existence of the observation room is in the contract people sign,” he said. “Everyone consents. You would’ve known about it if you’d come in through normal channels—”
    She whisked back the