That statement takes me by surprise, and even though it raises my hackles enough to want to find out what he means, part of me doesn’t want to know.
I wipe my hands on my napkin and grab my wine glass. “So, tell me, how do these dates work?”
Max swallows his food and takes a sip of wine. “Well, with a new client, after I get a handle on their personality and work up several scenarios, I choose the one I think will be most effective and arrange to ‘accidentally’ run into them somewhere.”
“Are they all like what you did with me at the gym?”
He gives me a half-smile. “I knew you wouldn’t respond to traditional romance tropes, so with Kieran I took a more ... realistic approach. Most of my dates involve a fantasy element. Larger-than-life characters.”
I grab a bowl of rice and spoon some onto my plate before offering it to Max. “So, like, costumes?”
He takes the bowl and helps himself. “Yes, as well as more extreme situations than they’d usually find themselves in.”
“Will you do that for my dates?”
He puts the bowl on the other side of the table and shrugs. “Perhaps. I haven’t planned your dates yet. Why? Are you eager to get started?”
“Not really,” I say, determined to not let on that I’m intrigued about what he’d choose for me. “Just trying to understand what to expect. I should probably warn you that if you come at me with some crazy, unrealistic scenario, I’ll probably laugh my ass off.”
He gives me a knowing look. “Miss Tate, the only time you’ll laugh while I’m romancing you is if I tell a joke.”
I lean toward him. “You really don’t know who you’re messing with, Mr. Riley. I’m not that easy to pleaser.”
He passes me some bread. “That sounds a lot like a challenge.”
“Take it however you like.”
He distributes more food between us, and I find myself watching as he eats. The way the muscles in his jaw move is fascinating.
“So,” I say, to distract myself from staring. “How far do things go on these dates?”
He wipes his mouth with his napkin and picks up his wine glass. “Talking, light touching, nothing too explicit. If the date goes well, a natural progression will lead to kissing and light intimate contact.”
“What do you define as ‘light intimate contact?’”
I’m shocked when he reaches over and cups my face, before grazing a thumb across my cheek and down to my mouth.
“Something like this,” he says quietly. I stop breathing as he continues to stroke my skin. The sensation is intoxicating.
As he continues to stare, he seems to glaze over for a few seconds before he blinks and clears his throat. “It depends on the situation.” He pulls back and looks away.
I try to act like I’m unaffected, but I have no control over how fiercely I blush. “Are ... uh ... women allowed to touch you back?”
“Yes, within reason.” He adjusts his position. “Areas not covered by underwear are fine.”
“And if they go for the underwear areas?”
He looks at me and a muscle in his jaw jumps. “The date is immediately terminated, and the client is blacklisted.”
“Wow. Harsh.”
He pours us both more wine. “I’m not a whore, Miss Tate. It’s important to make that clear.”
“So you’ve never had sex with a client?”
“Never.”
“Have you ever wanted to?”
He pauses for a moment then says, “Next question.”
I file that piece of information away for further investigation.
“So,” I say, “Light intimate contact is all you offer? Or can ladies bribe you for more?”
“Just so there’s no confusion ...” He picks up my phone and holds it up to his mouth. “I do not have sex for money.” He puts the phone back down. “However, if ladies would like something more intense, they can pay extra for a more immersive experience.”
“Oh, so you take them scuba diving?” He stares at me, unimpressed. I drop my smile and move some food around with my fork. “Please, continue.”
“Tier two involves the client also taking on a different character. It’s popular with ladies who want to escape their everyday lives.”
“Will you do that with me?”
“I’d like to, yes. I think you’d gain a lot from stepping outside of yourself for a while.”
It grates that he’s so self-assured about what I need. “You barely know me, and yet you think you know what’s good for me?”
He runs his forefinger over the table cloth next to my hand. “We all have issues we’re trying to overcome, Miss Tate. Everyone wants to feel special, whether we admit it or not. And loving without limits and allowing ourselves to be loved in return is what life’s all about. Or at least, what it should be about. Everything else just gets in the way.”
I want to refute him, but I’ve never been in love, so I have no idea if he speaks the truth. What I do know is that I have disdain for women who fall apart over men. Surely they’re not stupid. They’ve heard the songs and seen the movies. If you buy a ticket on the Love Express, it comes with compulsory stops at Painville, The Isle of Co-Dependence, and Betrayal Central, so why get onboard in the first place?
I think Max is waiting for me to contradict him, and when I don’t, he gives me another of those goddamn enigmatic smiles.
It’s off-putting how confident he is. I mean, I’m used to men who are as attractive as he is being egotistical dicks, but this is something else. He possesses a self-assuredness that has nothing to do with what he looks like and everything to do with who he is. Or at least, who he believes himself to be. He has a Zen-like calm that’s somehow wildly exciting.
As if he senses my thoughts, the corners of his lips curl. I have a horrifying image of me attempting to find out if those lips taste as good as they look, but I quickly push it away.
As I try to get back on topic, I form what I hope is an expression of barely suppressed boredom and clear my throat. “Okay, so the big question is, why no sex on dates?”
“Sex is for the body. Romance is for the soul.”
“Nice catchphrase. You should sell T-shirts. What does it mean?”
“Sex complicates things that should be kept simple,” he says. “I can make my clients feel more special if mutual attraction doesn’t escalate into the bedroom.”
“And how do you do that?”
He gives me a knowing smile. “Never underestimate the power of a good kiss.”
I try to disguise my intense skepticism. “A kiss? You’re kidding, right?”
“Not at all. Haven’t you ever had a truly life-altering kiss?”
“Not one that could compete with a good hard fuck, no.”
He leans forward and studies me, and I struggle to maintain my composure under his intense scrutiny.