The Kiss Quotient (The Kiss Quotient 1)

“I need you to tell me if we’re moving forward with the lessons or not.”

He shook his head with a sad smile. “I’m afraid not. I’m sorry.”

Her heart plummeted, but she couldn’t bring herself to regret last night. He’d gotten her to kiss him—really kiss him, not lie there and cringe as he stuck his tongue in her mouth. “I’ll leave you another five-star review.”

“I don’t deserve it. I never sealed the deal. The agency doesn’t issue refunds, but I’d be happy to return my share of the commission. Give me your account—”

“No, no refund,” she said firmly. “Thanks, but no. I’m sure you had to work harder with me than most of your other clients.”

“Not really, no.”

She interlaced her fingers and stared down at the floor. She did not want to ask this, but she had to. “I know you need to go, but first, could you . . . recommend . . . a colleague who you think would work well with me?”

“After last night, you still want to go forward with these crazy lessons?”

“They’re not crazy, but yes, I plan to move forward.” She forced her eyes up to his stony face and took a determined breath. “Maybe if you think about it a while, you’ll remember someone who’s . . . patient, like you, a-and doesn’t mind sweat or—”

He took a half step toward her, and his jaw worked for a moment before he said, “Girls like you don’t need escorts. Girls like you have boyfriends. You need to get this idea out of your head.”

Burning anger pulsed through her body, immobilizing her. He didn’t know anything about girls like her. “That’s completely untrue. Girls like me intimidate boyfriends away. Girls like me have never been asked out by a single boy. Girls like me have to find their own way, make their own luck. I’ve had to fight for every success in my life, and I’m going to fight for this. I’m going to get good at sex, and then I’ll finally be able to entice the right person into being mine.”

“Stella, it doesn’t work that way. You don’t need these lessons.”

“I don’t agree with you. Please, think about it? I trust your judgment.” She rushed to her purse, extracted a business card, and scrawled her cell number on the back. Placing it in his hand, she said, “I’d really appreciate it. Thank you.”

He stuffed the card into his back pocket with a hard jab of his hand. “What will you do if I don’t give you a name?”

She shrugged. “My selection process was pretty good the first time around. I’ll just go through the escort listings again.”

“Do you know how many crack jobs there are in there? It’s not safe.” He lifted a hand like he wanted to touch her but fisted and withdrew it instead.

“Are you saying your agency’s guarantee of safety is meaningless?”

He growled in frustration and raked his fingers through his damp hair, making it stand on end. “There’s a vetting process with psych evals and background checks, but people can slip through the cracks. I don’t want you to get hurt.”

Stella tipped her chin up. “I’m not stupid. I have a Taser.”

“You have what?”

She snatched the pink C2 Taser from her purse and handed it over.

“Holy hell, do you even know how to use it?” He stared at it with eyes so rounded she would have laughed if the situation had been any different.

“You slide the safety back, aim, and hit the button. It’s very simple.”

“Would you have used it on me?”

“I didn’t, so clearly the answer is no.”

When he rotated it and stared at it in horrified fascination, she grabbed it from him. “Never aim it at yourself.” After plopping it in her purse, she crossed her arms and said, “As you can see, I have the situation under control, but I appreciate your concern.”

The thought of perusing the escort ads again made her grind her teeth. None of those men interested her anymore. Once her mind was made up, it was made up. The only one she wanted was Michael, but she’d botched things so badly he couldn’t stand to see her again. How was she supposed to get better if her problem kept driving away the people who could help her?

Her bitterness must have shown because his expression softened. “Stella, I don’t do repeat sessions. Otherwise, I’d take you up on your offer.”

“Why?” she asked on a frustrated exhalation.

“I used to do it in the past. A client got attached, and things blew out of control. The single-session policy has saved me and my clients a lot of grief.”