What She Needs (2 page)

Three weeks later, Jenna burst through the front door of Kevin and Shannon’s house without knocking.
“I’m going to kill you! I’m going to kill you both! With my bare hands!”

Kev looked up from where he sat on the floor in front of the TV fiddling with the remote—just as Shannon entered the room, jostling the bowl of popcorn she held to send a few fluffy kernels scattering to the carpet. “Happy movie night to you, too,” she said.

“Movie schmovie,” Jenna snapped. “You’re both dead.”

“What did we do?” Kevin gaped at her, the remote resting forgotten in his hand.

“I got a phone call a little while ago,” Jenna informed them, so livid she could barely speak, “from a place called the Hotel Erotique! They tell me I’ve won the grand prize in their annual ‘singles sweepstakes,’ a two-week stay at a resort where
sex
is the main amenity! Well, you can imagine my shock,” she said, trying to calm down, but segueing into complete sarcasm, “since I’ve never heard of the place and certainly never entered their sweepstakes. And when I acted confused, they then said it had been an e-mail entry—from an address that happens to be
yours
!” She pointed a threatening finger at Kevin, who now dropped the remote altogether.

Kev and Shannon exchanged glances and Kevin said, “Uh-oh.”

This somehow managed to make Jenna even
more
angry. “What the
hell
were you thinking? What on earth
possessed
you? Are you out of your freaking mind?”

“I was just, uh, playing around on the Internet one night,” he began uncertainly.

“You mean looking at porn,” Jenna corrected.

“Whatever,” he said, shaking his head. “And I came across this website for this place that, well, sort of helps people live out their sexual fantasies, and . . .”

“
And
?” repeated Jenna, querying him. Because surely he had more of an explanation than
that
.

“Well, I called Shannon into the room, just because I thought it seemed pretty cool—and then we saw the form to enter the sweepstakes and . . .” He trailed off again.
The coward
.

“And,” Shannon picked up for him, “Kev thought it sounded like exactly what you needed.”

Jenna gasped, and Shannon cringed, and Kevin hung his head in shame. “I didn’t mean that in a bad way,” he explained, cautiously raising his gaze back to her, then slowly lifting himself up onto the couch—presumably to put some distance between them. “I just thought something like that would . . . bring you out of your shell. Make you like sex more.”

At which she gasped again. “I like sex
fine
, for the trillionth time. And I am not in a shell! But I might soon be in a
cell
—after I murder you.”

“So . . . what did you tell them?” Shannon asked. She set the popcorn down and moved to sit beside Kevin on the couch—probably to protect him, Jenna concluded.

“Well, I was completely flustered—I’ve never been so caught off guard in my life! And I was going to say no, flat out, that they should give it to someone else—but then they told me the prize was worth
fifteen thousand dollars
! And
that
threw me so much that I said I was in the middle of something and would have to call them back.”

“Are you gonna go?” Kev asked with a small, speculative head tilt.

Jenna simply blinked, nonplussed. “I’d rather be tarred and feathered.”

“But think about it,” Kevin said, apparently overcoming his fears and getting back to his usual confident self. “You
won
. Out of probably thousands and thousands of entries. I mean, what are the chances?”

“I don’t know, but next time, enter me to win something I
want
, please. A tour of Tuscany maybe. A week in Paris.
Not two weeks of sex with strangers paid to give it to me
.”

“But wow,” Shannon said, still obviously dumbstruck by the price tag, “a fifteen-thousand-dollar value. Are you going to just give that up?”

Jenna drew a deep breath, trying to think it through. For crying out loud, why couldn’t it be a fifteen-thousand-dollar trip to somewhere she felt passionate about, like one of the many places she’d researched for the historical biographies she wrote for a living. But no—
she’d
won a trip to some sort of crazy
sex palace
. Just her luck.

“I have an idea,” she said, pinning Kevin in place with her stare. “Why don’t
you
go? Since you thought the place seemed so cool and all?”

“Well, because I’m not single. The prize was for a single, right?”

A technicality, Jenna decided. “Yes, but I checked out the website, too, and I see couples are welcome. I bet they can give you a slightly less deluxe package for two of the same value.
You
entered—
you
go.”

“The thing is,” Kev said, “I’m not the one in need of a, uh . . . sexual outlet. Shannon and I are perfectly happy with our sex life.”

Jenna let out a huge breath. Why did he not get this? “
So am I
, for God’s sake! I don’t need this any more than you do. I’m a happy woman. When my friends don’t butt into my life in weird ways, that is.”

“Okay, okay,” Shannon soothed her. “You’re right. We went too far. It was just a spur-of-the-moment thing, sort of a joke. We never dreamed you’d really win.”

“Well, ha ha, very funny.”

“Listen, though,” Kevin added, clearly trying to sound reasonable, “why don’t you go anyway? Not for the sex, but for the other stuff.”

“What other stuff?”

“Well, if you went to the website, you saw the pictures. It’s an up-scale beach resort—pools, a spa, restaurants, you name it, and I’m sure all that stuff is included in your prize. So why don’t you just go and sit on the beach—soak up the sun and relax.”

She let out a sigh. “I could
use
a little relaxation after this.” And then the irony hit her—that she might have fewer people pressuring her to have sex at a sex resort than she did here at home. “Do you think they’d mind my turning down the sex part of the prize?”

“I don’t see why,” he said with a shrug. “That’s what the amped-up price is for—mostly. According to the site, they do this big analysis of each guest to design the perfect sexual experiences for them, and I’m sure that takes a lot of time and planning. So they’d be getting off cheap if all you want is the room and the pool and the spa.”

Jenna looked to Shannon, who said, “I think you should go for it. What do you have to lose?”

“But what if I get there and it’s . . . icky? I mean, what if there are people having sex all over the place, out in the open, and it creeps me out?”

“Then you get on a plane and come home,” Kev replied.

Okay, easy enough. They couldn’t
make
her have sex, after all. And they couldn’t make her stay if she was uncomfortable there. And though it was a far cry from the castles and battlefields of Europe, a tropical vacation sounded nice. “All right then. Hotel Erotique, here I come.” But that didn’t keep her from casting Kevin one last glare. “And you’d better hope this doesn’t blow up in my face, or you’re a dead man.”

W
hile everyone at home in Michigan was busy carving pumpkins and munching on candy corn, Jenna was stepping off a plane at the Miami International Airport. Miami—seemed like a probable-enough place for a hotel specializing in sexual gratification. Although the website made a big deal about the Hotel Erotique being in an undisclosed location—probably because the very concept was so kinky and “out there.” And if customers were more or less paying for sex, well, wasn’t that illegal? So no wonder the hotel’s address was a Miami PO box and the site was so cryptic about the exact locale.

That still didn’t prepare her, though, for what happened next.

She’d been told an escort would meet her at baggage claim, and sure enough, there he was—a man in his thirties, blond and mildly handsome with an endearing smile, holding up a card with her last name on it. And the moment they made eye contact, a horrifying thought struck her:
He thinks I’m here for sex! He thinks I’ve come to live out hedonistic fantasies with strangers! Ugh.

She thought about defending herself, explaining the situation—but that would just seem childish, and even prudish, to a guy who delivered people to the Hotel Erotique for a living. Still, as she identified herself and he said, “Hi, I’m Gabe,” smoothly taking her bags, her face heated with embarrassment.

Oh brother. This was not a good start.
How are you going to spend two weeks at this place if you can’t look at anyone without blushing?
Unfortunately, though, this was the first moment she’d thought about the other people she would encounter there, or how they would perceive her. She’d—stupidly—envisioned herself sunning and swimming all alone, in complete solitude. Damn Kevin and Shannon for getting her into this.

The part that really threw her, though, was when she followed Gabe through the airport, traversing hallways, going through doors, until finally he led her out into the hot south Florida sun—not to a limo or shuttle bus, but onto a tarmac, where a small private jet waited, suspiciously devoid of color or markings.

“Um, where are we going?”

Gabe didn’t appear taken aback by the question—she must not be the first guest to get confused at this point. “To the Hotel Erotique, of course,” he said with a carefree smile. “It’s just a short flight away.”

“How short?”

“Once we’re in the air, thirty minutes.”

“So it’s . . . on an island?”

He nodded easily over his shoulder as they approached the plane, then bent to stow her luggage in an open compartment, which she noticed was empty but for hers. Well, that much was good. She didn’t want companions on this flight—people going there for sex who also thought
she
was going there for sex. Yuck.

“A private island between the Keys and the Bahamas,” Gabe clarified. “Self-contained. The whole staff lives on the island full-time.”

Wow. A private jet and staff accommodations. She was starting to get why this place was so high priced—even if a large portion of the fees did go to executing sex fantasies.

“We’ll have you soaking up the sun in an hour or two,” Gabe said with a wink that made the juncture of her thighs tingle. Just a little. Because of all the thoughts and worries and concerns about sex surrounding this trip, she supposed. Even if she wasn’t partaking, the whole concept made it difficult not to have sex on the brain. And Gabe
was
cute. Tan. Well built. “Then, after you get a chance to unwind, you’ll meet with your guide over dinner.”

Her guide. She’d read about that in the folder of information they’d sent her. Each guest was assigned a guide to orchestrate his or her “experience” at the Hotel Erotique. The guide was always the same gender as the guest and served not only as confidant and advisor, but also analyzed the guest to design his or her sexual fantasies. Of course, as Jenna had read more of the resort’s literature, it had sounded less like a place where you lived out your fantasies and more like a place that came up with the fantasies
for
you. Which seemed, to her, even weirder. But each guide also possessed a degree in psychology, so maybe it made sense to have someone like that to sort of . . .
direct
one’s casual sex.

Geez—casual sex. Gabe still thought she was here for that. Upon remembering, she found herself mumbling a noncommittal, “Oh, okay,” and again feeling embarrassed.

“You’ll love Mariel,” he went on as he followed Jenna up the small jet’s stairway. “She’s great. Really easy to talk to.” She’d already been given the name of her guide, and apparently so had Gabe.

“Wow, seems you’re in the know about everything. Next, I’ll find out you’re the pilot,” she teased, stepping onto the luxurious plane.

“Co-pilot,” he said with a shrug, and she turned to him in surprise. Was he kidding? “Really,” he added, as if reading her mind. “As soon as I get you a drink from the bar and get you buckled in, we’ll be ready for takeoff.”

A few minutes later, Jenna sat in a plush chair next to a window, peering out over aqua Caribbean waters, sipping a fruity drink Gabe had called “erotic rum punch,” and getting more and more nervous as she approached her final destination. Odd, she hadn’t been nervous before meeting Gabe and climbing aboard this plane—but somehow that had made it all real to her. Lord, she was going to the Hotel Erotique!

Only now she was regretting a few things, such as the online questionnaires she’d filled out at Mariel’s request. She wasn’t sure why she’d done it. Maybe she was curious to find out what her answers meant. Although some of the questions were about sex and fantasies, mostly they had been about less risqué subjects, from her childhood to her current hobbies, and seemed to point toward something like a personality profile.

She supposed she’d also feared if she told them up front she didn’t want the sex part of the prize that maybe, despite Kevin’s theory, they’d take it back. And by that time she’d made firm plans to go, even buying some new beachwear—slightly sexier than her usual wardrobe, just to kind of . . . fit in and not feel like a freak among the sex-seekers.

Now she wished she hadn’t completed the forms, nor been so honest on them. Not that she’d had all that much to share. Maybe that was part of the regret. Maybe she would appear to be a classic case of someone who needed help in the sex department, just like Kevin thought. When she’d been sitting at home, looking at her computer screen, it had felt like a game—something to do when she needed a break from work. Now it was feeling very real.

But stop worrying—this will be fine.
Nothing had actually changed, after all. Tonight at what the brochure called her “orientation dinner,” she would tell Mariel her decision—not to partake in the sex—and surely the woman would understand, especially if she was as great as Gabe claimed. Then she’d perhaps, out of curiosity, ask Mariel what the analysis had revealed about her. Because who didn’t want to know stuff like that about themselves?