Trust Me

If you don’t like the way I answer your questions, you can stop asking them. Move. It’s very difficult trying to conduct a rational conversation with a man who is standing between my legs.”
    “What’s rational about this conversation?” Stark asked.
    “Nothing. I said move.”
    He looked down at her splayed thighs and then slowly, reluctantly stepped back a pace. Desdemona clamped her legs together smartly and jumped down off the island.
    She promptly lost her balance when her shoeless foot touched the floor.
    Her knees, still unsteady from the effects of Stark’s lovemaking, gave way. She staggered and grabbed for the edge of the island.
    Stark caught her easily. “I’ve got you.” He steadied her. “Are you okay?”
    Desdemona wanted to scream. She managed to hold onto her self-control with a great effort of will. “Of course, I’m okay. I just stumbled, that’s all.”
    “Right.” He released her as if she were too hot to hold.
    Desdemona hurriedly fumbled with her zipper. Stark leaned back against the island, folded his arms, and watched her. He did not offer to assist her.
    When she was finished, Desdemona looked up and met his eyes. “I’m sorry.”
    “So am I.”
    “I just don’t think you’re ready for another relationship yet.”
    “Thank you for sharing your views on the subject with me,” Stark said in a dangerously even tone. “When and if you ever do consider me ready for another relationship, would you be amenable to having one with me?”
    Longing welled up within her. “When you think about it logically, we’re really not a very good match, you know.”
    “I know,” he said quite casually. “I’ve already considered that problem.”
    She blinked. “You have?”
    “Sure. You’re from a theatrical family. That means you’re inclined to be temperamental and emotional. Volatile, even. What happened just now proves it.”
    “I see,” she said acidly. “A person such as myself would no doubt introduce an element of chaos into your life. We certainly wouldn’t want that, would we? Chaos theory is all well and good when you’re working with it on a computer, but who wants the real thing.”
    “My work is in the field of complex structures, not chaos.” His gaze sharpened. “I usually don’t get involved with women like you. They tend to be difficult.”
    “Is that so? Well, let me tell you something. I generally don’t get involved with cold-blooded, cynical, overly logical males such as yourself. They tend to be boring.”
    “The fact that your panties are still damp doesn’t impact your thinking on the matter?”
    “Will you stop harping on the condition of my underwear?” she said through her teeth. “It’s rude.”
    “Sorry. It’s all I’ve got to cling to at the moment. So to speak.”
    “That’s it. I’ve had it.” Desdemona whirled around and started toward the door that led to the living room. “I quit. You can find yourself another caterer.”
    “You can’t quit.” Stark strode after her. “You’re on retainer. We signed a contract.”
    “So what?” She opened the door of the hall closet and found her purse on one of the beautifully well-organized shelves. “You may put a lot of faith in contracts, Stark, but I’ve got news for you. Contracts were made to be broken.”
    “You sure as hell didn’t take that attitude a month ago when you insisted that I pay you for my cancelled wedding reception.”
    A pang of guilt shot through her. “That’s got nothing to do with this.”
    “A contract is a contract.” He caught up with her at the front door. “Damn it, I swear I won’t ever mention your panties again.”
    She glowered at him. “You are very possibly the most socially inept man that I have ever met.”
    “But I’m also one of the smartest men you’ve ever met. That means I’m educable. Give me a chance, Desdemona.”
    She groaned in sheer frustration. “This is insane.”
    “Look, I’ll admit I’m not good at relationships,” Stark said. “All of mine seem to end with me standing alone at an altar. Obviously I’ve been doing something wrong in the past. I’ve done some thinking about the problem, and I believe I know what I’m doing wrong.”
    “I don’t think I want to hear this,” Desdemona said.
    He paid no attention. “I’ve been too results-oriented. It’s only natural for me.”
    “What the heck does that mean?”
    His eyes narrowed in a considering scowl. “It’s true that my specialty is