Trust Me

cultural histories of sex and several authoritative guides to solving sexual problems such as frigidity.
    Maybe she would never see him again.
    Desdemona plucked a book titled Secrets of the Female Orgasm off the shelf. She thumbed through it dispiritedly. “There you are, Desdemona.” Kirsten appeared out of the crowd.
    She was flushed and excited. The world always looked brightest to an entrepreneur on the first day of business. Taxes, economic downturns, and competition were all out of sight for the moment. “I’ve been looking for you. Everything’s going fabulously, isn’t it?”
    Desdemona tried to summon up some genuine enthusiasm. The last thing she wanted to do today was rain on Kirsten’s parade. “The shop is wonderful, Kirsten. It turned out just the way you said it would Very tasteful. Very upscale.”
    “Tony programmed my computer for me. He’s got a super inventory system on it. Low stock is highlighted in purple. Sales taxes are calculated in green. I’ve even got an email capability.”
    Desdemona smiled wanly. “Now that I’ve finally learned how to use email, we’ll be able to send each other messages.”
    The thought depressed her further. The only reason she had bothered to learn how to send and receive email was because Stark had programmed her personal digital assistant to do so.
    “I know Exotica Erotica is going to work.” Kirsten glowed with excitement. “And I have you to thank for giving me this chance. Just think, the Wainwrights now have another stable business in the family. How can I ever thank you?”
    “Forget it.” Holding the book in one hand, Desdemona gave Kirsten a quick hug. “It was the least I could do. I haven’t forgotten all the free labor you and Henry gave me when I opened Right Touch. I couldn’t have made it without you. We’re family, Kirsten. Wainwrights stick together.”
    “Yes.” Kirsten froze in mid hug, her attention fixed on an object located somewhere behind Desdemona. “Well, well, well.”
    “What is it?” Desdemona stepped back. She frowned at the expression on Kirsten’s face. Then she turned and followed her friend’s gaze.
    Stark stood in the doorway of Exotica Erotica. He was dressed in his customary uniform: worn corduroy jacket, jeans, and running shoes. The familiar plastic protector full of pens, pencils, and other assorted objects was in the pocket of his white shirt. Behind the lenses of his glasses, his brilliant green eyes were unfathomable.
    He looked wonderful to Desdemona.
    He was here.
    “Stark.”
    He turned his head in her direction as if he had actually heard her over the din of voices. He saw her and resolutely started toward her.
    Henry materialized at Desdemona’s elbow. “I wouldn’t have believed it if I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes.”
    “I told you so,” Desdemona said with great satisfaction. “Wainwright intuition is never wrong.”
    For the first time since last night she allowed herself to acknowledge just how anxious she had been. It was all very well to talk glibly about Wainwright intuition. The truth was, she had not really been sure that Stark would come through. She had a feeling that she had just rolled the dice in a desperate game.
    Stark came to a halt directly in front of her. “I’ll take the job.”
    “You won’t regret it.” Desdemona hugged him tightly.
    He seemed briefly startled. But his arms closed around her with such force that Desdemona knew the contents of his pocket protector would leave imprints on her skin.

13

    A great, surging wave of relief rolled through Stark. It left him feeling dazed. He crushed Desdemona closer. She still wanted him. He could feel it in the way she clung to him.
    He could also feel something hard pressing against his lower back. He realized that the edge of the spine of the book she had been holding in her hand was digging into him. He ignored the discomfort.
    “I was afraid you weren’t going to show,” she confided into his shirtfront.
    “I can’t make any promises,” he warned, his voice rough with the need to make certain she understood.
    “I know.” She raised her head. “But the fact that you’re here means you’re willing to look for the truth. That’s all I ask.”
    Stark gazed at her, so damned relieved by the welcome he had just received that he could not think of anything to say. She looked so good, so right, he thought with a sense of wonder. And he had come so close to losing her. The realization chilled