Tao of Sex

Jade Lee

Chapter 1

 “WHY ARE YOU SO ANXIOUS to sell?”

Tracy Williams looked away from her Realtor to the apartment building that had been her life for the last eight years. She’d overhauled the plumbing, fixed the electrical, even wired for Wi-Fi. But it wasn’t her future, not by a long shot. “I took over the building when my parents died,” she said. “But now my brother’s about to go to college and I’ve got to pay for tuition. Besides, it’s time for me to move on. You know, find my life.”

Mr. Curtis blinked, then continued to make notes on his pad of paper. Apparently, he wasn’t one for chitchat. That was fine with her, she thought as she glanced at her watch. Ten minutes. 4C was due back from class in ten minutes, and she didn’t want to be standing here with a man old enough to be her father when he returned. She wanted to be casual, open to conversation, even a little flirty—as she had been for the last month on Tuesdays and Thursdays at 3:15.

“When do you think you can find a buyer?” she asked while her gaze drifted to the front door. She loved that first moment when 4C rounded the corner. The afternoon sun would glint in his gorgeous dark eyes, and he was often frowning in concentration. The wind played with his silky black hair just like in a movie, and she would get light-headed from the absolute potential of the moment. Anything could happen. She could be light and funny, or mysteriously sensual. She could say something brilliant that would lead to more. Maybe one day she’d have the kind of night she fantasized about but never acted on because she was acting as a single mom to her teenage brother.

Or she could stand here like an idiot while her Realtor made notes. “Do you think it will be enough to pay for two sets of college tuition? For me and my brother?”

“Hard to say,” he answered, his nose still in his notebook. “You know the basics—keep the place clean, the plumbing flowing, the tenants happy.” He looked up, his gaze unwaveringly cold. “The little things matter, Miss Williams. A little dirt can cost in the overall impression and that affects the price.” He narrowed his eyes at her. “Do you think you can do that?”

She lifted her chin. Eight years ago, she’d known nothing about apartment buildings or about raising her preteen brother. Being a landlord had been her father’s dream, not hers. One awful car accident later, and this building was her and her brother’s only means of support. Thankfully, it had been enough. Now, Joey was a solid B student with a bright future, the building had been renovated within an inch of its life, and she had already downloaded her applications to the best business schools in the nation. “I can do it,” she said firmly.

“See that you do.” Then he snapped his leather folder shut, spun on his heel and left, nearly running over 4C at the front door and ruining her favorite moment of the day. Tracy barely managed a gulp before she stood face-to-face with her fantasy man: Mr. Nathan Gao of Hong Kong, currently an MBA student at the prestigious University of Illinois, and walking Chinese sex god. He wore a summer suit too cold for October and carried a battered leather attaché case gripped in elegantly long fingers whitened with cold. His hair was cut conservatively—black silk that tended to fall raggedly about his eyes. His skin’s golden color seemed rugged with his hint of a beard. And his eyebrows were like dark strokes of a fine ink brush. How pathetic was that? She thought his eyebrows were sexy. His shoulders were hunched against the wind, but that only gave him a sweet rumpled appearance, especially since they were broad enough to appear strong even curled against the cold. With no apparent effort at all, he swerved to avoid Mr. Curtis then hauled the doors open despite the wind. Then he looked up and smiled.

That smile had lived in her dreams. His mouth was pale but still sensuous, full in ways she hadn’t expected from a Chinese man. It was sexy enough when he was serious, but his smile sent shivers down her spine, especially when it was aimed straight at her. God, what things he had done to her with those lips! Fantasy lovers were the best.

She slammed her mouth shut and tried not to look like a lovesick teen. Just because she’d lived as a monk for the last eight years didn’t mean she had to act like an adolescent. She was an adult, a suave woman. One who had just sucked in her stomach when her fantasy man turned and smiled at not one, not two, but four giggling college girls. Crop tops and blond ponytails bobbed in the wind as they entered the building. They were chattering a mile a minute, giggling and flirting for all they were worth—which from the looks of their jewelry was quite a lot. And even worse, Nathan Gao was flirting back. His head was dipped in shy modesty while a blush stained his cheeks. Then he gestured up the staircase.

“My studio is on the fourth floor, ladies.”

“Why don’t you lead the way?” chirped the one brunette.

Mr. Gao nodded, then started climbing while everyone in the hall—Tracy included—ogled his perfect behind.

Tracy’s shoulders tightened with irritation as the blondes nearly ran her over. They hadn’t even realized she was standing there! By the time the brunette came close, Tracy had a plan. All four girls carried flyers on bright red paper. An ad of some sort and obviously related to their presence here.

“May I?” she asked as she slid the flyer out of the brunette’s hand.

The girl blinked and dimpled prettily. “Sorry, ma’am, but I’ll be late for class.” Then she sprang up the stairs like a cheerleader.

Tracy felt a gut punch from being called ma’am. Sure, her navy blue business suit made her look older, but not that much older. Unable to deal with the thought, she read the flyer.

TANTRIC SEX CLASSES

Learn the secrets of SEXUAL IMMORTALITY

Experienced Dragon Master

Group, couple or individual

Privacy Guaranteed

$10 a class

Contact Nathan Gao

Tracy read and reread the flyer. Sex classes? In her building? Sex classes! She frowned, trying to sort through the possibilities. This was a college campus with all sorts of unusual classes. His could be nothing more than what it proclaimed—classes in an exotic religion.

She snorted. She didn’t have that kind of luck. Besides, it didn’t matter. The cops and the university were on an aggressive clean-up-campus campaign. They liked splashy, front-page arrests even if the charges were dismissed later. “Sex Classes” would be prime targets for their arrest-first, ask-questions-later tactics.

She looked out the door to where Mr. Curtis was just now pulling out of the parking lot. If a little mud in the hallway made a bad impression, what would a vice bust do? Whether or not 4C was actually doing something illegal wouldn’t matter. It would still be front-page news at exactly the wrong time. And if she lost her status as “University Approved Housing” because of a splashy vice bust, then Tracy’s entire future was sunk. Without approved status, the value of the building tanked. Once the value tanked, no way would its sale cover two sets of college tuition. 4C’s Tantric class could derail her entire future.

She crumpled the flyer in her fist as she mounted the stairs, her footfalls growing heavier and harder with each step. She hit the landing at full speed then fumbled trying to get out her master key. Normally it was in her back pocket, but today she wore the damn suit that apparently made her look like Grandma Moses. She had to search for it in the bottom of her blue plastic binder while listening to giggles that carried easily through the door.