Private Practice (9 page)

If the user reviews could be believed, scores of satisfied customers disagreed. One particularly enthusiastic review had her slouched in her chair, fanning her cheeks.

“Must be a helluva website to put that look on your face, Doc.”

Ellie nearly fell out of her chair. She jerked upright and saw Tyler standing in her doorway, looking tall and tanned and entirely too cool. She grabbed a pen and pulled a chart from the stack on her desk. “Jesus. You scared me.”

“Sorry. I wasn’t trying to sneak up on you. Guess you were too engrossed in…” Before she could stop him, he rounded her desk and peered at her computer screen. “Ah, well. This explains things. Making up a personal shopping list for our field trip this evening?”

“No. I was merely doing some research.” Though she strived for dignity, heat flooded her face. Stupid to be embarrassed. Tyler already knew about her plan to master at least five sexual tactics designed to bring a man to his knees. But for whatever reason, it unnerved her to be caught indulging her curiosity about something not on their curriculum, and not centered on pleasing a partner.

“Uh-huh.” He relaxed against her desk, facing her, and stared pointedly at her chest, where her nipples were on high alert. “Looks to me like you were enjoying your research.”

She crossed her arms over her chest and lied. “It’s a little cool in here, that’s all.” The room felt hot—surface-of-the-sun hot.

Tyler laughed and pulled her to her feet. “Maybe we should crank up the heat a little?” Then he lowered his head and brushed his lips slowly, purposefully over hers. Her eyelids drifted down, and things definitely warmed up. Her breasts melted against the solid wall of his chest. Her stomach fluttered against his carved-from-granite abs. He slid his hand down her spine, pressing their lower bodies together until a moan vibrated in the back of her throat.

Tyler groaned and said something she didn’t catch, and then pulled away. She curled her hand around his neck and went onto her tiptoes in hot pursuit, but came up empty.

“Huh?” She forced her eyes open and stared at him.

He rested his hands on her shoulders, brought his forehead to hers, and gave her a slow, lazy smile. “We get any hotter, and I’m thinking our shopping trip won’t happen.”

She blinked. The shopping trip. How could she have forgotten? “Of course.” She straightened and ran an unsteady hand over her skinny black skirt. “We should get going.”

Tyler stepped aside and let her precede him. “That’s what I figured.”

“I’ll drive,” she said, struggling for some small measure of control. As usual, Tyler had fogged her brain the minute he’d aimed his devastating smile at her.

It had to stop. This wasn’t supposed to be about what
she
liked, or what drove
her
headlong into mindless pleasure—something he managed to explore with breathtaking results every single time she tried to complete her carefully planned lessons. The sensual vortex he sucked her into stirred up her hormones, but also, and more worrisome, her emotions. Maybe he wasn’t doing it intentionally, but all the seduction he directed her way threatened her focus. Her goal wasn’t to lose herself in Tyler Longfoot.

Absolutely not. What would be stupider than falling for Bluelick’s resident playboy? She needed his help perfecting the techniques she’d use to woo Roger. All she had to do was stick to her plan.

Frustrated with herself, Ellie turned and glanced at Tyler, who was now giving her an odd look.

She forced a casual laugh. “I’m sorry. Did you say something?”

He smiled back. “I said, ‘Whatever you want,’ Doc.”

Chapter Ten

Tyler had a hard time keeping up his end of the conversation, what with his life flashing before his eyes. Ellie steered them down Highway 68 toward Lexington, nearly giving him whiplash as she streaked in and out of traffic. Good thing she lived and worked in the same town, because Ellie on the open highway was an accident waiting to happen.

“Look,” she sighed. “There’s the Browning farm. I’ve always loved that place.”

“I’m trying to buy it.” The words spilled out of his mouth like a deathbed confession as she weaved between two SUVs.

“For real? Like, fix it up and live there?”

He closed his eyes and nodded. “Fix it up and sell it.”

“I can’t wait to see the finished product. When do you start?”

“Soon as I get the construction loan. Unfortunately, Bluelick Savings has some reservations.”

“Why? Haven’t they seen your work? You’re the only person on earth who would do the place justice.”

Her faith in his skill humbled him, even more than her driving terrified him. He pried his eyes open and looked over at her. “Let’s just say they’re concerned about my risk profile,” which increased exponentially with every minute spent in her passenger seat. “Lenders don’t get too excited about forking over a couple million bucks to a guy who gets shot in a bar.”

“That’s unfair. You were the victim.”

“Nonetheless, it distracts from my expertise rehabbing historic structures. I need to show them I’m a stable, responsible investment.”

“I can’t believe this. You grew up here. You operate a successful business here. If that’s not stable, what is? The things you’ve accomplished took hard work and responsibility. If they can’t see that, there’s something wrong with them. Could you go to another bank?”

Her outrage smoothed out the worst of his ragged frustration. “I stand the best chance of getting the loan locally.”
If I live that long
, he silently added as she accelerated.

She said something in response, but her calm, utterly unconcerned voice faded under the pounding in his ears when she came up fast behind an eighteen-wheeler. He gripped the oh-shit handle and jammed his foot down hard on his imaginary brake as she swerved over the broken yellow center line, where another huge truck barreled down on them from the opposite direction. With seconds to spare before they became roadkill, she passed the rig and dropped her Mini back into their lane. He bit his lip to keep from screaming like a little girl.

His terrified lungs took a minute to unfreeze enough to let him suck in air. Once he resumed breathing, he heard Ellie ask, “Don’t you think?”

“Huh?” He made himself loosen his death grip on the handle above the passenger-side window. “Yes, I think I should drive home.”

She glanced at him and frowned. “That’s not what I asked. Tyler, are you feeling okay? You look a little pale.”

“A near-death experience always leaves me pale.” At her confused expression, he tapped the dashboard and said, “I can’t believe you were afraid to ride on my bike. You drive this car around as if a collision with anything bigger than a gnat swarm wouldn’t turn it into a rolling coffin.”

She laughed. “I’ll have you know I’m a very good driver. I’ve never had an accident.”

“How many have you
caused
?”

She laughed again and swatted his arm. “None.”

“Both hands on the wheel, Leadfoot. This is our exit.”

She took the off-ramp. “You’re just a bad passenger. You’re one of those people who always has to be in the driver’s seat.”

He shook his head in automatic denial. “That’s not true. I’m a very laid-back guy. Ask anyone.”

“Yeah, you like people to think you are, but you’re not. You’re a closet control freak. Tell me, when was the last time you occupied the passenger seat, before today?”

“I ride shotgun all the time.”

“Name one.”

“Hell, I don’t know…” Damned if he could think of an instance off the top of his head. “It’s not the kind of thing I keep track of.”

“Difficult to keep track of something that never happens.”

“Bull— Holy shit, red light!”

“I see it,” she said tersely and applied the brake, easily rolling to a stop. Then she shot him an “I rest my case” look. “You’re uptight because you’re not the one in charge.”

He dropped his head back against the seat rest and closed his eyes, silently accepting his fate. “Okay, fine. You’re a fabulous driver. The problem is entirely mine.”

“The problem goes beyond driving. You’re out of practice letting someone else have control, period. I can’t believe you don’t know this about yourself.”

The defensive feeling tried to rush back, but he throttled it because he wanted to hear what she had to say. “For example?”

She hesitated, glanced at him, and then took a deep breath and stared back at the traffic. “Well, during our lessons—or should I say, lesson attempts—you’re always the one in charge.”

“I’m the teacher.”

“Okay, yes, but I’m the one who came up with the lessons, and so far you’ve refused to follow the plans. Don’t give me that innocent look, Tyler. You know exactly what I’m talking about.”

He couldn’t argue with her there, but her plans were too single-minded and one-way for his taste. “You seemed to be having a good time.”

“Well…that’s the problem, too,” she admitted, turning her gorgeous mouth down in a worried little frown at the same time she turned into the discreetly marked parking lot for Slap & Tickle. “I lose my concentration when you don’t stick to the plan. I forget what I’m doing and focus on how
you’re
making
me
feel.” She parked and threw up her hands.

“And that’s a problem?” He asked the question gently, but his heart hammered in his chest. This wasn’t some detached, academic pursuit for her. She wanted it to be, but it wasn’t.
Thank God
, a voice drawled from somewhere in the back of his head.

“A big problem. I pay no attention to the lesson, my technique, none of it.” Shaking her head, she went on. “I’m afraid I’m not going to succeed at”—her eyes drifted away—“what I set out to accomplish.”

Fine by him if she didn’t succeed. Humiliating as it was to admit, the “other man” part of things was starting to seriously piss him off.

Frustrated with himself, and her, he pushed the thought away. “Unwad your panties, Sparky. You’re acing everything so far.”

She flinched a little at his sarcasm, and he instantly felt like a dick.

“Right,” she said softly, obviously not believing him.

“How can you doubt it? There’s a pretty reliable gauge of success right between my legs.”

“What happens between your legs can be an almost completely biological reaction, which tells me next to nothing about the quality of the experience or my, um…efforts.”

“You want a written evaluation?”

Somehow she managed to look exasperated and more than a little intrigued at the same time, and he couldn’t hold on to his annoyance.

“Feedback is always welcome, but mostly I need to get back on plan. For our next session, could you let
me
take the lead, and you just sort of consult as you see the need?”

“I’ll give it a shot, Doc.”

“Thank you,” she said primly, as if they weren’t discussing sex rules.

“So, do I need to grade the extracurricular stuff, like those sexy little sounds you make when you’re about to come, or are we ready to shop?”

She blushed and opened her door. “I’m ready to shop.”

“Oh, and Ellie?”

“Yes?”

“You can take the lead in bed, but I’m driving home.”

…

Standing in the “Tie Me Up, Tie Me Down” aisle at Slap & Tickle, staring at the mind-boggling selection of restraints on display, Ellie realized Tyler had done it yet again—taken her plans and turned them upside down. So much for the quick, list-driven shopping trip she’d envisioned.

How had he accomplished the feat this time? By bringing her here, where a seemingly simple item like wrist restraints led to a thousand decisions. The variables were astounding, in terms of construction, color, features, and embellishments. Leather or satin or standard-issue handcuffs? Lock and key or buckle or Velcro wrap? Her overstimulated imagination made the choice harder, because she kept picturing Tyler lying across her bed with his wrists bound above his head, completely at her mercy. She’d definitely be in the driver’s seat, so to speak. Just thinking about it made her shiver with anticipation.

The only thing she couldn’t clearly picture was the type of cuffs. The Velcro ones reminded her of medical restraints, which called to mind every off-the-meds schizophrenic who’d come through the ER during her rotation. Instant buzzkill. The leather belt-style versions looked like too much work.

“Which ones do you want?” he asked.

“I don’t know. The book didn’t specify and I had no idea there’d be so much variety. Which ones do you like?”

“I guess I’m a traditionalist, ’cause…” He slipped a pair of standard, law-enforcement-style handcuffs off the display rack. “They’re the most versatile, if you ever have to make a citizen’s arrest.”

She nodded, swallowing hard at the updated mental image of Tyler naked, handcuffed to her bed. To hell with the finish on her bed frame. A few more scratches would add character, she decided as he tossed the cuffs into the bordello-red browsing tote he’d snagged from the store’s supply on their way in.

They moved on to the “Love is Blind” aisle and she found the selection of blindfolds equally overwhelming. There were full-head hoods, hoods that covered the top half only, traditional blindfolds, and eye masks in every color, texture, and material imaginable. She looked over at Tyler and found him eyeing her.

“Any preference, Doc?”

“Um, something small”—which eliminated the hoods—“simple to put on”—which nixed any options with complicated fasteners, laces, zippers—“and breathable?” Good-bye leather, rubber, latex, and, jeez…pleather. Everything about his face appealed to her and she didn’t want whatever they chose to conceal too much of it, especially not his very talented mouth.

“Again with the classics, then.” He selected a black silk scarf from the display and added it to their bag. “Let’s look over here.” Taking her hand, he led her to a perimeter aisle mysteriously named “Ever Ready,” but when she saw the display he stopped in front of, she laughed and backed away.

“Oh, no, really. That’s not on the shopping list.”

Undaunted, he picked up a black box. Hot-pink letters announcing “The Bunny” slashed across the top, and a transparent window revealed an equally pink phallus with a pearl-filled shaft and a bunny-shaped “clit teaser” extending from the base.

“You’re the one who wants to expand her horizons. Don’t you think you should own”—he read from the box’s back panel—“‘the indispensable sex accessory for today’s sophisticated woman’?”

She shook her head and took another step away, vaguely aware she was entering the archway to one of the special interest rooms. “No impulse buying. I made our shopping list based on the items recommended by my manual, and a vibrator’s not anywhere on… Whoops!” She accidentally backed into someone. She turned to apologize to the victim of her hasty retreat, but the words died on her lips. “Oh, my God… Roger!”

“Um… Hi, Ellie.” Stunned blue eyes shifted to Tyler, who’d moved to stand beside her. “Hey, Tyler.”

She’d never seen someone’s color rise so quickly. Roger looked as if he might throw up, or pass out, or both. While he stood there, clearly at a loss for words, a cute, athletic-looking guy stepped around him and extended a hand. “Hi, I’m Doug.”

She leaned forward and shook the offered hand. “Roger’s friend from law school?”

His smile deepened. Humor danced in his beautiful gray eyes. “I like to tell people I spent those three years in a Turkish prison, but yes, I went to Georgetown with Miss Manners here.” He shoulder-checked Roger as he said it, provoking another slightly seasick look. “It’s nice to finally meet some of Roger’s friends from home.”

“Good old Bluelick,” Tyler said, returning Doug’s handshake. “You never know where we’ll turn up.”

“In all the best places, obviously,” Doug replied, clearly unperturbed to be caught shopping in an adult toy emporium.

Roger didn’t share his friend’s nonchalance. “We were just…ah…”

“Shopping for a friend’s bachelor party,” Doug interjected, aiming an impatient look at Roger.

Ellie latched onto the excuse with both hands. “Us, too! Well, a bachelorette party, actually.” Then she silently prayed Roger wouldn’t ask whose, or she’d have to speed back to Bluelick, point a shotgun at Junior, and force him to propose to Lou Ann.

He didn’t ask. He gripped Doug’s arm and tugged his friend down the aisle. “We should get going. Let you two get on with your shopping.”

“Bye!” Doug called.

“Nice to meet you,” she replied as they disappeared around the end of the aisle.

“A bachelorette party?”

“Would you have preferred I let them think we were shopping for ourselves?” she whispered. “They had a perfectly innocent excuse for being here, so I…borrowed it.”

“You lied, Doc,” Tyler drawled with the superior air of someone standing on the moral high ground—which he somehow managed despite standing in the aisles of a sex shop.

“I lied to save everyone from embarrassment.”

“I wasn’t embarrassed. In fact, I found the whole situation pretty interesting.”

She rolled her eyes and spied a restroom sign in an alcove at the far end of the aisle. “I have to use the ladies’ room.”

“Take your time.” Smiling smugly, he sauntered away.

Alone in the restroom, she dissected every nuance of the encounter with Roger. At first, the pleasure of seeing him had blinded her to the embarrassing predicament of being caught shopping at the Slap & Tickle with Tyler. Sooner or later Roger would figure out there was no bachelorette party and then he’d probably decide she was some kind of kinky nympho. Which, come to think of it, was exactly what she wanted him to believe. Maybe the whole awkward incident was actually a blessing in disguise?