You Sexy Thing!. Tori Carrington
to shock the shocking sex doctor. She leaned closer to him, giving him another whiff of her fruity scent. “Um, I wouldn’t look back there if I were you.”
“I wasn’t planning to.”
The elevator finally drew to a stop. There is a God. The doors slid open and Dylan immediately began to step out. Away from the groping newlyweds. Far, far away from the enticing Dr. Mattias.
Gracie slapped the magazine against his chest. “This is how you got yourself in trouble the last time. This is my stop, remember?” Her smile held mischief and amusement as she got out then held the doors open with her hand. “Would you like to know what my recommended course for therapy would be for you, Dr. Dylan?”
His gaze drifted to where her breasts pressed against the flimsy material of her tank, the lace of her bra clearly visible beneath the damp fabric.
“I mean, given what I know about you so far, which isn’t a whole lot outside of your book.”
He jerked his gaze back to her face. “I’m not sure I want to hear this.”
“Good, because I’m going to tell you anyway.” She flipped her wet hair over a mostly bare shoulder. “What you need is a nice, traditional wild turn in the sack. And I’d recommend you see to it posthaste.”
Dylan nearly choked on whatever response he would have made as she waggled her fingers at him then sashayed down the hall. And sashay was the word for it. Finally the doors slid shut. He closed his eyes and swallowed as an article of clothing he didn’t even want to try to identify landed next to his left foot, no doubt compliments of the couple behind him.
WILD TURN IN THE SACK, INDEED. Dylan set about the nerve-calming, erotic-image-banishing task of unpacking his solitary suitcase. Something he would have had a chance to do earlier had he not accidentally interrupted Gracie Mattias’s shower that morning. Something he would be doing efficiently now if not for her inflammatory words. With quick, irritated movements, he rehung his blue shirt next to his navy slacks, well away from his tan jacket. Not that it mattered. He was scheduled to be in New York for only another day anyway. Tomorrow afternoon he was scheduled for a brief interview with a reporter from a top psychology magazine, then he was flying to St. Louis.
He decisively closed the closet doors then sat down to take off his shoes. Only then did he grow aware of his semiaroused state. He closed his eyes, determined to ignore the physical messages his body was sending him. He stripped out of his damp clothes and put on the hotel robe. There. He felt better already.
His sexual reaction to Gracie didn’t surprise him. He was only human after all. And she was one hundred percent female in heat. It’s how he acted on that basic, fundamental response that differentiated him from a mindless animal. Humans, in general, had the ability to make conscious decisions. While many still subscribed to the “I couldn’t help myself, it was an accident” philosophy when it came to extramarital affairs, the argument had never held much water for him. A man could always help himself. There was nothing accidental about falling into bed with a woman. In fact, whenever one of his patients tried using the excuse on him, he usually came back with something along the lines of “Right. So what you’re telling me is that you just tripped and fell right into her vagina.”
He carefully hung his suit on the towel warmer in the bathroom, smoothed out the wrinkles, then walked back into the other room. He sat down at the desk, eyed his laptop, the phone, then settled his gaze on Gracie’s book. Sex is Not a Four-Letter Word—Smashing Sexual Conventions. The title was spelled across a glossy white cover in pink and gold raised lettering. He pushed it aside and picked up the telephone receiver instead. Maybe he’d be able to get through to Diana.
A brief knock sounded at the door, then Tanja breezed right in. “Can you believe this rain? Isn’t it awesome?”
“My words, exactly.” Dylan grimaced at her. “You know you might want to think twice about just walking in here like that. You never know when you might catch me…in various stages of undress.”
“I should be so lucky.” She stopped in the middle of the room, hands on slender hips, even the purple spikes of her hair seeming to radiate energy. “Come on, Doc, you’re not the type to walk around your own apartment in your birthday suit, so there’s no real danger there, is there?”
“Coulter, Connor and Caplain, Attorneys-at-Law.”
Dylan stopped glowering at Tanja then asked to be put through to Diana. He drummed his fingers against the desktop, then slid Gracie’s book into the drawer before the PR rep could spot it. Four rings, then he was put through to Diana’s voice mail.
Tanja pried the receiver from his hand and soundly hung it up. “You can call whoever that was back when we get to Chicago.”
“Hey! I was just about to leave the number where I could be contacted.”
“It’s changing so what’s the point.” She swung the closet doors open, eyed the contents, then took out his suitcase and launched it toward the bed. Moments later, his clothes followed.
“What do you mean Chicago? We’re supposed to be going to St. Louis next. And that’s not until tomorrow.”
“Change in plans.”
“Change in plans?” He caught another launch of his neatly pressed clothes and tried to save them further wrinkling. “Don’t I have a say in that?”
Tanja stared at him, tapping her black-painted nail against her lips. “Nope.” She chose a couple of items from the pile and thrust them against his chest. “Get dressed. Our plane leaves in an hour.”
“What about the interview tomorrow?”
“Small-time.”
Feeling stupid, he turned to follow her thorough and completely shameless invasion of his privacy. “What’s in Chicago?”
Tanja stopped hooking his toiletries into his bag and grinned at him. “Only the most popular televised talk show in the country.”
“I thought that was Rosie.”
“Yeah, but Rosie wouldn’t give us the entire hour.” She stuffed the shaving bag into his arms. “With one condition.”
He frowned, clutching his things for dear life. “What condition?”
“That you share the spotlight with one very controversial Dr. Grace Mattias.”
For the second time in an hour, Dylan found himself sputtering for a response. “No way…not a chance in hell…over my dead body…” The objections tumbled from his mouth one right after the other, having little or no impact on Tanja as she put his laptop away.
“Come on, Dylan, you guys made quite the team this morning. Everyone loved you. You pulled in some of the highest ratings the show has ever seen.”
His brows shot up. “We did?” He’d never gotten high ratings in any of his promotional efforts before. Hell, he hadn’t been able to give away his first book, and it had never gone to a second printing. The thought that he may have reached not just someone but a wide range of someones today…well, that was what this was all about, wasn’t it? It might mean a turning of the tides. Instead of days filled juggling patients with teaching, he could reach a nationwide audience. Command impressive fees for speaking appearances. Prove once and for all that his parents were wrong and he was right.
Tanja smiled at him and added his briefcase to his overloaded arms. “You did.” She turned him around, then patted his bottom. “Now get a move on, Doc. We’ve got a plane to catch.”
4
Chicago
A KITCHEN.
Well, maybe not a kitchen, but definitely a kitchenette. One of those kinds that you could barely move around in but held all the basic necessities, like a new microwave, an old stove and an empty refrigerator. Gracie was vaguely aware of the door closing after the bellboy as she