Читать книгу Secret Games - Jeanie London, Jeanie London - Страница 7

SEX HAD CURED THEM?

The question played over and over again in Maggie James’s mind as she left her office. She nodded at a passing colleague, plastered a smile on her face even though she knew the blush scorching her cheeks spoiled the effect.

Sex had really cured them?

Blushing was not a normal state of affairs for Maggie. First off, it was prickly, uncomfortable business. Second, she was a relationship counselor. As such, she spent her days listening to the most intimate details of her patients’ lives and had long ago learned to school her reactions to unexpected revelations. This, coupled with her own rather…expansive relationship history, meant Maggie didn’t blush easily.

But she was blushing now. No, not because she was embarrassed. She wasn’t. Astonished, maybe. Perplexed, definitely. She’d thought the Weatherbys’ relationship suffered from the result of too much stress, but apparently they’d been suffering from a lull in their sex life, instead.

How could she have misdiagnosed such an obvious problem?

Maggie didn’t have a handy answer. She’d spent her three years in practice establishing herself as a competent therapist; in fact, her more experienced colleagues often consulted her about family counseling—dealing with blended families, divorce, children and the like.

Fanning her face with the brochure she clutched tightly in her fist, Maggie swept down the empty hallway, chanting, “Maintain, maintain, maintain.”

Just because the Weatherbys had spent their abbreviated therapy session answering her questions while groping each other like two unsupervised teens was no reason to come unglued.

Maybe not, but Maggie sure felt the aftereffects of witnessing their passion at such close range.

The switchboard droned behind her, and the buzz of voices from the reception area suggested a busy night. With so many people working long hours nowadays, she and the other counselors who made up Baltimore Healthcare adjusted their schedules accordingly.

Thankfully, she wasn’t pulling a late night. She honestly didn’t know if she could regroup sufficiently to see patients right now.

A sharp rap on the door marked Lyn Milhausser, Ph.D., earned her a quick invitation inside, and Maggie found her friend and mentor seated behind the desk, poring over the contents of several manila file folders.

Lyn was intimately acquainted with the details of all Maggie’s cases, not only because she’d been Baltimore Healthcare’s program coordinator for well over a decade, but also because she’d supervised Maggie’s college internship.

They’d grown close, becoming self-proclaimed sisters by love, if not by blood. Lyn had hired Maggie before the ink had dried on her diploma, and if anyone could help her sort through this mess, it was Lyn, whose years of counseling experience had always steered Maggie in the right direction.

“Sex cured them,” Maggie said, and the explanation sounded absurd, even in the unbiased quiet of Lyn’s office.

“Excuse me?” Lyn glanced up, but her welcoming smile quickly faded. “You look ruffled. Is everything all right?”

Maggie considered the question, then sank into the winged armchair before the desk. “No. Everything’s not all right. I just finished my last session with the Weatherbys.”

“They’ve resolved their issues, then. How wonderful.”

“Not exactly.”

“Not exactly?”

Meeting Lyn’s confused stare, Maggie elaborated. “What was supposed to have been a normal session turned into a ten-minute explanation of why they no longer needed relationship counseling. Judging by how neither of them could keep their hands off each other for even that short time, I didn’t bother trying to convince them otherwise.”

“They claim sex is responsible for their recovery?”

“Not just sex—incredible sex. Apparently there’s a big difference.”

“I wouldn’t argue, would you?”

Lyn grinned, but Maggie didn’t appreciate the attempt at humor. She was too busy vacillating between disbelief over the Weatherbys’ miraculous recovery and worry because she hadn’t accurately recognized their symptoms. Now was not the time to ruminate on her own lackluster sex life.

“They claim that visiting a superclub has cured them of their problems handling emotional stresses. After a week at this, this superclub—” she waved the brochure wildly “—he’s not shutting down when they try to talk and she has stopped feeling resentful.”

“Wow. A superclub cured all that? A superclub is one of those resorts that cater to newlyweds and lovers, isn’t it?”

“The very same.”

Lyn stood, holding her glasses in place on the bridge of her nose. “Is that a brochure for the place? Let me see.”

Maggie half sat on the edge of the desk and spread the brochure before them. She squinted at the blurb.

Fantasy, role-playing…titillating sex.

The words might have been illuminated in neon the way they leaped off the page, but as bold as the advertising was, she had to admit, the superclub looked, well…romantic.

Falling Inn Bed, and Breakfast.

Falling in bed, hmm. She could definitely see that happening. With its steep Mansard roofs and white gingerbread trim, Falling Inn Bed, and Breakfast was a place from another era, so picture-perfect it might have been a movie set designed to fire the imagination about what took place behind those sparkling paned windows.

Maggie could easily envision women garbed in bustled gowns, heels clicking over polished wooden floors, and men smiling debonair smiles, as they danced the candlelit nights away at grand balls and fetes. Lovers drifting into shadows for stolen moments, unconcerned as they gazed at each other with the sort of longing the Weatherbys had displayed in full view of her, Baltimore Healthcare’s office staff and the waiting patients.

A place designed for lovers.

Men would whisper extravagant compliments and seduce their ladies with simple, but longing caresses. The graze of eager fingers against a smooth cheek. The intimate brush of knees while gliding effortlessly over a ballroom floor. Hushed breaths and lingering kisses and passion. Love. Romance.

Maggie smiled despite herself. Her entire career was built on the reality of relationships, not these whimsical imaginings of melodramatic avowals of devotion and happily-ever-afters.

Lyn must have been similarly affected, because she asked, “You don’t believe a visit to this superclub and lots of good sex helped the Weatherbys overcome their issues?”

“I’m not saying sex didn’t help, but it can’t be that simple. You know as well as I do relationship issues aren’t diseases to be eradicated with a round of antibiotics.” Maggie glanced back at the picture of the romantic resort. “Or miracles, for that matter. Relationships require work. Men and women are different creatures, and if they don’t respect those differences and keep the lines of communication open, their relationships run the risk of failure.”

“That’s all very true, Maggie, but sex plays an important part, too. Apparently, the Weatherbys were suffering from a lull. They’ve been married for years. It happens. If a superclub helped them put some passion back into their lives, I say good for them.” She hesitated. “So what’s the problem?”

Maggie let her eyes drift shut for the barest of instants, rallying the courage to force the awful truth past her suddenly tight throat. “I was working them through their differing reactions to stress. He’d become emotionally absent and she responded with anger. I didn’t recognize that they needed intimacy to help them become available to each other again. I had them journaling, but they came up with sex to communicate.”

“You’ve earned more of a highly regarded reputation in your three years of counseling than most therapists enjoy after decades in this business. But if you’re expecting perfection from yourself, you’re bound to be disappointed.”

“Not perfection, Lyn.” Maggie huffed, sinking back in the chair. “All right, maybe perfection. I believe in high expectations. Shoot for the stars and all that.”

“There’s something to be said for setting realistic, attainable goals, Maggie. You can’t attain perfection.”

“Apparently not this week, I can’t. This episode with the Weatherbys has me thinking about Angie and Raymond.”

After several years of living together, Angie Westlake and Raymond Mueller had been referred to Maggie for help sorting through some poor communication habits that were hindering them from making their relationship permanent. They professed to the same goals of a stable marriage and children and seemed to have love and dedication on their side.

Maggie had believed she could guide them through this rocky spot in their relationship, but after several months of counseling sessions—and practically every trick in her repertoire—she was forced to admit to an abysmal lack of progress. She genuinely liked the couple and worried they’d soon lose heart and decide to part ways.

“We all win some and lose some.” Lyn correctly identified Maggie’s dismay. “And you haven’t lost Angie and Raymond yet.”

“But I’m going to.” She exhaled sharply. “Maybe I should refer them to you, or someone else with more experience in this area, since I obviously have a weak spot in my therapy.”

“You’ve already suggested involving an associate to get another viewpoint on their problem. They’re the ones uncomfortable with the idea.”

“But I’m not helping them.”

“You might not be able to keep them together,” Lyn corrected. “But you are helping them discover whether or not they should undertake a marriage. Think of how complex their lives will be if they have to drag children through a divorce later on.”

Maggie couldn’t argue the point, but such a skinny ray of sunlight couldn’t penetrate the storm clouds gathering inside her. “I’m well aware I can’t keep all my couples together, but I don’t want to lose Angie and Raymond. They belong together.”

“Then let’s figure out how to strengthen your weakness with lulls in long-term relationships so you can help them.”

Lyn’s pragmatism propelled Maggie from her pity party. It was definitely time to reevaluate her strategy. She needed research into this topic and knew exactly where to get it.

“I’m going to Falling Inn Bed, and Breakfast.”

Lyn blinked. “Exactly what are you planning to do there?”

“Research. Observation. Expand my knowledge base by getting ideas I can suggest to my patients. I’m going to research renewing passion in long-term relationships and I’m going to research it at the source.”

Lyn emitted a very unladylike snort. “Research and observation? What do you think you’re going to observe? These superclubs have doors on their rooms, don’t they?”

Maggie opened her mouth to argue, but ended up staring as Lyn’s words penetrated and understanding dawned. “But the foreplay should be enough to give me ideas, don’t you think?”

“No. Foreplay isn’t going to mean diddly to someone who has never uttered the words long, term and relationship in the same sentence when she’s referring to herself.”

“What does that mean?”

Lyn rolled her eyes. “Be real. You’re talking about knowledge bases and you don’t have one. When have you ever been involved in a relationship long enough to hit a lull?”

Maggie winced. Her immediate impulse was to defend herself, but Lyn’s raised brows forced her to drop the pretense. After losing the Weatherbys, Maggie had no pride to be salvaged. Not tonight, at any rate.

“All right, so I haven’t been involved in many long-term relationships. What can I say? I’m unlucky in love. That’s why I kick yours and Charles’s butts at poker every other Saturday night.”

“Many, ha! Name one long-term relationship you’ve been in, and I’ll up the ante from silver to bills the next game.”

Maggie certainly wouldn’t mind winning that pot. Finances had been tight all through school and didn’t hold the promise of loosening up any time soon with all the college loans she had to repay. She mentally reviewed the list.

“And I don’t count,” Lyn said, as if Maggie needed the reminder. “I’m talking about a relationship with a male.”

Maggie frowned, discarding name after name of the ex-boyfriends who’d contributed to her unfulfilling relationship experiences since her first ill-fated romance at seventeen.

Hmm. Not good. She couldn’t come up with a single one who might plausibly qualify as a contender in the long-term department…. Then, with an inward sigh of relief, Maggie latched on to someone, the only someone she could think of.

His image sprang easily to mind. He was tall, dark and irresistible, judging by the way females had been throwing themselves at him ever since middle school. Not only was he athletic and charming, he was gallant, never casually availing himself of the multitude of feminine opportunities at hand.

“Sam,” she said proudly.

Lyn tossed her glasses on the desk in obvious exasperation. “Cheater. Sam’s just your friend. He doesn’t count.”

“Why not? I’ve known him since the fourth grade and we’ve been living together since my third semester in college.”

“The only reason you live with him is because he had the second floor of his house renovated into an apartment after his parents died so your sorry butt wouldn’t end up in the street. Unless you can tell me with a straight face that you’ve slept with Sam Masters, he doesn’t count.”

Argh! Maggie would have given their next poker game’s entire pot of real money to wipe that look of superiority from Lyn’s face with one emphatic yes, but not even for the sake of her pride could she tell such a whopper.

She’d never dream of sleeping with Sam…. Okay, she may have had a few dreams through the years, but they were very private dreams that would never see the light of day.

Sinking back in the chair, she avoided Lyn’s smug smile. It was one thing to admit a deficiency in the long-term relationship department to herself, but entirely another to admit it aloud. She wasn’t about to explain that most of her sexual encounters had been wanting.

Making impulsive decisions had gotten Maggie into more trouble during her life than she cared to recall, but there was one area where she was never impulsive—in bed. She never had sex with a man until taking the time to become acquainted and see if there was chemistry.

And all her uncharacteristic caution hadn’t made one bit of difference. Sex was invariably the kiss of death for her relationships. The minute sex became involved, expectations followed, then the push for unrealistic promises, then the inevitable disappointments and hurt feelings….

“All right. All right,” she finally said. “I concede the point, but this isn’t my therapy session. What am I going to do to help Angie and Raymond?”

“Not observation and research.” Lyn reached across the desk and flipped through the brochure.

“Then what?”

“If you’re serious about visiting this superclub, you need practical application.”

“Practical application? But how does that translate into—”

“Test out the theory behind the place. Look, they’re talking about fantasy role-playing and other sexual fun stuff. Try this superclub out, then let me know what you think. Maybe I’ll book a room, too.”

“Lyn, I’m trying to increase my knowledge base here.”

“There’s no reason why I can’t benefit, too. This place sounds great, and Charles has a thing for leather.”

Envisioning the very dignified and well respected Dr. Charles Milhausser doing anything that involved leather proved too much for Maggie. “Stop! I don’t want to hear this.”

“But you need to. There’s a whole world of sexual experiences you’ve been missing out on because you never keep a guy around long enough to get comfortable. Trust me, Maggie. Go to this superclub for practical application. You won’t be sorry, and not only for your patients’ sake, either.”

“But I’m not involved in a long-term relationship, and if I wait until I cultivate one, I’ll lose Angie and Raymond.”

“Improvise.”

“I’m not even dating at the moment.”

“Anyone in the queue?”

“No.”

Maggie wished Lyn didn’t look quite so surprised. Sure, she’d had her share of casual relationships, but she really hadn’t had that many.

“Well, what about Will Reynolds? If I remember correctly, you parted on decent terms.”

Maggie shook her head, not quite certain where Lyn was going. Surely she wasn’t suggesting that Maggie call up an ex-lover and invite him on vacation to act out sexual fantasies. “He met someone shortly after we broke up. Last I heard he was looking for groomsmen.”

“Mike Jacobs?”

“He came out of the closet.”

“Oh, honey. Why didn’t you ever tell me?”

Maggie grimaced. That answer should be obvious.

“What about Troy Carver?”

“He found God. He’s almost a preacher.”

Lyn’s eyes opened wide. “Oooh, that good-looking man. Well, he won’t work then, either.”

Maggie leaned forward, propped her elbows on the desk, and stared hard at her friend. “Exactly what do you think I’m going to do with an old boyfriend? Say, ‘Excuse me, would you mind dropping your drawers and hopping into bed, so I can test out some different positions?’”

Lyn chuckled. “Theory isn’t the same as application. You need experience to identify the problem and talk the talk.”

Maggie would be the first to admit there was a world of difference between reading about sex and actually participating, but this was therapy, for goodness sake. She didn’t actually need to become depressed to know how to help someone who was suffering depression. “Observation will work fine. I’ve already figured out I’m misdiagnosing relationship lulls, so I’ll read up on the subject and keep my eyes open for the symptoms. Now I need ideas to help my patients through their lulls. Especially Angie and Raymond.”

When Lyn frowned, Maggie asked, “What’s the option? I’m not involved in any relationship right now, let alone a long-term one.”

“What about Sam, then?”

“What about him? Wait a minute….” Maggie stared at Lyn. “You’re not suggesting I invite Sam?”

“Why not? You’re without a guy du jour, and Sam’s perfect. He’s the closest thing you’ve got to a long-term relationship. You’re comfortable with him, and he cares about you. I’m sure he’d be happy to help.” Lyn lifted her eyebrows suggestively.

After being forced to accept that her therapy needed help that her own extensive, but abysmal love life couldn’t provide, Maggie couldn’t handle this type of reasoning. Sex with Sam? This was not something she could tackle in the light of day.

Snatching the brochure off the desk, she shot to her feet. “Sam is my best friend. I can’t have sex with my best friend.”

“Why ever not? I have sex with my best friend at least three times a week. Four, if you don’t show up to play poker.”

“Oh, don’t tell me that.” Maggie beelined toward the door, knowing she’d never be able to step foot inside Lyn and Charles’s town house again without feeling guilty for curtailing what might have otherwise been a steamy evening.

“Seriously, Maggie.” The earnestness in Lyn’s tone stopped her before she escaped. “Give Sam some thought. Sleeping with him might be the smartest thing you ever did. The minute you get close to a guy, you freak out and start finding reasons to dump him. You won’t have a reason with Sam. You already know the good, the bad and the ugly about him.”

Maggie winced at hearing her behavior whittled down to such unforgiving terms, but she didn’t argue. Couldn’t. “Even if I was attracted to Sam, which I’m not, he’s totally not my type.”

Fantasies didn’t count while the sun was up.

“What type is that?”

Maggie waved her arms while she tried to find the right words to describe Sam. “He’s stable, loyal, predictable.”

Lyn stroked her chin, clearly considering. “Stable is good. Loyal is good. We could work on predictable, but that’s no tragedy. He’s a nice guy.”

“Yes, he is.”

“So what’s wrong with nice? Last I heard we were recommending nice to our patients.”

Nothing was wrong with nice guys, except it never seemed to matter whether they were nice or naughty—she always ended up by herself. Sinking back against the wall, Maggie blew a strand of hair from her eyes with an exasperated breath. Sam was definitely a nice guy, the nicest guy she’d ever known. That’s what made him special. That’s what made him off-limits. How could she possibly explain her feelings about him to Lyn?

They’d grown up together. Experienced so much. Both good and bad. Ever since Sam and his parents had moved into the house next door when she’d been in the fourth and he in fifth grade, they’d been connected.

They’d been there for each other through disappointing report cards and a host of parental punishments. She’d stuck by him when he’d broken his leg skateboarding and couldn’t run with the neighborhood kids. Sam had cradled her and Hambone in his arms when her elderly Maltese had peacefully exited from life.

He’d proven himself the best of friends by helping her cope with the ugliness of her parents’ divorce and the emotional fallout afterward. She’d led Sam through the process of funeral arrangements after his parents had died in a car accident and remained by his side during the long dark months while he’d dealt with his grief.

They’d survived her stint with vegetarianism and his fascination with home beer brewing. Sam was her friend, her anchor, her lifeline when life got crazy.

He was the only man in the world with whom Maggie could be herself. The only man she could count on not to turn his back when the going got tough. Through good times and bad, through changes of jobs, schools, friends and lovers, Sam was always there. Maggie trusted him in a way she’d never trusted another man. Not even her father. Especially not her father.

Sam was her ideal, the yardstick she held all other men to. Sex with Sam would mess things up completely.

“He’s too important to me,” she finally said. “Sex complicates things, and I won’t risk ruining the special relationship we have, or risk losing him. Not to address the weak link in my therapy. Not for anything.”

“Sex doesn’t have to complicate things. It can add depth to a relationship and make it even stronger.”

“With my track record? Please. The only reason my relationship with Sam works is because we stay out of bed.”

Maggie clung to the doorjamb, longing to propel herself into the hallway, snuffing out the sound of Lyn and her too-close-for-comfort observations. All right. Maybe it was high time she took a long look at why she couldn’t stay in a relationship past the time it took her guy du jour to memorize her phone number. Was her problem recognizing trouble in long-term relationships symbolic of her own inability to stay in one?

“I’ll think about whom I might invite, Lyn. That’s the best I can do.”

“Ask Sam.”

“Even if I was willing, Sam wouldn’t be. He dates, but he doesn’t do one-night stands. He’s only had three long-term relationships in the entire time I’ve known him. And to my knowledge, he’s never even had a quickie.”

“Then you won’t run the risk of catching anything.”

How Lyn delivered that statement with a straight face, Maggie would never know. “Very funny.”

“You need practical application, Maggie, my friend. Accept it and ask Sam. He’s your best choice for the job. You can’t go to this superclub alone and whoever you take is bound to have sex on the brain. At least you and Sam are long-term. Taking him will serve a purpose.”

Lyn had a point. If Maggie spent most of her visit to Falling Inn Bed, and Breakfast circumventing sexual advances, she wouldn’t have the time or the energy to observe the interplay between other couples.

Perhaps Sam was the best choice for the job. Sex didn’t factor into their relationship, so he wouldn’t be distracted by the sexual theme of the place.

“I think I will ask Sam to come with me,” she said, taking an inordinate amount of satisfaction when she wiped the smile from Lyn’s face by adding, “to observe.”

“Now you’re back to unrealistic expectations,” she scoffed. “I’ve spent enough time with you and Sam to safely guess he isn’t suffering from an inactive libido. If you take the guy to a sex club, he’s going to want to have sex.”

“Falling Inn Bed, and Breakfast is not a sex club—it’s a romance superclub—and Sam won’t want sex. He’s my friend.”

“Charles is my friend, too.”

Maggie scowled. “Observation, Lyn. Not practical application. I’m going home now.”

And not to ask Sam to have sex. Observation, only. Though, if Maggie were completely honest with herself, Sam wasn’t the one she should be worried about. Those late-night fantasies of hers didn’t need any encouragement.

But she’d already had enough honesty today, thank you.