Читать книгу You Sexy Thing! - Tori Carrington, Tori Carrington - Страница 9

CHOPPED LIVER. That’s what he felt like after his bout with Dr. Gracie Mattias, pure and simple and bloody raw. Dylan cast a glance around the lobby. Tanja wasn’t even around for him to vent at. She’d abandoned him outside the radio station, claiming she had family in the area and had scheduled to meet a friend for lunch, did he mind? He’d wanted to tell her yes, he did mind, but hadn’t. He was afraid he’d sound too…demanding? Unbending? Whiny?

He cringed at the last description, realizing that’s exactly what he was doing. He was whining. Just like a five-year-old who had his bike stolen, training wheels and all.

It was ridiculous, really. Overall the interview had gone well. Toward the end he had even begun to enjoy himself, giving as good as he got when it came to trading digs with the sex doctor.

Jesus, had he really just thought of her as the sex doctor? If so, what did that make him? The anti-sex doctor?

He didn’t want to begin to analyze that bizarre train of thought.

Dylan poked at the elevator button again, somehow managing a half-assed smile in the general direction of a young couple who had just stepped in from the rain to stand next to him. Their cheerful, attentive-to-each-other disposition made his disposition even darker.

“This is the first day of the rest of our lives.”

Dylan grimaced, then nodded at the young woman to show he had heard.

“We just got married.” The man looped his arms around the woman and tugged her closer. “This is the first day of our honeymoon.”

“Congratulations.” Dylan forced a close-mouthed smile then turned back toward the elevator.

Kissing noises sounded beside him. He rubbed the back of his neck, wondering where the stairs were, and whether he was up to climbing seventeen floors. “Uh,” he began, interrupting the couple from their amorous pursuits. “A word of warning. When the elevator stops, you may want to make sure it’s actually on the floor you want.”

The couple looked at him, then each other, sporting quizzical expressions he had been sorely tempted to bestow on a few of his more…interesting patients. Like the one who got into wearing women’s silk stockings under his Brooks Brothers business suits when he appeared in Superior Court.

He cleared his throat. “I found out the hard way that they don’t always do that. The elevators. You know, stop on the floor you want. Creates a bit of a…mess.” Although he really couldn’t call what had happened this morning a mess. An unfortunate mishap, maybe. A wild accident. But definitely not a mess. Not when a man got to take a peek at a woman of Gracie Mattias’s caliber.

“Um, thanks.”

“Don’t mention it.”

Finally, a ding. The elevator doors opened. Dylan stepped in and to the back, automatically making room for the couple. He reached around them and pushed the button for his floor.

“Hold that elevator!”

Dylan clenched his jaw and covertly reached around the couple to punch the close button. All he wanted was to get back to his room, shrug out of his damp clothes, then review his schedule for the next two weeks. Make a list of things to have Tanja see to. First and foremost, making sure that he knew exactly who he was going to be up against in coming interviews.

“Thanks.” A breathless someone stuck her hand between the closing doors, then slid in between them.

Dylan stood a little straighter, willing the doors to close before someone else could delay his ascension to his room and sweet peace.

“It’s you.”

Dylan jerked to stare at the late arrival. And nearly dropped to his knees. Which wouldn’t have been an inappropriate response given the woman he was staring at. He hadn’t noticed at the radio station, but Dr. Grace Mattias was tall. Nearly as tall as he was at six foot. A goddess. No, no, Galatea in the Pygmalion tale. Galatea, the statue Pygmalion had crafted of the perfect mate. Aphrodite had taken pity on the poor guy and brought the statue to life because of Pygmalion’s deep love for the inanimate object. That’s who Grace reminded him of. Even more with her damp hair curving against the skin of her cheeks and neck. Tiny droplets plopped against her soaked white tank, drawing his gaze to the hardened tips of her breasts.

Heat, sure and swift, swept through his groin and he fought the urge to groan aloud. Gracie Mattias wasn’t destined for wife and motherhood as Galatea had been. No, she was put on earth solely to torture men like him with her oozing sensuality and provocative ways.

She cocked her head slightly to the side and gave him a hesitant smile, as though trying to analyze what was going on in his head. He’d be better off remembering that Gracie was completely capable of doing just that. He immediately snapped straighter.

“Don’t look so shocked,” she said. “I think we’ve already, um, established that we’re staying at the same hotel.”

The couple with their arms wrapped around each other looked their way. “In separate rooms,” Dylan pointed out.

“Of course in separate rooms. We don’t even know each other.”

Dylan grimaced. “From the sound of it, that’s not necessarily something that would stop you.”

“Ooo, that was a low blow, Dr. Dylan. We’re not on the radio show anymore. You can put the jabs away now.”

He dipped his chin and managed a wry grin. “Sorry. That was kind of a cheap shot, wasn’t it?”

“Bargain basement.”

He slanted her a gaze from the corner of his eye. She seemed completely unconcerned with her disheveled appearance. This was at odds with her carefully put together front for the radio host. She didn’t make apologies and utter some inane comment about how she must look. She didn’t move to get a hairbrush from the depths of the huge handbag slung over her shoulder. And she didn’t try to repair her makeup. He wondered exactly how long she had been out in the rain.

He took a deep breath, pulling in a subtle, tangy scent that hovered somewhere between juicy, overripe oranges and tart, green apples. Her shampoo, maybe. Though it wasn’t beyond the realm of possibility that she, herself, naturally smelled like the succulent fruit.

“Excuse me, do you mind if I take a look?”

Dylan blinked at the young woman standing in front of him. The bride was gesturing toward the window behind him that overlooked the vast lobby as they moved upward.

“Sorry. Sure, go ahead.”

She did. And took her new husband with her.

Dylan stood ramrod straight in front of the closed elevator doors. Gracie joined him.

“Newlyweds,” he said quietly.

“Ah.”

A dull thump sounded from behind him. Dylan looked over his shoulder to find that the newlyweds had apparently taken in enough of the view and were now taking in each other. His eyes widened as the woman practically climbed up on the man. The man’s hand skimmed her side then cupped her behind the knee. In a smooth move, he lifted her leg then thrust his body against her softness.

Dylan jerked back to face the elevator doors.

“Exhibitionists,” Gracie whispered.

He looked at her blankly. “Rude.”

She tossed her head back and laughed. “Come on, Dr. Dylan, I should think that since they’re married almost anything should go in your book.”

He jabbed a thumb over his shoulder. “Nowhere did I write that this was acceptable behavior.”

Gracie’s deep, deep brown eyes held amusement. “I meant figuratively, not literally.”

“Oh.”

She held up a finger. “Speaking of which.” She began rummaging through her bulging bag, then tugged something out with a little resistance. “Here.”

He stared at the book she held as if he was afraid it might bite. Seeing as it was her book, he wasn’t taking any chances.

“I had one left over from the stack my publisher sent to the station. Go on, take it.”

He did.

“I figure that you were caught at a bit of a disadvantage this morning. You know, having not reviewed my theories and all.”

He held up the magazine tucked under his arm still opened to the page focusing on her. “I wasn’t as uninformed as you think.”

“Oh my God! Can I see that? How did you get a hold of a copy so quickly? Rick, that’s my assistant, hasn’t said a word about its release.”

Dylan reluctantly let the magazine go. He stood silently wishing the elevator would get to his floor already as Gracie silently read the piece. He tensed at her little bursts of laughter, trying to ignore the low moans coming from the couple behind them. Then she flipped the magazine over to where he was featured. Dylan gave in to the urge to work his finger inside his overtight collar.

“Says here you’re married.”

“Divorced.”

“Oh, baby,” the bride moaned.

Dylan noticed that Gracie sneaked a glance at the couple, her brows jumping high on her forehead. She turned forward again, color touching her cheeks. Dylan didn’t even want to think of what it would take 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.”