Private Practice

by Samanthe Beck

  “Okaaay. Face front and be still.” He turned around, and she concentrated on the matter at hand. Within a moment, she’d carefully probed the thin, fairly shallow line of the wound and located the…bullet? Pellet? She was no munitions expert. It was a small metal projectile, embedded about a quarter-inch deep in the spectacularly carved indentation of his buttock, between the gluteus medius and the gluteus minimus. But when she gently separated the margins of the wound for a better look, her patient sucked in a harsh breath.

  “Son of a— Are you amputating half my ass back there?”

  “Not yet. Don’t distract me.”

  “Take your time.” His clenched jaw didn’t quite muffle the sarcasm.

  She loaded a syringe with local anesthetic. “Can you count to three for me?”

  “Sure. One, two—”

  Ellie jammed the needle in and depressed the plunger.

  Tyler swayed like a palm tree in a high wind. “Jesus effing Christ! What happened to three?”

  Ellie pulled the needle out and placed it on the table. While waiting for the anesthesia to take effect, she explained, “Three is where you tense up and a little shot ends up feeling like a knuckleball hitting your muscle at ninety miles per hour.”

  “Oh, well, thank you very much. That felt like eighty-five miles per hour, tops.”

  “You’re welcome.” Using gauze, she dabbed blood away from the injury. “Let’s give it a minute to work, and then I’ll remove the bullet and you’ll be as good as new in no time.”

  A skeptical grunt served as his reply.

  She selected a long, slender pair of tweezers from the table and lightly touched the wound. No reaction from the patient. “Want to tell me how this happened?”

  “Would you believe, self-inflicted?”

  She laughed. “Not a chance. Nor will I believe your dog, cat, bird, or iguana accidently discharged your gun. Nor, at this hour, will I believe it was a hunting accident.”

  “Worth a try.”

  “Try the truth,” she recommended, enjoying a moment of triumph as she snagged the small metal round between the tweezers and extracted it. She flushed the wound and pressed more gauze to the site.

  He sighed. “I was down at Rawley’s Pub, having a drink and, um, let’s say chatting with Lou Ann Doubletree.”

  Lou Ann had been a year ahead of Ellie in school, but she remembered the tall, sandy-haired blonde well enough. The older girl boasted two particularly unforgettable features. “Lou Ann Double D?”

  “For a girl who’s not fond of her own nickname, you’re awful quick to toss out someone else’s.”

  “She liked hers. She was proud of the body parts inspiring it.”

  “They are inspirational, you gotta admit.”

  “So I’m told,” she said, doing a mental eye roll. What was it with men and mammary glands? She tied off the thread on a surgical needle and prepared to start stitching. “So, you were at Rawley’s, chatting with Lou Ann, and…”

  “She’s on-again-off-again with Junior Tillman. Remember him?”

  The name sounded familiar. Her memory called up a wide, burly guy with a booming voice and a proclivity for smashing empty beer cans on his forehead whenever the Buffalos scored a touchdown. She completed the first stitch. “Beefy guy. Your year. Had a voice like a bullhorn?”

  “That’s him. Anyway, according to Lou Ann, they’re currently off, but Junior showed up tonight with his drink most definitely on, and a slightly different recollection of where they’d left things.”

  “So he shot you? I can’t believe you haven’t already called the cops.” Despite her agitation, she added another small, tidy stitch to the meticulous line. It would be a travesty to scar such perfection.

  “No need to get all worked up. He went after me with the coon chaser he keeps in the gun rack of his pickup. He wasn’t aiming to kill me, just stake his claim.”

  “Stake his… Oh my God, you’re all hopeless.” She tied off the final suture, cut the thread, and tossed the scissors on the table.

  “Not my way of thinking, Doc. I’m just trying to explain what was going through Junior’s half-rocked mind. He’s going to feel real bad about this once he sleeps off the booze.”

  “He can sleep it off in a cell,” she said firmly.

  Tyler made a negative sound. “Junior’s a damn good builder, plus he’s got a four-year-old boy with a baby mama over in Ashland. If he’s in jail, it’s going to be real tough for him to make child-support payments. Then the kid suffers for Junior’s bourbon-fueled bad judgment.”

  “He shot you. I’m obligated to notify the authorities. It’s nonnegotiable.” Considering the matter settled, she affixed a bandage over the stitches. “You’re done.”

  He craned his neck to look at his bandaged cheek, then hauled up his jeans and turned around. Those hypnotic green eyes captured hers. His lips curved up in a slow, simmering smile. “Everything’s negotiable.”

  Melody’s words from the diner floated through Ellie’s mind. Roger’s ideal woman has a whole lot of experience and very few boundaries.

  Practicing medicine wasn’t a gig for the easily shocked, so she didn’t see boundaries as an issue. But experience? That was another matter. Maybe the answer stood before her, in the form of a walking, talking wealth of sexual know-how? Medically speaking, he also qualified as a walking, talking female libido enhancer.

  “C’mon Doc, what would I have to do to persuade you to keep this between us?”

  Chapter Two

  Tyler listened to the silence while his question hung in the air between them. Ellie stared for a moment and then gave him such a measuring look he actually felt heat crawl up his neck. What the hell was going through her mind?

  “Since you were, shall we say, chatting up Lou Ann this evening, I take it you’re currently unattached?”

  Lou Ann had done all the chatting, in truth. He’d been looking for a polite way to shut her down even before her lips started blazing a trail along his throat, because Junior was one of his best friends and, contrary to what everyone seemed to think, he didn’t make a habit of hitting on his best friend’s girl. He crossed his arms over his chest and started to rest his hip against the table before remembering that probably wasn’t a good idea. “Yeah, Doc. I’m still waiting for that special someone to come along.”

  “But you like to stay busy while you wait.”

  Her words held no hint of judgment. Rather, his own recent but steadily growing dissatisfaction with his revolving door of a love life caused the comment to stick in his craw. Or maybe taking a bullet in the ass for being stupid or just plain bored enough to hang around when Lou Ann had flirted served as a wake-up call. Either way, seemed like time to make a change.

  “Some might say,” he answered, eyeing her. This was an odd conversation to be having with anyone, let alone Sparky Swann. What in the hell did his relationship status have to do with convincing her not to report Junior to the authorities?

  The belt of her short, pink robe claimed her full attention. “You’re very experienced in a particular area where I’d like to increase my…um…competency.”

  She glanced at him, absently worrying her lower lip between her teeth. The gesture caused an uncomfortable tightening in his groin. “You want to learn how to build a house?”

  “I’m talking about sex,” she said, setting her lip free, so now it was just her deep, brown gaze grabbing him by the balls. “You’ve been honing your talents since you were a teenager. If the gossip can be believed, you enjoy a sex life most guys only dream about.”

  “Hey, now, you can’t believe everything you hear.” But a highly ambitious part of him begged to disagree. It begged him to part her slippery pink robe and show her things she’d only dreamed about.

  This is Sparky Swann, he reminded himself, a bookish, awkward little girl, ’cept she didn’t appear to be any of those things anymore.

  “I only have to believe a quarter of it. Tyler…” She trailed off and dragged a h
and through her long, dark hair, unconsciously telegraphing nerves. “Promise to teach me how to be a wild woman in bed and I’ll leave it to some other concerned citizen to report Junior to the cops.”

  Maybe he’d been shot in the head tonight too, because something was definitely wrong with his hearing. “Sorry, what did you say?”

  Her chin came up. “You heard me. I want hands-on, real-life instruction.”

  “Okay, let’s back up a minute. Mind if I ask why you think you need to be ‘wilder’ between the sheets?”

  Those bourbon-and-Coke eyes skidded away from his again.

  “I’d rather not say.”

  “Of course not.” Sighing, he stared at the toes of his boots and tried to get his head around her proposal. “Let me sum this up, just to be sure I understand. You agree not to notify the sheriff if I promise to be your sex tutor?” He glanced up at her.

  When she nodded, he laughed. “That’s pretty damn straightforward, Doc. Certainly strips all the silly games and romance out of the mix.”

  “Oh, come on. How is my proposal any different from you and Lou Ann hooking up at Rawley’s on a random Friday night? You want it, she wants it, and off you go. You both know darn well the evening doesn’t end with a bended-knee proposal. It’s about enjoying the physical experience and then moving on. I’m suggesting the same thing, except without the drinks, small talk, or the risk of getting your ass shot off, and… ”

  Her words faded and her captain-of-the-debate-team expression shifted to a look he couldn’t readily identify, but nonetheless made him feel like a jerk.

  “And I’m no Lou Ann Doubletree,” she observed quietly, wrapping her robe tighter and securing the tie at her waist. “How stupid of me. Look, if you don’t think you can muster it up, forget I said anything.”

  Ah hell. “I never said I couldn’t muster it up. Trust me. That’s not the problem.”

  “Then what is?”

  “Maybe I feel like a child molester, mustering it up for little Ellie Swann.”

  “I’m twenty-eight years old, hardly a child.”

  She had a point. The crazy cap of frizzy ringlets she’d never quite tamed as a kid had turned into a tumble of smooth, ebony waves. Pert features and dimpled cheeks had matured and refined, so the grown-up version delivered a one-two punch of sweet and sexy. Back in the day, she’d worn glasses so thick she could see into next week, but now, only big, brown Bambi eyes blinked up at him. And that mouth. Even bare, it looked soft and ripe and kissable.

  “No argument there, Doc.”

  “Then what’s the problem? I don’t buy the ethical dilemma. If you can bang Double D for the fun of it, you can bang me.”

  “Let’s get one thing straight. I’ve had sex with women, I’ve seduced women, and on rare occasions, I’ve even made love to women, but I have never, ever banged a woman.” Still, terminology aside, he couldn’t debate her conclusion. If she’d shown up at Rawley’s tonight, a beautiful stranger, he’d have been first in line to offer her a drink, some small talk, and anything else she wanted.

  Unfortunately, she wasn’t some beautiful stranger. She was Ellie. He’d always harbored a soft spot for her. They’d both been raised by tough, remote fathers carved from the same cold, hard stone. And while as far as he knew, Frank Swann had never resorted to the beatings Big Joe Longfoot had loved to dole out for any actual or perceived transgressions, the man hadn’t exactly showered his only child with praise and encouragement.

  Taking in her big eyes, soft, sleep-tousled hair, and extremely kissable mouth, he realized he now had a hard spot for her as well.

  The soft spot was easier to accept.

  “Fine,” she muttered. “Semantics aside, do we have a deal or not?”

  Christ, how did he get himself into these situations? Pressing his thumb to the growing ache between his eyes, he begged, “Give me a minute to think. How many, uh, tutorials are we talking about?”

  She pondered the question for a moment and he could almost hear the gears in her head turning as she calculated. “Ten?”

  His dick shot up and shouted Sold!, but his sense of self-preservation kicked in with a lowball counter. “Two.”

  “Eight,” she retorted, and he secretly appreciated her unoffended gamesmanship.

  “Four.”

  “Five. That’s my final offer. Anything less and I don’t get enough education to make it worth risking disciplinary action from the state licensing board.”

  “Okay, done.”

  She smiled, and the dimples he remembered from years ago winked in her cheeks. When she stuck out her hand to shake on it, he fought a powerful urge to pull her close and kiss one of the adorable little dents. He’d never tutored anyone before, but this would be easy. Take her out a few times, give them both some thrills.

  “Great.” She reached into her black bag, grabbed a handful of something he feared might be condoms, and tucked them in the pocket of her robe. “Let’s get started—”

  His laugh cut her off. “No offense, Doc, but I doubt I can muster it up tonight. Half my ass is numb.”

  She pressed those full lips of hers into what she probably considered a stern line. He wondered how she’d react if she knew it had his dick springing to attention and proving him a liar.

  “None taken,” she said, and marched toward the door. “I was going to say, let’s get started once your stitches are out.”

  “Ah.” The teacher’s aide in his pants settled down. He followed her into the hall. “Sounds like a plan. How long before…?”

  She reached into her pocket and handed him a packet of gauze and a couple of large bandages. “Change the dressing daily. Make an appointment with my office for Thursday and we’ll see how the wound has healed.” She halted at the front door. “If everything looks good, we can figure out a timeline and pin down the curriculum.”

  He nearly fumbled the supplies as he tucked them into the front pocket of his jeans. The curriculum? Leave it to overachieving Ellie to treat something as instinctive and elemental as sex like an academic pursuit. Though he couldn’t explain precisely why, the notion of a specific lesson plan excited and terrified him at the same time.

  “Let’s not overcomplicate things. I’m comfortable winging it in this area.”

  She scrunched her brow in another expression he found an inexplicable turn-on and then shook her head. “I’m not. I don’t want to waste one of my sessions covering something I already know. My goal is to expand my knowledge.”

  He fought an urge to wipe his sweaty palms on his jeans. “What, exactly, do you have in mind?”

  “To be honest, I’m not sure yet. I need to do some research.”

  “You go ahead and research to your heart’s content, Doc, but I reserve the right to veto anything on your so-called curriculum.”

  That stalled her. “Why?”

  He stepped out onto her porch and turned to her. “’Cause I’m the expert.” True, and yet the fact suddenly struck him as a little pathetic. She’d taken less than half an hour to decide the main thing he had to offer dangled between his legs. He had a sneaking suspicion most of the women in town would agree. Admittedly, he hadn’t worked hard to cultivate a different impression, but he was good for more than tangling sheets. One way or another, he was going to prove it to her, if only for pride’s sake.

  Maybe it was pride, or contrariness, or maybe it had more to do with the sight of her standing in the doorway, looking at him dubiously and nibbling her lower lip, but he leaned in until he was close enough to see the subtle variations of color in her fascinating brown irises. “What do you say we start with a basic aptitude test?”

  “A test?”

  Her quick inhale reached his ears just before he brought his mouth down on hers. He’d meant to surprise her and perhaps throw her a little off-balance, but the surprise was all on him. The second he tasted those soft, velvety lips, all thoughts about proving anything except how fast he could get them out of their clothes, into bed, and rocking
each other’s worlds ran right out of his head. Along with any shred of caution and a good portion of his blood.

  Her thoughts apparently raced down the same path, because she surged up on her tiptoes, clamped a hand around his neck, and returned the kiss with all kinds of innate talent. His mind went as numb as his butt. Before he knew what he was doing, he had his hand fisted in the slippery fabric at the back of her robe, holding her close while his tongue took a long, slow slide over hers.

  An appreciative sound vibrated deep in her throat and she pressed even closer. The unguarded little noise penetrated the haze of need he’d sunk into the minute their lips had touched. He drew back, sucking in air like a drowning man, and waited for the world to tip back onto its axis. What the fuck was he doing? Getting shot and then propositioned had clearly screwed his equilibrium. There was no other explanation.

  Her eyes blinked open and focused on him. In them he read all kinds of shock and awe, which would have been satisfying but for the disturbing fact that they mirrored everything currently going on inside him. He bit back a groan as he watched her tongue make a quick sweep over her lips, now wet from their kiss.

  A tardy sense of self-preservation kicked in. He let go of her and stepped back, absurdly grateful his legs cooperated. When she wobbled and grabbed the doorframe for support, he felt some of the satisfaction that had previously eluded him.

  “Congratulations, Sparky.”

  She shook her head as if to clear it. “For what?”

  He couldn’t have held back his smile if his life depended on it. She looked so discombobulated.

  “You passed with flying colors. ’Night.” He held on to the smile until she shut the door, and then all hell broke loose between his ears.

  Cleaning up the mess he’d made of her front porch didn’t bring him any closer to figuring out what had just happened. He’d kissed women. Plenty of women. Maybe more than his fair share of women, and enjoyed every single lip-lock. Some stood out, some faded into a background of pleasantly lustful encounters. None came anywhere close to that kiss with Ellie. It felt like hurtling into a new adventure and coming home at the same time.