Private Practice

by Samanthe Beck

  “Nice,” he managed to say, and helped her into her thin black cardigan.

  “Thanks,” she said, sounding a little out of breath. “I’m ready.”

  “After you.”

  The high-heeled sandals forced her to take her time, so he occupied himself checking out her legs while she preceded him down the porch steps. When she walked toward her garage he caught her arm.

  “I’ll drive.”

  She eyed his bike, then him. “You’re joking, right?”

  “What’s the matter, Doc? Scared to ride with me?”

  Her expression said, Hell yes. “I did an ER rotation during my residency. I saw a lot of rides that didn’t turn out as planned.”

  “Past time you learned how a ride should go. Ours will be short and easy. You’ll love it. Trust me.” Not wanting to give her an opening to argue, he turned and straddled the big machine. Then he looked back and handed her the helmet. She hesitated.

  “Come on, Doc. You’re the one who wants to be more adventurous between the sheets. Step one—be more adventurous out of them. If you can’t handle a sunset ride down a country road on a warm June night”—he shrugged—“might as well call Magnolia Grove and see if they’ve got a villa for you.”

  “Magnolia Grove?”

  “It’s a retirement community about halfway between here and Lexington. Very safe and peaceful, although I hear they’ve got extreme bingo if you think you can handle it.”

  His taunt did the trick. She shoved the helmet over her head and stared him down. “How do I get on this blasted thing?”

  It took three tries, and he got a very nice sneak peek at her new underwear in the process, but finally she sat behind him, her slim thighs around his hips, her front pressed against his back. The slope of the seat didn’t allow for any other position. Instant intimacy.

  “You’re going to want to hold on.” He took her hands and wrapped her arms around his waist, biting back a smile when she laced her fingers together in a white-knuckled grip. “Ready?”

  “Um, okay,” came her reluctant reply.

  Good enough. He brought his right foot down hard on the kick-start lever and cranked the accelerator. The machine revved to life, but not quite in time to drown out her squeal. She clung to him as they rocketed down her driveway.

  …

  The purr of the engine obliterated any other noise she might have made, but it couldn’t hide the way her arms tightened to a death grip and her fingernails dug into his stomach. As a rule, he liked having a date pressed up against him so close a sheet of paper couldn’t squeeze between them, and so distracted by what he was doing to her that she put a few scratches on him. But he preferred to inspire that kind of mindless urgency during a slightly different activity. He settled a hand over hers and gave a squeeze. It seemed to help, a little.

  Not that he didn’t get the reason for her anxiety. He did. Neither of them had been raised to trust easily, and hurtling down the open road with nothing but his skill standing between her and an up-close, personal encounter with the asphalt required a fair amount of trust. That understanding made it all the sweeter when, after a mile or so, her grip loosened infinitesimally and her body relaxed against his. Some natural instinct kicked in and she started to flow with the movement of the bike, and him. Tension he’d barely registered drained out of his neck and shoulders. Better. Much better. Now they could both sit back and enjoy the ride—the warm wind, the smell of honeysuckle in the air, the sinking sun bathing everything in orange and gold.

  Those relatively innocent pleasures weren’t the only ones to enjoy. Every time he leaned into one of the meandering turns, she leaned into him. Her arms tightened around his waist and the hard, hot points of her nipples drilled into his back. The way she squirmed and clenched her thighs when he accelerated told him she felt the vibrations of the bike’s powerful engine in all the right places.

  By the time the tin roof and weathered planks of The Catch came into view, she’d melted against him like a cheddar square on a hot slice of pie. He pulled into the restaurant’s busy parking lot, cut the engine, and heard her small, breathy sigh. Oh yeah, she liked the ride.

  Bracing the bike with one leg, he slid his hand along her thigh. “You good with this, Doc?”

  She pulled the helmet off. In his side mirror, he watched her give him a long, wary look, as if she might not be so sure about their bargain. He found himself holding his breath.

  Then she nodded. “Absolutely, I’m good with this.” Chin raised, she smiled at him.

  “Great. Better grab on.”

  “Wha— ?” The word ended in a high note as he hefted the bike onto its kickstand. Her hands clutched his shoulders.

  He waited while she got off the bike. As far as he could judge from his limited perspective, her underwear didn’t make an encore appearance during her dismount, but letting her use his body like a ladder to climb down stirred up his imagination almost as well. She wobbled a little when she stepped back to give him room. He pushed off the bike, closed the distance, and wrapped his arm around her waist. “That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

  “No,” she said, sounding a bit startled by the admission. More pleased than he expected to be by one little word, he steered her along the short pier to the restaurant’s entrance.

  He opened the door for her and followed her through, accidentally bumping into her when she stopped abruptly. He caught her arms to steady her when the impact knocked her off-balance, and then, for no reason except she smelled incredible and felt so damn good, he turned her to face him and very slowly, very deliberately pulled her in close until his chest brushed her breasts. She looked up at him with an expression somewhere between flustered and exasperated. He flashed his best innocent smile, not missing the pulse pounding away at the base of her throat. Ride’s not over yet, Sparky.

  “Hungry?”

  “Yes.” The word came out like a confession and he suspected she wasn’t referring to food. “But this place is pretty crowded. We might have a long wait.”

  “They’ll have a table for us.” Taking her hand, he led her through the press of bodies.

  Diane, the manager, spotted him before they made it to the hostess desk and wrapped him in a big hug. “Hey, sugar! I didn’t know you were coming in tonight.” She eased back, slid a curious glance toward Ellie, and raised a brow at him. “Table for two?”

  “Can you squeeze us in?”

  She laughed and smoothed a hand over her strawberry-blond hair. “Oh, sugar, I can always squeeze you in. And your friend.”

  “Ellie,” he added, sliding his arm around her. “Ellie, Diane.”

  “Nice to meet you,” Ellie said.

  “Always nice to meet one of Tyler’s friends,” Diane returned. “We just love him around here. C’mon.” Taking a couple menus from the hostess station, she led them to a quiet corner table on the outdoor dining deck floating above the Ohio River.

  Once they were seated, Diane wished them a “memorable” evening, winked at Ellie and departed. The steady slap of water against the deck pilings filled the silence.

  “She seems nice,” Ellie finally said, absently pushing the small votive candle around on the white linen tablecloth. The low light on the deck turned her brown eyes into deep pools he could get lost in.

  “Diane? She is nice. I’ve known her a long time.” He could spend some serious time on Ellie’s mouth, too.

  “Is ‘known her a long time’ a euphemism for ‘dated her’?” The question startled him out of his distraction with Ellie’s lips. Before he could answer, she winced. “Sorry, erase the question. Who you’ve dated is none of my business. New topic—”

  “She’s a friend. I got to know her when I remodeled the first restaurant she managed.” He couldn’t say why her question—and her obvious discomfort about asking—stirred him up, but it did. It also renewed his curiosity about her underlying reason for the whole “sex tutor” deal. “Anything else you want to know?”

  She shook her
head and opened her menu. “Nope. I’m good.”

  “Because unlike some people, I’m an open book.”

  She shut the menu. “And I’m not?”

  Just then a waiter appeared and took their drink orders. When he left, Ellie crossed her arms, leaned back in her chair, and stared at him.

  He stared right back, issuing a not-so-subtle challenge.

  She blinked first and lowered her eyes. “How long have you had the bike?”

  “Now we’re really getting personal. A long time.” Shrugging off a vague disappointment, he added. “Maybe too long.”

  “Is there a statute of limitations on riding a motorcycle?”

  “I’m learning yes, to some folks. But that’s a story for another time. Ever been here before?”

  “No, never, but this is nice.” She stared out at the lights twinkling along the opposite bank of the river and breathed deeply. “Before I left for college, Bluelick’s version of fine dining meant Rawley’s or the place off the Double A with the statue of the husky kid in red-checked overalls.”

  He laughed. “I save the kid in the overalls for the second date.”

  “This isn’t really a date.”

  “Says who? I see you, single, attractive female. Me, single, available guy. Moonlight and candles. What more do you need before you call it a date?”

  “We have an arrangement,” she replied primly, and straightened in her chair, which only made him want to kiss her senseless.

  “Wasn’t aware they were mutually exclusive. Maybe you should tell me what you’re really trying to accomplish with our arrangement.”

  “I’ve already told you. New topic.”

  “Ellie.”

  “New topic,” she repeated. “How long has The Catch been here? I don’t remember anything except run-down old buildings.”

  He held his response until the waiter served their drinks, then took a swallow of his iced tea before continuing. “About three years. My team did the renovations on this building, which were substantial considering we started with a neglected, century-old tobacco warehouse. We managed to rehab about sixty percent of the original structure.”

  She looked around again. “Wow. You worked a miracle. The walls whisper with history, but at the same time, it’s comfortable and relaxed…and the view. I can understand why it’s such a popular spot.”

  “Pretty view, plus they serve up the best shrimp and ribs you ever tasted.”

  The waiter returned and asked if they were ready to order.

  Tyler arched a brow at her. She nodded. “I hear the shrimp is excellent.”

  “Shrimp and ribs,” he corrected, and pointed to a nearby table where a server delivered plates piled high with skewers of barbecue shrimp and racks of baby back ribs. “Surf and turf, Bluelick style.”

  Her gorgeous mouth fell open. “Oh my God. I can’t eat that much.”

  “You were hungry when I picked you up. You must be downright starving after our ride.”

  Her eyes cut to his and she shifted in her seat. The tiny move told him she remembered every aspect of their ride, in intimate detail. He remembered the flash of black silk beneath her skirt. Continuing in a deliberately seductive drawl, he said, “I want to make sure we completely satisfy your appetite.”

  The waiter coughed and cleared his throat. “Two shrimp and ribs?”

  Tyler nodded. The young man smiled politely and departed.

  Ellie squirmed again and then glanced at Tyler.

  He leaned in, close enough to smell her perfume. “Tell me, Doc, how’s the underwear working out for you?”

  She twirled the stem of her wineglass between restless fingers and stared out at the river. “They’re very, um, distracting.”

  “I think that’s part of the thrill. If it’s any consolation, they’ve been distracting me ever since you mentioned them.”

  The soft light played over the curve of her cheek and wove midnight highlights in the dark curtain of her hair. He gave in to the urge to sweep it back from her face, so he could see her eyes.

  “I have to say, I’m flattered you dressed up for me, so to speak.”

  “Well, I’m no Lou Ann. I need all the enhancements.”

  He scooted his chair closer. She jerked in surprise when he slid his hand under the tablecloth and over her knees. “You do not,” he said softly.

  She resorted to quoting the authorities. “The book I ordered included very specific information about the proper attire for this kind of thing.”

  “The book?” Determined to prove her wrong, he insinuated his hand between her knees.

  “What are you doing?” Her voice came out slightly pitchy.

  “Making a point.” He eased his hand under her knee and ran it slowly along her calf, lifting her leg in the process. “You’re expanding your horizons, remember? Answer the question. What book?”

  “I ordered a how-to guide so I could figure out what I needed to learn and, you know…” She trailed off when he curled his fingers around her delicate ankle and removed her strappy high-heeled sandal. “…study, so I’d be prepared.”

  “Let me get this straight. You decide you want more action and adventure in your sex life, so first thing you do is buy a book and study up? Does that strike you as ironic?” He ran his thumb slowly along her arch, applying just enough pressure to make her moan.

  “It’s…logical,” she finally managed.

  “Logical, huh?” Keep a straight face, he ordered himself, but his lips twitched.

  “Jeez, Tyler, don’t hurt yourself. Go ahead and laugh, but I honestly don’t see what’s so funny. If I want to improve at something, I learn as much as I can about the topic and then put what I’ve learned into practice. Why approach this any differently?”

  Her irritation, as much as her linear reasoning, unleashed the laugh he’d struggled to hold back. She tried to tug her foot free, but he held on.

  “Simmer down, Doc. I’m about to show you why.” With that, he placed her foot in the V between his legs, so there was no way she could miss the highly compelling evidence supporting his argument. “You do this to me just the way you are. No fancy underwear or how-to book needed.”

  Her eyes widened, and then, yes, there it was. She blushed.

  “I’m sure it’s just the wine and candlelight. Or tea and candlelight, in your case.” Although she tried to joke, her toes curled into him, torturing him with the small exploration.

  He wrapped his hand around the top of her foot, holding here there. “It’s not the candlelight.” He squeezed her foot and swept his thumb over her ankle. “I’d love to know why it’s so tough to believe you alone might do the job. Why you think you need lessons on driving a man wild? Enlighten me, Doc.”

  Chapter Six

  Ellie wasn’t sure she could speak to reply. Tyler kept one hand on her foot, nestling it intimately against him, while his other hand journeyed up her calf. Even if she could talk, she had no intention of coming clean. Roger’s tastes, and her desire to satisfy them, weren’t for public consumption.

  “What if I told you this is the raciest dinner I’ve ever had in my life?” she asked.

  “I’d say it’s not over yet.” As proof, his nimble fingers rounded the curve of her knee and continued up her thigh.

  She grasped the table and moaned softly as those big, blunt fingers stroked dangerously close to the thin strip of silk providing a flimsy barrier between her and a complete physical meltdown.

  “Definitely not over,” he said, and stroked again.

  “Don’t,” she groaned, and dropped her hand beneath the table to grip his wrist. But at the same time she scooted closer to the edge of her chair. She was sending mixed messages and couldn’t seem to help it.

  “Want me to stop?” Even as he posed the question, his fingers danced a little farther up her thigh. Concentration became impossible. Her pulse skittered out of control, pounding in her throat, her chest, between her legs.

  “I think…yes…I think you’d bette
r.”

  He leaned closer until she drowned in his eyes. “Okay,” he whispered, and slowly trailed his hand back down the soft, vulnerable flesh of her thigh. She shivered.

  He smiled. “What you’re feeling right now? That’s exactly how I feel when I look at you. You’re as hot as they come, so do me a favor and stop comparing yourself to Lou Ann. Deal?”

  God, she felt hot right now, with his eyes locked on hers and her body still quivering from his touch. She also felt stripped bare and defenseless, because he seemed to see straight through to some long-buried insecurities.

  Her father hadn’t been the type to dispense compliments. To Frank she’d been a duty, a chore, and a painful reminder of the wife he’d lost too soon. The less attention she demanded from him, the better. Teachers gave her positive feedback on her academic performance, and because she’d been starving for praise, she’d focused her efforts there. Which might explain why she could attack any academic pursuit with confidence, but the rest—looks, personality, feminine allure—remained big, fat question marks. She never realized how much she cared about the answers until Tyler volunteered his. Thankfully the waiter’s approach saved her the need to formulate an immediate reply.

  The server delivered their meals and retreated. She stared at her plate, momentarily distracted by the mountain of food in front of her.

  “Deal?” Tyler prompted, holding a shrimp to her lips.

  “Deal,” she murmured. Lowering her eyes, she closed her mouth around the shrimp, expecting him to release it. Instead he slowly pulled until the curled delicacy sprang free with a soft pop. His playful grin coaxed an answering smile from her.

  “Does any woman manage to resist you?”

  “Some do. But tonight, I’m inspired.”

  “Hope you’re also hungry, because this is far too much food.”

  “Don’t worry, Doc. I know what I’m doing.”

  She nibbled a rib and then licked the spicy sauce from her lips. “I’m counting on that.”