You Sexy Thing!

“Lady, do you know what kind of traffic we’re going to run into this time of day?”

She smiled at him in the rearview mirror. “Yeah.”

Right now she couldn’t care less if it took her two hours to get back to her hotel room. Rick was out running errands for her, the radio talk-show host had asked her for her phone number and she’d just experienced one of the more stimulating challenges of her life in the shape of one super-sexy Dr. Dylan Fairbanks.

An image of Dr. Dylan crowded out all other thought and she smiled. Just thinking about him made her hungry for an unnamable something. She didn’t try to name the feeling. She didn’t want to. Not yet. She wanted to enjoy the curious warmth spreading through her belly and settling between her tingling thighs.

She stuck her hand into her purse and fished out an extra-large packet of peanuts, compliments of the hotel. While the salty morsels couldn’t hope to satisfy her recently awakened hunger, they could at least satisfy her stomach.

She absently crunched on the nuts. Professionally speaking, she couldn’t have asked for a better setup. Rick had agreed, telling her postinterview that her choice of attire had worked wonders on the host, distracting him even while she drove each of her points home with a solid rubber mallet. No, she hadn’t expected Dr. Fairbanks to be there. But given his expression when he first spotted her sitting next to him, she guessed that he hadn’t, either. And when she realized he’d been the one to accidentally walk in on her in the shower that morning…well, suddenly this tour wasn’t half as boring as it had been.

Of course, a few of her racier comments later on in the show would have singed her mother’s eyebrows. Had her mother been listening. Which Gracie doubted. But Dylan’s choked reactions somehow had been more satisfying.

She couldn’t have asked for a better way to prove her theories than going nose-to-nose with one of the country’s premier masters of sexual inhibition.

A delicious shiver began just below her earlobes and traveled down to her toes. She stretched her feet out as far as they could go, then reached into her monster bag and fished out Dr. Dylan’s book. Nowhere to be found was a photo of him. Only a very brief bio outlining his professional experience. Which was impressive indeed. She had expected him to be a fiftyish, balding, overweight guy in glasses who got into spouting off about morality because he didn’t have a chance in hell of leading a more interesting life. But the real Dr. Dylan Fairbanks…well, he had turned out to be sexier than sin.

She remembered the way he had looked at her. Both this morning at the hotel, then at the station when they had indulged in off-air conversation. Something about him seemed to sizzle. He had an almost visible red aura that tempted her closer, made her want to see if all his professional doctrines could be put to better use with sexual expertise.

Her chewing slowed.

Was he a hypocrite? She’d run into her share of alpha males who preached to her about values with their mouths, while seeking her leg under the table with their hands. Behavior that always earned the offending male a meeting with the sharp prongs of her fork. She stuffed the book back into her bag next to a copy of her own. She didn’t think Dr. Dylan was that type. To the contrary, he appeared to adamantly believe every last word he’d written in his sexually repressed book. She leaned her head against the seat and stared up at the skyscrapers through the back window. Looking at the rain coming down that way seemed somehow surreal, magical.

Her cell phone chirped in her purse. She let it ring.

“Hey, lady, you gonna get that or what?”

“I was thinking or what.” Despite her response, she brushed the salt from her hands, then fished the noisy piece of plastic out. Rick, the display read. She punched the talk button. “I’m paying an arm and leg for a taxi drive through the park, Rick. This had better be good.”

“You should have told me you wanted to see the city. I could have gotten you on one of those Grayline Tours, or whatever they’re called. Anyway, this is good. More than good. I just got a call from the radio station. You’re not going to believe this. The number of callers was through the roof. Among the highest they’ve ever received.”

She slipped her shoes off, indulging in a wide smile. “Really?”

He laughed. “All that education and that’s the best you can do? You disappoint me, Dr. Mattias.”

“Hey, I’m enjoying the moment.”

“As well you should. I, of course, took the liberty of passing on the news to your publisher. They’re very happy.”

“Sure they are. More money for them.”

“More money for you.”

Grace’s smile slipped. The rain clouds soaking the city seemed to descend from the skies and settle around her shoulders.

Money had dictated so much of her life. Which were the best schools for her to attend? What latest designer was the most fashionable? Whose children were the best to be seen with? Her parents had tried to drill into her from a young age that money and success were all that mattered in life. She had spent much of that same life determined to prove them wrong. She’d dyed her hair green when she was eleven. Hung around with the “out” crowd. Majored in courses designed to make her mother’s lips disappear with disapproval.

She was well into her teens before she realized she was behaving like a spoiled little rich girl. Worse, she was committing a sin as bad as her parents’ by practicing reverse discrimination.

Since then, she had striven to base her judgments solely on the individual or the situation, not the balance of his or her bank account.

And she’d discovered that her major in human sexuality was something she enjoyed purely for the sake of enjoyment. Not because her parents choked whenever she discussed her studies at the dinner table.

She cleared her throat. “This isn’t about money, Rick. It never was.”

A heartbeat of a silence. “Then increase my salary. I won’t mind.”

She laughed and ran her toes along the sensitive bottom of her other foot.

“Enjoy your ride through the park, Gracie.”

“I fully intend to.”

She pressed the disconnect button and started to slip the phone back into her bag. Then she changed her mind and dialed her mother’s number. A glance at her watch told her it was past eleven. After brunch with the church ladies. Before lunch at whatever auxiliary meeting.

“Mattias residence.”

“Hõla, Consuela. It’s Grace. Is Mom around terrorizing the place?”

A soft giggle, then, “Just this morning she sez to me, ‘Consuela, I found wrinkle in bedspread. Completely unacceptable behavior. From now on make beds twice.”’

“Sounds like Mom all right.” All too much like Mom. A woman with a formidable education who had traded a career for her husband and daughter…and counting wrinkles in bedspreads. Gracie had never needed to look beyond her own mother for the reasons why she never wanted to marry. Her identity was too high a price to pay for a pair of warm feet to cuddle up to in bed at night. She’d always told herself she’d get a dog if she felt the need for constant companionship. Her parents’ marriage was proof positive that men asked for too much and gave up too little. It was enough to pick up her own socks. She didn’t want to have to pick up a husband’s, as well.

She leaned back and smiled, watching the vivid colors of autumn in Central Park sweep by as Consuela filled her in on a punctuation-challenged litany of her mother’s recent complaints. All of them nitpicky issues that probably would never have entered her mind if she looked beyond her house and husband and had a career of her own.

Consuela finally sighed, indicating she’d vented as much as she was going to that day. “You want you should talk to her?”

Gracie hesitated then bit her bottom lip. Not because she didn’t want to talk to her mother. But because the view outside her window was absolutely breathtaking. Only in New York could you blink your eyes like Samantha on Bewitched and move from city chic to abundant nature so quickly. She sighed. “Yeah, put her on. I haven’t done my bad deed for the day yet. I figure making her late for lunch should do it.”

Consuela told her to hold the line.

Grace trailed a finger down the steamed inside of the taxi window. Once, when she’d been home for spring break in her second year of college, she’d had the temerity to ask her mother if she’d ever achieved an orgasm. Despite her ongoing attempts to shock both her parents to the point of sputtering, she’d asked the question out of curiosity. Her parents had never seemed to share a physical closeness. They spent more time apart than together. And when they were together, they seemed occupied talking about which party to attend and who they should be seen with. The only time Gracie saw her mother actually touch her father was when she was picking invisible lint off his jacket before they left for social events. Even then, she did it in such a way so that no more than her fingertips brushed the material. When Gracie’s course material had concentrated on sexual frigidity, it was only natural that Gracie thought of her mother. Only natural that Gracie would want to apply her recently acquired knowledge to everyday life.

Her mother’s answer to the orgasm question had been the only time Grace had been slapped.

“Good heavens, Consuela, can’t you even see to the simple task of asking who it is?” Gracie heard her mother’s voice come over the line, followed by, “Hello?”

“Hi, Mom.”

“Gracie!” A fumbling of the phone. “Consuela, it’s Gracie.”

Gracie didn’t want to cause any more trouble for the good-humored housekeeper by pointing out to her mother that Consuela and she had already spoken, but it took mammoth effort.

“Hi, darling. What a surprise it is hearing from you. You’re never up this early.”

“I’m working, Mom. I’m on that promotional tour, remember? I did a radio interview this morning in New York.”

“Oh! Yes, of course. I must have forgotten.”

Gracie tucked her chin into her chest and bit her lip. She wasn’t sure if her mother actually did forget half the details of her only child’s life, or whether she preferred to ignore them.

“So are you nervous? No, pretend I didn’t ask that. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you nervous. Besides, you have that radio show you do every week. Why would you be nervous?”

“Actually, Mom, this was a different format, so I was a bit nervous. It’s over though, so I’m feeling pretty pleased with myself.” Gracie turned her head, watching as a young mother fastened the hood of a child’s raincoat. She smiled wistfully. Had her mother ever stood out in the middle of a downpour completely unprotected to make sure she had her coat fastened securely? Not that she could remember. Sounded like something she’d have the nanny or housekeeper see to.

She blindly reached again into her monster purse. Bypassing the bag of peanuts, she instead slid out a copy of her book. “Have you received the book yet?”

“The book…oh, right! I’m sure we have. In fact, I’m positive that we have. It must be around here somewhere. Why just this morning I’m sure I saw Consuela sneaking a peek between the covers.”

Ah, the self-protective reversion to “we” that her mother fell back on when she couldn’t quite face things on her own. Gracie wondered exactly who “we” encompassed. Her mother and her father? The entire household? Or the entire city of Baltimore? Gracie slowly ran her finger over the raised lettering, wondering at the hypersensitivity of her fingertip. “And you? Have you read it, Mom?”

A pause. Then a sigh. “No, dear, I’m afraid I haven’t. And I don’t think I will, either, if it’s all the same to you.”

“It isn’t all the same to me, Mom. I sent that copy especially for you. Not Dad. Not Consuela. It…” She sat up then straightened her skirt. An impossible task given its shortness. “It would mean a lot to me, Mom. I’d really like your input.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Grace. What good would my input do now? You couldn’t possibly change anything.”

“I don’t want to change anything. I just want you to read it. Can you do that for me?” Grace leaned her forehead against the glass, then rolled the window down and took a deep breath of the cool, damp air. Finally she laughed, then said, “Never mind, Mom. I wouldn’t want to make you do anything you’re uncomfortable with.”

“That’s my girl. I knew you’d come around if we talked about it, dear.”

But we haven’t talked about it. I’ve talked, you’ve stone-walled. Just another day in the life and times of Grace and Priscilla Mattias.

At any rate, she supposed she should be grateful she hadn’t gotten the usual “Grace, your biological clock’s ticking…there’s only a small number of suitable men out there and they’re all being snatched up by other women…are you ever going to settle down and give me grandkids” speech that punctuated most of her conversations with her mother.

“If it makes any difference, I’m glad your interview went well, Grace. And I’m happy that things are going the way…well, the way that you want them.”

What went unsaid was that “things” weren’t going the way her mother wanted them. “Thanks, Mom. I appreciate you saying that.” She leaned back into the seat and grabbed for her peanuts. Things were going just the way she wanted them. Her first book was taking off. She had her new bayside condo in Baltimore that was now being renovated. And she was enjoying every moment of making her own decisions without someone constantly breathing down her neck and asking her just what in the hell she thought she was doing.

She smiled to herself. Yes, she was very happy with her life, indeed. She popped a few peanuts into her mouth. “So tell me, Mom. Which problem do you hope to throw money at during lunch today?”

3

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.