“We are not hooking up again,” she sputtered.
At last, Erik met her gaze, smug grin still in place. “Well, not in the same sense, but I told you my thoughts on the matter. Fate is trying to tell us something.” Tossing her a quick wink, he turned his attention back to her uncle. “At any rate, Major, Dr. Jones has agreed to my condition of letting her pass me off onto someone else for therapy.”
Olivia knew her face had to be ten shades of red from Erik’s brazen comments, made worse by the fact that a sudden coughing fit attacked her godfather, no doubt to cover his barks of laughter.
“And what exactly is this condition,” Eddie asked after he’d calmed down.
“Good question, sir, but I’m afraid her condition was that she be the one to discuss it with you.” Erik looked at Olivia and gestured his upturned hand in Eddie’s direction. “Floor’s all yours, Doc.”
She glared at him with what she hoped were missiles shooting from her eyes, then did her best to compose herself. His childish antics didn’t matter, because this was where she pulled ahead and won this whole mess. As soon as she told Uncle Eddie Erik’s ludicrous idea of her going on three dates with him, this nonsense would finally end.
Clearing her throat as delicately as possible, she faced the man she’d known her entire life. “For the record, Lieutenant Grady has greatly exaggerated what happened between us Friday night. That being said, now that our identities are no longer anonymous, the lieutenant wants to pursue things further. I turned him down, of course, because I’m not looking to date anyone.”
“You’re not?” her uncle asked in that way that said he disagreed and wanted you to rethink your statement. She hated it when he did that. And anyway, what the hell? She hadn’t made her pathetic attempts at dating known to him yet. As far as he knew, she still wasn’t ready to move on.
“No,” she emphasized. “I’m not. Last weekend was a one-off, an experiment of sorts, and one in futility at that.” Erik dramatically cleared his throat. Olivia sighed and rolled her eyes. “However, I’ve agreed to go on three dates with him if…” Damn it, she couldn’t believe she was about to say this. “If you agree that I should. Now—”
“Absolutely.”
Olivia froze. “Excuse me?”
“I said absolutely. I think it’s a fantastic idea. Even if it’s going to a Sox game or one of those music festivals you young people like going to. And even if nothing comes of the dates romantically, at least you’ll have gone somewhere other than the office.”
She tried to come back with something witty and disproving—without revealing the truth—but all that came out was, “I go other places. How do you think I get groceries?” It’s official. My life is pathetic and has been proven as such in front of the sexiest man on the planet who’s already on extremely intimate terms with my vagina. Where’s a good coma when you need one?
“Don’t worry, Dr. Jones,” Eddie said. “You’ll be in good hands with the lieutenant here. I’m sure he wouldn’t act as anything less than the perfect gentleman, isn’t that right, son?”
“Oh, yes, sir,” Erik said with amusement tugging on just the one corner of his mouth. God, why did that hint of smugness have to be so damn sexy? “She’s fond of rules and boundaries, and I promise not to cross a single one.” His head swiveled to pin her with his golden gaze. “Not until she asks me to.”
The phone buzzed and Ruth’s voice came through, informing Uncle Eddie that his wife needed a minute of his time for an urgent question. He instructed Ruth to put the call through and excused himself. “This will only take a minute.”
As soon as her uncle had the phone receiver to his ear, Olivia whispered to the huge man standing next to her, but she kept her eyes forward. “‘Not until she asks me to’?” She scoffed. “I’d advise you not to hold your breath, Lieutenant.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it, Doc.” He chuckled softly. Then he leaned over so his words tickled her ear as they slid inside and shot straight to her sex. “The only breath I’ll be paying attention to is yours, Livvie. I’ll be watching, waiting for it to get shallow and heave those beautiful breasts, telling me you want me. Just. Like. Now.”
Cue sharp intake of breath. Fuck, fuck, fuckity fuck! She might as well hand over her body on a silver platter. What was wrong with her? It was like the man shorted out the power to her control center every time he got near. He was like the fricking Vagina Whisperer.
Aggravated with herself for not staying in control around him, and yet frustrated as hell because a big part of her that she’d rather not acknowledge wanted to do nothing but cede her control to him, Olivia spun on the balls of her shoes and strode out of Eddie’s office.
“Hey, where’re you going?”
She knew it was too much to ask that he stay behind. “To work,” she said without breaking stride or giving him the satisfaction of making eye contact. “You got your answer, so there’s no reason to loiter in Dr. Marion’s office. You need to go back and schedule an appointment, though, so you should probably do that.”
Cindi looked up from her desk as they approached at the speed of professional mall walkers. “Oh, you’re back. I have a client on the line one who…” Olivia felt Cindi’s eyes follow her as she kept right on going, heading for the women’s restroom. He wouldn’t be able to follow her in there. Then maybe he’d go away and stop tempting her to beg him to finally fuck her already.
With both hands, Olivia pushed open the swinging door and made her way to the long vanity of sinks. She didn’t even get as far as turning a faucet on before Erik was at her side. “You can’t be in here. It’s the ladies’ room, for shit’s sake, Erik.”
“I like it when you say my name, Livvie. My real name.” He stepped into her space, dominating her little bubble in the world.
Seconds. That’s how long she had left before her resolve to stay professional and unaffected crumbled into dust. “Please,” she whispered, her eyes beseeching him for a reprieve she didn’t entirely want. “I need some space. Some time to process and catch my brain up to the present, because I think it’s still in shock from seeing you walk through my door.” His eyes softened, the predatory glint no longer threatening her. Or exciting her. Shit, make up your damn mind, Olivia! “You may not know this, but you have a very…overwhelming way about you, and it’s just a little much for me right now. Okay? So you win on all counts. Congratulations. Now will you please just go.”
Olivia forced herself to shut up. There was only so much pleading she’d allow herself, even for him. Erik reached up to stroke the backs of his knuckles down her cheek as he studied her, a myriad of things he wasn’t saying flashing in those amber pools.
“I’ll dial back my more…overwhelming,” he said, emphasizing her description of him, “traits for now. Don’t mistake it for anything other than respecting your wishes. It won’t mean that my interest in you has diminished. But after I walk out of here, I promise to back off the heavy stuff, as long as you promise that eventually you’ll come around and honor your part. I want those dates, Livvie. I want a chance with you. Deal?”
She nodded, unblinking, for fear she’d miss a moment of the desire so plain on his face. Desire for her. His voice rumbled through her as he grasped her hand and lifted it to his lips to place a warm kiss on the inside of her palm.
“Until next time, Livvie.”
She didn’t move, didn’t even breathe, as he gave her a smile that promised she’d be thinking about him later while giving her vibrator a workout. He had her so dazed that it wasn’t until he left the bathroom that she realized he’d tucked something into her hand before walking away.
Turning it over, she opened her fingers and felt her cheeks flush bright red. The same color as her missing thong, now crumpled in her palm… How inhaling your scent makes me instantly hard. “You’re in big trouble, missy,” she informed her reflection. “Big, big trouble.”
Chapter Seven
It’d been all of five hours before Erik tried taking adva
ntage of the deal Olivia had agreed to in her godfather’s office. He’d called her work line, which always rang at her assistant’s desk first unless Cindi was absent. The short beep on Olivia’s phone preceded Cindi’s voice coming through the intercom speaker.
“Hey, boss, there’s a hot fireman on line one.”
Olivia’s hand stuttered on the legal pad where she’d been taking notes, making her scribble mid-word. She grimaced at the mark, hating how it ruined the neatness of the entire page. A fitting metaphor for the man now disrupting her orderly world.
She sighed and set her pen down. “Forward him to Ruth, Cindi. I told you he’s Ed’s client now.”
“Yes, I know, but he wants to speak with you.”
Olivia snorted. “I just bet he does,” she mumbled.
Too bad she didn’t want to speak with him. Not after the humiliation she had suffered at his blunt statements to Eddie about their recent history. Nope, she had no desire to talk to him today, and the near future wasn’t looking too promising, either.
Her spine snapped straight as an idea came to her. Maybe if she kept putting him off, he’d give up. Not that she planned on reneging on her end of the deal, but if the man decided he had better fish to fry, Olivia couldn’t be blamed for that.
Surely no “piece of ass” was worth so much effort for a sex god like Erik Grady. Even he had to know that his theory of fate giving them signs was flimsy at best and a total bullshit line at worst. Right now, she held his interest because she hadn’t thrown herself at him upon their second meeting, but Olivia knew the challenge would thrill him for only so long. She wasn’t the type of woman who inspired men to wage wars or even cross a room. Helen of Troy, she was not. She gave it a week before he moved on.
“Put him to my voicemail,” she told Cindi. “And I mean every time he calls. He’s not my client, and I don’t accept personal calls at work.”
“What? Since wh—”
“Cindi.”
“Okay, got it.” After a short pause, Cindi said, “I’m guessing you don’t want me giving him your cell number, either.”
“You guessed correctly.”
Cindi’s frustrated sigh came through loud and clear. “As your assistant, I say, ‘Aye-aye, Captain.’”
Olivia lowered her eyes to the speaker as though Cindi lived in the base of her phone like a sassy genie in a speaker box. “But as my friend?” she asked ruefully.
Though the words were probably meant to be harsh, Cindi’s tone was more gentle than the tough love she was going for. “As your friend, I say you’re a complete idiot.”
The beep signaled the end of the connection and about thirty seconds later, the voicemail indicator lit up. She forced herself to ignore it as she finished her paperwork for the day, but it hadn’t been easy. The incessant blinking was about as nonintrusive as a glaucoma test at the optometrist.
When she was satisfied that everything was ready for the next day, she grabbed her things and strode across her office. Olivia made it all the way to the door before stopping, her hand on the knob as the memory of that damn blinking light taunted her from behind.
“Don’t do it, Olivia. Don’t fall down the rabbit hole,” she warned herself.
She lasted all of five seconds before huffing in defeat and returning to listen to whatever it was Erik had to say. When the automated voice announced that she had three new messages, her stomach flipped. That couldn’t be good, could it? Pressing the button, she braced herself to hear Erik’s deep voice.
Beeeeep.
“Hey, Doc. I was hoping to get your cell, but Cindi’s not allowed to give it out, and you must be with a client. My number is 617-555-2469. Shoot me a text so I can save you in my contacts.”
Beeeeep.
“Me again. I forgot to tell you how incredibly beautiful you looked today. I suddenly have a thing for glasses and pencil skirts. I didn’t think it was possible for you to be any sexier than you were the night we met. I was wrong. Later, gorgeous.”
Beeeeep.
“Fun fact. My senior year of high school I was voted Most Likely to Date a Woman Named Olivia, and I refuse to show up to the next reunion a failure. Have a good night, Doc. Be talkin’ to you soon.”
Dear God, the man was a nuisance. A sexy, dominant, giver-of-mind-blowing-orgasms nuisance. “Shit, I’m so screwed.”
Later that evening, as she sat curled up on her couch with her cats, Ben and Jerrys, enjoying a bowl of Chunky Monkey and a glass of wine (because she was classy like that) while binge-streaming Arrow on Netflix (because maybe his abs reminded her of a certain firefighter’s), her phone chimed with an email notification. Most likely an office memo, but she had to make sure it wasn’t one of her clients.
Keeping her eyes glued to a shirtless Stephen Amell on the salmon ladder, she absently swiped her phone screen to bring up her email app and then paused the show before glancing down at her inbox. “Oh crap,” she grumbled. Now she wished it’d been a simple office memo. Instead, she stared at the name of a very persistent suitor with the subject line reading “Mistake.”
What was a mistake? His attempt at keeping her as his therapist? The request for the dates? Her brows scrunched together as she bit down on her lip. The night we spent together?
That one word could mean so many different things, and not one of them gave her the warm fuzzies she told herself they should. Downing the last of her wine, she set the glass on the end table and thumbed the email open with all the enthusiasm of a bomb expert cutting one of several red wires.
From: Grady, Erik
Subject: Mistake
Doc,
Your assistant seems to think you don’t want to take my calls, but I’m sure what you said is that you can’t wait to take my calls. Honest mistake, really. Please don’t fire her on my account.
Talk to you tomorrow,
E
Groaning in frustration, Olivia buried her face in a throw pillow and let her body fall to the side, displacing her sleeping cats from their spots on the couch.
The next two weeks passed with more of the same, with him leaving a few messages every day in varying forms: voicemail, email, and even leaving messages with Cindi to pass along. However, he’d stopped insisting that Olivia didn’t mean to avoid him and instead talked about all things random. It was like giving her snippets of some imaginary conversation of inane topics going on between them.
Wednesday, he’d left a voicemail.
“Hey, it’s me. Did you catch the game? I’m originally from Georgia, so I grew up rooting for the Braves, but you can’t live in this town for long without converting to the Mandatory Religious Order of the Red Sox. It was a great game until they got robbed in the eighth from that shit call by the blind-as-a-bat ump. Anyway, I hope your Hump Day is going well. No, scratch that. The only reason I want any humping going well for you is if I’m involved. With that in mind, the day’s still young and I’m available for house calls. Later, Livvie.”
Monday morning she’d received an email.
From: Grady, Erik
Subject: Crime Scene Spaghetti
Doc,
I’m writing to inform you of your involvement in a cooking catastrophe. Turns out I haven’t been getting a lot of sleep lately due to the hours I spend staring helplessly at my cell, waiting for you to take pity on a desperate man and contact me about our pending dates.
Yesterday, it was my turn to host the game-day dinner, which means the guys expect me to make my mom’s famous homemade spaghetti. It’s not difficult, but the sauce needs to simmer with the Italian sausage for several hours, requiring a close watch and frequent stirring.
However, my recent bouts of insomnia—again, just a reminder that you are the reason for said bouts—caused me to fall asleep at the kitchen table. When I didn’t wake up to their knocks, Dozer used his key, and I woke up to the guys shouting and shaking me like a CPR dummy.
Confused, I looked around to find myself and my kitchen covered in a red spray pattern that wo
uld give the BPD’s CSI unit a serious hard-on. Unfortunately, the men of BFD’s Rescue 2 company weren’t nearly as amused. I got the feeling they were more upset about the ruined state of dinner than if I’d actually been the vic of a brutal crime. But don’t worry, I took the blame, so you’re in the clear.
Have a good day, gorgeous.
E
She’d almost choked on her coffee from trying to hold in her laughter and had to break out the emergency outfit she kept in her office closet on the off chance (frequent occasion) she spilled something on herself during the day. She fully intended on sending him the dry-cleaning bill. Probably. Maybe.
But those instances were highly innocuous compared to the ones he saved for her assistant. Several days after the spaghetti email, Olivia walked into the office and stopped by her friend’s desk like she did every morning. “Good morning, Cin. Anything for me?”
“Morning, boss, and yes,” Cindi said, picking up the pink pad for taking messages. As she relayed each one, she tore off the note and handed it to Olivia. “Mr. Kramer’s wife called and said he won’t be making it to his appointment today due to a nasty case of the flu. Ms. Esperanza would like to know if you can authorize a refill on her scrip. And Lieutenant Grady wanted you to know that he liked the red but, for future reference, thinks pale blue would be even more stunning.”
Olivia froze and gasped. “No. He. Did. Not,” she whispered, emphasizing each syllable like rapid strikes of a hammer on a nail.
“Oh yes. He. Did.” Olivia glared at Cindi for mimicking her with the addition of a wide smile and mischief shining in her eyes. The cool look didn’t faze her assistant in the least as she propped her chin in her hands and asked, “What’s he talking about? Is it underwear? It sounds like he’s talking about underwear.” Cindi clasped her hands together and gazed up at the ceiling. “Please God, let him be talking about her underwear.”
Snatching the message away, Olivia tried to hide the smile at her friend’s antics with a scowl. “You’re completely off your rocker, you know that? Maybe you should make an appointment for yourself. Employees get a discount.”
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