Dr. Orgasm (A Holiday Romance Collection Book 2)

by Michelle Love

  “Yeah, very soon. Just gotta clear up some stuff-then I’m all yours. You cooking?”

  They both laughed. “Pizza it is, then,” Norah said. “I’ll pick it up on the way home. Do we have beer?”

  There was a pause. “Well, we did until last night.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Okay. Hey, did Ziggy eat his breakfast?” Ziggy was their ancient St. Bernard crossed with a barrel on legs. Lately he had stopped eating so much.

  “Yep, all of it.” Lucian sounded like a proud daddy.

  “Oh, good. O Okay, be home soon.”

  “Love you.”

  She hesitated, then smiled. “Love you too.”

  Norah went back up to her little office above the bookshop. Her freelance graphic design company—consisting of just Norah and her uber-organized work ethic—was beginning to take off and she found herself spending less time in the bookstore she ran with her almost-sister-in-law and best friend, Zulika. It was a blessing and a curse, she thought now as she glanced through the endless emails she’d received. As much as her first love was art and design, she loved the laid-back pace and friendly atmosphere of their San Francisco store. Now that Russian Hill was an up and coming “hip” area, their clientele had tripled in the three years they had been open. The store, all dark wood bookshelves and large, comfortable couches, had added a coffee machine in the last year, which had drawn many people in, and they had recently expanded into the empty store front next door, adding tables where writers could sit and work. Ziggy also took up residence, making friends with the customers and their dogs.

  Norah, at twenty-eight, was completing her Ph.D. in graphic design part-time as well as working, and sometimes the work seemed overwhelming. She wondered if she had missed the signs that her relationship of five years with Lucian Hargity was beginning to unravel and whether it was her fault for working too hard. She’d even said as much to Zulika—Lucian’s step-sister—but Zulika had merely rolled her eyes. “If my brother can’t handle a successful woman, that’s on him, not you.”

  Zulika and Lucian were not close, but Norah and Zulika were, and so Zulika put up with her brother. Her mother had married Lucian’s father after both being widowed, but the marriage had been a disaster and lasted less than five years. It had cost Zulika’s mother her health and when she died, Zulika went to her best friend for comfort: Norah. The two had met in college and become as close as sisters; they’d earned the name “the twins” because they were always together. Looks-wise, the only thing they shared was their long, dark hair. Norah, with her dark beauty inherited from her Indian mother, dark brown eyes, and soft, warm smile, was tall and curvaceous, whereas Zulika, her sapphire-blue eyes large behind black-rimmed spectacles, was athletic and slender. They shared a silly sense of humor as well as sharp intelligence and street-smarts. Despite never being apart for long, they enjoyed each other’s company.

  Norah considered Zulika her family and when she had met her step-brother, Lucian, it seemed the orphaned Norah had found her family. It was only later that she discovered that Zulika had been dismayed at the relationship between her best friend and step-brother. It had bugged her ever since, but to Zulika’s credit, she had never bad-mouthed Lucian to Norah or interfered in their relationship.

  Five years later, and Norah felt as if something major—something bad—was about to happen. Lucian had been distant, distracted, and even cold. They rarely made love anymore, both exhausted from work. Lucian worked for a major PR company in the Bay Area and his work often took him down to Los Angeles or over to New York. Yes, that was it, Norah told herself, it was work …except …She knew from Zulika that Lucian was relatively junior in his role. At thirty-one and not long out of college—where he had struggled to maintain higher marks—he was still working his way up the ladder. Norah wondered if all of his trips were actually work and not …

  No. Stop thinking about it. An affair? Norah was horrified by her own thought process. She would rather think the worst of him than accept that his trips were genuine. It wasn’t fair to Lucian. But she couldn’t shake the feeling that he was treading water with her.

  She pushed the thought out of her mind—something she had a lot of practice with—and it wasn’t until there was a soft knock on the door that she looked up from her work. The sun was getting low in the window and, for August, that meant it was getting late.

  “Yes?”

  The door opened and Lucian stuck his dark blonde head around it. “Hey, you.”

  Norah was surprised. “Hey …I thought I was meeting you at home.”

  “I thought I would surprise you—and say hi to my little sister. She’s serving a customer, so I thought I’d come up.”

  “The store’s still open …sorry. I mean, hi,” she chuckled and kissed him. Lucian was a typical preppy archetype—handsome, well-maintained …bland. What had attracted her to him in the first place …Norah was ashamed that she couldn’t remember, but she knew she had loved him once. Now …didn’t all relationships turn into this? Friends with benefits? If you could describe their stale sex life as a benefit.

  They went back downstairs to see Zulika finally locking the store up. She grinned at Norah, half-ignoring her stepbrother.

  “You will not believe the sale I just made; that complete leather-bound Dickens collection? Sold, baby.”

  Norah’s jaw dropped. “The five-thousand dollar set?”

  “The very one.”

  “Holy moly …we’ve had that for years.”

  Zulika grinned at Norah. “You wanna make out with me?”

  “Always.”

  “Okay, it just got weird.” Lucian pretended to be sick.

  “Yeah, but if I wasn’t your sister …”

  “Dude, stop. You really have no filter, huh?”

  Zulika shook her head. “Nah. Not much of one. By the way, I have news. I have a date.”

  Lucian and Norah looked at each other, then at Zulika.

  “Holy hell.” Norah’s eyes were wide.

  “Did the skies darken?” Lucian checked outside the window.

  “Oh, you’re both so fucking funny.” Zulika gave them both the finger, but she grinned and chuckled.

  “When’s the first date?”

  “Tomorrow night. Oh, I was going to ask a huge favor.” Zulika fluttered her eyelashes at Norah. “It would be really nice if, say, I at least attempted to look like a lady. And seeing as I don’t own anything …”

  Norah smiled. Zulika was always borrowing from Norah’s beloved collection of vintage dresses and Norah kept a few of them upstairs in her office for “emergencies” just like this one. “Yes. Here.” She threw her door key to Zulika. “Go nuts. Just don’t wreck it.”

  Zulika kissed her cheek. “You’re the best.”

  She and Lucian laughed at the speed with which Zulika scooted out of the door. Lucian shook his head.

  “Poor guy doesn’t stand a chance.”

  Norah grinned. “Who is it anyways? Not Rufus?” She looked hopeful and Lucian grinned.

  “You wish, Reddy. How long have you been trying to finagle that? Two, three years?”

  Norah tapped her head. “I’m telling you, it’ll happen. I know things.”

  Lucian hooted. “Oh, you know things. Tell me, O Wise One, why do you want them to get together?”

  “Because they are perfect for each other. Zulika is gorgeous, Rufus is cute, and he makes her laugh.”

  Lucian’s smile was fond—and a little patronizing. “Is that really all you look for in a man?”

  Norah flushed at the slight. “That …along with kindness and fidelity.” She couldn’t resist the snark and she watched something flicker in Lucian’s eyes. He didn’t rise to the bait though. “Come on, you. Let’s get home to the dog. Both he and I are starving.”

  Norah relented a little. “I can rustle up dog-food pizza for both of you?”

  Lucian laughed. “Yum. Now I’m really hungry.”

  “Gross.”

  That made him la
ugh even harder. “Let’s see, do I fancy beef chunks in gravy? Chicken in jelly?”

  Norah made a gagging face. “Stop, please.” He laughed, caught her by the waist, and pulled her into his arms, kissing her tenderly. It was a sweet, loving kiss, but Norah felt herself tense up. Lucian noticed and his smile faded.

  “Let’s go. I’m bushed.” He walked out of the door in front of her and got into his own car, not waiting for her to follow him on the way back to their Palo Alto home.

  For a brief second, Norah considered not going home, staying there, pulling out the little temporary cot they kept upstairs for emergencies, and sleeping there. If it wasn’t for Ziggy …

  Norah sighed and, starting her car, followed Lucian out of the city.

  Giacomo Conti was bored. Yet another cocktail party with people he had nothing in common with, yet another evening wasted when he could be working, or reading, or hanging out with his own, more sedate friends. But then again, he reasoned, Tara was willing to appear with him for public events whenever he needed her, so it was only fair. He looked across at her now, seeing her blonde hair falling to her shoulders, her petite, doll-like features, and her long, long legs. Tara Hubert was the world’s highest-paid supermodel and she was with him. Giacomo Conti was a self-made billionaire, an Italian geek whose brilliance within the technology field had sent his career into the stratosphere when he was just nineteen.

  Almost half a lifetime and now he was bored. His company, Conti-Tech, was competing with the Googles and Facebooks of the world and was on target to be a trillion-dollar company any day now. Yet Giacomo found himself envious of the lives his friends led—more sedate and less shallow. As teachers, writers, artist, and lawyers, they didn’t work any less hard for what they had; it was just their fields didn’t pay as much, apart from the lucky few. Giacomo’s best friend and his brother in arms, Orlando Price, was a school teacher in one of the city’s poorest schools, and yet the results he had with his kids, the hope and inspiration he imparted, was priceless. Giacomo’s evenings with Orlando, his wife, Carmel, and their seven-year-old daughter, Ferma, were his absolute favorite times. Tara never joined them. She had little time for the “little” people, and she and Carmel had no time for each other whatsoever. Tara’s beauty was icy and cold, whereas Carmel’s dark good looks were sensual and exciting. Tara was jealous, so when Giacomo insisted on spending time with his friends, Tara always cried off—to everyone’s relief.

  And now …Giacomo realized he hadn’t been listening to the man talking to him, but there was a good reason. Tara was cheating on him. Giacomo had suspected it for months and now he had a name to go with his suspicions: Lucian Hargity. Giacomo had had his private detectives follow Tara for the last three months, document and photograph every time she met with the man, and build a portfolio that, when Giacomo confronted her, Tara would not be able to deny.

  It had been Carmel who had started him thinking. She’d mentioned she’d seen Tara in the city with another man months previously, not realizing that Tara had told Giacomo that she would be in New York for work. Carmel had been horrified to think she had casually blurted out the evidence of Tara’s cheating, but Giacomo had reassured her it had been for the best. Carmel had shaken her head angrily.

  “Giacomo, I know it shouldn’t be my business, but don’t ever bring that woman here again. I don’t take her cheating on you lightly.”

  There had been a nasty incident a few weeks later when the two women had come face-to-face. Carmel had to be restrained by her husband as Tara bitched at her about Giacomo’s emersion in work, and she couldn’t help blurting out that at least Giacomo knew about loyalty. Tara had asked her what she meant by that and Carmel had snarled at her. “You know.”

  Giacomo had feigned innocence when Tara asked him about it and Carmel had apologized to Giacomo for her mouth. “It gets away from me sometimes,” she said ruefully, hugging him. “I just can’t stand the fact that she had the nerve to cheat on you.”

  Giacomo had hugged her tightly. “Don’t worry, Bella. I’ll handle it.”

  Since then, he had bided his time, burying himself in work as his detectives gathered the evidence. Only today he had been at a meeting—completely disengaged—that afterward he had decided to go to the workplace of Hargity’s girlfriend and sister. He had donned a baseball cap over his dark curls and stuck some Wayfarers on his face to cover his distinctive green eyes.

  At thirty-seven, Giacomo Conti was considered one of the world’s handsomest, most eligible (said the women’s magazines, choosing to forget his relationship with Tara) bachelors. His tall, darkly handsome face was saved from being generic by the brooding, almost dangerous set of his green eyes rimmed by thick, black lashes, his chin dimple, and his strong jaw. His black hair was left to grow in wild curls, and he was a man who could make both a Saville Row suit and an Abercrombie and Fitch sweater look good. His broad shoulders, slim hips, and long legs contributed to his demeanor, and on the rare occasion that he smiled, it lit up the room.

  Giacomo knew he was good looking and did not believe in false modesty. When he was younger, he had screwed his way across Italy, then Europe, and finally, the world. His sexual prowess was legendary. Giacomo deliberately let the world think he was a playboy and as deep as a puddle. It suited him to know that the real Giacomo was still that little geek playing with computers in his small house in Trani. His small circle of “real” friends knew him as “Jack” and knew the fun-loving, loyal, big-hearted man beneath the image. He trusted few people with the truth …especially not women.

  So, when Tara’s infidelity came to light, he hadn’t been that shocked. And today, when he’d gone to the little bookshop, Anthology, in the Russian Hill district, he had been pleasantly surprised at the laid-back feel and the friendliness. The giant St. Bernard had taken a shine to him and sat with him as he drank the superb coffee and watched the two women who ran the shop. Giacomo could barely take his eyes off the taller woman, Tara’s lover’s girlfriend. Her sweet smile, her easy, infectious laughter, her patient way with customers, and her literary knowledge spoke to Giacomo in a way he’d never felt.

  He’s cheating on you, lovely girl? Idiot, he thought in disbelief. When the phone had rung and the younger woman had yelled out the bastard’s name, Giacomo had felt immediately on edge—almost jealous, almost wanting to yell at her to ignore it and that the figlio di puttana wasn’t good enough for her. He’d watched her face break into a smile and couldn’t do it. He couldn’t break this lovely girl’s heart.

  He’d left soon after, unable to stand it. At home, he hadn’t been able to resist Googling her. Norah Reddy, part owner of The Anthology Bookstore and also a freelance graphic designer. He looked through her online portfolio and was impressed. He called Sebastien, his longtime personal assistant, and asked him to set up a meeting with her. “I think we might find her useful for the some of the campaigns we have coming up,” He told Seb. Also, she’s gorgeous and I want to see her again. He grinned to himself as he hung up. Two birds with one stone. If he could harness the woman’s obvious talent and get that beautiful body into his bed …opportunity and revenge in one go.

  He smiled to himself again now as the cocktail party droned on. Watching Tara network and flirt with the men in the room (Giacomo knew Tara barely registered the other women, knowing she was the most beautiful woman there), he wondered how he had ever gotten involved with her. She was so totally opposite of what he was attracted to, but then again, five years ago he’d been reeling from the death of his grandparents—cancer, within weeks of each other—and he’d dealt with it by drinking and numbing the pain by screwing around. Tara had seen his sadness and moved in, telling him she was what he needed.

  He felt a pang of sadness now. Yes, he had needed her then and he couldn’t help but know that he was partially responsible for the fracture in their relationship now. He was obsessed with his work and passionate about what he could achieve. He had neglected her and Tara wasn’t a woman to neglect. He
’d seen the disgust in her eyes when she looked at him. Maybe he should just cut her free.

  His phone beeped—a message from Orlando. Dinner with Carmel and me, Friday?

  Giacomo smiled. “Yes, god, please.” Hell, yes. Send black-ops to get me out of this party.

  Ha ha. Grit your teeth. See you Friday, buddy.

  Giacomo sighed. What he wouldn’t give to have a time machine now. Still, he had no meetings tomorrow as yet …so he could always go spend some time in that little bookshop …

  He pushed the thought away and went to get his drink refilled.

  Carmel gently took the headphones off her sleeping husband’s head. Orlando was stretched lengthways on their couch, his breath coming out in tiny snores. She kissed his forehead and smoothed a finger down his face. His arm, solid and muscular, slipped from his chest and hit the floor. He stirred, grumbled softly, and turned onto his side, still muttering. Carmel suppressed a laugh. She moved around the living room, picking up empty bottles, cups, sheet music, and student papers. It was a wonder any students got the correct papers back from their favorite music teacher. Orlando’s organization skills were not exactly a gift. Carmel stacked everything that looked school-related carefully on the small desk in the corner of the room, catching them as they slipped out of her grip.

  As she tidied, she glanced out the window of their small home and froze. A movement caught her eye—someone moving away from the window. Their neighborhood was safe and it shook her to see that. Not least because, for the last few weeks, she had had a creeping feeling that she was being followed or watched. Carmel wasn’t a woman who scared easily, but it had been insidious, and whenever she had been alone, out in the city or on her way to work, she had become more paranoid. She hadn’t said anything to Orlando, not wanting to worry him until she knew for sure.

  Now, though, if whoever was following her—if they actually existed—was coming to her house …No. No way, buster. Not with my daughter asleep upstairs.

  She opened the front door and stepped out onto the porch, peering into the gloom. The street—which was tree-lined and still somewhere the kids could play outside—was empty, except for Jason, the elderly man down the street, who waved at her. She waved back, smiling. Jason was in a wheelchair and hardly likely to be peering in their high windows.