by Erin Hayes
Table of Contents
Doctor Jekyll’s Mr. Hydes
About the Author
Dr. Jekyll’s Mr. Hydes
A Paranormal Reverse Harem Novella
Erin Hayes
Erin Hayes Books
Dr. Jekyll’s Mr. Hydes © Copyright 2017 Erin Hayes Books
Editing by Lindsay Galloway
Cover Design by Melody Simmons
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Contents
Doctor Jekyll’s Mr. Hydes
About the Author
Doctor Jekyll’s Mr. Hydes
Sometimes, I wish I didn’t have to maintain a professional relationship with my clients.
Trust me, I know how bad that sounds—that a well-respected, Ivy League-educated psychiatrist would be thinking inappropriate thoughts about her clients. I even cringe just thinking about it now, because it feels so damn wrong. I shouldn’t be having these feelings. Not by a long stretch of the imagination.
But then again, they don’t tell you in school that a man could walk into your office that would just set your heart on fire.
Such as one Edward Hyde, who’s sitting in a chair opposite me. So close, yet so far away.
I have to sit with my legs crossed to quell the rising heat between them, have to have my clipboard over my lap as a shield against myself, have to keep my pen in my hands, because all I want to do is run my fingers through his hair. His dark, beautiful hair that glints mahogany in the light of my office. I pay too much attention to how his long eyelashes cast shadows on his chiseled cheeks.
I’d chosen this location for my practice because of the nice northern light that comes in through the windows every day. Yet, now I realize it’s a curse because it just makes Edward—excuse me, Mr. Hyde—look angelic as he sits on the chaise. I had meant to create a positive, light atmosphere here for my patients, and apparently, the most good it does is make him look like the hero in my dreams.
It doesn’t help that Edward—shit, Mr. Hyde, you have to think of him as Mr. Hyde, Grace—smiles as he speaks, his emerald green eyes going to a place far away. One where I want him to take me.
I run my teeth along my lower lip to keep myself from opening my mouth. To keep myself from saying something I’ll regret.
“Do you ever feel like you’re different people, Dr. Jekyll?” Mr. Hyde looks at me curiously, peering through those webs of lashes. “Do you ever feel like you’re pulled in many directions at once? That your body isn’t your own?”
I manage to give him a serene smile. “Sometimes, I wish I were a different person, Mr. Hyde.” Like someone who is not your therapist. “I think it’s a natural part of the human experience—to wonder what it’s like to be someone else.”
He nods absently, a lock of dark hair falling across his forehead. “I mean,” he says, “do you ever feel like there are…different people inside you?”
I frown. “How do you mean?”
“Like…there are other versions of yourself? Trapped inside you? That want to come out?” There’s almost fear in his eyes as he watches me, like I’m going to judge him based on this line of questioning.
I twist the cap on the end of my pen as I consider his words. “Are you speaking of dissociative identity disorder?” I ask quietly. “Otherwise known as multiple personality disorder?”
He shrugs, his crisp, white shirt stretching across his muscular shoulders with the movement. “I guess so?”
I look down at my notes, where, woefully, I haven’t written that much during our appointment. All I have are, “Edward Hyde. Edward. Edward. Mr. Hyde. Mrs. Hyde.” Like I’m some sort of high school girl writing her crush’s name over and over again in her notebooks.
How embarrassing.
I shift, trying to keep my clipboard out of view so he doesn’t see. I force my thoughts back to the appointment at hand. “What makes you think you have DID, Edwar—Mr. Hyde?”
Shit.
A grin flits across his full, kissable lips as he catches my slip. Some doctors call their patients by their first names, and there’s no harm in that. In fact, I’m on a first-name basis with most of my patients, and Edward has been coming to my practice every week for the past four months. I’ve kept that barrier between us, always calling him by his last name.
Or at least tried to, miserably.
“Sometimes I’m not myself, Grace,” he says slowly, and I feel myself flush that he used my first name. Is that an invitation? One to signal that it’s all right to pursue this in other ways? I know a few friends of mine who could take him on as a patient.
How do you even broach that subject? Hey, I know you’ve been seeing me as your therapist, but how would you like it if we tried seeing each other outside of the clinical setting?
It would never work. It could never work. If I value my reputation, I really shouldn’t even try.
“You’re not yourself?” I ask. Damn, my voice sounds somewhat strangled. “Can you tell me what you mean by that?”
The corners of his lips turn down. “Like…I go somewhere else while someone else takes over.”
“Where do you go?”
He shrugs. “Nowhere bad or anything. I just don’t feel in control of myself at those points.”
“And who takes over?”
He snickers softly. “A better version of me.”
I blink, trying to think how any version of him could be better. And, to my utter disappointment, I realize that I want to meet this supposed different version of him. Or at least the part of him that he considered better.
I clear my throat. “I think you’re being too hard on yourself,” I say.
“Am I?” Those green eyes turn to me. “Am I being hard on myself?”
I tap the tip of my pen against the clipboard. “What makes you think this…this other you is better?”
I may be asking for my interests, too.
His brows furrow together as he considers my question. “Well, one’s more confident than me. He gets all the ladies and—”
“Wait, there’s more than one?” I don’t mean to interrupt him, but I’m probably too invested in this whole fantasy of Edward and me by now to stop.
“Two, actually,” he says matter-of-factly.
“So there’s one confident one. And then there’s…?”
He smirks. “The intelligent one.”
I sit back. “And you don’t find any of these qualities within yourself?”
“Oh, I do,” Edward says. “I do. But it’s like they exemplify the best parts of me, while I’m…somewhere in the middle.”
“Which isn’t a bad thing.” Not a bad thing at all.
“Thanks.” He regards me for a moment before shifting his entire body to face me on the chaise. I find myself gulping back the sudden lump in my throat becau
se he looks so damn good like that. How his pressed shirt is tucked into his chinos. The lines of his narrow hips. His long legs.
He really doesn’t consider himself to be the best?
“Do you think—” he starts, and he nervously licks his lips. Damn, that’s so sexy, I have to hide the delicious shiver that runs through my spine at the vision of his tongue playing on his lips. “Do you think that this makes me damaged? That I’m—the three versions of me—are unlovable?”
Okay, now I’m wondering where this conversation is going.
I flick my eyes to the clock, and never before have I been so glad to see that it’s three o’clock. The end of our session. Usually I dread the end, because that means I won’t see him for another week, but I know that I’ll need all week to process his question before the next appointment.
I don’t know how to answer that. Not now, at least.
I take in a shuddering breath and force a smile. “That will have to wait, because time’s up.”
He glances at the clock as well and wistfully sighs. “Well, damn.”
I give him a regretful look as we both stand. “Always a pleasure, Mr. Hyde.”
He takes my hand in his, and his hand is so much bigger than mine, rough with calluses and ever so many. “The pleasure is all mine, Grace.”
Shit, he called me “Grace” again. And I have to hold back the girlish giggle that wants to escape. “See you next week,” I say as I walk him to the door.
He gives me one last grin before nodding. “Possibly even sooner,” he says softly.
I open my mouth to ask what he means by that, but he’s already turned away and my door shuts behind him. Leaving me alone in my office, shocked at what he said.
What does he mean “possibly even sooner?”
Is he expecting to run into me during the week? Is he hinting that I should call him? Or that he’ll call me for a date?
“Ah, shit,” I mutter, glancing up at the clock again.
I do have a date tonight. With this wonderful, smart, and sexy man I’ve been seeing named Ned. We’ve been seeing each other for about a month now—not exclusive, and nothing’s ever gone further than a kiss good night—but someone I really, really like.
How could I have forgotten him with Edward in the room?
I’m really out of it, aren’t I? And my license to practice depends on me keeping that distance between Edward and me. On keeping Ned top of mind while I watch Edward talk to me about his different personalities.
I gnaw at my bottom lip and give a self-deprecating laugh.
“Keep it together, Grace,” I murmur. “You’ve got a lot coming your way. Keep your head screwed on straight.”
How could I, though, when there are two men—Edward and Ned—who captivate me in ways I never imagined?
Scratch that. There are actually three men who have captivated me.
My neighbor Teddy is one of them.
“Hey, Grace.”
I nearly stumble on the last step up the stairs leading to the third level, where my apartment faces Valencia Street in the Mission in San Francisco. There are four other apartments on this level, and Teddy’s is the one furthest from mine.
You wouldn’t believe that based on how often we bump into each other. How many times he’s there to make sure I get home all right after a long day at the office. How many times I find excuses to knock on his door and ask for a cup of sugar.
Oh yeah. I’ve asked for sugar many times. And he’s given it to me. The confection, unfortunately. Not other kinds of sugar.
“Hey,” I say.
I give a hasty smile to Teddy as he stands in the hallway, his French bulldog Pugsly on a leash. They must be coming back from their walk. Teddy once told me that he named the little guy Pugsly because he thought he was a pug. I laughed until I had tears streaming down my face.
And Teddy had joined in, too.
I realized then that there’s something so sexy about a man who can laugh at himself like that. It exudes confidence and a good-natured disposition. I remember blushing, feeling starstruck at the laugh that came from deep down, the kind of laugh that one has with close friends.
No wonder Edward feels jealous of his other versions. Because confidence apparently goes a long way for me and any other woman.
Since then, well, there’s always been this tension between the two of us. Sure, I’ve fantasized about my neighbor, had those nights where I’ve had a bit too much wine and stood at the door leading out of my apartment. Wondering if I should go down the hall to his apartment, knock, and wait for him to answer. And when he answers, I throw my arms around him, tell him that it’s just for this night, and he fucks me up against the wall.
Yeah, you can tell I’ve thought about this way too much.
So many things wrong with my thinking today. I really, really should put new batteries in my vibrator—apparently, I have an itch that needs to be scratched. Or focus on the date I have later on tonight. I just can’t help that I seem to be surrounded by good-looking intelligent men.
I blink and shake the porridge from my head as I focus on my grin. How Pugsly is busy sniffing at my pumps because I’ve been walking out in the San Francisco streets and who-knows-what is on my shoes.
I give him a little scratch behind the ears. “Hey Pugsly, how are you doing, big guy?” When you’re at loss for words in the presence of a neighbor like Teddy, focusing on his dog is always a winning strategy.
“Ah, well, he got into a fight with a cat today,” Teddy says with mock disappointment in his voice.
“Really?” I chortle, trying to think out a little happy guy like Pugsly would fare in a fight against even a chipmunk. The answer: not well.
“Basically, the cat took a swipe while Pugsly was trying to take care of some business.”
“Oh, no, nothing worse than someone interrupting you during that.”
Teddy laughs. “No, I imagine not. Pugsly sure showed him, didn’t you, buddy?” He gave the dog a pat.
“Was it one of Mrs. Sheehan’s cats?” I ask, referring to our elderly neighbor. A nice lady, but she had more cats than our building allowed, so she generally kept them outside and fed them on the fire escape.
Teddy frowns. “An orange one that looks like he’s squinting all the time?”
“Yep. That’s exactly the cat I was thinking of.” It’s not hard keeping track of the cat that makes you afraid to go take out the trash. I’m surprised Teddy hasn’t run into Mr. Orange Tabby before today.
He sighs and puts his hands on his hips. “Her other ones are much nicer,” he sighs.
And I laugh, before realizing that I’ve just been having a bit of an awkward conversation with my neighbor. I bite my lower lip, trying to subdue the rising feeling of blundering this conversation. “Well,” I say, getting my door key as I head to 3B, “have a good evening, Teddy.”
The key turns and I am just about to turn the doorknob, to escape from this little interaction, when he inserts himself next to me, an easy smile on his face.
“Hey, what are you doing tonight?”
Shit, shit, shit, shit.
“I, uh…” My voice trails off and all I can do is fake a smile. Tell him the truth, tell him the truth. “I’m going on a date tonight.”
The truth almost hurts my ears, especially with all the thoughts I’ve been having today. I feel like I’m cheating on Ned, even though we’re not exclusive. Yet.
Teddy’s eyebrows raise, not in shock, but in curiosity. “A date? Is it serious?”
And there’s the question of the night. Because if it’s not serious, then I can totally take the easy smile from Teddy’s lips as an invitation to join him in whatever plans he has. Plans that could be directly taken from my fantasies. If only Ned wasn’t such a great guy, I could turn him down.
Thing is, he is a great guy. And I do care for him. A lot. And even though we’re not exclusive yet, I know we have the potential to be that way. Even with my extremely hot neighbor in kissing dista
nce. I really like Ned, and that’s not just me trying to convince myself of that.
Goddammit.
“Not yet,” I say, and I see something flicker in Teddy’s eyes. Disappointment, maybe? Or is it rejection? Ugh. “But I’m hoping we will be. Soon.”
A beat passes before Teddy relaxes. “Good. I’m glad.” He turns to leave. “Have a good time, Grace.”
He tugs Pugsly away and I’m left staring after him, wondering, hoping that I made the right decision.
“So you’re telling me, you’re fantasizing about the guy you’re currently dating, your super-hot neighbor, and this patient of yours? And that they may all be interested?” My friend Dawn sounds incredulous on the speakerphone on my cell. I have the phone on my dresser.
“Yes,” I say guiltily as dig through my closet for an appropriate dress to wear for my date. “Although to be honest, I’m not sure how serious Edward was earlier today.”
“Which one is Edward? The patient?”
“Yep.” I pull out a little black dress, my go-to when I don’t know how to dress for an occasion. “Which means he’s totally out of the question.”
“What makes you say that?”
I sigh wistfully. “The whole patient-doctor relationship thing. I’d lose my license, since I’m in a position of power with him.”
Dawn clicks her tongue. “So dump him as a patient and take him on as a boyfriend.”
“I can’t do that,” I say. “It’d be unethical. Should I wear my LBD?” Dawn knows the exact dress I’m referring to.
“No, hun, wear that skater dress. The one with the lace top.”
I was afraid she’d say that. It’s a slinky little number that I bought for this occasion, but after having my feelings get knocked around all over the place today, I’m chickening out on doing something so…flashy. I take that dress off the hanger and look at it suspiciously.
It is cute…
