by Roni Loren
He shrugged, not denying it. “You spend your career focused on sex, you learn a few things.”
“Obviously I missed that bullet point,” she said wryly.
“You did just fine from what I remember.” His eyes met hers, those blue eyes piercing her. “And believe me. I remember it all, Marin. Every. Damn. Second.”
The words crackled through her like heat lightning. Donovan had kept things casual tonight, but something in his demeanor had shifted, letting her see a flash of what was beyond what he’d been showing her. That bad boy she’d heard about, that doctor who’d gone to L.A. and worked his way through actresses—that guy was in there twining with the brilliant boy she used to know and making her thoughts scamper in ten different directions. She shifted against the bench, long-dormant nerve endings waking up and paying attention.
Donovan peered toward the trees, tension that wasn’t there before rolling off him. “I should stop talking now.”
Yes, he should. He totally should. Her mouth opened before she could stop it. “Why?”
A muscle in his jaw ticked. “Because hearing you say you want someone to teach you about sex, that you need more exposure to taboo stuff, is making me want to offer things I shouldn’t, making me remember how intense that week with you was, how hot things were when we finally gave in to it. And I’m not noble enough to play it off.”
“Donovan.” She inhaled a shaky breath, and her mind immediately jumped to what he wasn’t saying. Donovan mentoring her in an altogether different way. Naked bodies. Skin pressing against skin. Forbidden fantasies springing to life in the dark. She ran her hand over the back of her neck, finding it damp and burning hot. “I—”
“Please don’t say anything.” He turned to her and frowned. “You shouldn’t have to respond to that. I’m sorry. I promised myself I wouldn’t cross the line with you. I owe you that. Just ignore me.”
She blinked, off balance from his words, the wine, and the fact that she wasn’t entirely sure she would’ve turned him down if he hadn’t cut her off first. She closed her eyes, trying to regain some semblance of sanity. “Maybe I could do some online research on the areas I’m unfamiliar with.”
The suggestion was lame, like throwing a deflated balloon in the air and expecting it to float, but she needed something to get them off this dangerous track. They were tiptoeing over splintered ice right now. One wrong move and they’d both be taken under. She couldn’t go there. Her body wanted him. There was no doubt about that. But blurring their roles had disaster written all over it. She needed to stay focused on the job not her starving libido.
Donovan cleared his throat and seemed to drag himself back from the brink, too. He gave a brisk nod. “Sure. That may help some since exposure is what you need. There’s a video for everything.” He rolled his shoulders as if shaking off the previous conversation and regaining business mode. “I’ll send you some from the X-wing collection if you want. You need to watch them anyway so you know which to suggest to people. But that kind of research just covers the knowledge factor, not the embarrassment or awkwardness. I doubt you’ll get embarrassed watching porn alone in the privacy of your own home.”
She took a breath, relieved they were backtracking into safe territory. “I honestly have no idea. I’m more of a book girl than a video one. Though I did find a DVD Nate tried to hide once. I didn’t know what it was but watched more than I needed to once I put it in the player.”
Her attempt at levity earned her a halfhearted smile from Donovan. “Teen boys usually pick the worst. What was it?”
“Well, Nate’s gay, so . . .”
“Ah, gay porn. A fan favorite with my female clients. I recommend it often for those having arousal trouble.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. I usually try the audiotapes first with female clients, but if they need something visual, that’s the direction I go. Women say the guys are better looking, and there’s no girl with fake reactions and too much makeup to distract them.”
“Huh. Never thought about it that way, but it makes sense. It was pretty compelling until I remembered that it was my little brother’s wanking material.” She wrinkled her nose.
He huffed a quiet laugh. “Yeah, that could be a mood killer.”
He was silent for a while, and she traced a finger around the edge of her cup. “I guess I at least have a place to start now. I like having a plan of attack. Although, I’m not sure which topics to tackle first.”
He pulled out his phone and started typing, still not looking at her. “This will help. I’ll email you our sexual history intake form we use for clients. It covers the gamut of sexual activities. Go through it tonight and familiarize yourself with it. If you don’t know what something is, Google it. If something triggers a strong reaction in you, star it so that you know it’s a potential stumbling block you need to work on. And maybe that will mean watching videos on the topic or delving deeper into it.”
“Delving deeper?”
He tucked his phone in his pocket and finally met her eyes. “Yeah. Talking with me about it, asking questions, setting up observation if we need to. Lane is okay with therapists observing his sessions if the client feels comfortable with that. And I have an open invite to that kink club in New Orleans. I could take you there and let you watch some of the public scenes and talk to members. They’d be happy to help.”
She nodded. The thought of remaining professional with Donovan at her side while watching people have sex sounded like a hundred levels of torture, but she could be a grown-up about this. “Okay.”
Donovan’s gaze held hers, something pained there. “And I’m sorry that I crossed the line tonight with what I said. I want you to feel safe and respected in this position. And I want you to be able to come to me with questions and learn without any other kind of pressure on you. The fact that we slept together before or that I’m still attracted to you now are moot points. I’m sorry those things invaded tonight. The wine was probably a bad idea.”
She swallowed past the dryness in her throat. Part of her wanted to shout at the heavens in frustration. It’d been so long. She’d been on the shelf for so goddamned long. And now this gorgeous, intelligent man was saying he wanted to sleep with her and she couldn’t act on it. She had to be responsible. Practical. Do the right thing.
She was so fucking tired of doing the right thing. “It’s fine. No big deal.”
Donovan reached for her hand and captured it between his warm palms. “And I’ve had too much to drink and am probably not expressing it well, but I really am sorry about what happened with your mom. I know what it’s like to lose a parent. And I know what it’s like to show up too late, to wonder what if, to worry that you’re partly to blame. The night my parents were killed, I was the one who forgot to set the house alarm. I wouldn’t wish that kind of guilt on anyone.”
She rolled her lips inward and nodded, his words hitting her right in the gut and making her chest hurt not just for herself but for him, too.
He held on to her hand and with his other, reached out and cupped the side of her face, sending trailing warmth down her spine. “I’m so sorry if I contributed to that horrible night for you. I was selfish. I shouldn’t have—”
“No.” She closed her eyes, wanting to lean into his touch but holding the urge in check. “Please don’t take it back. For a long time, those days with you were the only good I could hold on to, the only normal I could remember. Everything else was such a disaster. Of course, I wish I could go back in time and see the things I missed with my mom, intervene before it was too late. I regret not being home that night. But I never regretted what happened between us.”
“Not even now?” he asked softly.
She opened her eyes, meeting his stare. His touch felt so right, and the way he was looking at her transported her back in time. He got it. Like no one else could, he got what it was like to have those big, looming specters in your life—what-ifs, blame, loss. His thumb ran along her cheek, and he wasn
’t moving away. Something swirled between them, sparked. She wanted to kiss him more than she’d wanted anything in a long damn time. Needed it. She licked her lips.
“Oh, I’m sorry.” A loud, exaggerated voice broke through the private space Marin and Donovan had weaved between them. “I didn’t notice you there.”
Donovan jerked back, dropping his hand to his side, and turning his head. Marin immediately looked toward the intruder as well and found a blond woman in a tracksuit giving them a chilly smile.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Marin had forgotten where they were.
A muscle in Donovan’s cheek flexed. “Hi there, Dr. McCray. Out for a run?”
“Yep.” She eyed the cups they were holding. “Out for . . . a drink?”
“Just a quick celebratory drink in honor of Dr. Rush surviving her first day on the X-wing. It’s tradition.”
Marin frowned. She had no idea if it was tradition or not, but she got the distinct sense that Donovan was lying. She also knew this woman had seen way more than them drinking. You don’t cup the face of your co-worker. She cleared her throat, stood, and held out her hand. “Marin Rush.”
The woman gave Marin’s hand an overly firm shake. “Elle McCray.”
“Elle’s the head physician in the addiction wing,” Donovan offered. “She’s also one of your go-to’s if you have a client who needs to be evaluated for a medical condition or needs a prescription.”
Marin offered the most professional smile she could muster. “Great. Look forward to working with you, then.”
Dr. McCray didn’t respond. Instead, she sent Donovan a look, one edged with something sharp and deadly.
That’s when Marin knew. These two had something between them. She didn’t know exactly what, but she suddenly felt ridiculous for sitting there and entertaining lustful thoughts about Donovan. He’d said he was attracted to her, that he was tempted to teach her some things, not that he was available. Of course he had someone. That’s why he was fighting to hold himself back with her. She’d seen him with lipstick marks. The moment that had passed between them was just old stuff kicking up and too much alcohol, nothing more.
Marin shifted on her feet. “Well, I better get going. It’s been a long day, and I have some things to catch up on before bed.”
“Oh, don’t leave on my account,” Elle said with a flat tone.
“Marin—” Donovan stood as well.
She held up her hand in a quick wave. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Dr. West. Thanks for the pointers and the drink.”
He frowned, consternation in his eyes, but he didn’t stop her from going. She turned too fast, making her head spin from the alcohol, but she kept her back straight and strode off, trying to look casual and unaffected. She hoped she pulled it off. But she couldn’t resist one last look. So when she got far enough away to peek back over her shoulder without being too obvious, she saw that Dr. McCray had taken Marin’s spot on the bench next to Donovan and was sitting way too close.
Something ugly rolled through Marin. Ugly and vicious and acidic.
But this was what she should want, right? There was no risk now. She could focus on the job at hand and not worry about Donovan or getting in trouble with her boss or screwing this all up over a misguided libido.
Great. Perfect. Shoot a fucking confetti gun!
She stepped into her house, the world swaying a bit in her vision, and slammed the door behind her.
Nathan looked up from his spot on the couch, computer on his lap, bottle of soda halfway to his mouth. “Whoa, what’s wrong with you?”
She tossed her house key toward the entryway table but missed. “Nothing. I’m going to my room. I’ll see you in the morning.”
Had her words slurred? Maybe. She couldn’t tell.
He frowned. “Are you . . . drunk?”
“No. I’ve got work to do.” She grabbed the key from the floor, which took more concentration than it should’ve. “Which reminds me, if I needed to find the best porn sites, which would you suggest?”
Nate, who’d been staring at her with suspicious eyes, went slack-jawed. “What?”
She waved her hand in an out-with-it motion. “Come on. Best porn sites. Go.”
“Oh my God, you are drunk.”
“Are you going to tell me or what?”
Nate shifted on the couch and gave her a look like he would like to request an immediate transfer to another family. “Uh, not that I’m admitting to anything, but we aren’t exactly in the same target audience, Mar.”
“Doesn’t matter. It’s for work. And let’s not pretend you’re that innocent.”
He cringed and leaned his head back against the couch, beseeching the universe. “What is my life?”
“Nate,” she said impatiently.
He groaned and rocked forward to grab his phone from the coffee table. He set aside his computer and soda, and started typing on his phone. “I swear to God, I better not get bitched at for this when you sober up.”
“What are you doing?”
“I’m texting you my sign-in information for a site. The good ones require a subscription. This one has . . . a variety of stuff.”
“You have a subscription to a porn site?”
He gave her the side-eye. “Shut it, Mar. You asked for help. That gives me immunity. And please, God, do not save favorites or anything once you’re in there. A guy can only handle so much trauma.”
Marin’s phone buzzed in her pocket with his text message. She titled her chin upward. “Fine. We’ll both be adults about it.”
“At least one of us will,” he muttered and then looked her way again. “You sure you’re all right?”
The little waver in his voice cut through some of the fuzz in her brain. Nate had rarely seen her drink. And he’d definitely never seen her tipsy. Their mom had liked alcohol way too much, and she’d been drinking the night she’d died, so Marin had avoided it for most of her life. Only in the last year had she allowed herself an occasional beer or glass of wine. But alcohol still meant scary, ugly things for Nate. He never touched the stuff. And she hated that she was making him worry for even a second.
She took a deep breath, centering herself and trying to clear her head of the buzz to focus. “I’m fine, kiddo. I met with a co-worker and had a few glasses of wine to celebrate getting through the first day. Obviously, my tolerance sucks. This won’t be a regular thing. And the porn site really is for work research.”
The glimmer of tension in Nate’s expression softened. He gave a quick nod. “All right.”
She lifted her phone. “Thanks for the info.”
He gave her a wry smile. “I would say have fun, but then I might vomit.”
She laughed. “Love you.”
“Love you, too.”
She trudged to her room and collapsed onto her bed.
In one day, she’d managed to piss off a client, almost kiss her co-worker in front of his girlfriend, and get porn recommendations from her little brother.
She might not survive day two.
14
Donovan was thinking about Marin. About almost kisses and soulful hazel eyes. About cicada songs and secrets shared in the dark. About all the things he wanted to do with her, to her. The fantasy was great. But he vaguely registered that Marin wasn’t the one who was currently kissing down his neck.
He tried to fit the disjointed pieces of the current state of affairs together, tried to make sense of what was happening. Everything felt wrong. Why did it feel wrong? He concentrated. Elle. He was on Elle’s couch. How the fuck had he gotten here again? Like hillbillies on moonshine, his thoughts were stumbling around and bumping into each other, slow and sloppy. Focus. He tried to will his mind to orient itself. Memories came back in wisps. Elle had asked to talk to him back at her place since he’d canceled on her earlier in the night.
He hadn’t wanted to follow her here. He’d been knotted up with all that had transpired with Marin. But Marin had walked off, and he’d known Elle was pissed about
finding the two of them together. So even though he and Elle didn’t have any kind of exclusive arrangement and he hadn’t touched her in a month, he’d felt like a dick anyhow and had agreed to come over to talk.
But while they were talking and he was trying to explain how this arrangement was no longer a good idea, Elle had served sangria. Lots and lots of sangria. And now Elle had crawled over to his side of the couch and was straddling him. She was taking control this time. But his head was muzzy, and though his dick was half-interested beneath her grinding movements, his mind was on someone else. He was getting turned on by images of a woman with short, dark hair who smelled like cotton candy and had cheeks that blushed at the slightest provocation. Had lips that wanted to be kissed . . .
Fuck.
He tugged away. “Elle, we need to—”
“Go to the bedroom. I know.” She pushed her long hair away from her face. “But I thought a change of scenery might be nice. You can fight to be on top.”
She pulled her T-shirt over her head, revealing lace-encased breasts, and took his hand, placing it over her and squeezing for him.
He winced and moved his hand away. His equilibrium whirled. “I’m fucking drunk, Elle.”
“Well, I can stay on top, then.” She slid her hand between them and stroked his now softening cock. “I don’t mind doing the work tonight. Just stay hard for me and we’re good.”
He grabbed her wrist to stop her, his movements imprecise and delayed. “Goddammit, can you slow down for a second? I said I was drunk.”
She rolled her eyes and sat back on his thighs to look down at him. “Are we seriously having a consent conversation right now? It’s not like you don’t know what we’re doing. This is nothing new. You’re drunk every time we fuck, Donovan. It’s your thing.”
The words rolled off her lips like it was no big deal, but they hit him like a freight truck. “My thing?”
She shrugged as if it was the most obvious thing ever.
“What? Now I’m an alcoholic?”
“Don’t be stupid. You know as well as I do that you’re not. But you never fuck sober. You drink and get to play a role. Saves you from that real inconvenient shit like intimacy and relationships and conversation.” She gave him a brittle smile. “Which is why I know you were trying to fuck your new trainee tonight.”
