Private Practice

chapter Six


Ellie wasn’t sure she could speak to reply. Tyler kept one hand on her foot, nestling it intimately against him, while his other hand journeyed up her calf. Even if she could talk, she had no intention of coming clean. Roger’s tastes, and her desire to satisfy them, weren’t for public consumption.

“What if I told you this is the raciest dinner I’ve ever had in my life?” she asked.

“I’d say it’s not over yet.” As proof, his nimble fingers rounded the curve of her knee and continued up her thigh.

She grasped the table and moaned softly as those big, blunt fingers stroked dangerously close to the thin strip of silk providing a flimsy barrier between her and a complete physical meltdown.

“Definitely not over,” he said, and stroked again.

“Don’t,” she groaned, and dropped her hand beneath the table to grip his wrist. But at the same time she scooted closer to the edge of her chair. She was sending mixed messages and couldn’t seem to help it.

“Want me to stop?” Even as he posed the question, his fingers danced a little farther up her thigh. Concentration became impossible. Her pulse skittered out of control, pounding in her throat, her chest, between her legs.

“I think…yes…I think you’d better.”

He leaned closer until she drowned in his eyes. “Okay,” he whispered, and slowly trailed his hand back down the soft, vulnerable flesh of her thigh. She shivered.

He smiled. “What you’re feeling right now? That’s exactly how I feel when I look at you. You’re as hot as they come, so do me a favor and stop comparing yourself to Lou Ann. Deal?”

God, she felt hot right now, with his eyes locked on hers and her body still quivering from his touch. She also felt stripped bare and defenseless, because he seemed to see straight through to some long-buried insecurities.

Her father hadn’t been the type to dispense compliments. To Frank she’d been a duty, a chore, and a painful reminder of the wife he’d lost too soon. The less attention she demanded from him, the better. Teachers gave her positive feedback on her academic performance, and because she’d been starving for praise, she’d focused her efforts there. Which might explain why she could attack any academic pursuit with confidence, but the rest—looks, personality, feminine allure—remained big, fat question marks. She never realized how much she cared about the answers until Tyler volunteered his. Thankfully the waiter’s approach saved her the need to formulate an immediate reply.

The server delivered their meals and retreated. She stared at her plate, momentarily distracted by the mountain of food in front of her.

“Deal?” Tyler prompted, holding a shrimp to her lips.

“Deal,” she murmured. Lowering her eyes, she closed her mouth around the shrimp, expecting him to release it. Instead he slowly pulled until the curled delicacy sprang free with a soft pop. His playful grin coaxed an answering smile from her.

“Does any woman manage to resist you?”

“Some do. But tonight, I’m inspired.”

“Hope you’re also hungry, because this is far too much food.”

“Don’t worry, Doc. I know what I’m doing.”

She nibbled a rib and then licked the spicy sauce from her lips. “I’m counting on that.”

…

On the ride back to Ellie’s house, Tyler racked his brain to remember the last time dinner with a woman had been so fascinating, sexy, and plain old fun. She engaged him on levels he didn’t expect—like her genuine appreciation for the work he’d done on the restaurant. He enjoyed building, enjoyed constructing something innovative and lasting, but rehabbing and renovating old buildings held special appeal. They were hard jobs to bid, because surprises lurked behind every wall and under every floorboard, yet he loved the challenge and the satisfaction of seeing a slice of history standing tall and proud at the end of the project.

Women’s eyes usually glazed over when he mentioned his work, but Ellie had listened with real interest and found parallels between their professions. According to her, he examined, diagnosed, and healed the old structures so they could thrive again. The words made him smile. He’d never thought about what he did in quite those terms, but her assessment got down to the heart of it. Her quick mind and, yes, those elusive dimples captivated him to the point that he’d had to consciously stop himself from unloading the sad story of his ambitions for the Browning project.

Of course, the weight of her breasts crushed against his back and her legs clenched snugly around his hips engaged him, too, but on a level he completely expected. He still couldn’t fathom why she thought she needed to be wilder, more experienced…whatever. But he looked forward to helping her expand her horizons. Maybe he’d been wrong about taking things slow. She seemed pretty certain about what she wanted from him. He still figured she had a hidden agenda, but fine, they weren’t soul mates, just bedmates for the next little while. So what if yet another person assumed the bedroom brought out his best talents?

This time when he stopped the bike in her driveway, she leaned into him for balance and slid off with ease. Fast learner. He appreciated how the hem of her little skirt danced high on her thighs as she walked up the front steps. When she pulled the key from her small shoulder bag and tried to fit it in the lock, her hands shook just enough to make the target difficult.

“Shoot,” she said under her breath.

He eased up behind her until his chest brushed her shoulder blades. Scents of gardenia and vanilla wafted from her hair, her skin. She smelled pretty and feminine and…edible.

“Problem?”

“No.” With her head bent forward, a cascade of wavy dark hair shielded her face from his view. She shoved the key into the lock, twisted the knob, and swore again when the door didn’t budge.

Holding back a chuckle, he used a finger to move her hair out of the way and looked at her. “You sure?”

Wide, vexed eyes stared back at him. He covered her hand with his and twisted the doorknob the other way. The lock mechanism released and the door opened. Reverse course, he ordered all the blood that had settled between his legs during the ride back to her place. Ellie was about to jump out of her skin, which only reinforced his original instinct to take things slow—way slower than her beloved lesson plan.

She stared at the door like she wanted to kick it, then exhaled and gave him a sheepish look. “Maybe I’m a little nervous.” Her eyes shifted away and she rambled on in what he was beginning to recognize as another sign of nerves. “I don’t know why. I mean, this whole thing was my idea. I have everything planned out, and I’m as prepared as possible. I’ve got the bedroom all set up.”

God, she really was adorable when she went all type A on him. “Invite me in for a drink, Doc.”

“Oh, right. Please come in.” She hurried inside and was halfway to the kitchen by the time he shut the door. Then she stopped in her tracks, and turned to him, all pink and flustered. “Would you like chardonnay, or…I’m sorry, I don’t have any beer. I received a bottle of Maker’s Mark as a housewarming present, if you prefer something harder?”

He was plenty hard already, thank you very much. But she definitely needed to unwind. “Bourbon’s fine, as long as I’m not drinking alone.”

Now she looked hesitant. “I don’t know. I already had a glass of wine with dinner and I’m not much of a drinker. I don’t want to get tipsy, because, despite alcohol’s entrenchment in the American mating ritual, depressants actually don’t do much for female performance. Male either, for that matter.” Heading to the kitchen, she added, “I should probably make yours with plenty of ice and water.”

Now he did laugh. There he stood, smack in the middle of her hallway with a hard-on like a steel joist in his jeans, and she was worried about him getting it up.

He wandered in to find her reaching into a high cabinet for the bourbon. Going over her head, he retrieved the bottle and placed it on the counter. “Don’t water down good bourbon. That’s a sacrilege. I don’t know about the other guys you’ve done this with, Doc, but I’m not gonna wilt after one drink.” Then a thought slammed into his head like a two-by-four and nearly knocked him off his feet. He took her chin and tipped her face toward his. “Ah, you have done this before, right?”

She frowned. “Of course.”

“More than once?”

Drawing herself up—all five feet and a handful of inches—she crossed her arms over her chest and gave him the stern look that, for some twisted reason, made him want to do all kinds of depraved things to her. “Not that it’s any of your business, Tyler, but I’ve had sex plenty of times. I had a boyfriend during med school and another the final year of my residency.”

“Well, shit, Sparky. You be the teacher and I’ll be the student.”

“Ha ha.” She took two lowball glasses from another cabinet, added ice, and placed them on the counter.

He poured them each two fingers and capped the bottle. Then he picked up his glass, tapped it to hers, and took a sip. “So, with all this vast prior experience, what makes you think you need tutoring?”

She shrugged, but her eyes evaded his when she replied and he knew he wasn’t going to the get whole story. “My relationships were very, um, conventional, I guess. To be honest, sex wasn’t a huge priority, compared to classes and rounds. More like a study break—a nice way to relieve stress. But now, I want more. I want to deliver the fireworks and lightning you read about in novels.” She turned and stared uncomfortably out the window.

She thought sex was “nice”? Hmm. “These guys you were with, though…they got the job done for you, right?”

Her eyes flicked to his, then skittered away again. “Um, sort of?”

“Sort of? The question requires a yes or no answer, Doc.”

“It was hit or miss,” she replied briskly, but her tone told him better than words it was mostly miss. She gulped half her drink, slapped a hand to her chest as she swallowed, and added, “That’s not really my focus here, Tyler. I need to learn how to fulfill a man’s desires.”

Well, she had her focus, he had his. “Hit or miss” wasn’t his style. He put his drink aside and considered things for a moment. “I think your aim is fundamentally flawed.”

She frowned. “Why?”

“In my experience, which might be just a little bit broader than yours, if my partner isn’t having at least as much fun as I am, that’s kind of a mood killer.”

Her frown deepened and he wondered how he kept himself from sinking his teeth into that pouty lower lip. “According to the manual—”

“Let’s take a look at this manual of yours.”

“Fine.” She downed the rest of her drink and placed the empty glass on the counter. “Great, actually, as that gets us back on plan. Follow me.”

She wobbled on the turn. He caught her elbow and kept her on course as they made their way to her room. Once there, she walked to the brass bed, sat heavily on the fluffy white duvet, and shrugged out of her cardigan. The room struck him as pure Ellie—unique and unfussy, but unmistakably feminine. She favored light colors and wood accents. Gesturing to her nightstand, she smiled proudly. “I’ve got everything we need right here.”

“And then some,” he agreed as he took a seat beside her.

“What do you mean?”

He pointed to the tube of lube. “As long as I have two hands and a tongue, we’re not going to need the Astroglide.”

She tapped the book on her nightstand. “The guide specifically recommended it.”

“Yeah, yeah, the guide. He skimmed the title and noted the five green tags peeking neatly from the side. “May I?”

She nodded and offered it to him. “I guess now would be a good time to let me know if you have any objections. I flagged the chapters I want you to help me with.”

“Of course you did.” Taking the manual, he quickly flipped through. If he found highlighted text or margin notes, he might have to sweep his good intentions aside and ball her overactive brains out, right then and there. “Let’s see…” He opened to the first tab. “Chapter 3, no problem.”

“Good.”

He flipped the pages to the next flagged chapter. “Chapter 6, fine, but we’ll need to go shopping unless you’ve already got—?”

“No, we’ll need to buy the…ah…accoutrements.”

“Leave it to a woman to find an excuse to shop for something as basic as sex. I know a place in Lexington—”

“I figured online would be more private and convenient.”

He shook his head and tipped the book to the side to take in an illustration. “No. Field trip to Lexington is the way to go. This is the kind of thing where you want to be able to handle the merchandise before you make a purchase.”

“Okay,” she sighed. “We’ll work in a trip to Lexington.” Her tone made him smile. He’d messed with her precious plan again.

“Anything else?”

“Don’t know yet.” He advanced to the next flag. “Chapter 9 is one of my personal favorites…and 10,” he added, flipping again. When he came to the tab on chapter 13, however, he paused, reread the title, and then glanced through the text and illustrations to make sure he hadn’t misinterpreted anything. Was she serious? A quick glace her way suggested she was. “I’m vetoing this one.” With his index finger, he tapped the page.

“Why?”

“Well, first off, you won’t like it, and second, in case you had other ideas, I sure as hell don’t want you doing it to me.”

She took the book from him and read furiously. “Be serious. I’m not even equipped to do it to you. You do it to me. According to the experts, men love chapter 13. See?” She shoved the damn thing in his face, her finger pointing insistently to the five stars preceding the section.

He moved the book aside. “I don’t care what the book says. Trust me, your so-called experts don’t know everyth—”

“Look, I chose all the five-star items and chapter 13 is one of them. If you don’t help me with it, I’ll have to find someone who will.”

The comment brought an immediate flare of some unfamiliar emotion he refused to name. He battled a strong urge to toss the book out the window, throw her down on the bed, and show her she already knew exactly what to do to bring a man to his knees.

She must have sensed she’d rubbed him the wrong way, because those long lashes lowered, then rose a bit and she looked at him from beneath. “Please?”

Ah, hell. “We’ll see,” he replied reluctantly, figuring he had a few weeks to get her to lose interest in chapter 13. “I take it you penciled in chapter 3 for our first lesson?”

She nodded. “We should get started.” With that romantic lead-in, she reached for his fly. He intercepted. Hell yeah, they were slowing things down. Why she wanted these lessons might still be a mystery, but he’d learned something about himself—namely, a stripped-down, strictly sexual arrangement didn’t interest him. Not with her anyway.

“Let’s try something else first.” Before she could answer, he cupped her jaw and brought his mouth down on hers.

Slow, deep, deliberately thorough, he delved and tasted before pulling back to look at her.

She slowly unveiled those big brown eyes and he noticed her dilated pupils—wide and open and locked on him.

“Chapter 2—‘The Ins and Outs of Kissing’?” she whispered.

Christ, she was too much. “Important to master the fundamentals, don’t you think?”

She nodded, so he obliged. This time he skimmed his teeth over her soft lips, grazing the upper, biting her lush, full lower one until she made an urgent little sound deep in her throat. Her fingers sank into his hair and she pulled his mouth down hard on hers. All the simmering tension of the evening came bubbling to the surface, making the kiss rougher, hungrier, than he planned. But she curved her hand around his neck, leaned into him, and gave as good as she got.

Her mouth moved under his, her lips fast and fierce and silently demanding. Tight nipples poked insistently into his chest, driving him insane. He desperately wanted to lower the zipper at the back of her dress, shove it down, and suck those diamond-hard points into his mouth, but if he did, he wouldn’t be able to stop until he had her spread out on the bed with her legs wrapped around his neck, chapter 3-ing her until she couldn’t see straight. While that might suit her plans to a tee, chapter 3 wasn’t on his agenda for tonight. To distract himself, he slid his hands along her throat until his thumbs caressed her collarbones. She clasped her other hand around his neck and arched against him. An unconscious offer every part of him from the neck down wanted to accept—hell, was dying to accept—but his masochistic brain said no.

Jumping into bed with her on the first date might be incredibly satisfying on a physical level, but the move wouldn’t do much toward proving there was more to him than low morals and high testosterone. Tonight’s date doubled his resolve to show them both he had something to offer besides five-star sex.

He kissed her waiting lips one last time, then eased away and said, “I’ve got to go.”