Private Practice (10 page)

The thought cheered her until she factored Tyler into the equation. Would Roger assume they were seriously involved? No. Everyone in Bluelick knew Tyler Longfoot and “seriously involved” went together like schnapps and pickles. Roger would assume she was the latest in the long line of women Tyler passed the time with. The likelihood he’d think there was anything serious between them hovered somewhere between
hell
and
no
.

All of which should have been a major relief. So why did the thought of being a woman Tyler passed the time with leave her feeling hollow and depressed? She shook her head at her reflection. Tyler specialized in careless fun and didn’t pretend otherwise. Hoping for more from him would be like hoping for a display of fatherly interest from Frank—stupid and futile.

Focus on your goal, Ellie
. Seeing Roger tonight conceivably brought her one step closer to convincing him they were meant for each other.

By the time she returned to the store Tyler was waiting by the main door, all checked out and ready to go. She hurried over and reached for the shopping bag. “I was going to buy the stuff.”

He lifted the bag out of her grasp. “Don’t worry about it. I picked up a few things from my own list while you were gone.” He held the door open and waited while she walked through.

“What’d you buy?”

“Not gonna tell you.”

Now curiosity tickled her brain like an itch she simply
had
to scratch. “Why not?” flew out of her mouth before she could stop herself.

He held out his hand for her car keys. “I’m trying to save everyone from embarrassment.”

She handed him the keys. “Yeah, right. You’re not the least bit embarrassed.” Hiking to the passenger side, she accepted defeat. “Fine, don’t tell me what you bought, but at least let me pay you for my things.”

“Our things,” he corrected, tossing the bag into the back and then hitting the lever to adjust the driver’s seat, “and let it be. It’s my treat. Hungry?”

“Sure, but dinner’s on me,” she said as he pulled out of the parking lot.

“Ellie, let’s get something straight. I’m not your gigolo. You’re not paying me or reimbursing my fucking expenses. Understood?”

“That’s not what I think, nor what I’m trying to do.” The hint of his temper and her own indignity made her voice shaky. She inhaled a deep, stabilizing breath, exhaled slowly, and continued. “I didn’t mean to insult you. I was actually just trying to be fair. I know you wouldn’t be spending your time or money this way if not for our deal, and I don’t want to take advantage of you.”

“That’s not true,” he replied, but he said it softly, with no heat behind the words.

“What’s not true?”

“That I wouldn’t spend time with you if not for our deal.”

“We’ve known each other all our lives, and you were never remotely interested in spending time with me before.”

“You’re four years younger than me. You were jailbait, Doc, and then you were gone.”

She poked him in the shoulder. “Now who’s lying to save himself embarrassment? You weren’t the least bit attracted to me even once in all those years and you damn well know it.”

He had the grace to look chastised. “You
were
kind of a late bloomer.”

She sat back in her seat, crossed her arms over her chest, and found herself stifling a grin. She’d looked like a nearsighted scarecrow in a fright wig most of her adolescence. The idea of the nerdy girl she’d been attracting him…well, she couldn’t hold back the unwilling laugh. “I had better things to do than chase boys anyway.”

“Doc?”

“What?”

“Late or not, you bloomed just fine. I enjoy spending time with you, and it’s got nothing to do with our deal.”

Surprised, she stared out the window and smiled. It was, quite possibly, the nicest thing anyone had ever said to her.

Chapter Eleven

Ellie stayed uncharacteristically quiet during dinner. The restaurant’s wall frescoes of gondoliers steering their boats along Venetian canals appeared to have captured her attention, but Tyler suspected she was thinking about their encounter with Roger.

He’d stood in the aisle at Slap & Tickle, watching a myriad of emotions play across her face. First had been surprise, followed quickly by a glow of pleasure, and then the awkward awareness of exactly where they all were and the dicey implications. She’d been so desperate to offer up an excuse for being there, with him, she’d told a fib—a rickety one at best, because no parties happened in Bluelick without the whole town knowing.

Her behavior confirmed what he’d already suspected. She’d heard the same stupid rumor about why Roger and Melody broke up, and decided to turn herself into Roger’s perfect nymphomaniac soul mate.

“It’s Roger, isn’t it?”

She turned to him. “Hmm?”

“He’s the reason for our lessons. You heard the rumor about why he and Melody called it quits, and you’re trying to become the kind of woman he’s looking for.”

“That’s ridiculous,” she said, and took a gulp of her Cabernet.

The not-quite denial sprung to her lips too quickly, and her cheeks turned the same shade as her wine. He sat back and vented a humorless laugh.

“What’s so funny?”

“Boy, are you barking up the wrong tree, Doc.”

“Are you suggesting he’s out of my league?”

And now he sounded like an asshole instead of just feeling like one. Before he could take back the unintended insult and explain what he’d really meant, she leaned in close and spoke in a low voice. “That’s what you’re implying, isn’t it? Because he comes from a good home, with parents who love him and are proud of him, and I—I’m dorky Ellie Swann, with no mother, and a father who can’t stand the sight of her—”

“No.” He cut her off with the single word and what he hoped was a steady, unflinching look. “No,” he repeated, and took her hand. “That’s not at all what I’m saying. It’s got nothing to do with you. Ellie, didn’t you notice which room Roger and his…and Doug, were coming out of…no pun intended?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She gave her hand a tug. He held on and searched her face. Holy crap, she really didn’t have a clue. She honestly hadn’t realized they were
together
, not merely shopping together. Hell, they’d been browsing in the “Hard-y Boys” room.

He didn’t care to out anybody, but it was on the tip of his tongue to say, “Honey, Roger’s gay.” He opened his mouth to speak the words, but they refused to come. As soon as she knew, she’d have no need to schedule the rest of their lessons. He’d be a fool to take away her sole reason for being with him.

Talk about irony. After dedicating years to the art of the brief, casual affair, he’d finally found a woman he wanted to spend time with—real time, not just a handful of naked, sweaty hours—and all she wanted from him was sex.

Another realization arrived hot on the heels of the first. It sucked, being the one who wanted more, and he only had five lessons to change her mind.

…

Should she apologize to Tyler for getting all defensive at dinner? Ellie stared out the car window at the dark countryside and pondered the question. Probably, yes, considering she’d let her insecurities get the better of her. She’d accused him of thinking Roger was too good for her, even though she knew Tyler wasn’t the type to judge people by factors over which they had no control, like their pedigree.

He clearly didn’t see her as the ideal woman for Roger, and that hurt. His viewpoint shouldn’t have mattered, but rightly or wrongly his opinion had become important to her. She probably ought to get used to surprised, skeptical reactions. Roger and Melody had been Bluelick’s “it” couple for eons. Everyone naturally expected the new woman in his life to fit the Melody mold—and she so didn’t.

Whether Tyler’s reasons for rejecting the possibility that Roger might be interested in her romantically hinged on those factors, she didn’t know, because when she’d asked him to explain himself, he’d pokered up and deflected her questions with nonanswers.

She crossed her arms, slumped in her seat, and stared at the moon. Leave it to a man to think that “I’m just saying he’s not the guy for you—end of story” constituted a crystal clear response. On the drive home he’d kept his silence to the point she found it daunting. Now, as he took the Bluelick exit, she worried he
was
mad at her for her outburst at dinner. Perhaps mad enough to cancel their lessons?

The thought had her straightening and chewing her lip. She glanced at his profile in the darkened interior of the car. He didn’t look perturbed. In fact, he looked a thousand miles away, completely lost in his own thoughts, which probably had nothing to do with her. Mustering her nerve, she said, “Tyler?”

He looked over at her, one brow lifted in the silent, inquiring gesture she found inexplicably appealing.

“I’m sorry I snapped at you during dinner. I guess I’m a little bit defensive about certain things, but I shouldn’t have taken it out on you.”

He smiled and squeezed her hand. “Don’t worry about it, Doc.” Apparently finding her hand cold, he moved it to his thigh and trapped it there beneath his palm. Heat seeped through his jeans, warming her fingers—and every erogenous zone in her body.

“Thanks,” she managed, shifting slightly in her seat while he cruised down Main Street. He shot her a knowing look and slid their hands a little higher on his leg.

She cleared her throat and pressed her luck. “So, are we on for Friday night?”

“Why wait that long? My place, Thursday night, around seven?”

“I’ll be there.”

He squeezed her hand and then, much to her disappointment, let go in order to maneuver the car into a curbside slot in front of her office. “In the meantime…” He killed the engine, reached down and released his seat belt, then hers, and pulled her into a slow, deep, take-no-prisoners kiss that made her head spin. She was trying to climb over the center console by the time they broke apart. He rested his forehead against hers and smiled down at her. “That’ll have to hold us over ’til Thursday.” Next thing she knew, he opened the driver’s-side door and stepped out.

She blinked at the now-empty seat opposite her and struggled to retrieve her scattered thoughts. What was she doing, making out in her car like some hormonal teenager, parked directly under a streetlight in the middle of town, where God and everyone could see? It was only half past eight on a beautiful early-summer evening. Plenty of people were still strolling about, enjoying the break in humidity, and if their eyes were sharp, catching Dr. Swann conducting a tonsil exam on Tyler Longfoot with nothing but her tongue. Obviously, she’d lost her mind.

Tyler opened her door and offered her a hand to help her out. She took his hand and stepped out onto the sidewalk on unsteady legs, which she attributed to his hot kiss and cool manners. He gave her the car keys.

“Want me to follow you home?”

“Um, no. That’s not necessary. I’m going to get a few things from my office before I head home.”

“Okay, then.” He leaned in close, until his mouth hovered mere inches above hers. Concerns about witnesses faded from her mind and she parted her lips in anticipation of another mind-altering kiss.

But it didn’t come. Instead he smiled his slow, sexy smile and danced his fingertips over her cheek. “See you Thursday. I’ll keep the accessories.”

She stood there, breathing heavy, while he ambled down the sidewalk toward his truck.

Accessories. Belatedly, she realized he’d taken the shopping bag with him. There went her plan to practice securing and unlocking the handcuffs before “date” night. Sighing, she turned and climbed the steps to her office.

The second she walked in the door she knew something was amiss. Light shone through the opaque privacy glass shuttering the front office from the waiting area.
What the
—
?
She distinctly remembered turning all the lights off before she left. They didn’t keep much cash in the office, but they had some expensive equipment.

Don’t jump to conclusions
, she warned herself. A Bluelick crime spree typically involved baseball bats and mailboxes, not breaking and entering. Maybe the cleaning service had left a light on?

Almost as soon as that comforting thought crossed her mind, a muffled but distinctly female cry sounded from the back of the suite, followed by a low, authoritative voice issuing an indistinct command.

Good God, not only did she have an intruder, he was victimizing some helpless woman! She tunneled her trembling hands into her purse, found her phone, and dialed 9-1-1. The call immediately went to hold and she almost burst into tears. The woman cried out again, louder this time and even more desperate. Ellie knew she couldn’t just stand in the waiting room while the poor woman suffered. She had to
do
something.

The waiting room door stood ajar. She forced her leaden limbs into motion and pushed it open. The hinges squeaked. She held her breath, listening for any sign that the intruder had heard the noise, but she really couldn’t hear much above the sound of her own blood rushing in her ears. Finally, drawing a deep breath, she hugged the wall and inched toward the back of the suite.

Light shone from around the door of the small exam room at the end of the hall. She stopped in the front office area, placed her purse on the counter, and slid the envelope opener from its caddy. Phone in one hand and the makeshift weapon in the other, she crept toward the exam room.

The door wasn’t quite closed, and the woman’s frenzied “Oh, God please. Don’t! Stop!” carried all too well. Ellie rushed forward, but just as she prepared to burst through the door and surprise the assailant, the slap of a palm connecting with vulnerable flesh reverberated like a shotgun blast. The woman’s gasp followed, and then the maniac’s chillingly deep, controlled voice.

He sounded big. Powerful. Her best hope was to sneak in silently and pray to go unnoticed until she had the point of her letter opener pressed to the guy’s jugular.

Sweat dampened her palms. She tightened her grip on the letter opener, took another deep breath, and slowly…
carefully
…pushed the door open. Using it at as shield, she looked inside the room—and froze.

Melody, of all people, knelt on the exam table, completely naked. A rubber tourniquet banded her wrists. Her knees balanced on the very edge of the padded table and—oh my—Fire Chief Bradley sat on the stool behind her, wearing nothing but his wristwatch and an impressive erection, his face buried between her thighs.

Melody hadn’t been pleading “Don’t!” and “Stop!” She’d been screaming, “
Don’t stop!
”

Paralyzed, Ellie nonetheless noted the inventive twist on chapter 3, combined with certain elements from chapter 6. While she watched, Melody squirmed and begged, and Chief Bradley delivered another playful slap to her round, pink backside. Then he stood, wrapped an arm around Melody’s waist, and guided them eagerly into chapter 10. The sound of their mutual, highly enthusiastic endorsement shocked Ellie out of her trance. She did a quick about-face and scurried back the way she’d come.

She’d stupidly assumed running into Roger at the Slap & Tickle would be the most embarrassing thing to happen to her tonight, but after she’d taken two steps toward a silent, undetected exit, a tinny, disembodied voice rang out clear as day. “This is 9-1-1. What is your emergency?”

Utter silence pulsed for a full ten seconds, followed by Melody’s “Oh, shit!” and some frenzied rustling.

Ellie kicked her retreat into high gear. “Sorry, false alarm,” she whispered into her phone and disconnected. She retrieved her purse and covered the distance to her car in record time—for a short-strided nonathlete wearing heels and a tight skirt. Still, not quite fast enough, unfortunately, because as she revved the engine and prepared to drive away, she saw lights come on in the waiting room and the slats of the lowered blinds part to give someone a view of the street. Busted. Melody would recognize her silver Mini.

Then again, maybe Melody and Chief Bradley were the busted ones? She peeled away from the curb, fighting a highly inappropriate urge to giggle. She lost. Her giggles turned to outright laughter, which only escalated as adrenaline retreated, leaving her limp and giddy with relief. Laughing helplessly at the absurdity of walking in on her office manager having wild, acrobatic sex with the new fire chief, she tried to guess which of them was the most mortified—Melody, Chief Bradley, or her. Hard to say.

Her giggles died in her throat when she considered the possibility Melody might quit, out of embarrassment or outrage. God knows she hadn’t meant to do it, but she’d basically spied on them having sex. Why, why, why couldn’t she have managed a silent, anonymous exit from the office? She’d spent the better part of twenty-eight years garnering minimal notice from her own father. Being invisible should be second nature to her.

It wasn’t until the pretty white pickets of her front porch filled her windshield that an even more disquieting thought occurred to her. Melody had seemed comfortable—make that blissfully happy—performing variations on chapters 3, 6, and 10. She certainly hadn’t appeared the least bit uptight or inhibited. Yet she and Roger had split because she’d declined to match his sexual adventurousness.

So what the hell chapter was Roger on?

…

“I guess we know each other’s deepest secrets now,” a low voice whispered over Ellie’s shoulder, snapping her out of her sleep-deprived fugue and into reality, which at the moment consisted of standing in Jiffy Java, awaiting her iced double espresso.
Roger
. A slight smile curved his sculpted lips, but the shadows under his eyes suggested he hadn’t slept any better than she had.

“Um…you mean our preference for shopping in Lexington?” After everything she’d witnessed yesterday evening, she vowed to assume nothing.