Private Practice (Private Pleasures 1)

“Ah.” The teacher’s aide in his pants settled down. He followed her into the hall. “Sounds like a plan. How long before…?”

She reached into her pocket and handed him a packet of gauze and a couple of large bandages. “Change the dressing daily. Make an appointment with my office for Thursday and we’ll see how the wound has healed.” She halted at the front door. “If everything looks good, we can figure out a timeline and pin down the curriculum.”

He nearly fumbled the supplies as he tucked them into the front pocket of his jeans. The curriculum? Leave it to overachieving Ellie to treat something as instinctive and elemental as sex like an academic pursuit. Though he couldn’t explain precisely why, the notion of a specific lesson plan excited and terrified him at the same time.

“Let’s not overcomplicate things. I’m comfortable winging it in this area.”

She scrunched her brow in another expression he found an inexplicable turn-on and then shook her head. “I’m not. I don’t want to waste one of my sessions covering something I already know. My goal is to expand my knowledge.”

He fought an urge to wipe his sweaty palms on his jeans. “What, exactly, do you have in mind?”

“To be honest, I’m not sure yet. I need to do some research.”

“You go ahead and research to your heart’s content, Doc, but I reserve the right to veto anything on your so-called curriculum.”

That stalled her. “Why?”

He stepped out onto her porch and turned to her. “’Cause I’m the expert.” True, and yet the fact suddenly struck him as a little pathetic. She’d taken less than half an hour to decide the main thing he had to offer dangled between his legs. He had a sneaking suspicion most of the women in town would agree. Admittedly, he hadn’t worked hard to cultivate a different impression, but he was good for more than tangling sheets. One way or another, he was going to prove it to her, if only for pride’s sake.

Maybe it was pride, or contrariness, or maybe it had more to do with the sight of her standing in the doorway, looking at him dubiously and nibbling her lower lip, but he leaned in until he was close enough to see the subtle variations of color in her fascinating brown irises. “What do you say we start with a basic aptitude test?”

“A test?”

Her quick inhale reached his ears just before he brought his mouth down on hers. He’d meant to surprise her and perhaps throw her a little off-balance, but the surprise was all on him. The second he tasted those soft, velvety lips, all thoughts about proving anything except how fast he could get them out of their clothes, into bed, and rocking

each other’s worlds ran right out of his head. Along with any shred of caution and a good portion of his blood.

Her thoughts apparently raced down the same path, because she surged up on her tiptoes, clamped a hand around his neck, and returned the kiss with all kinds of innate talent. His mind went as numb as his butt. Before he knew what he was doing, he had his hand fisted in the slippery fabric at the back of her robe, holding her close while his tongue took a long, slow slide over hers.

An appreciative sound vibrated deep in her throat and she pressed even closer. The unguarded little noise penetrated the haze of need he’d sunk into the minute their lips had touched. He drew back, sucking in air like a drowning man, and waited for the world to tip back onto its axis. What the fuck was he doing? Getting shot and then propositioned had clearly screwed his equilibrium. There was no other explanation.

Her eyes blinked open and focused on him. In them he read all kinds of shock and awe, which would have been satisfying but for the disturbing fact that they mirrored everything currently going on inside him. He bit back a groan as he watched her tongue make a quick sweep over her lips, now wet from their kiss.

A tardy sense of self-preservation kicked in. He let go of her and stepped back, absurdly grateful his legs cooperated. When she wobbled and grabbed the doorframe for support, he felt some of the satisfaction that had previously eluded him.

“Congratulations, Sparky.”

She shook her head as if to clear it. “For what?”

He couldn’t have held back his smile if his life depended on it. She looked so discombobulated.

“You passed with flying colors. ’Night.” He held on to the smile until she shut the door, and then all hell broke loose between his ears.

Cleaning up the mess he’d made of her front porch didn’t bring him any closer to figuring out what had just happened. He’d kissed women. Plenty of women. Maybe more than his fair share of women, and enjoyed every single lip-lock. Some stood out, some faded into a background of pleasantly lustful encounters. None came anywhere close to that kiss with Ellie. It felt like hurtling into a new adventure and coming home at the same time.

The realization troubled him. He used his long strides to put some distance between himself and the biggest shock of his life since taking a bullet in the ass. He was supposed to be the one who knew what he was doing. But as soon as she’d parted her lips and applied herself, he’d realized this straight-A student was about to set the curve yet again. Hell, she’d set it, skewed it and then blown the damn thing away.

He carefully straddled his bike, more than a little grateful for the local anesthesia, and kick-started the engine. Fine. They’d struck a deal and he’d hold up his end, but before they dove into her so-called lessons, he’d take a few precautions. First, make sure the good doctor understood the real-life implications of what she thought she wanted. All the research and planning in the world didn’t mean that when the moment of truth arrived, she wouldn’t have second thoughts—especially if he planted one or two of them himself. If she did, well, he’d graciously let her out of the bargain.

Second, he’d find out why she’d hatched this crazy proposal in the first place. He had an uncomfortable suspicion that his eager student intended to use what she learned to blow the pants off someone else.

…

Ellie rattled off her request for a skinny mocha to the fuchsia-haired cashier at Jiffy Java. Normally, the word “decaf” would have preceded her order, but after her early-morning caller, she needed a jolt of caffeine. Her patient schedule was mercifully blank because her official opening wasn’t until Monday, but she planned to spend her entire Saturday setting up three exam rooms’ worth of supplies and organizing her office. These activities required some uninterrupted time…and energy.

She tried and failed to stifle a huge yawn as she moved to the pickup counter to wait for her order.

“Sparky, you haven’t been back long enough to be bored to death already,” a teasing voice intoned.