Indecent Suggestion

“Licensed hypnotherapist,” Becca guessed for the latter. Especially since it was spelled out right there. Duh. For the former, however, she hadn’t a clue. “I’m not sure about the other letters, though,” she said.

Turner considered the sign for a moment himself before declaring, “I’m guessing BSN stands for Blatant Staggering Nutcase.”

“I doubt it,” Becca replied through gritted teeth.

“Big Simpering Neurotic?” he suggested further.

“Um, no,” she replied as patiently as she could. “Just a shot in the dark, but…I’m thinking not.”

“Blithering Schizoid Nitwit?”

“Turner…”

“Brilliant Scholar Not?”

“Turner.”

“I know. Bunch of Stupid Nonsense.”

“Turner, stop it,” she finally hissed under her breath. And then it hit her. The RN designation ultimately gave it away. “Bachelor of Sciences, Nursing!” she said triumphantly. “That really shows she’s not a flake if she has a bachelor’s degree.”

Turner said nothing in response to that. And just to show what a good sport Becca was about such things, she didn’t even grin smugly and lean in close and tell him—

Oh, who was she kidding?

“Told you so,” she said with a smug grin, leaning in close.

He growled something under his breath and made a big show of checking his wristwatch. “We’re more than half an hour early,” he said.

Becca glanced at her own wristwatch. He was being generous. They were closer to forty-five minutes early. She’d made the appointment for ten o’clock, and it was just past nine-fifteen now. “I thought traffic would be a lot worse,” she said lamely. “I wanted to get an early start.”

The real reason she’d wanted to get an early start was because she’d figured Turner would put up more of a fight about coming, so she’d shown up at his place extra early to allow time for the argument. But he’d been surprisingly cooperative about everything. He’d also been pretty yummy-looking in his faded blue jeans and a navy-blue sweater that made his blue eyes seem even bluer somehow, especially when he pulled a disreputable-looking denim jacket on over it. Becca, too, had opted for blue jeans today, pairing hers with a white, scooped-neck T-shirt and black blazer.

The day outside the downtown office building where Dorcas Upton and all the letters following her name had sited their office was coolish but sunny, the perfect weather, Becca couldn’t help thinking, for a good hypnotizing. She and Turner had both taken a personal day off from work, feeling not one bit guilty about it since they had to be present for a big meeting at the office on Saturday morning. Robert Englund hadn’t complained, and besides, they were doing this as much for him as they were for themselves.

Well, okay, maybe that was pushing it. But tomorrow, Becca and Turner would put the finishing touches on their pitch for a big new account Englund Advertising was trying to land—an account that could bring in loads of money, not to mention a nice, fat promotion for Becca and Turner both—and the meeting Saturday would herald the big reveal. It made sense that the two of them would want to be at their best for the rest of the week.

And their best, Becca had decided, would be smoke-free. That way, they could work on the campaign with one hundred percent of their focus, instead of always being distracted by when they might be able to sneak away for a cigarette.

“Maybe Ms. Upton can take us early,” she said now as she reached for the knob and opened the door. “I didn’t have any problem making the appointment yesterday. That makes me think she can’t be booked solid all the time.”

“It makes me think she’s a quack,” Turner muttered.

Becca shushed him, but had to admit he had a point. And that point was made even finer when they entered the hypnotherapist’s office to find it completely empty. Although there was a little frosted window pushed open over a counter where a receptionist might normally be seated, there wasn’t a receptionist sitting there now.

Still, it was a very nicely appointed office, with wallpaper in a pale yellow stripe, plush, plum-colored seating, soft lighting and lots of ferns. And someone must be around, because there was soft classical music playing, and somewhere on the other side of that frosted window, down a hall or in another room, someone was talking on the phone.

“Place doesn’t seem to be hopping,” Turner said. “I bet she could take us early.”

Becca nodded. “If she’s here…”

No sooner were the words out of her mouth than a door on the other side of the room opened and a slight, wiry woman came striding through. When she saw Becca and Turner, she seemed to be as surprised as they were, but she quickly recovered and smiled. “Well, hello there,” she said. “I’m Dorcas Upton. Can I help you?”

Becca wasn’t sure what she’d been expecting when it came to hypnotherapists, but she was pretty sure it wasn’t this. Dorcas Upton had more in common with Mother Goose than she did with the Amazing Mesmiro. Probably around sixty years old, she had her gray hair fixed atop her head in a tidy bun, and beaded black half-glasses were perched on the end of her nose. Slender to the point of being almost angular, she stood a good three or four inches shy of Becca’s own five-six, even though she was wearing sensible black pumps with a one-inch heel. Her outfit, too, was mostly black; a plain, straight skirt that fell to midcalf and a black, pearl buttoned sweater open over an ivory blouse.

No white coat after all, Becca mused. For some reason, that made her feel better, though. Dorcas Upton looked like a school librarian, her dark eyes reflecting intelligence, proficiency and good humor. Becca liked that in a hypnotherapist.

“I know we’re not on time for our appointment,” Becca said by way of a greeting, not quite able to quell the anxiety she could hear lacing her voice. Probably because she couldn’t quite quell the anxiety coursing through her brain and body, too. “But is there any chance we could still see you?”

“Certainly,” Ms. Upton said. She smiled as she tilted her head toward the empty waiting room. “As you can see, I’ve no one else waiting at the moment. If you’ll just follow me?”

She swept her hand toward the open door behind her, and Becca turned to look at Turner. He was studying the hypnotherapist through slitted eyes, but he seemed resigned to going through with it. Becca tried to smile at him reassuringly, then reached out and took his hand. Though she honestly couldn’t have said whether she did that for his benefit or for her own. It just felt better holding his hand.

“Come on,” she said softly, tugging gently. “In a little while, it’ll all be over. And then we’ll have the rest of the day off from work to celebrate our new commitment.”

Turner smiled back, a little halfheartedly, but he nodded. “This better work,” he told her. “That’s all I can say. Because we’re both going to be frustrated in the extreme if it doesn’t.”

DORCAS UPTON SMILED at the couple, deciding immediately that she would forgive them for being twenty minutes late for their appointment. And not just because they were the cutest couple she’d ever seen, either, single or married, and obviously perfect for each other. But also because she had just hung out her shingle two months ago, and she wasn’t exactly overrun with clients yet.

Starting a new business wasn’t easy. And she hadn’t been a hypnotherapist for very long. Dorcas was still working the bugs out both her method and her office. So even if Mr. and Mrs. Feder were late for their nine o’clock appointment, she’d see them. And she’d take care of their problem for them. And then, as Mrs. Feder had just said, they could go home and celebrate their new commitment. To each other, and to a happily wedded way of life. Once Dorcas was finished with them, they wouldn’t be frustrated anymore.

Because she was confident she could help the shy newlyweds iron out their little problem. And a delicate little problem it was, too. She wasn’t surprised they’d arrived late for their appointment. If their extreme shyness and inhibitions were keeping the two of them from making love, then certainly it might result in the sort of nervousness and hesitation that would make them late for an appointment to remedy the problem.

“Won’t you come into my office?” she asked the Feders, smiling with as much encouragement as she could. Didn’t want the precious—though nervous—lovebirds to bolt, after all.

The couple exchanged one final, reassuring glance, then Mrs. Feder nodded. “We’re ready,” she said.

They followed Dorcas into her office, which did have the bugs worked out of it, at least where the decor was concerned. In an effort to make her clients feel as comfortable as possible, she’d opted for muted earth tones with splashes of pastel blue, hoping to evoke an earth-and-water feel that might appeal to more elemental aspects of the human psyche. An electric desk fountain bubbled pleasantly atop a bookcase on the other side of the room, and the classical music of the waiting room was replaced here by a recording of a windswept canyon in New Mexico. The atmosphere certainly made Dorcas feel relaxed and contented. Hopefully, her clients felt that way, too.

As she rounded her desk and took a seat behind it, she glanced down at her appointment book in an effort to discern the Feders’ first names. But she frowned when she realized her receptionist hadn’t written them down when she recorded the appointment, only “Feders.”

Ah, well, Dorcas thought. There was time enough to get acquainted. Although her next appointment was at ten, that would be a fairly mundane quit-smoking session. Dorcas could do those in her sleep. They didn’t take long. This one with the Feders, though…

It wasn’t every day you ran across two people who wanted to make mad, passionate love and couldn’t get over their combined inhibitions to do it. And newlyweds to boot! But that was all right. They’d be at it like rabbits when she was finished with them.

“I’m sorry about the timing,” Mrs. Feder stated as she took a seat in one of the chairs opposite Dorcas’s desk. “This was just one of those mornings when—”

“Say no more,” Dorcas interrupted gently in as soothing a voice as she could manage. “And don’t think anything of it. It isn’t a problem, honestly.”

In spite of her reassurances, Mrs. Feder seemed a little nervous about the session ahead. And Mr. Feder, who still stood at the door, looked too wary to even enter the room.

“I’m sorry,” Dorcas said, “but you’ll have to tell me your first names again. My receptionist didn’t write them down in my appointment book.”

Mrs. Feder smiled. “I’m Becca, and this is Turner.”

Dorcas smiled in return. “And you must both call me Dorcas. Well, since time is of the essence, let’s get started right away, shall we?”

Becca turned to look at her husband, who still seemed reluctant to enter. Funny, Dorcas thought, but he didn’t look like the sort of man who would have trouble consummating his marriage. On the contrary, he looked like the sort of man who would pounce on whatever female held his interest. He also seemed extremely interested in his wife, if the expression on his face when he looked at her was any indication.