Whispers in the Dark

“He can’t. You listen to the show just as much as I do. He might know a heck of a lot about the male/female thing, but somehow I think my problems run a bit deeper than the normal issues he handles. I do not need a sex expert.”

“That man is an expert on more than just sex. He knows how to handle a woman, make her feel special. Although, if you ask me, a sexpert is precisely what you need.”

Anne frowned and Karyn thought, Oh, shit. Her best friend bright and animated…that was normal. Her best friend with a mission…that was just scary.

“That man could charm the panties off anyone—including you. He’d have you naked and panting before fears and your overactive brain could sabotage you.”

Standing up, Karyn paced past her friend toward the stereo. She should just turn the damn thing off. Instead she turned back and asked, “What do you think he’s going to say?”

Anne lifted one challenging brow. “It’s more what I expect he could do.”

“Do? What, you think he’ll pimp for me? Find a man willing to take on the challenge?”

Anne twirled the phone in her hand. “Nope. I expect he’d help you himself if you asked.”

Her knees went weak, almost like someone had reached in and pulled the bones straight through the bottom of her feet. “Asked. You expect me to ask Dr. Desire for sex?”

“Hell, yes.”

“Hell, no.”

“He’s precisely what you need. He definitely knows his way around a woman’s body. Any man who can talk about women and pleasure the way he does…” Her friend trailed off into a wistful sigh. “At least call him.”

Karyn shook her head, not sure what to say. There was no way she could ask Dr. Desire for sex. On air no less!

Narrowing her eyes, Anne jabbed the phone toward her. “If you don’t, I will.”

Karyn’s heart seemed to seize in her chest. Pulling her gaze away, she decided to ignore the pointed gesture.

Anne shrugged and started dialing.

Snatching the phone from her, midpunch, she stabbed the off button and hid it behind her back.

With a smirk Anne said, “I have a cell phone, you know.”

Karyn growled under her breath. Arguing with Anne made her almost as frustrated as fighting with her big brothers always had. A tiny part of her missed those moments with her family, when she could be herself, when her older brothers had acted like annoying, interfering older brothers. No one except Anne fought with her now.

“Look, I’m not asking that man to sleep with me.”

“Fine. But call him. It can’t hurt to tell him your story, see if he has any advice.”

Karyn swayed. Sure, she’d considered calling before. The only thing that had stopped her was an absolute certainty that it wouldn’t do any good.

Crossing the room, Anne laid a hand on her shoulder. “You’ve tried everything else. What do you have to lose?”

She gave up with an exasperated groan. “What am I supposed to say to him? Hi, my name is Karyn and I’m a victim of rape?”

“Well, that depends on what you’re looking for. I’d suggest you start with the fact you haven’t had sex in five years and go from there.”

Plopping down onto her sofa, Karyn dialed the number for Dr. Desire’s hot line, 1-800-4DESIRE and cringed. It sounded a little too close to a phone-sex line for her peace of mind. But if this would get Anne off her back for a while it’d be worth any discomfort. She’d call, tell him her problem and just see if he had any suggestions.

What she wouldn’t do was ask him for sex.

Her heartbeat quickened as the line connected and rang. The bundle of nerves in the pit of her stomach seemed to tighten and churn as she explained to the show’s producer why she was calling.

After being placed on hold, Karyn breathed deeply in a vain attempt to dispel the emotions jittering through her. She’d explain her situation—leaving out most of the details—and then when he couldn’t offer her anything constructive would hang up and forget she’d ever dialed the number.

She felt better, until she looked up into her friend’s expectant eyes.

“I still think you should ask him for sex. I’m telling you, that man knows his way around a woman’s body. The only thing you’d be thinking with him touching you is more, more, more.”

The breathless way Anne moaned the words was not helping. “I am not going—”

“You’re on the air with Dr. Desire. Let’s find the spark in your relationship.”

Karyn’s eyes flew wide as she leaped to her feet, standing uselessly in the center of her living room. His voice slid down her spine, not from her strategically placed speakers, but from the phone pressed tightly to her ear. Her hand flexed around the curved plastic in a bid to hold on to something tight. She certainly didn’t have hold of her sanity at the moment.

A vision of Dr. Desire, a carbon copy of the billboard she passed at least twice a day, jumped easily to her mind.

With a wide, white smile and rumpled, dark brown hair that always looked as if some woman had just run her fingers through it, the man was gorgeous. No red-blooded, breathing woman could argue that. But it wasn’t just his rugged jaw or kissable lips that held her attention. Something deep inside those smoldering blue-gray eyes made her insides clench and melt whenever she drove past.

Even now, just the memory of that picture had her body heating. Heating more than it had for any flesh-and-blood man in the past five years.

“Now, don’t be shy. I won’t bite. Unless you want me to.”

Karyn heard his laugh. Like his voice, it was deep and sexy and somehow soothing. She relaxed the muscles that had bunched at her back and sank blindly onto the sofa.

Her mouth opened and words tumbled out before she could stop them.

“I need you to sleep with me.”

CHRISTOPHER FAULKNER nearly fell off his chair. He did bobble the microphone in front of him.

Considering the timid way this woman had started her phone call, that last statement had been a shocker.

Jerking up, he mouthed, “What the hell,” to Michael, his forty-two-year-old producer. The man supposedly screening his calls just shrugged and went back to playing with switches.

Chris fought down the urge to strangle him. He’d wrangled with that sensation often over their five-year friendship. There was something about the other man’s laid-back attitude that tended to grate against his nerves. Especially during the past few months.

Michael knew he didn’t like to deal with this sort of thing on air. Hell, he could barely walk out his door without being accosted by some primped-up prima donna looking for him to rock her world. All they ever really wanted was an instant catapult to notoriety. Or money.

The novelty of fame had long since lost its shine. He really enjoyed helping people, but could have done without some of the headaches that went with the job.

Pasting a smile on his face—because the listeners really could hear when it wasn’t there—he put every ounce of experience he’d gained over the past five years into handling the thorny situation Michael had dropped in his lap.

At least he’d learned something on his journey from ordinary nighttime DJ to megastar.

“Well, gee, I’m flattered.” He forced out a laugh that fell as flat as the lie he’d just told. He was nowhere close to being flattered. In fact, he was much closer to annoyed.