You Sexy Thing!

Heat, sure and swift, swept through his groin and he fought the urge to groan aloud. Gracie Mattias wasn’t destined for wife and motherhood as Galatea had been. No, she was put on earth solely to torture men like him with her oozing sensuality and provocative ways.

She cocked her head slightly to the side and gave him a hesitant smile, as though trying to analyze what was going on in his head. He’d be better off remembering that Gracie was completely capable of doing just that. He immediately snapped straighter.

“Don’t look so shocked,” she said. “I think we’ve already, um, established that we’re staying at the same hotel.”

The couple with their arms wrapped around each other looked their way. “In separate rooms,” Dylan pointed out.

“Of course in separate rooms. We don’t even know each other.”

Dylan grimaced. “From the sound of it, that’s not necessarily something that would stop you.”

“Ooo, that was a low blow, Dr. Dylan. We’re not on the radio show anymore. You can put the jabs away now.”

He dipped his chin and managed a wry grin. “Sorry. That was kind of a cheap shot, wasn’t it?”

“Bargain basement.”

He slanted her a gaze from the corner of his eye. She seemed completely unconcerned with her disheveled appearance. This was at odds with her carefully put together front for the radio host. She didn’t make apologies and utter some inane comment about how she must look. She didn’t move to get a hairbrush from the depths of the huge handbag slung over her shoulder. And she didn’t try to repair her makeup. He wondered exactly how long she had been out in the rain.

He took a deep breath, pulling in a subtle, tangy scent that hovered somewhere between juicy, overripe oranges and tart, green apples. Her shampoo, maybe. Though it wasn’t beyond the realm of possibility that she, herself, naturally smelled like the succulent fruit.

“Excuse me, do you mind if I take a look?”

Dylan blinked at the young woman standing in front of him. The bride was gesturing toward the window behind him that overlooked the vast lobby as they moved upward.

“Sorry. Sure, go ahead.”

She did. And took her new husband with her.

Dylan stood ramrod straight in front of the closed elevator doors. Gracie joined him.

“Newlyweds,” he said quietly.

“Ah.”

A dull thump sounded from behind him. Dylan looked over his shoulder to find that the newlyweds had apparently taken in enough of the view and were now taking in each other. His eyes widened as the woman practically climbed up on the man. The man’s hand skimmed her side then cupped her behind the knee. In a smooth move, he lifted her leg then thrust his body against her softness.

Dylan jerked back to face the elevator doors.

“Exhibitionists,” Gracie whispered.

He looked at her blankly. “Rude.”

She tossed her head back and laughed. “Come on, Dr. Dylan, I should think that since they’re married almost anything should go in your book.”

He jabbed a thumb over his shoulder. “Nowhere did I write that this was acceptable behavior.”

Gracie’s deep, deep brown eyes held amusement. “I meant figuratively, not literally.”

“Oh.”

She held up a finger. “Speaking of which.” She began rummaging through her bulging bag, then tugged something out with a little resistance. “Here.”

He stared at the book she held as if he was afraid it might bite. Seeing as it was her book, he wasn’t taking any chances.

“I had one left over from the stack my publisher sent to the station. Go on, take it.”

He did.

“I figure that you were caught at a bit of a disadvantage this morning. You know, having not reviewed my theories and all.”

He held up the magazine tucked under his arm still opened to the page focusing on her. “I wasn’t as uninformed as you think.”

“Oh my God! Can I see that? How did you get a hold of a copy so quickly? Rick, that’s my assistant, hasn’t said a word about its release.”

Dylan reluctantly let the magazine go. He stood silently wishing the elevator would get to his floor already as Gracie silently read the piece. He tensed at her little bursts of laughter, trying to ignore the low moans coming from the couple behind them. Then she flipped the magazine over to where he was featured. Dylan gave in to the urge to work his finger inside his overtight collar.

“Says here you’re married.”

“Divorced.”

“Oh, baby,” the bride moaned.

Dylan noticed that Gracie sneaked a glance at the couple, her brows jumping high on her forehead. She turned forward again, color touching her cheeks. Dylan didn’t even want to think of what it would take to shock the shocking sex doctor. She leaned closer to him, giving him another whiff of her fruity scent. “Um, I wouldn’t look back there if I were you.”

“I wasn’t planning to.”

The elevator finally drew to a stop. There is a God. The doors slid open and Dylan immediately began to step out. Away from the groping newlyweds. Far, far away from the enticing Dr. Mattias.

Gracie slapped the magazine against his chest. “This is how you got yourself in trouble the last time. This is my stop, remember?” Her smile held mischief and amusement as she got out then held the doors open with her hand. “Would you like to know what my recommended course for therapy would be for you, Dr. Dylan?”

His gaze drifted to where her breasts pressed against the flimsy material of her tank, the lace of her bra clearly visible beneath the damp fabric.

“I mean, given what I know about you so far, which isn’t a whole lot outside of your book.”

He jerked his gaze back to her face. “I’m not sure I want to hear this.”

“Good, because I’m going to tell you anyway.” She flipped her wet hair over a mostly bare shoulder. “What you need is a nice, traditional wild turn in the sack. And I’d recommend you see to it posthaste.”

Dylan nearly choked on whatever response he would have made as she waggled her fingers at him then sashayed down the hall. And sashay was the word for it. Finally the doors slid shut. He closed his eyes and swallowed as an article of clothing he didn’t even want to try to identify landed next to his left foot, no doubt compliments of the couple behind him.

WILD TURN IN THE SACK, INDEED. Dylan set about the nerve-calming, erotic-image-banishing task of unpacking his solitary suitcase. Something he would have had a chance to do earlier had he not accidentally interrupted Gracie Mattias’s shower that morning. Something he would be doing efficiently now if not for her inflammatory words. With quick, irritated movements, he rehung his blue shirt next to his navy slacks, well away from his tan jacket. Not that it mattered. He was scheduled to be in New York for only another day anyway. Tomorrow afternoon he was scheduled for a brief interview with a reporter from a top psychology magazine, then he was flying to St. Louis.

He decisively closed the closet doors then sat down to take off his shoes. Only then did he grow aware of his semiaroused state. He closed his eyes, determined to ignore the physical messages his body was sending him. He stripped out of his damp clothes and put on the hotel robe. There. He felt better already.

His sexual reaction to Gracie didn’t surprise him. He was only human after all. And she was one hundred percent female in heat. It’s how he acted on that basic, fundamental response that differentiated him from a mindless animal. Humans, in general, had the ability to make conscious decisions. While many still subscribed to the “I couldn’t help myself, it was an accident” philosophy when it came to extramarital affairs, the argument had never held much water for him. A man could always help himself. There was nothing accidental about falling into bed with a woman. In fact, whenever one of his patients tried using the excuse on him, he usually came back with something along the lines of “Right. So what you’re telling me is that you just tripped and fell right into her vagina.”

He carefully hung his suit on the towel warmer in the bathroom, smoothed out the wrinkles, then walked back into the other room. He sat down at the desk, eyed his laptop, the phone, then settled his gaze on Gracie’s book. Sex is Not a Four-Letter Word—Smashing Sexual Conventions. The title was spelled across a glossy white cover in pink and gold raised lettering. He pushed it aside and picked up the telephone receiver instead. Maybe he’d be able to get through to Diana.