Provocative Professions Collection (12 page)

It feels torturously right, everything I'd been craving, or so I thought… until his rough tongue wisps over my clit and I cry out, knowing "everything" just got so much better. That's all it takes for me to come undone right there on the exam table and I'm lost, conscious of nothing but the wave of tingling bliss rolling its way through my entire body.

He slows his ministrations, lapping gently as I ease back down to Earth, then slides his fingers out as he rises to stand, towering over me. He holds me captive in his stare, chin and mouth still glistening of "me," as unsure of what to say as I am. My ogle wanders over his broad chest to pants, drawn tight, perfectly outlining his massive erection. I sit up, ready to relieve him when he steps back and turns around.

"T-that shouldn't have happened," he stammers. "I'm sorry. I've never…with a patient… I-I've never—"

"I wanted you to. Blame me."

He turns back to face me just as another knock interrupts us. I'm probably his longest appointment ever. I can only imagine what the other patients or worse, the nurses, think.

"I have to go," he says, walking to the door.

"Of course."

He gives a curt nod and opens the door when I say in a whisper, "Thank you."

Chapter 11

As though drifting on a cloud, I float mindlessly around the gym the next morning, afterglow still on megawatt.

Say goodbye to my little blue friend.

So
much better when delivered by the firm, capable hands of a sexy, titillating man.

It may have ended somewhat uncomfortably, but the beautiful damage was already done, the effects still a tingling reminder between my legs.

Just thinking back to it, his deep, heavy breaths, my legs wide and seductive as he strummed my body like his favorite instrument, has me wet and wanting to make a whole damn album.

"What's got you smiling?"

I jolt as Brady sneaks up behind me and husks in my ear, blushing wildly, afraid he can read my mind. "H-hey," I sputter, shaking off residual ecstasy. I tilt my head to him. "Nothing really, just in a good mood."

"Mhmm," he hums, leaning in closer to run his nose up to my neck. "Fuck, you smell like sin, Moe."

It's probably the pheromones. Every dog in the clinic will like me today.

While I'm caught in drifting thoughts, he's somehow managed to entwine our hands and sequester me in the men's locker room.

Oh no.
I know what he does in here! I'm not
that
horny!

"Brady," I look around, shocked that he's dragged me in here so quickly, "What the—how'd—what are we doing in here?"

He laughs and taps my nose. "Not that, unless of course, you beg." His playful simper edged with seriousness. "Kidding. I just wanted to talk to you, privately."

"Okay," I hedge.

"There's something here," he croons.

"What? Where?" Hyperaware of the dank locker room, I warily look around again.

"No, not in this room. You know what I'm talking about, Moe."

"I do?" I reply in a passive drivel.

"Don't play coy with me. Things are different between us. We're not the same friends we used to be. It's all I can think about." He steps into me and moves a piece of hair behind my ear.

Why, oh why, does he have to go there? No way I'm answering him and especially not agreeing, instead eyeing him suspiciously as the crickets chirp. But he waits for me to shatter the calm.

"Brady," I mutter, voice shaky, eyes cast at the ground. "We can't."

"Can't what?" He bends and ducks his head below mine, forcing me to look at him. "So you do know what I'm talking about. Which must mean you feel it too?"

"Women in Antarctica can feel it," I deflect in cowardice. "You're single, gorgeous, successful, brilliant..." My words die off softly.

"So half as amazing as you then." He slides a finger under my chin and guides my dropped head up. "Only care what you're feeling, Moe."

Brady... my friend, truly the best one I have. My rock, my always and unfailing, my dependable.
No way am I risking that.

My head must be shaking with the protest I'm devising because his hand shoots out and slams against the locker he's backed me up to, startling me.

"Bullshit. Don't deny it. Something's changed between us and I want it. So do you! I can see the pulse in your neck." He dips to my ear, releasing a deep, carnal growl. "I can smell it."

"Wh-what?" I gasp.

"Mm huh, you're thinking of all the bad in that head of yours, but your body's telling mine yes, loud and clear." He pulls me into his arms and places a kiss above my ear." Let's try, Moe."

My eyes close, heightening my other senses. I can smell him too—Brady on fire. I stand there in his arms and lazily stroke my hands up and down his back, absorbing the closeness. That is, until his growing erection digs against my stomach and his struggle to tame his breathing douses me with a cold gush of reality.

My hands still halfway down his spine and I step out of his hold. "Brady," I groan in regret, "you're one of the most important people in the world to me. I love you and couldn't live without you. And that's why…" I sigh, blinking back tears. "That's why I need you to walk away, right now."

After what feels like forever, a mixed current of temptation and hesitance buzzing between us, he turns with a hard set to his features and storms from the room, leaving me crushed and despondent. I hear him mumble "coward" on his way out, breaking another piece of my heart.

The next few days crawl by, no, scratch that, they drag like a dyslexic fucking slug. Obviously I haven't talked to Brady, my brother's once again buried in "Game On!"—I love the name—my parents flew themselves to Bermuda, and I'll be damned if I can think of a halfway viable excuse to go see Dr. Reynolds.

So at this point, I owe it to society to wear a t-shirt that says "Turn around, cross the street or call 9-1-1, you've been warned."

And in a cruel joke by the gods of irony, it's Thursday, Tiko night. Imagine that. Either I ditch, looking even more the coward, or I go, stupidly hoping the tension will be less than that of chewing glass.

Decisions, decisions.

I've got the quarter in my hand, ready to flip my destiny, when it dawns on me. The very reason I shunned Brady's advances was for the sake of our friendship, the very one I'm debating bailing on tonight.

Coward
and
a hypocrite? Not this girl! With new determination, I drag myself down the hall and prepare for Tiko night with an optimistic attitude and maybe a lil extra attention to my appearance.

I'm the first to arrive, visiting with Juan when Dylan comes busting in, looking frazzled.

"Well, hello, stranger." I lean forward to give him a kiss on the cheek. "How are you?"

"Wiped." He turns to Juan and slaps him on the shoulder. "Make 'em extra strong tonight, my man."

With a chuckle, Juan hurries away to get our pitcher of margaritas as Dylan takes a seat.

"Where's Brady?"

Tapering my expression, I answer as naturally as possible. "I'm not sure, apparently running l—"

Or running game!
My voice catches as Brady and date walk in hand in hand.

"Don't screw with sanctity of our night, not cool," my ass!

"'Only care what you're feeling, Moe,'" my butt!

"Hey guys, sorry we're late. Ashley had to take an important work call outside," Brady greets us, pulling out the chair beside me for her. "Dylan, Addison, this is Ashley Chastain.
She's the Assistant Administrator at the hospital." He helps her into a chair with a gentle hand to her back, avoiding my glare, then takes the chair across from me.

"It's nice to meet you both," she says with a smile. "Brady told me a bit about you on the way over." Her smile is warm, genuine, and when combined with her huge brown eyes, olive complexion and long raven hair…it makes for one remarkable package.

I flag my hand in the air, desperate for a drink.

Unable to keep from peeking over at her, the rare "brains and beauty exotic princess," who has six inches on me—height and bust—I rape the pitcher from Juan's hands when he divinely appears at my side. Hand shaking as I pour, I'm hoping the penis-packers are too mesmerized by Ashley to notice.

The woman's breathtaking.

"Nice to meet you too," I finally manage to get in between Dylan's long winded introduction that includes way too much info about his day spent scouting employees.

"So you and Brady know each other from the hospital then, I assume?" Dylan asks, ceasing the recital of his recent new bio as I get a head start on my life-or-death buzz.

"Yes." She reaches across and lays her hand atop Brady's, caressing his knuckles with her pristinely manicured thumb. "We see each other there often. I couldn't believe he finally asked me out." She turns her head and gives him a sultry smile.

"When was that?" I ask a bit too enthusiastically, already knowing the answer
and
that Brady's sneer is pinned on me right this minute.

"Oh, well today's Thursday, so I guess it was…Tuesday? Is that right?" she asks him.

Huh, how very interesting!
I slurp down another mouthful of margarita. Tuesday, the same day as our anything-but-amicable parting at the gym...you don't say.

"Sounds right, gorgeous." He lifts her hand to his mouth and places a kiss on the back of it. "The morning you gave the proposal on the new NICU unit you brilliantly assembled."

"That's cool," Dylan cuts in animatedly. "I'm leading a new project myself, a gaming software company that Brady here is backing. Thus the need for employees, which has kept me tied up all week. Brady's gonna help me look over resumes this weekend, right?" He nudges Brady in the shoulder with a grin.

"Appears so," Brady replies, always willing to help Dylan.

"That's wonderful," Ashley says with a kind smile then turns those sincere eyes on me. "And what do you do, Addison?"

Swallowing down my huge, unladylike sip, I hold up a finger, refusing to wince at the brain freeze. Gonna need a second. Once it's down I find my voice. "I work at a veterinary clinic."

"That's wonderful. I've always admired how much schooling veterinarians have to endure. Good for you!"

I'd slap the grin off her face if it wasn't...nice. She's not usual Brady Bimbo. She's glamorous, well-educated and versed, elegant and kind. Dammit, where's Juan with a new pitcher?

"Oh, Moe's not a veterinarian, she's a vet tech," Dylan, the flesh of my flesh, lovingly corrects her.

"Only because she chooses to be." For the first time all night Brady finds and holds my gaze. "Moe can be anything she wants. But only she knows what that is. The rest of us might
think
we understood what she wanted, but we'd be wrong. Isn't that right, Addison?"

He thinks he's so clever, that I don't see through his games, defending me because it's ingrained in him to do so, ruining it with the reminder dig at the end.

And the date? I can't decide if he brought her because she's her—an admittedly smart choice—or to make me jealous—also a smart choice. If the latter, it worked like a charm, although I have no right to be jealous.
I
refused
him
.

My mood was shitty before all this fun. I don't need extra help picking the bridge to plummet from.

I'm out.

I stand and grab my purse, squaring my shoulders and chin before speaking. "I don't have some big excuse concocted for leaving. I just am." I look down at the date that fits in better at the table than I do. "Nice to meet you, Ashley."

It'd be nice to pull off an exit half as graceful as her entrance, because I can feel all their eyes upon me, but I don't stand a chance. So instead, in an average pace, I escape through the door to my clunker car, all the way to my mediocre apartment.

Not bothering to get undressed, I kick off my shoes, wash my face, scrub my teeth then hole up under the covers. I don't dream of Brady or Dr. Reynolds, but rather a time when I felt nothing new for either of them.

Chapter 12

The minute I'm done with work on Friday, I drive straight to my parent's house, bags already in the car. With them gone on yet another vacation, I plan to enjoy the bigger house alone. Yes, I'm hiding from it all, even if just for a weekend.

I need to get back in touch with the old Addison, the version of myself who knew what she wanted and went after it. The girl who always felt good enough in her own skin, didn't fight with her friends all the time, and was content even when by herself.

I park in the less noticeable car port on the side and head in with only my purse and duffle—no phone. Luckily, their alarm code is still mine and Dyl's birthdays, so I get past that easily and go straight to turn on the hot tub and heater on the pool—just in case.

Oh nice, they finally had the pool resurfaced, the bottom no longer sporting "Bad Bros 4 Life" with a poorly drawn skull and crossbones in black spray paint at the bottom. To this day, Dyl and Brady swear they weren't under the influence of any illegal substances and simply thought it seemed like a really cool idea at the time. My parents did not agree.