Provocative Professions Collection (22 page)

The bags under my eyes are so sunken in and heavy, I could have packed my lunch and purse in them. I got two—two!—hours of uninterrupted sleep last night without the music and partying. That must have been when they all went out on a beer run, or had the orgy…anybody's guess. Surely I can't be the only neighbor complaining. On a weekend, I'd probably try to "be cool" about it, but not a work night 'til three am.

Sleep-deprived delirium steering, I enter the file room first, too slowly realizing this is not my office.

"I believe you're that way." A guy chuckles, his hand on my shoulder turning me back on track. "You all right?"

"Of course," I spit tersely, again blaming my lack of sleep. One quick glance his way confirms it's FedEx, but I'm in no mood to appreciate his hotness as I storm down the hall. Can't deny I'm still
definitely
feeling that innocent but searing touch, though.

"Amelia?"

With an exasperated huff, which isn't a promising sign at 8 am for a tolerable nine-hour day, I turn back to face him. "Yeah?"

"You've been expecting this." He offers me a FedEx box with that dimple gleaming at me.

"Probably. Come on." I wave him to follow me to my
actual
office, where I sink down in my chair. "Just set it anywhere," I mumble, letting my head fall back and eyes close. "Thank you, FedEx."

"FedEx?" He laughs. "Really? I know
your
name. Would it surprise you to learn I have one too?"

My eyes shoot open as my face contorts into a shamed grimace. He's absolutely right, and my mother would be mortified at my lack of common courtesy. I lift my head, cheeks heated and rueful eyes meeting his directly. "I'm so sorry. No excuse is valid, but I didn't sleep much last night. I have this neighbor. He
may
be Marilyn Manson and he—" I clamp down on my lip to halt the uninteresting blather; like he needs a rain cloud over his morning too. "Never mind." I wave a dismissive hand. "But I do know your name. It's Shaw, right?" I smile, hoping he doesn't ask
how
I know it.

"That's it. Shaw Bryant, to be exact." He bends forward over the desk with his hand out. "Nice to officially meet you."

"My pleasure." I blush, placing my hand, which never felt dainty until now, into his.

There's a hint of anxious nausea from touching him, but ten times over there's the tinge of dormant sexuality spinning to life. His hand is warm but not sweaty, strong and firm but not intimidating. I'm wide awake now, able to see what's coming. Forbidding myself to do anything to stop it, I remain entranced on the progression as he lifts our joined hands to his mouth and gently kisses my knuckles.

"All mine, I assure you," he says, no, he growls.

"Well." I fidget, face now
on fire,
slowly pulling my hand back. "Have a great day, Fed, uh, Shaw."

"Don't forget about this package." He grins lasciviously as I gasp and lean way back in my chair, mouth agape. "On the desk." He points to the box, his smile even wider, confident and pleased.

Mabry need never explain how he managed his way into her panties. Hell, mine might go up flames and singe right off my body this very second.

"Amelia?" Speak of the lucky one, Mabry barges through the door. "Oh, uh—" Her eyes fly awkwardly from one corner of my office to the other, then to the floor. "H-hi Shaw," she stutters.

"Morning, Mabry." His body, already tight as a drum, goes rigid and he clears his throat, backing out of the room. "Pleasant day, ladies," he offers grimly and walks out.

Had my gaze not been fixated on her so studiously, I would've missed it; the fleeting, insecure flash of her eyes up at me then back down. "Time for morning meeting," she says softly.

"Okay," I enunciate, suspicious. "Mabry, what was that? I thought—"

"We just had a fight." She dismisses it with a badly disguised laugh and shrug. "We'll be fine. Come on, we're gonna be late."

I'll be offered the Golden Gate Bridge for a dollar any second if she thinks I bought that canned line of bullshit.

Because my pulse is still racing.

Maybe it's exhaustion, lunacy, or perhaps it's the fact my heart's still struggling to fight from my chest…but when Max saunters in later that afternoon, he's well-received.

"Amelia, beautiful as ever," he attempts, doing little to temper the concern on his face at my disheveled appearance.

"You lie so smoothly." I
snicker
—insanity. Knew it. "What can I do for you, Dr. Treat?"
No really
, his last name is indeed Treat. Imagine the thoughts of every female patient he "treats!" Ha! The pun is definitively made for me by itself.

"You could have dinner with me." He cocks his dark blond brow, already expecting my declination.

"Sounds lovely." Not gonna overthink, just going with it.

"Well, think—wait, what?" He adjusts, his confusion morphing to a surprised smile. "So no boyfriend then?"

I nod with a blushing grin of admittance.

"Alright then, how about tonight?"

I'm all but beaming myself, feeling proud. Time to grab life by the balls and live a little. "How about tomorrow instead? Clearly, you see how tired I am, so that works better, if my neighbor's stereo breaks and allows me some sleep tonight that is."

"Tomorrow's perfect. Should I pick you up, or…" He glances about my office nervously—it's kind of cute actually—and then he's back, eyes...guess where?
And he was doing so well.

Still my smile doesn't waiver. "We can just leave straight from here. I get off at five, works for you?" I talk to his forehead. "
If
," I speak louder,
now
gaining his full attention, "you promise to keep your eyes right here," I point to both my own, "at least through dinner?"

He chuckles and I have to admit it's a nice sound. "Promise." He blushes slightly and gives me a sheepish grin.

"All right then. See you tomorrow, Max."

My neighbor apparently heard the prayers I sent up and took a hiatus last night, so Wednesday goes great; I get my desk cleared of pending issues with time to freshen up in my office lavatory to spare.

Waiting to meet Dr. Treat, I spot a pesky shimmer of white glaring from inside my mail cubby.
Dammit.
In fear of someone else opening it (very unlikely, I remind my paranoid self), I snatch the envelope and head back to my desk.

I'm not going to read it. Whatever perverse tidbit Mystery Man has to impart will have to wait, or so I tell myself, as I open the bottom drawer.
Drop it in and go get ready for your date
, I chant inwardly, yet it seems glued to my fingers. A heavy sigh rips from my lungs and grows into a frustrated groan. Shit. Stupid curiosity better not ruin my night.

Working quickly, I pull the letter from the envelope and find it's a short note. Too short. I swallow hard as I read.

You're mine and I don't share.

No escape, Beauty

—Yours

As though the paper was suddenly doused with acid, I drop it in the drawer and jerk back.
Was that a threat?
My mind plays scenario after scenario of some macho freak stalking me on my date, ready to inflict actual bodily harm, but all that fear is quickly trampled by the flurry of anger that creeps in and lays claim.
Screw him!
I kick the damn drawer shut and grab a piece of paper.

Fuck off! No more letters!

—Not yours EVER!

Nostrils flaring at the audacity of this guy, I trifold it and write "Creeper" on the outside in massive letters, shove it in my mail cubby, and head to the bathroom.

I refuse to give him any more thought, determined to have a nice time with a normal, good-looking guy. As I swipe ruby red gloss across my lips, I hum a tune so cheerful I can't help but feel good about tonight. Maybe Dr. Treat is exactly what I need.

Just as I walk out, adjusting the neckline on the dress I'd changed into for dinner, Max raps his knuckles lightly on my door. "Ready?"

"I am." I smile appreciatively as I take him in. It can't be said Max Treat isn't attractive. With perfectly disheveled dark blond hair, bright blue eyes, and a fit, close to 6' frame, he's noticeable for sure. And always dressed immaculately, like now in dark slacks and a crisp, light gray button up shirt.

"Shall we?" he asks, offering his arm to me.

I flip off the lights and the rampant thoughts in my mind and walk out at his side.

As promised, Max kept his eyes on mine all through our lovely meal, the conversation and pinot flowing seamlessly. So, as we walk to his car, I'm unconcerned mine is still at the hospital or how I'll get to work in the morning. I'm horny, plain and simple. A fourteen-month itch needs scratched STAT. I'm
sure
Max isn't the author of the notes; it's blatantly obvious after the last one. Not to mention he talks nothing like him, and the whole "had the balls to ask me out in person" thing's a pretty positive indicator. So
this
is okay, comfortable, safe…and oh so needed. Fourteen months is a long time.

After he's seen me to my seat and climbed in to start the car, I squeeze my thighs together and plan my approach.

"So, back to your car? Are you all right to drive?" His concern is thoughtful; I'd definitely had more wine than him.

"Probably not." I laugh, leaning his way. "If you could take me home, I'll call a cab or friend in the morning." I shrug. "Whichever."

"Of course." He beams.

By the time a series of stops and turns have landed us in front of my apartment building, our hands are linked and my panties are…affected. "I had a wonderful time, Max. Thank you." I let the wine purr for me.

"Me too." He leans in, the murmured response tickling my lips.
Kiss me
!

"Would you—"

"Yes!" he practically shouts, darting from and rounding the car, opening my door in a frenzied blur. "God, yes," he groans as he helps me out.

Falling into my apartment in a heap of tangled, desperately seeking limbs and joined mouths, I
gently
brush Lucy off my leg.

"Can I look down yet?" he begs.

I laugh, lowering each side of my dress until it bunches at my waist, leaving my white lace bra exposed. "Yes, free pass for the rest of the night."

He emits a low, rumbling growl that flushes up my body as he plunges his face into my cleavage. I grab his hair and let my head fall back into the door; not comfy. "Couch, Max," I pant.

In one fell swoop, his hands are firmly gripping my ass and I'm carried hastily to the couch. His body covers mine, a welcome weight, as he pulls down the cups of my bra, freeing the breasts he loves to ogle.

Which he does again now.

"I knew it." His lip curls in hunger as his eyes fixate, a warm approval tangible on my skin. "Fucking fabulous. Even better than I thought." With that praise, he latches on, mouth devouring the left while his hand gropes the right.

I close my eyes and absorb the admiration, basking in his tasting and feeling all he wants. My legs wrap around his waist, grinding my center up until my soaked panties are lined up against his cock, which is barely contained behind the fabric of his pants. My hand slides down between our bodies, anxious to free the massive bulge, a constant, low hum in my throat, until…
NO! NO! NO!