By Appointment Only (9 page)

He flipped the comforter into place and wrapped one strong arm around her, cocooning her in the dual warmth of man and material. “Not at all,” he said, his words already tinged with drowsiness. “It’s been a long week.”

Sunday afternoon Hannah hovered near the computer, checking and rechecking her in-box. Finally the Hurst e-mail address popped up. She opened it and printed out her questionnaire. When she was done, Morgan switched to his mailbox and did the same.

They took chairs on opposite sides of the room and got down to business. Hannah was surprised right off by two things. One— the survey was about a million questions long. And two—the questionnaires weren’t at all what she had expected. Or maybe she simply hadn’t known
what
to expect.

That question stopped her cold in her tracks and filled her with distress. She’d been fifteen. And she’d done it to get her mother’s attention.

It had hurt. A lot. Her membrane had been fully intact, and there had been lots of blood. Even now the memory shamed her. She’d tried to keep it from Grammy, but the old woman had the instincts of a hunting dog. She’d found Hannah crying in the bathroom late at night, and with one sharp glance had pegged the situation.

To Hannah’s utter mortification, Grammy had made her go see a gynecologist, both for a physical confirmation that she was okay and to make sure Hannah received a pointed lecture about the ramifications of sexual activity.

Grammy had called Hannah’s mother and asked her to accompany them. Vivian had declined. Hannah had cried herself to sleep that night for a whole laundry list of reasons that were far more complicated than losing her virginity.

She didn’t have sex again for six years.

The brief trip to the past made her stomach churn. Her hand hovered over the question. No one would ever know if she lied. She wrote the number twenty-one. Then she stared at it. No one would believe that. She erased it and wrote eighteen.

Then she glanced over at Morgan. His head was bent, his attention focused on the list of questions. Were his similar to hers? They had never talked about past lovers or boyfriends or girlfriends.

Grinding her teeth and feeling her face heat even though no one was watching, she erased the number eighteen and wrote in the accurate digits.

On Monday morning Hannah delivered the questionnaires in person. One of her elderly clients had a doctor’s appointment in the same building as the Hursts, so after getting the frail woman settled into the waiting room, Hannah rode the elevator once again up to the now-familiar suite of offices.

The envelope in her hand was sealed. She had wanted badly to rip it open and see Morgan’s questions and answers, but she didn’t follow through on the childish impulse. If this sexual counseling was to work, she had to follow the rules.

It was difficult to look the receptionist in the eye. Hannah felt her face flush and knew she must look comically guilty. Which was stupid, because the woman clearly dealt with this kind of stuff on a daily basis.

The lady flipped open her appointment calendar and asked Hannah to suggest some dates and times. Fortunately, there were no glitches. Hannah was able to schedule Tuesday and Thursday at four thirty both this week and the next. The second group appointment was already on the books.

The middle-aged woman smiled. “When you come tomorrow afternoon, I’ll simply give you the appropriate key and you’ll take it from there.” Her eyes were kind. “Do you have any further questions?”

Hannah managed not to stutter. “No. I’m fine. We’re fine. We’ll be here. Thanks.”

She escaped into the hallway and leaned against the wall, her heart pounding in her chest and her legs trembling. Something about that office scared the crap out of her. She had weird worries about things like two-way mirrors, electroshock therapy, and masked strangers.

She’d always had an imagination that worked overtime, and in this situation, it was a definite curse.

By the time Mrs. Beckley’s appointment was finally over and Hannah was able to deliver her safely back to the assisted-living facility where she belonged, it was going on one o’clock. Hannah’s stomach was growling, so she popped into the mall and gobbled down an order of Szechuan chicken and fried rice. She should have gone for something healthier, but her stress level was through the roof, and she needed comfort food.

Afterward, she wandered down to Victoria’s Secret and looked in the window. Did tomorrow afternoon’s appointment merit new undies? The mannequin in the window was wearing a lovely set of champagne satin bra and panties trimmed in ecru and chocolate lace. The perfect colors for a dark-headed brunette.

Fifteen minutes later, Hannah was fifty dollars poorer and no closer to solving her itchy sensation of impending doom. She had hoped to stay superbusy today, but a couple of her regular Monday clients who had standing appointments at the beauty shop had canceled on her, and now the afternoon and evening stretched like an endless boring landscape in front of her.

She wouldn’t be seeing Morgan tonight. One of the big bosses was coming in from out of town, and Morgan would be tied up all evening taking the man around the job site and then wining and dining him.

It seemed ominous that the next time she would see her fiancé would be at the offices of the Drs. Hurst and Hurst. What would be in their private room when they opened the door? Silly stuff like edible underwear and porn videos? Or something even worse?

She couldn’t get a clear mental picture of what
even worse
might be, but she was sure it would be scary. Or uncomfortable. Or difficult to endure. Why in the name of all that’s holy had she ever teased Morgan about the sexual counseling? And when he had turned the tables on her and pretended to be interested in doing it, why hadn’t she laughed him off and changed the subject?

By the time she got back to her apartment, she had worked herself into a complete mental tizzy. The message light on her phone was blinking and she jabbed it eagerly, wanting to hear Morgan’s voice.

Unfortunately, it was her mother. Asking for money. Hannah deleted the rambling message rapidly and put a hand to her mouth, feeling queasy. Would she end up having to tell Morgan about her flaky mother? God, she hoped not.

She went for a run to try and burn off her restless energy, but it seemed to hype her up more. Since she had eaten a big lunch, she decided to have microwave popcorn for dinner. While it was popping, she poured herself a glass of wine and downed half of it recklessly.

She rarely drank because it made her sleepy. But tonight, oblivion sounded like a good thing. Then she wouldn’t have to think about tomorrow.

At ten she showered and climbed into bed. She read for a little while, but the book, which was supposed to be a page-turner, couldn’t hold her attention. Finally, she got up and rummaged in her closet until she found the hatbox at the rear. She pulled out the vibrator Morgan had never seen and got back into bed.

Deliberately, she closed her eyes and summoned up an image of Hugh Jackman. Nope. Not tonight. How about that country singer with the cute smile? Nothing.

Well, she could at least imagine herself in bed with her own yummy fiancé. If Morgan were here, he’d be under the covers already, with his head buried between her legs. Ah, that was it. She slowed her breathing, concentrating on the feel of the gentle ripples against her sensitive flesh. Would they be doing weird things in that room tomorrow, or simply concentrating on good sex?

Honestly, she couldn’t imagine much improvement in that area. Morgan was everything a woman could ask for when it came to the bedroom. He was inventive and funny and generous with his attention to her needs.

And his body . . . well, hot damn. The first time she had seen him naked, her heart had turned over in her chest. The physical nature of his job kept him fit and hard and tanned all over except for a strip of white at his hips.

His penis was above average, at least in her somewhat limited experience. After that one dismal youthful debacle, she’d been with only two other men before Morgan. And neither of them had been particularly exciting between the sheets. One had been unable to give her an orgasm, and the other one had been so quick off the mark every time that it had been embarrassing for them both.

She hadn’t thought much of sex until Morgan had shown her how good things could be between a man and a woman. He’d coaxed her into being less reserved in the bedroom. Despite her reckless nature in other areas of her life, when it came to physical intimacy, she had definitely been the cautious type.

But no more. He’d made her have sex in the daytime. He’d made her have sex with the lights on. He’d made her have sex in front of mirrors . . . or outside in the dark. Even once in his trailer after hours out at the work site.

And each time had made her feel a bit more free, more confident, more comfortable as a woman. More aware of her femininity, her desirability.

She eased the vibrator a couple of inches into her throbbing sex, wishing fervently that Morgan were there to assuage the ache. She bit her bottom lip and increased the speed of the vibrations.

With her free hand, she toyed with her clit, rubbing it lightly, concentrating fiercely on the heat gathering deep in her womb. She imagined Morgan’s fingers there, teasing her, playing with her until she begged for mercy. She moved the vibrator deeper, clamping down on it, her breath coming harshly now, her eyes squeezed shut.

She pictured his erection, glistening with moisture at the tip, waiting to take her. Shivers of arousal spread from her center into her stomach, her thighs, her breasts. She groaned and moved her hands more swiftly. The sudden jolt of fiery heat dragged a shocked cry from her throat, and she arched her back, dug her heels into the mattress, and came in wave after of wave of clenching pleasure that left her drained and spent in her lonely bed.

The sudden ring of the telephone was a rude shock. She was still gasping for breath when she rolled over and picked up the handset. “Hello?”

There was a split second of silence and then Morgan’s voice, laden with suspicion came on the line. “What in the devil are you doing?”

She clenched her thighs together. “What do you mean?”

Something in her thick voice tipped him off. “My God. You just made yourself come.”

She thought about denying it, but what was the point? “I miss you,” she said softly, every ounce of yearning she felt in her voice.

She heard him curse long and low, a string of words that conveyed his utter frustration. Finally he laughed, a hoarse chuckle that did nothing to mask his need for her. “Just wait until tomorrow, my love. Just you wait.”

Tuesday morning Danita closed her eyes and leaned back in the big, comfortable massage chair. The nail technician at her feet was prepping Danita’s toes for a pedicure. And not long before, Danita had recklessly paid for
and endured
a Brazilian wax job.

Shaun would have a cow.

But she was hoping his reaction would be the good kind of shocked. She was betting on the fact that seeing his wife with her private parts completely bare would turn him into a raging sex maniac.

She winced as she thought about yesterday’s depressing session at the Hursts’ offices. Danita had shown up there first thing Monday, desperate to schedule an appointment for Shaun and her as soon as possible. She had been almost sick with nerves, and she wanted to get the first visit over with quickly.

Fortunately, there was a cancellation at eleven. Shaun was his own boss at the accounting firm, so when she called him, he’d been able to get away without too much fuss. They had met and entered that unknown chamber of sexual secrets, and then everything had gone wrong.

She had expected the Hursts to set up some romantic fantasy scenario. Instead, the room was furnished very simply—as an ordinary bedroom. The brief note on the bedside table had instructed them to make love as they would on a normal night at home.

Danita had been furious and trying hard not to let on. This was bullshit. She and Shaun needed help, not a replay of their dismal, lackluster sex life. They had been married for over twenty years for godsakes. Was it any wonder that their lovemaking had become mechanical?

She knew that Shaun was surely bored with seeing the same woman in his bed night after night. This business with the sexual counseling was supposed to spice things up.

She had been so upset by the bland bedroom scene that she’d been unable to climax. Shaun had been grim-faced and silent. And filling out the postencounter questionnaires before they left the premises had been frustrating in the extreme.

By seven o’clock last night, their new sets of questions had been e-mailed to them. She and Shaun printed out the numerous sheets and went to separate parts of the house to complete them. Danita had dropped the papers off this morning right before her spa appointment and had begged the Hursts’ receptionist for a second appointment . . . today.

Perhaps she was a glutton for punishment, but she was desperate. Shaun had barely spoken to her last night, and the atmosphere in their lovely, comfortable home had been strained at best.

She knew the failure rested on her shoulders. Somehow she had lost her enthusiasm for sex, and the more she tried to force things, the more frozen she felt inside. At one point several months ago, Shaun had even asked her if she was having an affair.

Her blank look of shock must have reassured him, because he had exhaled gustily and then laughed. But there wasn’t much amusement in his rough chuckle.