You Sexy Thing!. Tori Carrington

at the young woman to show he had heard.

      “We just got married.” The man looped his arms around the woman and tugged her closer. “This is the first day of our honeymoon.”

      “Congratulations.” Dylan forced a close-mouthed smile then turned back toward the elevator.

      Kissing noises sounded beside him. He rubbed the back of his neck, wondering where the stairs were, and whether he was up to climbing seventeen floors. “Uh,” he began, interrupting the couple from their amorous pursuits. “A word of warning. When the elevator stops, you may want to make sure it’s actually on the floor you want.”

      The couple looked at him, then each other, sporting quizzical expressions he had been sorely tempted to bestow on a few of his more…interesting patients. Like the one who got into wearing women’s silk stockings under his Brooks Brothers business suits when he appeared in Superior Court.

      He cleared his throat. “I found out the hard way that they don’t always do that. The elevators. You know, stop on the floor you want. Creates a bit of a…mess.” Although he really couldn’t call what had happened this morning a mess. An unfortunate mishap, maybe. A wild accident. But definitely not a mess. Not when a man got to take a peek at a woman of Gracie Mattias’s caliber.

      “Um, thanks.”

      “Don’t mention it.”

      Finally, a ding. The elevator doors opened. Dylan stepped in and to the back, automatically making room for the couple. He reached around them and pushed the button for his floor.

      “Hold that elevator!”

      Dylan clenched his jaw and covertly reached around the couple to punch the close button. All he wanted was to get back to his room, shrug out of his damp clothes, then review his schedule for the next two weeks. Make a list of things to have Tanja see to. First and foremost, making sure that he knew exactly who he was going to be up against in coming interviews.

      “Thanks.” A breathless someone stuck her hand between the closing doors, then slid in between them.

      Dylan stood a little straighter, willing the doors to close before someone else could delay his ascension to his room and sweet peace.

      “It’s you.”

      Dylan jerked to stare at the late arrival. And nearly dropped to his knees. Which wouldn’t have been an inappropriate response given the woman he was staring at. He hadn’t noticed at the radio station, but Dr. Grace Mattias was tall. Nearly as tall as he was at six foot. A goddess. No, no, Galatea in the Pygmalion tale. Galatea, the statue Pygmalion had crafted of the perfect mate. Aphrodite had taken pity on the poor guy and brought the statue to life because of Pygmalion’s deep love for the inanimate object. That’s who Grace reminded him of. Even more with her damp hair curving against the skin of her cheeks and neck. Tiny droplets plopped against her soaked white tank, drawing his gaze to the hardened tips of her breasts.

      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