Scandalous Mistress. Leslie Kelly

happened with the Kama Sutra found in the parking lot.

      Steeling herself for his reaction, whatever it might be, she said, “In my real life, I’m a counselor.”

      “Like, at a high school?”

      That was probably a logical assumption for him to make, but she laughed lightly. “I mean, a psychological counselor. A therapist. I work—I mean, I hope I still work—at a health-and-wellness center in downtown Chicago.”

      Mike sat up straight, the sheets falling onto his lap. She eyed that big, broad chest, with its light sprinkling of dark, wiry hair. He was so nice to look at. The man was amazingly handsome during the day, but he was made to wear night.

      Right now, though, he’d been thoroughly distracted from all the things he did so well during the night. Gaping down at her, he asked, “Are you serious?”

      “Yes.”

      “Are you a doctor?”

      “Not an M.D., but yes, a psychologist.”

      “What on earth are you doing working as a teacher?”

      Lindsey sighed as she realized the mood had definitely been broken. It appeared they were going to have to talk instead of getting to the naughty things she wanted to do to him.

      “I’m on a leave of absence,” she admitted. “But the timing was perfect because of Callie’s situation. I’ve tried hard not to let anybody find out who I am. I don’t think the therapist-moonlighting-as-teacher thing would go over very well here.”

      “Definitely not.”

      She caught her lip between her teeth, eyeing him apologetically. “That’s one reason I tried to avoid getting involved with you. If this all comes crashing down, and you get caught in the cross fire, you could lose your job, especially with that whole stupid incident with the book. I’d be devastated if you were fired because of me.”

      “I won’t be.”

      “I’m so very thankful that you got out of the Chicago P.D. before you got seriously hurt.”

      Not saying anything, he lifted a hand and rubbed a scar on the base of his throat, as if by habit. She’d noticed it before—she’d kissed it a few hours ago.

      Understanding, she murmured, “Is that a reminder of your last job?”

      He nodded. “Yeah. Just my bad luck to run into a desperate gangbanger with a long knife, who was out to earn his stripes.”

      An inch closer to his jugular, and he would have bled out. She didn’t have to be an M.D. to know that.

      Lindsey had to close her eyes and swallow hard to give herself a moment to come to grips with that. He could so easily have been killed, could have, without a doubt, ceased to exist before she’d ever gotten the chance to know him. That realization stunned and horrified her, and again, she wondered if she’d made a mistake getting involved with him. Because, God forbid he ever had to return to that life, especially because of a stupid job!

      Finally, she replied, “Actually, I think it’s your good luck that his knife wasn’t longer or his aim wasn’t better.”

      “Forget about all that. It’s in the past,” he said. Then he went back to her explanation. “What’s this leave of absence about?”

      “It’s about getting me out of the way because I’m a liability.”

      “What?”

      “My employers asked me to go. They are calling it a leave of absence, but the truth is, it’s more like probation. I have to keep my nose clean, stay out of the papers, not draw any unpleasant attention that would reflect badly on the center. Maybe then they’ll welcome me back.”

      “Assholes,” he said, lying down again to draw her close.

      She didn’t say anything for a moment, a little stunned at his reaction. There had been no, “What did you do?” No, “Why?” just an indictment of whoever had done something to hurt her.

      Oh, this man was special in so many ways. So loyal and so trustworthy. Which was why she decided to trust him and just reveal everything.

      “I work for an extremely conservative practice. Very old school and stodgy. Unfortunately, the media got ahold of some excerpts of my dissertation on female orgasms and made a big joke out of it, putting my name, and the center’s, through the tabloid wringer.”

      He shook his head, as if clearing it to understand. “Women’s... Wait, what kind of counselor are you?”

      Too late to retreat now.

      “I’m a sex therapist. I specialize in female sexual disorders.”

      He shot up again. Then, as if that wasn’t enough, he jumped out of the bed, standing naked beside it, gaping down at her. His brows shot up as his eyes rounded. His mouth fell open, snapped shut then opened again, as if he didn’t know what to say. Finally he managed, “You’re joking.”

      “No, I’m not.”

      He was clearly having a hard time wrapping his mind around it. “You teach people how to have sex?”

      “Not exactly. It’s more about helping patients—primarily women—understand their bodies and figure out why they make the choices they do when it comes to their sex lives. That’s why I have all the toys, by the way.”

      He nodded slowly. “Like pharmacies giving out free drugs to doctors so they’ll prescribe the drugs to their patients.”

      “Exactly!” she exclaimed, glad he’d understood so quickly. “I have definitely recommended vibrators to some of my non-orgasmic patients.”

      He swiped a hand through his hair, shaking his head, still a little shell-shocked. She supposed it was a bit much to take in, since he’d viewed her as the small-town teacher she’d been portraying.

      “Mike, are you all right?”

      She knew what his problem was. It was the same problem all the men she slept with had when they found out what she did. They were intimidated, thinking they were having sex with an “expert,” wondering if they were being judged or evaluated. She understood, which was why, in the past, she rarely told her lovers what she did for a living. Considering her relationships rarely lasted long, and never got to the point of true intimacy, it had never been a problem keeping that detail secret.

      Mike, though, had already barreled through those defenses, just as he’d warned her he would. Revealing her profession hadn’t been just about making him understand about the toys. She also wanted him to know her—really know her—the way few people did.

      When he didn’t answer, she said, “Are we all right?”

      She wasn’t sure what “we” meant yet, but she realized she would not be satisfied with just one night with the man. The timing and location were beyond bad; nothing had changed in that regard. The only thing that had changed was that they both now knew how worth the effort a hot, secret affair would be.

      “We’re fine,” he said, sitting on the edge of the bed, looking down at her. He reached out and brushed her hair back off her cheek, the caress tender and gentle. “But I’m glad you didn’t tell me that before. Having sex with a sex therapist? Talk about something to give a guy performance anxiety!”

      She purred. “Baby if that’s your standard performance, you have nothing to be anxious about. Ever.”

      A pleased, self-satisfied grin tugged at his lips. “Yeah?”

      “Definitely. That was worthy of a standing ovation. I will be demanding an encore.”

      He ran his fingers over her belly, gliding them up to caress the under-curve of a breast. “How many curtain calls?”

      Growing breathless as his fingers danced across her skin, she murmured, “I believe the number we discussed