Page 153 of Wicked Fantasies

Holy, holy shit.

Time to call in reinforcements.

She grabbed her laptop from the coffee table and fired it up.

She sent a group text to all the ladies in the Tempt the Cougar group. She’d mentioned hot cop Ethan and a few of her racy fantasies involving the man in past posts and several of her friends had suggested him for her cougar experience. She’d always brushed off the suggestions, saying it was as unlikely as Donald Trump getting a decent haircut.

Help me! Ethan wants to help me fulfill this damn cougar challenge—TONIGHT! He’s serious about it too. What the hell am I supposed to do? He just gave me a copy of the Kama Sutra and told me to pick out some positions to try. Then he told me to wear something sexy. What the hell is that supposed to mean? I’m as sexy as the Queen of England. Oh my God. Kill me now. How did I let you girls talk me into this?

Monica replied almost immediately and Rachel laughed aloud at her friend’s advice—so typically Mon.

OH. MY. GOD. If you do not do this you will regret it for the REST OF YOUR LIFE. First, pick some positions that don’t require circus acrobat training. If he’s totally hung, try the Clasping or Indrani positions. But my personal favorite? The Tigress. Rawrr. Um, Sam likes that one too.

And the sexy part?

I hate it when men say that. How do you know what he thinks is sexy? I mean, maybe he totally digs the French maid thing. Or plain cotton underwear. If I were you, I’d just open the door naked. I bet he won’t object.

Rachel shook her head, feeling only a bit less freaked out. Monica was the queen of free spirits. She didn’t have an inhibited bone in her body. Open the door naked. As if.

The next text reply came from Cam.

What to do? Enjoy the heck out of it, honey! As far as the Kama Sutra goes…well, if it was me, I’d grab a mirror and try out positions to see which ones are the most flattering. But hey, that’s me and my insecurities. Go for it. And post details tomorrow.

She turned off her phone and walked to the bathroom carrying theKama Sutra. As she stood in front of the mirror, she looked at her reflection more closely than she had in a very, very long time. Shortly after her divorce, she’d stopped looking in mirrors completely. It had taken her several months to come to grips with the fact that Alex, her ex-husband, hadn’t left her because ofherproblems, but because of his. He was a shallow, self-serving asshole who ranked image above love, honor and respect in order of importance.

She was much better off without him, and she’d even developed a nagging sense of pity for his new wife, Carolyn. A leopard didn’t change his spots, and she wondered how much longer the bride behind door number two would shine bright enough for Alex to keep her around. Eventually Carolyn would be tossed aside for a newer model, and she actually felt sorry for the woman—to an extent.

Usually until she remembered finding the bitch in bed with her husband and then she just laughed with glee at the old “what goes around, comes around” saying.

Her reflection showed her just what she’d expected—a woman in desperate need of a dye job. The roots peeking out were grayer nowadays than the mousy brown of her youth. She checked beneath the sink and found a box of L’Oréal—light auburn. Thank the hair dye gods. At least she would be saved a trip to the drugstore today. Placing the box on the counter, she leaned forward, examining her face. She’d dodged wrinkles so far, although there were definite laugh lines forming around her brown eyes and full lips. She grinned ruefully.

Guess there’s nothing wrong with lines formed by laughter.

Turning around, she looked in the full-length mirror that hung on the back of the door.

I’d grab a mirror and try out positions to see which ones are the most flattering.

Cam’s words drifted back to her and she quickly crossed the line from mildly nervous to full-blown anxiety attack. Her hands shook so badly she nearly dropped theKama Sutra.

Crap. She’d never be able to take her clothes off in front of Ethan. She’d seen him shirtless, wearing nothing but workout shorts during a few of their PT sessions, and to merely say the man was built was an insult to Mother Nature for blessing women everywhere with the image of his physique, his male perfection. Meanwhile, the fates had clearly been drunk the day they’d made her, putting excesses of everything…everywhere. Wide hips, huge breasts, fat ass. The only places they’d skimped on were her ankles and wrists.

She shrugged off the T-shirt and pajama shorts she was wearing and studied the profile of her shape.

Wonder if I can lose twenty pounds by seven o’clock tonight.Maybe she could find tenKama Sutrapositions that required the man to have his eyes closed.

Time to change the game plan.

Evasion tactics. Excuses. Outright lies if necessary. What to choose?

Professionalism. Ethics. Of course, it was so simple. The main reason she hadn’t put Ethan’s name on her list to begin with was because he was her patient. She couldn’t have sex with a patient.

She rushed to the phone and called him.

“That didn’t take long,” he said dryly, rather than the customary hello.

“It would be unethical for me to have sex with a patient.” She was proud of the strength and conviction in her voice. Hippocrates would have been impressed.

“I’m not your patient anymore,” he answered calmly. “Before I called you this morning, I had my medical records transferred to Dr. Philips. He’ll be doing the rest of my PT.”

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