The man’s smile was affable, dimples slashing his cheeks, as he walked over to Marin and put out his hand. “Lane Cannon. Nice to meet you, Dr. Rush.”
“As well,” she said, shaking his hand. Lane had bright green eyes, the hint of a Southern accent she couldn’t pin down, and a hand that was big and warm around hers. She could imagine him to be a firefighter or something—some job where you needed to be big and tough but reassuring at the same time. Or more likely with the cost of The Grove, a guy who played a firefighter on TV. She knew she’d find out his background in the session, but she’d always had a habit of guessing who and what people were on first impression. It was a game she liked to play. She was right a good part of the time.
Donovan tucked his hands in his pockets. “Lane is one of the surrogates who assists us when we have clients who need that kind of intensive help.”
“Surrogate?” Marin blinked, the word not registering for a second. How could he be—then it clicked. “Oh. Oh.”
Her cheeks felt warm all of a sudden.
Lane smiled like he was used to that type of reaction. “Yeah, that kind.”
She heard a buzzer sound in her head, like a game show contestant getting something wrong. Bzzt! Wrong answer. Not a firefighter. Not an actor. Not even close. “A sexual surrogate.”
He released her hand. “We use the term therapeutic assistant around here, but yes. I’m certified in California for what I do, but Louisiana’s laws are a little knotted about it, so we’re more careful about terminology.”
“I can imagine.”
Donovan indicated they should take their seats. Lane claimed the couch, and Marin found her way to the office chair next to Donovan. She kept her expression neutral, but her mind was reeling. She knew the history of sexual surrogacy. It’d been around since Masters and Johnson, but she had no idea it was a method still in active use or that there was a certification.
Donovan hooked his ankle over his knee and leaned back in his chair. “Lane’s assisting me with a client who has crippling social anxiety about dating. Bianca will be coming in shortly to join us, but I usually chat with Lane first to get an update.”
Marin nodded and straightened her spine, trying to find her professional self again. “What’s the background?”
“Bianca was scarred in a car accident when she was young and has avoided intimate relationships because of how she looks. But now she’s in an online relationship and is hoping to bring it to the in-person level. She’s gotten to the point of video-chatting with this guy, which has been a major step. But even after that progress, she was still a thirty-two-year-old with no sexual experience and was terrified at the thought of navigating an adult relationship. That’s why we brought Lane in originally.”
Marin took notes. “How long have you two been working with her?”
“Six months with me. I brought Lane in about three months ago. He’s been doing one-on-one intimacy training sessions, taking it very slowly. But Bianca has made a lot of progress in the last month. They moved onto full intercourse last week, and last night the plan was to try again since they had the normal discomfort associated with first times during the previous session.”
Marin’s attention flicked up at that, the question falling out of her mouth before she could halt it. “You can have sex with the clients?”
Lane’s lips curved upward, and he stretched his arm over the back of the couch, completely relaxed. “If it’s a part of the treatment plan, sure. Of course, both parties have to agree to move forward in that way. Not all of my clients need it taken that far. A lot of my work is getting people used to touching and being touched. But it was important for Bianca to take that step. She didn’t want the pressure of having her first time be with someone she actually had feelings for.”
“Understandable thought process for an older virgin,” Donovan said, almost to himself. “Especially for someone like Bianca who likes to get everything just right.”
Marin’s gaze flicked over to Donovan. He was looking down at his notes, but his mouth twitched into a wry expression as if he’d sensed her looking at him.
Is that what he thought? That she’d used him like a surrogate? For practice?
Donovan tapped his pen along the edge of his notepad and gave her a quick knowing glance before addressing Lane again. “So how’d it go?”
Marin’s attention swung back to Lane.
His expression went serious, businesslike. “She handled it pretty well. We took it very slowly again. But she panicked when she got close to orgasm. She thought she was going to look silly and got self-conscious. So I backed off, and we talked it through. I reminded her that a good lover wants to please her. They’re not going to be turned off by how she looks when she comes. They’ll be excited. Plus, I assured her we all look a little ridiculous when we orgasm anyway.”
Donovan chuckled. “True enough.”
Marin peered his way. Was it? She had a hard time believing he’d look ridiculous in that situation. She imagined that firm mouth going lax, those sharp blue eyes going unfocused, the muscles in his neck tightening. Would that cool mask fall away completely? Would fire burn there instead? She’d never gotten a chance to see that.
Ugh. Stop. She gave herself a mental punch in the face. She was sinking into stupid land. He was her co-worker now. They were not together. She should not give a shit what he was like in private, personal moments. She didn’t.
She totally didn’t. Her pen poked a hole in her paper.
“How’d she respond to that?” Donovan asked, blessedly oblivious to Marin’s R-rated train of thought.
“She was really good with openly talking about her feelings. Eventually I got her to sit in front of a mirror with me, and she let me bring her to orgasm with a small vibrator. She admitted afterward that she thought she’d looked kind of sexy.”
“Wow. Excellent.” Donovan sounded genuinely pleased as he made a note. “That’s huge progress.”
“Yeah, I thought so. But I think I’ve brought her as far as I can get her at this point. The variable is going to be this guy. He’s going to have to be patient with her. And she’s going to have to be prepared for it to go a number of ways.”
Donovan made a sound of agreement. “That’s what we’re going to be working on today. Both the separation from you and how to have coping strategies if the guy turns out to be a dud.” He looked to Marin. “One of the issues with surrogate therapy is that someone gets used to having a partner who is sensitive and focused on their needs and issues. It’s a safe place. Not to mention a heady experience having all that focused attention. Then they try a real relationship.”
“And are jumping off a cliff into a sea of imperfect people,” she filled in.
Donovan met her gaze, mouth in a flat line. “Exactly. Not just imperfect people. Imperfect is expected. The assholes are the problem. They’re good at finding the vulnerable, and one shitty experience can undo a hell of a lot of work.”
Lane groaned and tipped his head back against the couch. “God, I hope this guy isn’t a dick. Bianca deserves someone who’s going to be good to her. She’s worked so hard.”
“Agreed. But there’s no way we can predict how this is going to go. We’ll need to prepare her to not accept anything less than a great guy. No settling. She can’t get The One Syndrome.”
Marin paused in her note-taking. “The One Syndrome?”
Donovan checked his watch and then peered her way. “It’s a disease you’ll see a lot around here—that belief that there is one person for everyone, that you’re fated in some way. Or, in this case, that this is Bianca’s one chance at love. There is no One. But I’ve seen the notion keep people who should be divorced together way too long. I’ve seen people cling to damaging partners over it. And I’ve seen people fall into despair when they think they’ve lost their one chance.”
Lane smirked. “Didn’t work out so well for Romeo and Juliet either.”
“Exactly,” Donovan agreed. “The One
got them killed.”
Marin lifted her eyebrows. “Well, aren’t you two a couple of romantics. Remind me not to invite either of you over for my annual marathon of Nora Ephron movies.”
Donovan groaned. “Just work here for a couple of weeks. You’ll lose your taste for fated love stories.”
She smirked but didn’t say anything more. She knew it was probably a silly thing to hold on to that kind of magical thinking. But watching those kinds of movies had kept her going through the past few years as she watched friends and co-workers fall in love and pair off while she remained alone. The movies and books were fantasy, sure, but part of her still wanted to believe that there were Harrys and Sallys, and Sams and Annies, and Empire State Buildings on Valentine’s Day.
“Bianca will be here any minute,” Donovan said, breaking her from her thoughts. “Let’s see how she’s feeling about taking the next step and meeting this guy. Then we’ll go from there.”
Marin nodded. “Sounds good.”
Bianca showed up a few minutes later—tall, graceful, and dark-haired. One side of her jaw and neck had burn scars, which apparently continued down her body. But her brown eyes were big and bright, her smile genuine, and her clothes chic. When Marin complimented her blouse, Donovan informed her that Bianca was a very successful fashion designer.
Bianca wasn’t what Marin had expected. She was quiet, but she clearly had developed a comfort level with Donovan and Lane. If Marin hadn’t known Bianca’s history, she would’ve never guessed the woman had issues dating.
Bianca sat next to Lane, and they talked with each other like business partners instead of people who had slept together the night before—mutual respect and a friendship there. Marin sat fascinated as she watched Donovan work with the two of them.
She didn’t feel confident enough yet to interject much, but she took notes at a rapid pace and tried to absorb everything she could. She couldn’t get over how brave it had been for Bianca to be open to surrogate therapy. Lane was a big, intimidating guy. Attractive. Very experienced. That was like plunging into the deep end of the pool for someone so inexperienced.
Though, Marin realized with an internal cringe that the woman sitting before her actually had more sexual experience than she did now. And this woman was in therapy for it. Nice. Marin was here trying to help other people with their sex lives and hers was nonexistent. Maybe she should be the one in therapy.
“Marin, do you have anything to add?” Donovan asked, breaking her from her ruminating.
Everyone looked her way. She froze for a second, feeling like the kid in the back of class caught daydreaming by the teacher. But she cleared her throat and tried to gather thoughts that had scattered. “Uh, yes. All I’d add is that I think you’re a lot stronger than you give yourself credit for, Bianca. You’re not alone in your fears. There are many women and men who are inexperienced and anxious about it, who let that insecurity lock them up for good. Most never have the guts to ask for help and tackle the issue head-on like you have. So no matter what happens with this guy, know that you’ve gotten over one of the biggest hurdles. You’re armed and dangerous now.”
Bianca broke into small smile. “I do feel kind of like a warrior these days.” She reached over and patted Lane’s knee. “And this guy has set a high standard, so I promise I’m not going to put up with some man being a jackass to me. Though, I really, really hope that Cal doesn’t turn out to be one of those.”
Donovan stood, the chair creaking beneath him. “We’ll keep our fingers crossed for you. And you know what to do if things don’t go like you hoped.”
Bianca nodded and they all stood. She gave Lane a hug and then put her hand out to Donovan to give his a quick press. “Thanks, Dr. West. I’ll see you next week.”
Everyone filed out, and Marin stayed behind until Donovan came back into the office. He lifted his arms above his head touchdown-style. “You survived!”
“I didn’t do anything but sit here.”
He lowered his arms to his sides. “Not true. You had encouraging words at the end, which showed Bianca you’d been listening closely. And you asked some solid questions.”
“I guess.”
He considered her. “Don’t be too hard on yourself. That was only your first one. We have a booked schedule today, so you’ll get lots more practice. And after we’re done, we can sit down and talk it through. Good points and stuff to work on.”
“There’s already stuff to work on, isn’t there?”
He unbuttoned his cuffs and rolled his sleeves to his elbows, revealing strong forearms with a dusting of dark hair. “There’s always stuff to work on. This is a journey, not a destination.”
“Thank you, Aerosmith,” she said, deadpan. Sarcasm would keep her safe. Sarcasm would make sure she didn’t focus too much on those hands or forearms or anything else on his body for that matter. “Any quick tips for the next one?”
He reached up and tapped her cheek, a featherlight touch that sent a shiver working through her. “Work on not wearing your feelings on your face or I’m going to start calling you Dr. Blush.”
She straightened. “Crap. I blushed?”
“When Lane told you about his job, your reaction was pretty much an open book. You looked scandalized and your cheeks got all flushed.”
“Shit.” She brushed her bangs out of her eyes. “I was surprised. I wasn’t judging or anything. I think it’s fascinating.”
“It’s okay. Just something to practice.”
“Got it.” She rubbed her lips together, trying to find the right words to address the other thing that had bothered her during the session. “And . . .”
When she didn’t finish, he lifted a brow. “And what?”
“What you said in the session . . .” She glanced toward the window, feeling all kinds of awkward. “I didn’t use you back then, just so you know. It wasn’t like some older-virgin plan of attack or anything. What happened just . . . happened.”
He sniffed, the amusement evident in the simple sound. “Elephant still wandering around, huh?”
She looked back to him. “Wounded but strong, apparently.”
“Let’s find a more effective weapon, shall we?” He leaned forward, his voice conspiratorial as he put his mouth right next to her ear. “Once upon a time, I hung out with this hot girl who was way too young for me. She was smart and funny and kept me distracted during a really shitty time in my life. We flirted, we laughed, and we had sex. I have fond memories of all three.”
Marin bit the inside of her lip, a tingling awareness weaving through her, his breath on her neck warm and silky.
“But that girl and that boy are not in this room.” Donovan straightened to his full height, his expression going grave. “The memories are just that. Life has happened in between, and we’re nothing but strangers now. I don’t think any differently about you than I would’ve if this were the first time we’d met. This is an absolutely fresh beginning. There is no angst, regret, or assumptions. Feel free to pretend it never happened if that makes it more comfortable for you.”
Pretend it never happened. Sure. That was probably a cinch for him. God knows how many women had made their way through his bed since. He’d been engaged to a celebrity for God’s sake. But how was she supposed to forget the one guy who’d ever taken her to that place? She nodded anyway, hoping her professional mask was intact. “Okay. I can do that. Consider it forgotten.”
His eyes creased at the corner, some strange tension there, but he simply nodded. “Good.”
She shifted in her heels and cleared her throat. “So what do we have next?”
“What don’t we have? It’s going to be a busy day.”
Fantastic. Anything that would get her mind off the past, off the way her body was feeling right now, and off Donovan West sounded like a great plan. A vital one.
“Bring it on.”
12
“I wrote her an email.” Lawrence chewed the corner of his thumbnail as he stared out the wi
ndow in the therapy room. “I wanted to send her pictures.”
Donovan kept his sigh to himself but couldn’t contain the frown. “What kind of pictures did you send?”
Lawrence’s gaze shifted over to Marin, who was sitting prim and poised at Donovan’s left, taking notes. She’d taken out her contacts after lunch and put on her glasses. The sight of her was driving Donovan to distraction. He’d told her this morning that he saw her as a stranger because he could tell their past was making her feel off-balance, but he was so full of shit. Sure, she was a stranger in many ways, but the ways in which she was familiar were far too vivid in his mind. He’d had to fight all day to keep his focus on his clients. And apparently it was taking Lawrence’s focus as well, but for different reasons.
Lawrence gnawed harder on his hangnail and looked back to Donovan. “Personal photos.”
Which meant dick pics, or worse. Great.
Lawrence had been obsessed with a particular porn star for the last year, and Donovan had been trying to help him detach from that fantasy, to go out in the world and date real women, but Lawrence was regressing.
“What did you think the email and pictures would accomplish?” The question came from Marin.
Donovan looked her way, pleased that she’d jumped in. He’d sensed Marin’s nerves and her hesitation in sessions today. She was confident when talking with him in between appointments, and her assessments of the clients were pretty spot-on. But once she was face-to-face with them, that confidence collapsed.
Plus, she was way too easy to read. Even when her poker face was in place, her body language and tendency to blush were giving her away. On one level, he thought it was sexy as hell. He could imagine the things he could do or say to her to coax that kind of reaction from her. But for work purposes, she wasn’t going to make it long if she didn’t loosen up and relax in the sessions. Her blushing was the equivalent of an M.D. grimacing or saying Oh, gross when a patient revealed some medical issue.
Lawrence shifted in his chair, looking uncomfortable that Marin had spoken at all. Not surprising. Lawrence knew how to objectify fantasy women, not speak to real ones. “I thought maybe if I tried to talk to her and sent her pics, she’d email me back. I . . .” His jaw twitched and his gaze flicked toward the window again. “I’ve got a big cock, you know, so I thought she’d be into that.”