Indecent Suggestion by Elizabeth Bevarly

in accounting was such an asshole.
    There were other sexual fantasies starring Becca on Turner’s list, too, of course. The one with the roller coaster at King’s Island was a favorite, as was the one where Becca bought him at a bachelor auction and then handcuffed himto her bed for days. And then there was the one where they got jiggy in the back seat of a Rolls Royce, but fat chance that was ever going to happen since the only person Turner knew with a Rolls Royce was his employer’s father. But the football jersey/knee-socks fantasy held firm at number two, and there was Becca in his reality now, all decked out to play.
    Next thing you know, he thought, she’ll be doing just like in the fantasy and telling me how sorry she is that she has to wear my clothes, but she spilled something all over herself, and this was the only thing she could find to wear.
    “I’m sorry to have to borrow your stuff,” she said as she took a few steps into the room, tugging on the hem of the jersey and looking way more nervous than she should, seeing as how they were just friends and shouldn’t have any reason to feel nervous around each other. “But when I went to pour milk on my cereal this morning,” she continued, “I dropped the carton, and it spilled all over my nightshirt. This was all I could find to sleep in.”
    Uh-oh…
    “I hope you don’t mind,” she added, sounding nervous, too. “This is the only thing you have that’s big enough to cover my, um…my assets,” she added with a sheepish grin.
    The minute she said it, Turner was helpless to do anything but look at her…assets. And as his gaze roved over her from the top of the silky hair he longed to run his fingers through to the tips of the knee-sock-clad toes he wanted to suck, he was damn near overcome with a sexual urge unlike any he had ever experienced before.
    And then all he could do was reach for the pack of cigarettes she’d tossed onto the end table earlier, shake one free and say, “So. What time is this appointment with the Amazing Mesmiro? And do you want to drive, or shall I?”

4
    T HE NAME ON THE OUTER office door, Becca noted when she and Turner arrived for their Tuesday morning appointment, said not the Amazing Mesmiro, but rather Dorcas Upton, RN, BSN, LHT. And then, below that, to make matters clearer, Licensed Hypnotherapist.
    “Registered Nurse,” Becca said brightly to Turner, pointing to the first two letters that followed Dorcas Upton’s name. “That’s good. That shows she’s not a flake.”
    “Doesn’t prove she never played Vegas,” he replied grudgingly. “What’s BSN stand for?” he asked. “And LHT?”
    “Licensed hypnotherapist,” Becca guessed for the latter. Especially since it was spelled out right there. Duh. For the former, however, she hadn’t a clue. “I’m not sure about the other letters, though,” she said.
    Turner considered the sign for a moment himself before declaring, “I’m guessing BSN stands for Blatant Staggering Nutcase.”
    “I doubt it,” Becca replied through gritted teeth.
    “Big Simpering Neurotic?” he suggested further.
    “Um, no,” she replied as patiently as she could. “Just a shot in the dark, but…I’m thinking not.”
    “Blithering Schizoid Nitwit?”
    “Turner…”
    “Brilliant Scholar Not?”
    “Turner.”
    “I know. Bunch of Stupid Nonsense.”
    “Turner, stop it,” she finally hissed under her breath. And then it hit her. The RN designation ultimately gave it away. “Bachelor of Sciences, Nursing!” she said triumphantly. “That really shows she’s not a flake if she has a bachelor’s degree.”
    Turner said nothing in response to that. And just to show what a good sport Becca was about such things, she didn’t even grin smugly and lean in close and tell him—
    Oh, who was she kidding?
    “Told you so,” she said with a smug grin, leaning in close.
    He growled something under his breath and made a big show of checking his wristwatch. “We’re