By Appointment Only by Janice Maynard Page A

he prided himself on rolling with the punches and still getting the job done.
    At the end of the day, he headed up the interstate to his apartment, his mind already on the evening to come. Hannah had promised to check on the sexual counseling thing, and he was curious to see what she had found out. Maybe curious was the wrong word. Dread might better describe his emotions at the moment.
    If he was lucky, there would be nothing available closer than Tampa or Jacksonville. And that would get him off the hook.
    She arrived just as he was getting out of the shower. The pizza box in her hands gave off an aroma that made his stomach growl audibly.
    Hannah grinned. “I’ll put everything on the table while you get dressed.”
    He whipped the towel from around his hips and popped her on the butt with it. “Maybe pizza can wait.”
    She eyed his nudity with raised eyebrows and evaded him with a laugh. “Pizza can never wait.”
    Over thick, cheesy slices loaded with everything but anchovies, he grilled her. “So . . . what did you find out about the counseling?”
    She went to the fridge for more Coke, her face hidden by the door. “You can quit sweating it. It’s not going to work out.”
    A weird mix of emotions grabbed him. “So nobody around here offers it?”
    Now she had her back to him at the sink, rinsing off her hands where the can of soft drink had spewed when she opened it. “Well, they offer it, but it’s too much of a time commitment. Your hours will never work.”
    He swallowed a bite and stared at her, his eyes narrowed. Something fishy was going on.
    “I am the boss,” he said mildly. “I can juggle my schedule.”
    Finally, she rejoined him at the table. But her face was almost blank. As though she had purposely erased all emotion. She concentrated on her pizza. “Don’t worry about it. It was a crazy idea to begin with.”
    He reached across the narrow table and snagged her wrist. “Did you even call?”
    Her head snapped up, her expression indignant. “Of course I called. But I told you. It’s too time intensive. Especially when you’re in the middle of the theme park project.”
    She tugged at her hand, but he held it tightly. “Why don’t you let me worry about my work schedule? Give me the scoop, Hannah. Quit stalling.”
    She tugged again, and this time he let her go, watching as she slumped back into her chair and picked at a piece of pepperoni on her paper plate. She shrugged her shoulders. “Honestly, Morgan. It’s way more than I thought. They want you to commit to one group session every two weeks. And in between we would have to do two appointments at the office each week, just you and me.”
    He pondered the logistics. “If we could do our individual appointments late in the day . . . say four thirty, I think I could swing it. And what about the group sessions? When would they be?”
    She wanted to lie. He could see it in her eyes. But she didn’t have it in her. “The group sessions are on Friday evenings from seven until eight thirty.”
    He grinned wryly. “So it will work.”
    She stared at him glumly, her expressive face sullen. “You are so pigheaded,” she complained.
    He laughed. “You would know.”
    She flipped a piece of crust at him. “I can’t believe you want to do this.”
    “I don’t,” he said bluntly. “But it might even be good for us. And in the end . . . well . . . I get what I want.” He actually saw her wince. And it hurt. A lot. If a guy had to badger a woman into marrying him, was it worth it? He clenched his jaw and tried to smile. “Besides, if this counseling thing actually works, just imagine what great sex we’ll have.”
    She got up and started dumping stuff in the trash, her face resigned. “I can hardly wait.”
    The office suite for the Drs. Hurst and Hurst was located in a generic downtown high-rise. Friday evening Hannah, with Morgan by her side, rode up in the elevator to the thirty-second floor. Given the state of her nerves, the