Turn It Up (2 page)

Her giggle tickled his ear as she bumped his shoulder in camaraderie. How in the world had she wrangled him into working with her again?
Oh, that’s right, she asked with those big blue eyes and I caved
.

It started when she’d roped him into guest speaking on her late-night radio talk show. It had seemed harmless enough at the time. Their natural flirty interaction was such a hit with listeners, she’d approached him about co-hosting a sex-oriented talk show with her. As a self-professed sex expert, she would handle most of the questions and suggestions, and he would simply be along for medical backup.

Now he had a stupid radio pseudonym and two-hour time slot three nights a week.
Let’s Talk about Sex with Dr. Hot and the Honeypot
was one of the fastest-growing radio shows in the tristate area. Every Monday, Wednesday and Friday from 11 p.m.until 1 a.m. he flirted with Charlie on the air and got paid for it. Not a bad gig.

But he still wasn’t listening to a bunch of losers describe weird dog fantasies.

“I got an email from WTLG in Boston about the job.”

Bastian made sure not a single emotion leaked onto his face. “Oh yeah, what’d they say?”

“Thanks but no thanks, basically.” Charlie shrugged. “I can’t see me in Boston anyway. Too stuffy for smutty me.”

“You’d do great anywhere.” He breathed a sigh of relief. Her wings were itching to spread wide and fly. But as much as he wanted to watch her soar, he hated the thought of her flying away from him. “Any other prospects on the horizon?”

“A few résumés are still out. Oh, look, the proof sheet for the promo shots came back. Help me pick one for the web page.”

She leaned in close with the photo sheet. Bastian inhaled her tangy scent and steeled his eyes not to stray to her face. He glued them on the pictures in her hand instead but didn’t see anything but a haze of lusty red. At random, he tapped one small square. “That one.”

“Really? The one of me in your lap? I like the one where we’re back to back. It looks more professional.”

Well, he’d liked the pose when they were in it. Maybe it wasn’t the most professional, though. This was a side job to him, a fun bit of extra income and time spent with her. For Charlie, this was her career. Professionalism meant a great deal to her, and he respected her for it.

Focusing on the sample pictures with more interest, he agreed. Back to back was the best shot. WTXT’s Dr. Hot and the Honeypot stared out at him, both smiling for the camera. He wore plain blue scrubs, red stethoscope around his neck, arms crossed. Charlie, decked out in full dominatrix leather, held a similar pose, a wicked-looking riding crop in her hands.

He’d spent a good portion of that shoot visualizing gunshot wounds to avoid getting an erection no scrub pants could hide. Then the damn photographer had told them to have fun and goof off while he snapped candids. Charlie had popped onto his lap and something else had popped up for Bastian.

So much for gruesome image therapy.

But they’d laughed a lot and gotten some silly shots as well. Like the one where he was flat on his stomach, Charlie perched triumphantly on his back. Or where he’d scooped her up and she’d screamed, arms clinging to his neck. There was even one where she had her chin resting on her hands on top of his head. In those shots, she exuded pure joy.

Seeing her in costume again played havoc with his raging libido. It fueled his imagination and he risked a glance at her. “Did you buy that outfit?”

And how far away is Halloween?

Her laugh slid over his skin like melted cream. “No. I just rented it for the shoot. But the costumes get the message across, I think. You, medicine man, me, sex kitten.”

God, wouldn’t he love to make her purr. “That they do.”

“It was like playing dress-up. We had fun that day.” Her soft voice was memory-laced and she pressed her cheek to his arm.

“Yeah.”

Comfortable silence fell. She gathered up the papers and proof sheet, tucking everything back in the folder with great care. One of the best things about spending time with her was that she didn’t feel the need to fill every second with empty chatter. The verbal downtime allowed the sounds of the campground to come alive. Insects whirled and chirped, something small ran through the underbrush and, in the distance, a vehicle rumbled. Bastian wished the peace of the night could soothe his mind as it did his body.

He watched her shiver once, the night air beyond the fire’s warmth still clinging to spring dampness. Her hardened nipples were visible through her knit top. He snagged his sweatshirt from the log and tossed it in her direction. She caught it with a grin, tugged it over her head and pulled it down, the length hiding her shorts. She looked naked under the hooded fleece, and his thighs clenched.

Instant woody.

The high-pitched tone of Alvin and the Chipmunk’s “Witch Doctor” rang out from his cell inside the tent. He didn’t make a move.

“You aren’t going to answer?”

He shook his head. He wasn’t on call and as far as he was concerned nothing was important enough to make him stand up at this minute. The helium-sucking voices shut off.

Open cooler lid in her hand, Charlie wordlessly offered him another beer. He declined but she snagged the church key hanging on the Igloo’s handle and popped a cap off one for herself, tossing the bottle cap back into the ice. She sat across the fire, his sweatshirt pulled over her knees. Other than her face, every inch of her flesh was now covered and he sent a silent thankful prayer to the Friendship Gods.

“What’s your favorite sexual position, Bastian?”

Too soon.
“Where in the hell do you come up with these questions?” Even after six years, she never failed to surprise him.

“Uh, tomorrow’s show, ‘Assuming the Position,’ remember? I just thought it’d be a good idea to go over some of our answers since the topic is bound to get a bit touchy.”

She did have a point. They often semi-rehearsed their supposed off-the-cuff answers. It added more strength to her professional demeanor. His, too, he supposed, but still, never ask a man with a hard-on what position he likes best. It was cruel and malicious torture.

“You first,” he hedged, earning a sly grin. She liked to think he was shy at times, and he had no problem allowing that.

“I like them all. But I guess, if I had to pick, I’d go with cowgirl.”

Charlie, bare-breasted above him, hips rising and falling. Great, another image to flush out of my head. Think abscessed diabetic ulcers.
“Why?”

Her shoulders shrugged and she burrowed deeper into his shirt. “I like control, no secret there. I bet I can guess yours.”

The tease lifted his eyebrows. “Okay, go for it.”

“You’re the old-fashioned type, so I’ll guess…missionary.”

She knew him too damn well. “Guilty as charged. I like to see my lover’s eyes looking up at me.”

“Oooh, how romantic,” she purred. “And the fact you get to control everything has nothing to do with it.”

“What’s that mean?”

“Topping is the power position. You set the pace, the depth, the subtle shifts that prolong things.”

“Tell you what, Honey, next time you sit on my lap, I’ll let you prolong anything you want.”

His flirt hung heavy but she laughed it off. Calling her by her radio persona insulated him. This was Doc teasing Honey, not Bastian flirting with Charlie, at least to her.

“In your imagination, Doc.” She saluted him with her bottle. “And speaking of imagination, next week’s show on self-love—you okay with that? Some men get twitchy.”

“Yep. Masturbation is a normal human behavior. I’ll have all my facts in order, don’t you worry.” Saucy Doc Hot took hold of his tongue and ran with his thoughts before his brain could catch it. “How’s the self-love treating you lately, Honey?”

Cornflower eyes widened before narrowing in challenge. This banter was what made their show spicy and successful.

“Just fine, Doc. How about you? You
handling
everything all right?”

His cheeks warmed but he never dropped his gaze. “Been a little lax lately, too many ER shifts and not enough sleep.”

“Tsk-tsk-tsk. You can’t neglect yourself. All work and no self-play makes Doc a grumpy boy. Find a few minutes to take care of business, will you?” A vampish smile curled seductively. “Let me know if you need a hand.”

“You’d need both. So how long has it been for you, Honey?”

Her eyes dropped to her beer before rising. Undiluted sexual energy zapped between them. A lump the size of a Volkswagen formed in his throat when her teeth caught her lower lip. The vehicle revved when she brought the bottle to her mouth, wet tongue gliding along the rim.

“This morning.”

The Volkswagen spun tires, speeding to his gut. He wasn’t sure what fueled it, her tongue or her words. He jerked his thumb over his shoulder to the two-man tent.

“In there? This morning? Where was I?”

“Beside me. Asleep.”

Shock and excitement raced through him, tightening his chest and his shorts. She had masturbated inches from him and he’d slept through it? Life was cruel. At this rate, he was going to get a refresher course in self-love before the night was over, especially if she didn’t stop tonguing that damn bottle.

Bastian couldn’t think but Doc grabbed control. “You should’ve woken me up, Honey.”

“Now why would I ruin a perfectly good fantasy by waking you up? Hands Solo was doing just fine by his lonesome.”

His hearty laugh exploded, easing the lustful grip around his balls. “
Hands
Solo? That’s bad, even for you.”

She shrugged sheepishly. “I had to try. It sounded better in my head. But young Harrison Ford was a hottie. That
Star Wars
marathon we watched last week got everything all juiced up.”

Still laughing at her awful wordplay, he nearly missed her question.

“Who were you thinking of your last solo playtime?”

Clear memory slammed into his mind. The sound died in his throat and he yanked his gaze to the flame. No way was he telling her that, best friend or not.

A feminine lilt teased him. “I do love a man who blushes. Come on, ’fess up. No secrets, remember?”

“Private thoughts aren’t secrets.” Avoidance only made his face hotter, and sweat formed on his brow.

“Se-bas-ti-an,” she singsonged, drawing his name out for four long musical tones. “Okay, let me try to guess. Uh, Marianne?”

The dour nurse manager was so far from his fantasy he simply glared at her.

“Guess not. Bridgette?”

His deep inhale was noisy. He hadn’t thought about Bridgette in over a year. Charlie needed to back off.

She just arched one brow at him. “Hmm, Suzanne?”

He bit his tongue.

“Okay, wrong. Lauren?”

That didn’t even warrant a scowl so he ignored her.

“Maybe Tyson then?”

Now she was just being a brat. “Don’t go there.”

“What? Some men have same-gender fantasies.”

“It was
you,
Charlie, okay? You.”

He was adorable when embarrassed. Eyes closed tight, he twitched his nose and turned his head to the side, bottom lip tucked beneath his teeth. For all Doc’s on-air bluster, Bastian was a quiet man, preferring the backstage.

“It’s okay.” She kept her voice gentle, soothing. “Been there, done that myself.”

His head whipped back to hers, and his deep brown eyes fixed her with a stunned look. “You’ve thought of me before…while masturbating?”

“Of course. It’s only natural to wonder, to imagine, after all this time. We
do
talk about sex daily. I think I’d be hurt if you hadn’t thought of me at least once or twice. Fantasies are just fantasies. It’s normal, don’t worry about it.”

For a long time, he studied her and she let him, not dropping her gaze. Charlie wanted him to know she wasn’t offended or bothered by his admission. Nor was she looking for more from him. She didn’t ever want anything to damage what they had. Bastian was the most important person in her life.

“Charlie, have you ever wondered what might have happened if I wasn’t married when we met?”

She loved his voice, so deep and rich, with just enough silk in it to make her quiver. It carried across the radio waves like water in a brook. Just a word or a phrase in his gilded tone and she wanted to melt like butter in July.

He was the poster child for the All-American classic male. One look told you his life story. Football hero, baseball captain, Young Republican’s Club and med school whiz. He’d married his college sorority-sweetheart and set out to live the picture-perfect life.

But nobody was perfect and dreams crumbled. Charlie had been there when his did and helped him hold it together. That was what a friend did. That and they never crossed that invisible boundary.

Had she wondered what might have happened if he’d been single? No, she’d always known.

“It’s pretty easy to figure out. We’d have become sizzling hot but temporary lovers and missed out on something really great. The chemistry’s always been there. But lovers are a dime a dozen. Friends that last are priceless.”

“Maybe we would’ve been different.”

Jazz. His voice was jazz, invoking images of steamy nights, moist skin and rolling hips. Had she fantasized about him? Hell, yeah. Long ago she’d trained herself to stop actively imagining his hands on her bare skin or his mouth pressed to hers. Snippets and flashes snuck in, of course, but she always shrugged them off. Being his lifelong friend meant more to her than getting naked and sweaty for a while.

Bastian wanted a woman forever. It was in his makeup, his genes. Charlie didn’t do forever where men were concerned.

She preferred hard, intense sex and lots of it. Sex had intrigued her from her first time with Bobby Mason in his father’s Ford. It lacked everything she’d thought it would be. So she set out to discover why. What she’d learned fascinated her, empowered her, awed her. Sex made the world go ’round, and Charlie absorbed every facet. Sex was fun. It was exhilarating. It was temporary.

Her best friend was permanent.