Greg rolled his eyes and had to mentally shake his head at his own thoughts. He sounded like a man desperate to get laid. Actually, that wasn't far from the truth. Despite his family's best matchmaking efforts, he hadn't had sex in almost a year. While the women his family tended to set him up with were all lovely, none of them had stirred much interest in him, at least not enough to drag his attention away from work for any length of time.
It hadn't worried Greg much; he had a full and busy life. He always told himself that the day he found a woman as fascinating as his career was the day he'd know he'd found his Ms. Right. In the meantime, his family-- ever hopeful--continued to set him up with every single female they knew, and Greg continued to avoid bedding the women to avoid messy entanglements with family friends that might cause hard feelings. That meant he was restricted to cavorting sexually with women he managed to meet on his own when he wasn't escorting family friends to various meals or functions.
The last time Greg had managed to hook up with anyone, it had been with an ice blond psychiatrist from British Columbia. They'd met at the mental health conference last winter, gone for a drink after one of the lectures, then he'd walked her back to her room, she'd invited him in, and very politely and clinically had sex with him. It had been cold and functional and terribly unexciting... rather like taking Metamucil. It got the job done, cleaned the pipes, but left a bad taste in the mouth. Greg was relatively certain this blonde would not leave a bad taste in his mouth. He was also sure she'd do a lot more than clean his pipes.
"You brought him here to treat my phobia?"
Greg glanced at the blonde as she asked the question, noting for the first time that she, too, seemed rather disappointed by the news.
"Yes, dear."
"He's not--?"
"No," the brunette interrupted firmly, then frowned at the blonde's obvious lack of enthusiasm for her gift. "Darling, this is a good thing. I thought you would be pleased. I thought it was perfect. He can cure your phobia, allowing you to live a normal life. One without the inconvenience of night care or the risk of your stumbling home drunk two or three times a week."
Greg's eyebrows rose, and he tried to figure out in his mind what kind of phobia might lead to someone getting drunk.
"So"--the brunette turned a bright smile his way-- "do it."
Greg stared at her blankly. "Excuse me?"
"Cure my Lissianna of her phobia," she said patiently.
Greg turned from the expectant expression in those old, wise eyes to the brighter eyes of the daughter. They were as blue and clear as a cloudless sky, but with the same metallic silver shine as the mother's. Lovely, Greg thought, and just wished they weren't contacts. It bothered him that she felt she needed the artifice to add to her beauty.
"They aren't contacts," the brunette suddenly announced, and Greg gave a start. Surely she hadn't just read his thoughts?
"What aren't contacts?" the blonde said, glancing from him to her mother with confusion.
"Your eyes, dear," the brunette explained, then told Greg, "Despite your earlier thoughts, our eye color is natural. I am not sure if they even have contacts the color of our eyes... yet," she added dryly.
"Natural," Greg murmured with fascination, staring at the shimmering color in the daughter's eyes, then his mind slowly absorbed her words. Despite his earlier thoughts? She didn't mean on the elevator?
The brunette nodded. "Yes, on the elevator."
"You can read his mind?" Lissianna sounded more annoyed than surprised, he noted, and recalled that he'd thought her mad when she'd complained that she couldn't read his mind, yet here the brunette appeared to be doing just that. Greg couldn't decide if he was sleeping and dreaming all this, losing his mind and imagining all this, or he was awake, sane, and the woman was really reading his mind. Worse yet, he couldn't decide which of those options he'd prefer. He didn't want to be sleeping because that would mean Lissianna was nothing more than a fantasy he'd dreamed up, and he wasn't pleased with the idea of never seeing her outside of his dreams. Losing his mind wasn't much better as an alternative, but the idea of the brunette being able to read his mind was a bit disconcerting... Especially since his mind was full of lustful thoughts for her daughter.
"So?" the brunette prompted.
Dreaming or not, it appeared he'd have to deal with the matter. Greg shook his head. "Ma'am, curing a phobia isn't like taking a pill. It takes some time," he informed her, then asked a little less patiently, "Could you untie me please?"
"That's not what the article said," the brunette countered, ignoring his request to be untied. "In the paper you were quoted as saying that new treatments can be extremely effective, and most phobias can be cured in just a few sessions, some only need one."
Greg let his breath out on a slow sigh, understanding now how he'd come to be here. The brunette had obviously read the interview he'd done for the paper, a special article on phobias. It had come out last weekend.
"That's true, some phobias are easily treated," he be-gan, trying to remain calm and... well... patient, but this situation was so bizarre. He was tied to a bed, for God's sake, and the three of them were standing about acting as if it were perfectly normal. Greg simply couldn't refrain from getting a touch testy.
"You know, most people make an appointment to see me," he snapped, then tried for reason again. "And I'm flying down to Mexico tomorrow morning for a vacation. There are things I need to do before then. I'd appreciate it if you'd untie me and let me get out of here. I really don't have time for this."
Silence had barely begun to close around his last word when there was a tap on the door. It opened, and a young woman poked her head in and peered about. She was another brunette, her face heart-shaped and pretty. She glanced at him curiously, then turned her attention to the mother. "Uncle Lucian is here, Aunt Marguerite."
"Oh. Thank you, Jeanne Louise." The mother, Marguerite, immediately began herding Lissianna and Thomas toward the door, saying, "We'll deal with this later. We mustn't keep everyone waiting. Jeanne, has Etienne shown up yet?"
"Yes. He was just coming in as I started upstairs." The woman pushed the door open farther for them to exit, adding, "The Chinese order has arrived, too. I put the delivery boy in the larder until you're ready for him. You probably shouldn't leave him too long though."
"No. We'll just go down to the party, and I'll get everything started," Marguerite announced as she followed Lissianna and Thomas out into the hall. "Lissianna can open her other gifts later and--" The door closed on the rest of the woman's sentence.
Greg stared at the wooden surface with amazement, unable to believe they'd just left him lying there, tied to the bed as he was. It was madness. Crazy.