The Practitioner Read online

  Table of Contents

  Synopsis

  What Reviewers Say About Ronica Black’s Work

  By the Author

  Acknowledgments

  Dedication

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Chapter Twenty-five

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-one

  Chapter Thirty-two

  Chapter Thirty-three

  Chapter Thirty-four

  Chapter Thirty-five

  Chapter Thirty-six

  Chapter Thirty-seven

  Chapter Thirty-eight

  Chapter Thirty-nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-one

  Chapter Forty-two

  Chapter Forty-three

  Chapter Forty-four

  Chapter Forty-five

  Chapter Forty-six

  Chapter Forty-seven

  Chapter Forty-eight

  Chapter Forty-nine

  Chapter Fifty

  Chapter Fifty-one

  Chapter Fifty-two

  Chapter Fifty-three

  Chapter Fifty-four

  Chapter Fifty-five

  Chapter Fifty-six

  Chapter Fifty-seven

  About the Author

  Books Available from Bold Strokes Books

  The Practitioner

  Johnnie Hamilton has conquered a lot in life. An anxiety disorder, loss of her business, and homelessness have been difficult to overcome. But Johnnie has come through the other side to find success as an artist. Now, however, she’s lost her creative drive and she’s struggling to produce.

  Elaine Taylor has an interesting job. She’s a “creative practitioner,” known to awaken her client’s creative side by using many different approaches, including a sensual or sexual approach. Most of her clients are male and she likes it that way. Women are the last thing she wants in her life, having lost the most important woman she’s ever known, her wife.

  Fearing she’ll lose all she’s worked so hard for, Johnnie takes her friend’s advice and calls a lone number on a business card, steps into Elaine’s office, and shakes up both their worlds forever.

  What Reviewers Say About Ronica Black’s Work

  “Ronica Black’s debut novel In Too Deep has everything from nonstop action and intriguing well-developed characters to steamy erotic love scenes. From the opening scenes where Black plunges the reader headfirst into the story to the explosive unexpected ending, In Too Deep has what it takes to rise to the top. Black has a winner with In Too Deep, one that will keep the reader turning the pages until the very last one.”—Independent Gay Writer

  “…an exciting, page turning read, full of mystery, sex, and suspense.”—MegaScene

  “…a challenging murder mystery—sections of this mixed-genre novel are hot, hot, hot. Black juggles the assorted elements of her first book with assured pacing and estimable panache.”—Q Syndicate

  “Black’s characterization is skillful, and the sexual chemistry surrounding the three major characters is palpable and definitely hot-hot-hot…if you’re looking for a solid read with ample amounts of eroticism and a red herring or two you’re sure to find In Too Deep a satisfying read.”—L Word Literature

  “Black is a master at teasing the reader with her use of domination and desire. Black’s first novel, In Too Deep, was a finalist for a 2005 Lammy. …With Wild Abandon, the author continues her winning ways, writing like a seasoned pro. This is one romance I will not soon forget.”—Just About Write

  “The sophomore novel by Ronica Black is hot, hot, hot.”—Books to Watch Out For

  “Sleek storytelling and terrific characters are the backbone of Ronica Black’s third and best novel, Hearts Aflame. Prepare to hop on for an emotional ride with this thrilling story of love in the outback. …Wonderful storytelling and rich characterization make this a high recommendation.”—Lambda Book Report

  “This sequel to Ronica Black’s debut novel, In Too Deep, is an electrifying thriller. The author’s development as a fine storyteller shines with this tightly written story. …[The mystery] keeps the story charged—never unraveling or leading us to a predictable conclusion. More than once I gasped in surprise at the dark and twisted paths this book took.”—Curve Magazine

  “Ronica Black handles a traditional range of lesbian fantasies with gusto and sincerity. The reader wants to know these women as well as they come to know each other. When Black’s characters ignore their realistic fears to follow their passion, this reader admires their chutzpah and cheers them on. …These stories make good bedtime reading, and could lead to sweet dreams. Read them and see.”

  —Erotica Revealed

  “Ronica Black’s books just keep getting stronger and stronger. …This is such a tightly written plot-driven novel that readers will find themselves glued to the pages and ignoring phone calls. The Seeker is a great read, with an exciting plot, great characters, and great sex.”—Just About Write

  “Ronica Black’s writing is fluid, and lots of dialogue makes this a fast read. If you like steamy erotica with intense sexual situations, you’ll like Chasing Love.”—Queer Magazine Online

  The Practitioner

  Brought to you by

  eBooks from Bold Strokes Books, Inc.

  http://www.boldstrokesbooks.com

  eBooks are not transferable. They cannot be sold, shared or given away as it is an infringement on the copyright of this work.

  Please respect the rights of the author and do not file share.

  The Practitioner

  © 2017 By Ronica Black. All Rights Reserved.

  ISBN 13: 978-1-62639-949-5

  This Electronic Book is published by

  Bold Strokes Books, Inc.

  P.O. Box 249

  Valley Falls, New York 12185

  First Edition: June 2017

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without permission.

  Credits

  Editor: Cindy Cresap

  Production Design: Susan Ramundo

  Cover Design By Sheri ([email protected])

  By the Author

  In Too Deep

  Wild Abandon

  Deeper

  Hearts Aflame

  The Seeker

  Flesh and Bone

  Chasing Love

  Conquest

  Wholehearted

  The Midnight Room

  Snow Angel

  The Practitioner

  Acknowledgments

  I have many to thank for this book. First and foremost, my best friend and love, Cait. Your never-ending encouragement always gets me going.
Thank you.

  To my publisher, Len Barot, who always comes through for me when I need her most. Thank you for continuing to give me a wonderful, thriving place in which to write. Your continued belief in me keeps me going even on the dreariest of days. Thank you.

  To my editor, Cindy Cresap, who wrote me the sweetest, most amazing note about this book. You made me cry. You’ve taught me so much. I’m forever indebted. Thank you.

  To Sheri, for a wonderful cover. Thank you!

  To all those behind the scenes at Bold Strokes Books. Sandy, thank you for always answering my crazy emails! Ruth, thanks for teaching me how to better work Gmail! To everyone else, your hard work and efforts to make my book the best it can be are very much appreciated. Thank you all!

  And finally, for those of you who struggle with anxiety on a daily basis. Please know that you are not alone. There are people in every nook and cranny of the world who feel the same, who understand. It’s just a matter of finding a kindred spirit. Please don’t ever give up. You are stronger than you know.

  Dedication

  For my one and only, for making me laugh, making my heart sing, and for making me keep writing despite my artistic woes. I love you.

  For my mother, Ramona.

  For your love, support, and unwavering devotion to make sure I’m okay.

  It hasn’t been an easy year, but I know things will get better. Why? Because I’ve got you on my side. I love you.

  Prologue

  The beer mug was foggy with chill, the head of the dark beer frothy and thick. Johnnie slid her fingers around the glass and inhaled. She loved the smell of a good beer almost as much as the taste. She took a long, slow sip and tried to relax. Then she closed her eyes and prayed. Please let it come today. Please. She opened her eyes and stared at the sign hanging behind the bar. Keep Calm and Ain’t it Grand. An Irish flag was next to it, along with several beer ads. Guinness, Harp, Smithwick’s. She loved them all. But for her ritual it was Guinness. The frothy head, the deep, dark, rich flavor. The way it slid down her throat and warmed her from toes to tip-top. Yes, Guinness was the one. The magic maker.

  “Any luck yet, Johnnie?” Sean asked, pushing a basket of fresh soda bread her way.

  She shook her head and stared into her pint. “Nothing.”

  “Today will be the day. Don’t you worry now.”

  He moved off to another customer and she sat in silence, hoping he was right. That was the thing about Sean. He always saw the bright side, and yet he knew to leave her to herself. Artist’s brooding was what he called it. She was glad she found the place and lucky to have him instead of a chatty bartender talking her up. She’d gone through several of those. But finally, yes finally, she’d found this place. A small Irish owned pub in the back of a deserted shopping plaza. It was the perfect hole-in-the-wall. One so dark her arm shot up automatically to protect her eyes when the door opened. And the smell of it. The smell of it was perfection. Spilled beer, warm bread, wet shoes from the street, and must. If it had smelled clean, she would’ve split because a real true hole-in-the-wall didn’t smell like roses and lavender and cleaners with bleach. And what she needed was real.

  She took another sip and turned to make her way to the back booth. She chewed on a piece of bread but left the basket on the bar. She needed to feel the Guinness, and the bread would hinder that. She sank into a well-worn booth and opened her sketch pad to a blank page. She readied her charcoal pencil and sat back to wait. She noted only a few other people, most of them sitting alone like her, lost in their drink. Coming in the early afternoon had its advantages. Lunch goers were gone and happy hour hadn’t started yet. She had about two hours to sit and drink and think before that lot came in. She ran her fingertip along the etched names in the tabletop. Warmth from the beer began to spread through her, and she wanted to dissolve into the old seat.

  The drinking was new to her. She’d always liked beer, but she never had been a big drinker. Hard liquor was out of the question; she couldn’t get past the taste, no matter how many ways they tried to hide it. So she stuck to beer. A sip here and there to savor it. Not to get fucked up. No, normally, she would come in, order a pint, and sit and sip and draw. She’d barely finish one, and she’d never order a second. Inspiration had just been there, sitting right across the booth, grinning at her, giving her all she needed. But lately…inspiration was nowhere to be found. She had no ideas, no images, no dreams. Just a tree.

  She took another large sip and sighed. She flipped to the previous pages in her pad. Tree after tree after tree. One lonely tree on every page. Nothing else. Every day it had been the same.

  Why was she only seeing a tree?

  She’d had weird images come to her before, but they usually evolved. This one did not.

  “Damn it.”

  She tossed her pencil and pushed away the pad. For now, she would sit and drink just as she’d done the previous two weeks. At least the beer was good. Beer number four would be even better. She took another sip.

  The door opened in the distance, and she recoiled at the bright desert light. Spots remained in her vision even after it closed, blocking her view of who entered. She heard Sean speak. Heard the reply that was unmistakable.

  Fuck.

  She’d been found.

  “Finally,” Eddie said as he approached. “You know how many of these dumps I’ve been to?” He wiped at the seat as if were covered in filth and settled in across from her. He hesitated to put his elbows on the worn table. He decided to keep his arms at his side.

  She blinked at him and did her best to focus. He had shaved his shadow and cut his hair. The earring was gone too. Good-bye, bad boy; hello, good boy. He was so fresh and crisp, what the hell was he doing hopping bars looking for her? “What do you want?”

  “Well, nice to see you too, sunshine.”

  “Aww, don’t start with the guilt trip. Please, Eddie? I don’t need that right now.” She knew she should’ve called. Should’ve clued him in.

  He stared at her then eyed the beer. “Are you drinking that?”

  She gave a shrug. “Yeah.”

  “Since when?”

  “Since now.”

  He rubbed his face in obvious frustration. “I take it you still haven’t been able to paint?”

  “Does it look like it?” Again, she shoved the pad away and took another sip. A big one.

  “You think that will help?”

  “Lots of artists drink.”

  “Yeah, well, you don’t. And you shouldn’t start. What happened to just ordering one and staring off into space?”

  “It’s not working.” She looked beyond him, unable to hold his gaze for very long. He looked concerned and a little upset. She knew she’d been a right shit lately, and she deserved it. But still, she didn’t want to deal with it.

  “Let’s get out of here,” he said, trying to brighten the mood. “Let me buy you dinner.”

  She squeezed her beer and shook her head slowly. “I don’t want your charity.” True, she was headed for financial disaster, but she didn’t need handouts. Not yet.

  “Charity? Fuck you, Johnnie. It’s dinner. You’re my best friend.”

  “Still…I’m not in the mood.”

  He sighed. “You look like a meth addict. You should eat.”

  She laughed. He was always so dramatic.

  “A few months ago I was too heavy.”

  “Yeah, you were. Now you’re scary. Stop it.”

  “You know my weight fluctuates. I’m fine.”

  He rolled his eyes and they sat in silence for a while. He was like a brother to her, and they often squabbled and pissed each other off. But they looked out for each other. There was no denying that. After another long moment, he straightened and placed his palms on the table.

  “What if I told you I had something that might help?”

  She looked up at him. His eyes sparkled. He had the flame of life in him. Eternally.

  Her flame often burned low, so low it was
hard to see, to feel. It caused him to worry.

  “Eddie, I don’t think you can help. There’s just nothing there.”

  His fingertips drummed the table. “I think I can.”

  He stared at her with a mischievous grin. Eventually, she rolled her eyes and asked, “What?”

  He dug in his back pocket and slapped a business card on the table. When she didn’t speak, he pushed it forward.

  “This.”

  She took it, looked at it, and then looked back at him. “There’s just a number.”

  “Right.”

  “I don’t get it.”

  He reached for her hand and held it warmly in his own. “Remember Pedro?”

  She searched her mind. Pedro. Pedro. Pedro. Ah, yes. Pedro.

  “The guy you raved about for six months nonstop? How could I forget?”

  “Remember how I said he helped me through so much?”

  “Your emotional baggage and your incessant need to be with somebody, anybody?”

  “Yes!”

  She looked at the card. “I don’t need a shrink, Eddie. I need inspiration.”

  “He wasn’t a shrink. He was…inspiration.”

  She felt her eyebrow raise.

  “Just call.”

  “Eddie, Pedro can do little to inspire me. Trust me on that.”

  “No, silly.” He paused, then glanced around as if nervous. “You wouldn’t get Pedro.”

  “I’m not following.” She searched his eyes and saw the blush. “Eddie, what the fuck are we talking about here?”

  “Just call.”

  “No.”

  “Please. It will help. Promise me you will.”

  She refocused on her beer. “I just want to sit here.”

  “And drink.”