Главная страница | Современные любовные романы | Doctor For Keeps

Doctor For Keeps
KRISTI GOLD


One look at dark, sultry doctor Rick Jansen and Miranda Brooks wanted him to detonate her innocence. Their incredible night left her quaking… and reconsidering her manifesto on staying single. But despite her strong, sudden desire to make this maverick lover hers for keeps, she' d never see her dream man again…Miranda Brooks was his new nurse? No matter how badly Rick' s body raged to relive every moment of their torrid interlude, he would resist. He was a man of ambition– not love! So why were his arms aching to hold Miranda yet again… this time forever







“This Is Miranda Brooks. Miranda, This Is Dr. Rick Jansen.”

Miranda scooted the chair from beneath the table, rose on rubbery legs and slowly turned to stare into an onyx gaze that cloaked any reaction. Her heart took a nosedive and the air left her lungs. She suddenly felt like the brunt of the ultimate celestial joke.

The man standing before her in standard green surgical scrubs covered by a lab coat, the requisite stethoscope draped around his neck, could pass for any doctor from the chin down. But the solid gold loop at his ear, the sleek black hair, the sexy gleam in his midnight eyes, made him seem more maverick than medic.

No, he wasn’t an ordinary doctor by any stretch of the imagination—even Miranda’s very vivid imagination.

Nor was he an ordinary man.

Dr. Richard Jansen was not only Miranda’s first official boss, he was also her first official lover.


Dear Reader,

As we celebrate Silhouette’s 20


anniversary year as a romance publisher, we invite you to welcome in the fall season with our latest six powerful, passionate, provocative love stories from Silhouette Desire!

In September’s MAN OF THE MONTH, fabulous Peggy Moreland offers a Slow Waltz Across Texas. In order to win his wife back, a rugged Texas cowboy must learn to let love into his heart. Popular author Jennifer Greene delivers a special treat for you with Rock Solid, which is part of the highly sensual Desire promotion, BODY & SOUL.

Maureen Child’s exciting miniseries, BACHELOR BATTALION, continues with The Next Santini Bride, a responsible single mom who cuts loose with a handsome Marine. The next installment of the provocative Desire miniseries FORTUNE’S CHILDREN: THE GROOMS is Mail-Order Cinderella by Kathryn Jensen, in which a plain-Jane librarian seeks a husband through a matchmaking service and winds up with a Fortune! Ryanne Corey returns to Desire with a Lady with a Past, whose true love woos her with a chocolate picnic. And a nurse loses her virginity to a doctor in a night of passion, only to find out the next day that her lover is her new boss, in Doctor for Keeps by Kristi Gold.

Be sure to indulge yourself this autumn by reading all six of these tantalizing titles from Silhouette Desire!

Enjoy!






Joan Marlow Golan

Senior Editor, Silhouette Desire




Doctor For Keeps

Kristi Gold







www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


To my editor, Jennifer Walsh,

for her wonderful insight and thoughtful guidance.

To my agent, Pattie Steele-Perkins,

for her unwavering patience and welcome support.

And to Kristen, whose wisdom and talent

belie her youth—

“Una mujer que conoce bien los conejos.”




KRISTI GOLD


began her romance writing career at the tender age of twelve when she and her sister spun romantic yarns involving a childhood friend and a popular talk-show host. Since that time, she’s given up celebrity heroes for her favorite types of men, doctors and cowboys, since her husband is both. An avid sports fan, she attends football and baseball games in her spare time. She resides on a small ranch in central Texas with her three children and retired neurosurgeon husband, along with various livestock ranging from Texas longhorn cattle to spoiled yet talented equines. At one time, she competed in regional and national Appaloosa horse shows as a non-pro, but gave up riding for writing and turned the “reins” over to her youngest daughter. She attributes much of her success to her sister, Kim, who encouraged her in her writing, even during the tough times. When she’s not in her office writing her current book, she’s dreaming about it.




Contents


Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Epilogue




One


The soothing sound of a saxophone caressed Miranda Brooks like a lover’s touch as she lay beneath a diamond-studded sky. The sweet scent of freshly mown grass rode in on the warm night breeze, teasing her senses and filling her with euphoria.

Sinking farther into the cushioned poolside chaise, she closed her eyes and let the music lull her into an erotic fantasy. A place where she could conjure up the perfect lover, in the perfect setting, at the perfect time….

“Knock that racket off!” someone yelled from an upper-level apartment.

With a grating squeak, the music stopped. Miranda’s eyes shot open, and she braced herself upright on bent elbows. She surveyed the apartment pool deck but found it as deserted as before, exactly why she’d come here. It seemed she hadn’t been alone after all, and the music hadn’t been electronically reproduced, as she’d first believed. Which meant someone had been serenading her, either unaware or intentionally.

She looked through the wide metal bars surrounding the pool, scanning the area for signs of the mystery musician.

Then she saw him.

Silhouetted in an open apartment door only a few feet away, he was more shadow than real, more mystical than man. He seemed to be staring at her, although she couldn’t quite see his eyes. But she could feel his gaze linger over her as his music had only moments before.

He moved beneath the faint yellow glow of a porch light, the saxophone poised in one hand, causing Miranda’s pulse to stutter. He appeared to be not much over six feet tall, yet his overwhelming presence commanded attention. Still, she couldn’t make out his features unless he came closer. Not likely that would happen, no matter how hard she wished for it.

Miranda sank back into the chair thinking she should probably leave. But she couldn’t. Not yet. Not until she caught another glimpse, just one more glimpse. Then she would go.

The steady sound of footsteps and the creak of the wrought-iron gate pierced the silence. Miranda squeezed her eyes shut again. The sheer thrill of seeing him kept her immobilized, and she waited.

“Are you okay?” he asked in a voice deep as the deadliest sin.

Miranda slowly opened her eyes to a gaze so dark it walked hand in hand with midnight and a face so striking it shamed the stars. His raven hair was sensually mussed, an unruly lock resting against his forehead, as if moments before he’d left his bed, or a woman’s arms. The single gold loop dangling from the lobe of his left ear twinkled like the stars above him. He wore loose black dress slacks and a tailored white shirt with the sleeves rolled up and the first two buttons undone.

A fantasy come to life.

He looked altogether dangerous. Seductively dangerous.

Miranda inched up, tugging her short floral skirt down as she went. “I’m fine. Why do you ask?”

Much to Miranda’s surprise, he pulled a nearby deck chair alongside the chaise, as if he’d been invited to sit, and rested his sax against one leg. “You were so still, and you’re wearing your street clothes. I thought maybe you’d passed out from too much sun.”

“What sun?”

He smiled an alabaster smile and looked up at the inky sky. The moon hovering above them had nothing on his luminescent grin. “You’re right. I believe the sun’s left us.” He brought his dark eyes back to hers. “Then from too much tequila, maybe?”

She tried to look appropriately incensed, a difficult task considering his sensuous smile. “Do I look drunk?”

“No, but looks can be deceptive.” He winked. “Even angels toss back a few now and then.”

Miranda’s face flooded with heat, both from the compliment and his assumption she might be intoxicated. “I assure you I’m quite sober, Mr…?”

He thrust his hand toward her. “Just Rick.”

After a moment’s hesitation, she took his hand, and as she had suspected, his grip was sturdy, his large palm sporting a callus. Imperfections on a man were deemed sexy. But on a woman…

She refused to dull her mood with regrets. “Nice to meet you, Rick. I’m Randi.” For some reason she gave him her childhood name, something she rarely did with strangers.

“Same here, Randi.” He released her hand and rubbed his chin. “Hmmm…Rick and Randi. Has a nice ring to it.”

“I’ll be picking out the china pattern tomorrow.”

He didn’t seem to mind her sarcasm, judging by his expanded grin. “So Randi-on-the-chaise, what brings you out here in the middle of the night?”

“Well, Rick-on-the-sax, it’s only ten, not the middle of the night, and I was looking for some peace and quiet.”

His smile faded. “And you found it until I disturbed you with my tune.”

“Actually, I was enjoying the music. I thought it came from hidden speakers.”

“I’m flattered.” Rick nodded toward the upper balcony. “Guess the guy upstairs doesn’t share your opinion.”

Miranda looked over her shoulder at the place he’d indicated, the apartment directly above hers. “Guess not.” She brought her attention back to Rick. “Do you do this often?”

“Talk to strange women?”

She couldn’t resist rolling her eyes. “Play music for the complex.”

“Not normally. I don’t live here.”

“You don’t live here?” Miranda wasn’t sure whether to be alarmed or disappointed.

“I’m apartment-sitting for a couple of friends. They’re on vacation, and I’m having some work done on my house.”

“Oh.” Could she really believe him? What if he was a rapist? Or a serial killer?

“Hey, don’t look so worried. I’m harmless.”

He was anything but harmless. Maybe not a criminal, but she could think of a dozen ways he could do her in with his charm. She could also think of reasons she might not mind at all. “These days a woman can’t be too careful.”

“No, she can’t.”

“Dammit, people, take it inside. Some of us are trying to sleep.”

Rick grumbled as his glance shot toward the reappearing neighbor. “What a redneck.”

“Yeah. Bet he wears his pants under his belly and has beer for breakfast.”

Rick smiled his damnable smile again and stood. “Well, shall we?”

“Shall we what?”

“Go inside.”

Miranda draped her legs over the side of the chaise and sat up, resigned to the fact that the conversation was over. Just as well, she supposed. “Probably should. I need to get to bed anyway.”

He rubbed his chin with a thoughtful expression. “Maybe you should walk me to my apartment in case I get accosted.”

She pretended indifference when in reality she was considering his suggestion. “You look quite capable of handling yourself for the short distance you have to walk to the apartment.”

His rough sigh rose over the cricket symphony surrounding them. “You’re determined to make this tough on me, aren’t you?”

She feigned an innocent facade, complete with a hand to her chest in her best Southern-belle imitation. “Why, sir, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

He crouched down and laid the sax across his knees. His musky scent wafted around her and his dark eyes impaled her. “I thought maybe you might join me in a nightcap at the apartment. Just to talk.”

Miranda knew she should refuse and leave that instant. She knew it would be best to say a fond farewell and get the heck out of Dodge. But what she knew and what she wanted had developed into two different things. An intriguing man was inviting her to share his time. A handsome stranger. The stuff fantasies were made of. “What kind of nightcap?”

“Milk. Orange juice. Whatever you want.”

“Tequila?”

His laugh, soft and sexy, rumbled low in his chest. “I don’t drink that stuff. It’ll kill ya if you’re not careful.”

A point in his favor. Obviously he wasn’t a back-alley drunk. Or at least she didn’t think so. But life’s bitter lessons came home to roost and caution kicked in. “I appreciate the offer, but I really don’t know you at all.”

“How ’bout I give you my mother’s phone number for a reference?”

“Not good enough. Mothers never find fault in their sons.”

Some unnamed emotion flared in his dark eyes, maybe sadness mixed with a little regret, but it disappeared as quickly as it had come. “I guess you’re right.”

He dropped back into the chair and adjusted the sax to rest against his other leg. Miranda immediately zeroed in on his hands—large, strong, probably skilled in many areas.

“Okay,” he said, “if you don’t want to go inside, then I have another suggestion. Why don’t I pull a couple of chairs onto the front porch of the apartment? That way we can sit there instead of the middle of this courtyard where every word we say bounces off the swimming pool. We’ll be out of Redneck’s earshot, and you can run if you get the urge.”

“Are you saying you’re going to give me a reason to run?”

His frown didn’t detract from his gorgeous face. “Do I look that threatening to you?”

Yes, he did. In a too-sexy-for-his-clothes kind of way. And the way she was feeling right now… “Maybe.”

He leaned forward, allowing her another good whiff of his cologne and a search of his dark gaze. The moonlight danced off the blue highlights in his hair. His olive skin looked smooth and touchable above the slight shading of whiskers on his jaw. Miranda had the strongest urge to find out how touchable it was. Her hands actually itched at the prospect. She clamped them together to keep from doing just that.

“I promise I’ll keep my distance,” he said, “if you’ll promise to join me. I’m just in the mood for company. Besides, it’s too nice a night to go to bed.”

Miranda half expected him to add “alone.” When he didn’t, she considered his request for a moment. What could one drink on a porch hurt? A little adventure? Her instincts told her to take a chance. After all, that’s what she had done by moving here and accepting a new job, determined to start a new life. She had built a cocoon around her world for most of her twenty-five years. It was high time to slowly unravel it.

“Okay, one drink.” She pointed at him. “But just one. I have to be up early.”

His smile lit up the night. “Good.”

When Rick held out his free hand, Miranda stared at it for a moment, then curled her fingers around his and allowed him to help her up. Once she was standing, he let her go. For some reason that disappointed her.

She trailed behind him and waited outside until he returned from the apartment with two spindle-backed dining-room chairs, sans saxophone.

“So what will it be, milk or orange juice?” he asked. “Or I have beer.”

“Beer,” Miranda blurted out. Lord, why did she say that? She didn’t even like the stuff.

“A beer it is. I’ll be back in a minute,” he said, then disappeared into the apartment.

Miranda took the chair near the boxwood hedge, farthest from the door, and closest to the walkway. Just in case.

She shook her head, trying to clear the cobwebs from her common sense. She must be nuts for agreeing to this. For heaven’s sake, he was a stranger, albeit a beautiful one. But she had to admit she was more than a bit curious about him. For instance, why on earth had he extended the invitation to her when the man could have his choice of women?

Okay, so the complex wasn’t buzzing with buxom blondes this time of night on a Sunday. Obviously Musician Rick had invited her—thistle-thin with waist-length, straight-as-a-two-by-four, mousy-brown hair—because she was the only woman available.

“Here.” He handed an amber bottle of beer over her shoulder. She studied the dusting of dark hair that extended up his arm. She found his strong square fingers fascinating. She found every inch of him fascinating.

Miranda finally took the bottle and held it up to the porch light. “I don’t recognize the name.” Not that she would. “Import?”

“Domestic.” He dropped down into the chair next to hers. “It’s a small brewery from the Hill Country. My friend’s favorite. If you don’t like it, I’ll bring you something else.”

“It’s fine.” She wasn’t fond of any kind of beer, so it didn’t matter if it was made with Rocky Mountain spring water or well-water from Amarillo. But she didn’t want to be rude.

He took a long draw from his beer, then asked, “How long have you been living here at the complex?”

She thought a minute. The past two weeks had gone by in a whirl of planning and unpacking. The first few steps toward true independence. “Fifteen days, almost sixteen.”

He stretched his long legs out in front of him with a panther-like grace. “Are you from here?”

“Actually, no.” She stared off at the twinkling Dallas skyline, so unlike the rural horizon she had grown up with and eventually taken for granted. “I’m from a small town near the Louisiana border. Far-east Texas.”

“You’re a long way from home.” As he took another drink, Miranda watched his Adam’s apple contract and followed the path below where she glimpsed a gold chain and another shading of dark hair peeking out from his open shirt.

She dragged her gaze back to his face and tried to concentrate on polite conversation. “How about you? Where are you from?”

“San Antonio.”

The two times she’d been to San Antonio, she’d loved its romantic ambience. Not that she’d ever traveled there with a man. She had always dreamed about it, though. “That’s a beautiful place.”

He tipped the bottle toward her. “I bet you like the downtown area. Alamo. River Walk.”

“How did you guess?”

“Easy. You have romantic eyes.”

She laughed. “Define ‘romantic eyes.”’

Rick inclined his head and locked into her gaze. “Wistful. Wise, like you’ve seen more than most people your age.”

She hadn’t traveled much, hadn’t even left Texas to obtain her nursing degree, but she had seen a lot of heartache. More than she cared to admit. And somehow he knew that. Maybe in reality he was an undercover FBI agent. Maybe he was psychic.

Maybe you need to get a grip on the imagination, Miranda Jane.

She smiled nervously. “I’m just a country girl who’s moved to the city. I suspect I’ll see a lot more of the world in the next few months.”

“What do you do for a living?” he asked.

“I’m a registered nurse.”

He pulled his legs in and sat forward in the chair, seemingly interested in the revelation. “No kidding? Hospital or doctor’s office?”

“I work for a group of doctors.” Or she would as of tomorrow, a reminder of why she needed to go home. But right now her cluttered apartment didn’t seem as appealing as the man sitting next to her.

He smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Tough profession. Why’d you choose it?”

It took great effort for Miranda to mask her surprise over his intuitiveness. “Does there have to be a reason?”

“I’ve found that most health-care professionals have some motivating life experience that affects their choice.”

She did have one very prominent motivating force, but she didn’t want to go into that with a perfect stranger, no matter how perfect he seemed to be. “Actually, I wonder sometimes what possessed me to do it. I don’t like most doctors.”

He sat back in his chair and blew out a tuneless whistle. “You’re direct, aren’t you?”

“No need in beating around the bush. They’re basically high-strung, perfectionist egomaniacs.”

He leaned forward again and dangled the beer between his parted knees. “That’s a pretty strong generalization.”

“Maybe, but I’ve met quite a few with God complexes bigger than a stretch limo.”

He laughed again, a deep rich sound that vibrated clear down to Miranda’s soul. “I won’t argue that.”

“You sound like you know from experience.”

“Some of my best friends are doctors. So is the guy I’m apartment-sitting for.”

Open mouth, insert size-seven white sandal. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to insult your friend.”

He looked more amused than offended. “You didn’t. God knows he can be a pain in the…butt.”

She sat back in the chair, feeling more relaxed with every passing moment. “What kind of doctor is your friend?”

“A resident in thoracic surgery.”

She wasn’t surprised. The apartment complex was full of medical residents due to its proximity to the hospital and the cheap rent. That’s why she had chosen the location.

Rick slapped at his neck and muttered, “Damned airplane-sized mosquitoes.”

“I guess it’s time to head for cover.” She sounded hesitant, even to her own ears.

He pointed at her three-quarters-full bottle. “You aren’t finished with your drink yet.”

She examined the bottle again, wondering whether or not she should stay. In her opinion, the only thing worse than beer was hot beer, and the only thing worse than indecisiveness was making the wrong choice. “I’m really not much of a beer drinker.” Or risk taker, for that matter.

“Then I’ll get you something else.”

“Really, I need to go,” she said without much conviction.

He set his bottle on the concrete floor and scooted the chair closer. “Just a few more minutes?”

She rose, needing to escape the insistent voice in her head that kept telling her to go for it. She thrust the beer at him. “Here. You can finish this for me.”

Rick stood and reached for the bottle. Their fingers brushed, sending a succession of chills down Miranda’s spine.

His espresso eyes bored into her, as if he knew her secret desire to stay. “Don’t leave yet, Randi.”

Her flesh still tingled where he’d touched her. If she didn’t know better, she’d write it off to poor circulation. The feeling wasn’t at all unpleasant. “I don’t know…”

“Just for a while.” With one fingertip, he absently circled the bottle’s opening, round and round in slow motion on the place where her mouth had been. She could almost feel his touch on her lips. A lightning flash of awareness sparked between them.

Right now Miranda couldn’t think of anywhere else she wanted to be. Certainly not at home, alone, as she had been most of her life. Maybe it was time to take another chance. “Does the offer still stand?”

“What offer is that?”

“Going inside the apartment.”

He quirked an eyebrow. “Are you sure?”

Not really, but she didn’t intend to back down now. “I’m sure. Beats hanging out with the insects.”

Rick, on the other hand, looked decidedly unsure. “Okay. I’ll keep the door open if you want, but I promise I won’t bite. I’ll leave that to the bugs.” His husky voice fed her imagination, and she wondered if this was how he would sound in bed, coaxing, cajoling, oozing sensuality.

Miranda’s pulse quickened. She shouldn’t even consider following him inside. In fact, she was considering several things she probably shouldn’t. He seemed to have some sort of indiscernible hold on her, but she still wasn’t sure of his motives.

Maybe he sensed her loneliness. Or it could be that he was simply being courteous. She hesitated, then said, “Well…maybe we could have a drink some other time…?”

“I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t want you to.” He rubbed the back of his neck with his free hand. “But first, I have a confession to make.”

Considering his smile was pure sin, he probably had several. “Go ahead.”

“Mark and Angie Wilson—the people I’m apartment-sitting for—told me I might want to meet a girl named Miranda in fourteen-twelve. I watched you come out of that apartment tonight. That is you, isn’t it?”

Finally, the truth. This was no chance meeting or fate’s intervention. So much for fantasies. “Yes. Randi’s my nickname.” Miranda suddenly remembered Angie introducing herself in the laundry room. “Do they have a little girl, about three?”

“Yeah. That’s Emma,” he said with pride. “Cutest kid in the state. But I’m biased. I’m her godfather.”

Anyone who seemed that taken by a child couldn’t be all bad. “What did Mark and Angie say about me?”

He looked away as if the subject made him self-conscious. “Angie said you’re single, and that you were very nice when she met you.”

Miranda wondered what kind of judgments the woman could make in a five-minute conversation over a coin-operated washing machine. “That was nice of her.”

“Now, Mark, on the other hand, basing his opinion solely on visual observations, made a few other comments, most of which ticked Angie off.”

“Criticisms?”

He grinned. “No. Just your general male assessments. Great hair, great legs. He was right about most of them.”

“Most of them?”

He pinned her with his brown eyes. “The part about you being beautiful.”

Miranda mentally flinched. Whoever said flattery would get you nowhere hadn’t lived in her literally defective skin. No one outside her grandmother, a few former classmates and one ex-boyfriend knew of her imperfections. No one ever would, if she could help it. “What wasn’t he right about?”

“He said you looked uptight. That you wouldn’t accept an introduction, much less an invitation from me.”

Two days ago that might have been true. But tonight…well, tonight was different. She was different. In fact, she felt absolutely reckless for the first time in years, and she welcomed the freedom. “That just goes to show you can’t always trust first impressions. So does this mean I’m the victim of some kind of macho wager between you two?”

“No wager. In fact, I had no intention of meeting anyone right now. Not until tonight.” His smile disappeared and he looked all too serious.

Her former self screamed No! Don’t risk it. But the new, more daring version of Miranda Brooks urged her to forget her concern and go for it. “Shall we go inside now?”

With a satisfied smile, he handed her back the near-full beer and grabbed his own. She followed him into a living room laid out much the same as hers with the exception of a small fireplace. But unlike her apartment, everything was neat and orderly. Comfortable and homey. Drawn to the caramel-colored sofa, she stepped forward and ran her hand over the soft beige leather. Real leather. She couldn’t afford that. Not yet.

“Should I keep the door open and let the bloodsuckers in, or should I close it and risk you bolting on me?”

Miranda turned to find Rick with his hand poised on the knob of the open door. “You can close it.” Her heart seemed to skip a succession of beats.

“I won’t lock it,” he said as if he’d sensed her apprehension.

He closed the door and leaned back against the frame, one hand still wrapped around his beer bottle, the other hidden away in his pocket. Even in the glare of artificial light, he looked gorgeous, his smile sexy but reassuring. “Do you want another beer?”

She shook her head. “No, I’m not sure I can finish this one. But you go ahead.”

“Nope, one’s my limit since tomorrow’s Monday. How about a soda?”

“A soda sounds good.”

“Soda it is.” He pushed off the door and walked into the adjacent kitchen.

While she waited for his return, Miranda’s curiosity switched into overdrive. She set her beer on a black plastic coaster on the oak coffee table and strolled to the mantel. Studying the row of pictures, she found one of Rick holding a tow-headed baby. At least she’d garnered proof he was a legitimate friend of the Wilsons.

She picked up the photo to look more closely. Rick’s dark complexion and black hair contrasted with the baby’s fair skin and blond fuzz. He was looking at the child with adoration, his smile soft and gentle. Obviously the little girl had touched his heart in a big way.

The sound of clinking ice cubes startled her, and she immediately put the photograph back in its place. She studied the other shots, one in particular, a wedding photo she recognized to be the auburn-haired Angie Wilson and her husband—Mark, she remembered Rick saying—big, blond and boyishly handsome. They gazed at each other with un-disguised devotion. Miranda’s envy filtered out in a sigh.

“A drink for the lady,” came from behind her.

She turned to find Rick holding out a glass of soda from a few feet away. He walked to her, and when she took hold of the drink, their fingers touched, creating more havoc on Miranda’s heart rate. She quickly pulled away, sloshing the liquid over both their hands. “Sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it.” He wiped away the moisture with the napkin he’d brought her, tossed it onto the table, and then rested his elbow on the mantel. She turned to face him.

Amusement glinted in his eyes. “You’ve been checking me out?”

Her face fired into another hot blush. “What?”

He nodded toward the photograph. “The picture of me and Emma.”

Thanks heavens he hadn’t noticed her gawking at his chest earlier. Or maybe he had. “She’s a very pretty little girl.”

“Yeah, she is.” He grinned as though Emma was his child.

Rick headed toward the stereo positioned in the corner of the room. He crouched down and started sorting through a box of CDs. “What kind of music do you like?”

“I liked what you were playing earlier.”

“It’s called ‘Secret Love.’ Kind of corny, but one of my mom’s favorites. She makes me play it when I go home.”

How sweet for him to play his mother’s favorite song, she thought. How wonderful he still had a mother. Miranda fought the memories. She wouldn’t let the sadness that had been so much a part of her life ruin her good mood.

While she sipped her soda, he continued to shuffle through the CDs. “If you can’t find what you’re looking for,” she said, “you could play for me again.”

“I found it,” he said, then inserted a CD in the player. The melodic strains of a folk guitarist filtered through the speakers, music as unfamiliar to Miranda as the concept of being with a strange man in a strange apartment. Both were oddly seductive.

“Who is that?” she asked.

Rick stood and came back to her. “His name is Mannie Marquez. He started out locally. I predict he’ll make it big soon.”

Miranda allowed her eyes to drift shut for a moment as she absorbed the haunting tune. When she opened them, she found Rick staring at her. “It’s beautiful,” she said.

“Yes, it is.” He reached up and pushed a strand of hair away from her face. “Very beautiful.”

In all her imaginings, Miranda hadn’t prepared for this reality. She felt more courageous than she’d ever felt before. “Tell me something, Rick. Do you dance?”

Surprise crossed his expression. “Dance? As in here? Now?”

“Sure. Dancing is relatively innocent, don’t you think?”

He regarded her with a grin. “Relatively is the key word. If you intend to do the twist, that’s relatively benign. If you want to do the lambada, then that could be relatively dangerous.”

“Nothing like that,” Miranda said, surprised at how breathless she sounded. “Just your average slow dancing.”

He hesitated for a moment, but only a moment. “I’m game.” He took her drink, placed it on the mantel and offered his hand to her.

Miranda immediately regretted her request. Her last dance partner had been her daddy, before he’d been torn from her life ten years ago, leaving a big empty hole that she’d never been able to fill. She released a nervous laugh to mask her emotions and fear of inadequacy. “I hope you don’t expect much.”

He captured her again with his midnight eyes, intense and questioning. “I don’t expect anything, Randi. I promise.”

She started to tell him she’d meant in regard to her dancing skills. But suddenly words didn’t seem necessary, and she walked into his arms.




Two


He was easy to dance with. Easy to talk to. And darn sure easy to look at. They had a lot in common: watching baseball live, football on TV and stand-up comedy any time they had the opportunity. Although Miranda tried to learn more about Rick, he always managed to turn the conversation back to her life. He acted as though what she said mattered, something she could honestly appreciate. A long time had passed since she’d had someone to talk to. Someone who really listened.

She even liked his taste in music, Miranda realized as he selected another CD, this time a light jazz number filtered lazily through the speakers.

When he approached her again, she took a subtle glance at her watch. Lord, had she really been there for more than an hour? At the moment, she didn’t care about the time.

“That’s nice, too,” she said as he drew her back into his arms. “Another colleague of yours?”

“Colleague?” He looked startled, then smiled. “Oh, music’s only a hobby.”

He certainly fit her image of the consummate musician. “Then what do you do for a day job?”

His gaze slid away. “I work with kids.”

The man was almost too good to be true. “That’s wonderful. What exactly do you do?”

He finally looked at her through a veil of dark lashes most women would kill for. “Let’s not talk about work. Tonight we’re just Rick and Randi trying to forget about the daily grind and the fact that tomorrow’s Monday.” He touched her cheek. “Trying to forget about everything but right now.”

Up to that point, he’d kept a comfortable distance between them. Then, as if on cue, the tempo slowed and he drew her closer.

“Even though it’s not your standard dance floor, this isn’t so bad, is it?” he asked with a half smile.

No, in fact, it was good. Very good. “I’m surprised I haven’t taken out a couple of your toes.”

He searched her eyes as if trying to find more secrets. “Don’t sell yourself short, Randi. You’re a natural. That’s important in many things.”

Her breath caught at his comment. If he referred to lovemaking, unfortunately she had no experience along those lines.

As the song continued, then another, they gradually moved a little closer with each track until Miranda was flush against Rick, engulfed in his strong arms and his male essence. He bent his head and pressed a cheek against her ear. He radiated heat at the point where her breasts met the solid wall of his chest. Her blouse dampened there and she could also feel the dampness beneath her fingertips where they rested against his back. But the most notable heat came from deep within her body, pooling in places she had long since learned to ignore.

He slipped one arm underneath her hair at her nape and lifted it slightly away from her neck, then drew back and studied her face. The moment seemed to suspend, as the conversation had a while ago. She thought he might actually kiss her. She hoped he would.

Instead, he stopped moving. “It’s hot in here. I think the air conditioner’s on the fritz.”

Miranda’s whole being clutched with loss when he dropped his arms from around her and moved away. The mood was suddenly shattered. “Yes, it is a little warm.”

But he was gone just long enough to open the front windows, turn on the ceiling fan and turn off the overhead light, leaving only a small illumination coming from the kitchen.

“Is that better?” he asked, taking her back into his arms.

Miranda wasn’t sure how to answer. Yes, it took care of some of the external temperature problems, but the inferno still raged within her. “It’s more comfortable.”

“Good.” He brought her back against him.

Again they fell into an easy rhythm as they swayed in time to another easy song. She found herself holding on to Rick tighter, as if he might slip away as all good fantasies tended to do. His hands traveled lower and came to rest just below the spot where her hair met her waist. His touch was real, not imagined. Not a dream, although dreamlike.

Miranda’s pulse pounded in her ears when he brushed a kiss on her cheek. Her heart beat wildly out of control when he pressed the small of her back, bringing their hips closer together. She felt his bold arousal against her belly, and the air left her lungs.

Well, she was aroused, too. More than she ever imagined being. Her mouth went dry and she automatically licked her bottom lip. That seemed to capture his fascination. His gaze dropped to her mouth then came back to her eyes.

He softly said, “Miranda,” as if testing the sound, followed by a kiss on her forehead, her jaw, then a feather-light caress on her lips. He met her gaze again, his eyes full of questions, as if seeking permission to continue. She gave it, not through words, but by leaning forward until their mouths met with a hungry passion.

This is crazy, her mind shouted from somewhere far away, but she didn’t heed the warning. She was too lost in the heady feelings Rick roused with the stroking of his tongue in soft fluid movements between her parted lips, the taste of beer and need. She did hear a moan and realized it had come from her. The kiss ended almost as abruptly as it had begun.

Rick released a ragged breath and touched his forehead to hers. “Randi, you need to go.”

Had she done something wrong? Did he find her kisses lacking? “You want me to go?”

“No. That’s why you need to go.”

Miranda’s stomach dipped and churned as if she’d hopped on a runaway roller coaster. She felt giddy, light-headed, totally out of control. A man hadn’t wanted her in a long time. Not since college, and that one awful experience had convinced her to live a lonely, celibate life. For self-protection, she had never let herself be wanted.

At the very least, giving in to this breathtaking desire for Rick was risky. She didn’t even know his last name. And if she continued on the present course, her life might never be the same. But she didn’t care. Until now, she hadn’t been living.

Miranda decided not to question why she had chosen this enigmatic stranger with devilishly dark eyes, a soft spot for kids and strong yet gentle hands, to fulfill her fantasies. Perhaps because he was a stranger and knew nothing of her past. Maybe it was the bond she seemed to have with him, as if she’d always known him. In a way she did know him. He was the answer to her prayers, her dreams, her fantasies. At least for this one magical night.

Regardless, she had chosen him, and she wasn’t about to change her mind.

Miranda drew in a deep breath and released it with a sigh. “What if I don’t want to go?”



Rick was taken aback by Randi’s bold declaration and determined expression. Despite her obvious conviction, there was an innocence about her, something he found refreshing in the jaded sexual world he’d come to know.

He couldn’t fathom what he’d done right to be worthy of this angel on the doorstep, especially now that he was entertaining some wicked thoughts. But she deserved more than a one-night stand, and he couldn’t get involved with anyone right now. He didn’t have the time. Until he’d met her, he didn’t have the inclination. Even if he wanted a relationship, Randi probably wouldn’t approve of his occupation. Not to mention that his tenuous future didn’t include anything permanent. But her quick wit, no-holds-barred honesty and guileless green eyes made him consider things he shouldn’t.

He’d learned a lot in his thirty-two years, especially self-control. If he didn’t turn Miss Brooks around and march her outside, life’s lessons would be out the door instead of her.

Rick bracketed Randi’s face in his palms and searched her green eyes for the least bit of indecision. He didn’t find any. “Do you know what you’re saying?”

“I’m saying I want to stay. I want to be with you.”

He had to make her understand exactly how far this could go if she didn’t stop him. “I want you, Randi. All of you.”

“I know. I feel the same about you.” As if to prove it, she brought her arms from around his waist and fanned her palms in the opening of his shirt. Her touch seemed tentative, then more insistent as she feathered her fingertips across his chest. He was really sweating now.

“Your skin’s so hot,” she whispered.

That wasn’t the only thing. He swallowed hard. “Yeah.”

“Why don’t you take your shirt off?” She said the words without looking at him. Did she mean it? He aimed to find out.

He tugged the tails from his waistband and began slipping the buttons while she watched. Her eyes widened when he shucked the shirt off his shoulders and tossed it on the sofa. But she didn’t protest, or rush out the door. Instead, she circled her arms around his bare waist, sparking his imagination. What would it feel like to have her naked beneath him? His resolve weakened at the vivid mental image that thought created.

He hadn’t meant for this to happen. He’d only wanted the company of a beautiful woman who could hold her own in conversation and make him laugh. She had done both.

Of course, he had invited her inside in the first place. Obviously she’d read more into his intentions. But he’d kissed her first. He couldn’t help himself. Not when she looked at him like he was special, someone who could fulfill her fantasies.

When was the last time a woman looked at him that way? A woman who didn’t know who he was. Or what he was. Someone who expected nothing from him in terms of what he could do for their social standing.

Maybe she had just gotten caught up in the moment, the electricity that arced between them. If so, the time had come to slam on the brakes, before he couldn’t.

Then Miranda placed a kiss on his chest, right above his pounding heart, and his coveted control flew out the open window.

He slipped his hand underneath her silky hair and brought it to rest at the waistband of her skirt. When he began to tug her shirt up, needing to feel the bare flesh on her back, she flinched and pulled away.

“Are you really okay with this?” he asked.

Her smile was wan, self-conscious. “Yes, it’s just my back… I’m ticklish. It’s kind of weird, I know, but I don’t like being touched there.”

He grazed her cheek with a fingertip. “Where do you want me to touch you?”

She met his gaze, and he noted shyness in her expression, giving him pause. “You want me to tell you?”

“Unless you tell me, I won’t know.”

Randi didn’t answer with words. Instead, she took his hand and laid it on her left breast. Rick felt the butterfly beat of her heart and her nipple pebbling beneath his palm. He stared for a moment like a kid copping his first feel.

He’d had countless sexual offers from women, some he’d considered, some not. But he’d never met a woman like Miranda Brooks. The innocence shining in her eyes was in direct contrast to her saucy attitude and made-for-sin body. That innocence worried him the most.

What a time to get a conscience—when a beautiful brunette seemed bent on seducing him. But he didn’t want to hurt her, and he realized he could, even if he didn’t intend to. He had so little to offer, and she had something special that he couldn’t quite name. Something that had touched him on a deeper level than the physical. Something he didn’t care to acknowledge.

She pushed against his hand. Despite his caution, he stroked his thumb across her nipple through the thin cotton of her shirt, slowly back and forth. Her eyes turned soft and hooded, her expression languid.

He smiled to keep from moaning. “Is this how you like to be touched?”

“Yes.” She sounded breathless. God knew he was. If she was this responsive to such a simple touch, what would she be like when he really got down to business?

He took a mental step back. His gut instinct told him he might be making one giant mistake if he went any further. Then she reached up and unbuttoned the top button of her blouse, severing his last shred of resistance.

Removing her hand from the placket, he undid the remaining buttons at a snail’s pace, not only to draw out the tension, but also to allow her to stop him. When she didn’t, he pushed aside the blouse to reveal a silky champagne-colored camisole, no bra underneath. He cupped her breast again. The material felt cool to his palm, but he wanted to experience her warmth underneath the fabric.

She stood very still and for a moment he thought she might reconsider. Taking her back in his arms, Rick kissed her, then slipped one hand under the silk. Warm, supple flesh filled his palm. The muscles in his gut tensed as he struggled for control.

He broke the kiss and removed his hand from beneath the camisole in order to catch his breath and gather his scattered thoughts. Right now he should stop, the hardest thing he had done in a long time.

She brought her lips to his ear and whispered, “Make love to me.”

Oh, hell, she was making this damned difficult. How could he be a gentleman with someone so desirable in his arms, begging for his attention? He considered they were simply two consenting adults with normal biological urges. That’s what he kept telling himself, but he realized it was more. She was more than he had bargained for.

“Are you sure?” he asked, meeting her deep green eyes, bright with desire.

“Very sure.”

She sounded sure, but he had to know. And he had well-practiced ways of finding out. Then, if she chose to run, he’d show her the door and head for the shower.

Rick reached down and undid the button on the side of the sarong skirt. The flap fell to one side, revealing another button. He had to look down to undo it. Randi looked down as well, and together they watched the drama unfold while he released the last remaining obstacle. The skirt slipped easily down her narrow hips and fell in a heap on the floor at her feet. His eyes never left hers as he knelt and removed her sandals, one at a time, then stood.

Rick’s attention now focused on the scrap of white lace barely covering the dark shading at the juncture of Randi’s thighs. He slipped a finger just below the elastic. Her breath caught, and he looked up to find her eyes tightly closed.

“Randi, open your eyes.”

She did as he commanded, and she still had that same look, half-innocent, half-needy.

“Are you sure you want this?” Normally he would just let nature take its course. For some reason, he needed to hear her say it again.

“Positive.” Although her voice was unsteady, she looked as ready as he felt. She also looked tousled and incredibly sexy, her lips swollen from his kiss, her cheeks the color of his mother’s prized tea roses. A few wisps of her gold-brown hair ruffled in the breeze filtering in through the window.

She was an extraordinary, desirable woman, and he wanted her more than he should. His life was a mess, but he didn’t want to think about that now. Randi would help him forget, at least for a while.

In one swift move, Rick brought her tightly against him. He thrust upward and nestled in the cradle of her thighs. He kissed her with all the desire he felt.

Randi’s body went limp in his arms. Afraid she might actually join her skirt on the floor, he said, “Come to bed with me.” Of course, once they got to that point, he might have one hell of a time maintaining his resolve to take it slow.

She sent him a shaky smile. “That’s a good idea.”

Taking her by the hand, he led her into Mark and Angie’s room, now washed in the subtle glow of moonlight. He could only guess what the unsuspecting couple would think if they knew what he intended to do in their bed. Of course, Mark would give him a high five for his sexual prowess. Angie would give him a lecture on his rogue ways.

He could almost hear his best friend’s wife scolding him about his lack of commitment, reminding him how very few relationships he’d had. She would stress the fact it was way past time for him to think about settling down. But he couldn’t settle down, not now. Not until he’d done all that he could to fulfill the promise he’d made so long ago. Until he atoned for his myriad sins.

He felt a twinge of regret that his life couldn’t include a serious relationship. Especially with this woman.

This angel.

The sight of Randi clad only in white lace panties and champagne silk camisole, her long hair flowing over her breasts, chased away the arguments racing around his head.

He fumbled with his fly for what seemed an interminable amount of time. God, he hadn’t been this unsure since he was sixteen and in the throes of raging hormones. Nor had he experienced such a physical rush. A desperate, impatient need that threatened his practiced control. He had learned to use his hands with calm efficiency, but right now he couldn’t even tackle the damned zipper.

Randi continued to study him with wild-eyed wonder, seeming unfazed by the delay. He wished he could say the same for himself.

Once he finally undid his fly, he snaked out of his slacks and tossed them across the room along with his misgivings. He sat beside Miranda on the bed and plied her with whisper kisses before lying back with her in his arms. He shifted until they were lying face-to-face, body to body.

Raising up on a bent elbow, he watched her expression melt into pure desire as he nudged her hair aside and drew lazy circles around her breasts through the silk. He slowly lifted the camisole.

“You’re perfect,” he said as he feathered his thumb across the beaded tip of one flawless breast.

She rolled to her back and stared at the ceiling. “No, I’m not.”

Rick noted the pain in her tone and wondered what jerk had crushed her sense of self-worth. Probably some idiot who preferred more than a mouthful to boost his over-inflated ego. He was determined to convince her otherwise.

He moved above her and said, “Yes, you are,” then placed a kiss between her breasts before drawing one peak between his lips.

She arched her back, thrusting her chest forward, and released a pleasured moan. Rick ached with the all-consuming need to be inside her, but he was determined to take it slow.

He raised his head and found her lips again, relishing the feel of the dampness on her breast where his mouth had been. Brushing his knuckles back and forth against her lower belly, he again found the band at her hips. In one smooth move, he slipped his hand underneath the lace, tamping down the urge to rip the scrap of material away.

Rick broke the kiss and watched her face to gauge her reaction. She kept her eyes closed and her lips parted, drawing in a quick gasp when he delved into her feminine folds and found her center with the pad of his thumb.

“You feel good,” he whispered as he stroked her flesh, centering on the soft bud that blossomed beneath his fingertip. “You’re perfect here, too.”

Randi made a small sound in her throat that carried him to the brink of losing control. He kissed her temple, her cheek, her lips, as he quickened his touch.

“Rick…” His name rode out on a gasp, and her bottom lip trembled. She grasped the folds of the comforter and writhed beneath his ardent touch.

He brought his lips to her ear and whispered words of encouragement. “It’s okay, Randi. Just let go for me. Let go.”

She tilted her head back and released a soft cry. Her whole body shook against his side.

Rick stilled, surprised by the fact that she had gone over the edge after only a few touches. Either this angel was a lot hotter than he imagined, or as innocent as he had first assumed.

His conscience wouldn’t let him believe the latter.

Randi grabbed his shoulders and tried to pull him to her. “Easy, querida,” he said, trying to gentle her with soft kisses.

“I need you.” The desperation in her voice drove him wild. He was tempted to answer her plea right then, but he couldn’t. Not yet. Not until he saw to his responsibility.

“I need you, too,” he said. “But there’s something I have to do first.”

It occurred to him that he hadn’t even thought to bring protection. His work hadn’t afforded him much of a social—much less sexual—life of late. Luckily, he remembered seeing a box of condoms in the medicine cabinet. Good old Mark had come through for him again, and he didn’t even know it. Nor would he.

Rick stood, stripped out of his briefs, and headed toward the bathroom. “I’ve got to get a condom. I’ll be right back. Don’t go anywhere.”

Miranda couldn’t have left, even if she’d wanted to. Her whole body had melted into a pool of molten heat. As a nurse, she certainly wasn’t ignorant in the ways of male and female lovemaking. But as a woman, she could never have imagined Rick’s abilities. And better still, he was concerned with safe sex, something she could more than appreciate. Something she should have considered. But he had stripped her of all common sense when he’d stripped away her clothes. She had only considered the way he made her feel, like a truly sexual being for the first time in her life.

She tossed the comforter aside and worked her way underneath the cool sheets. Now that she was thinking more clearly, she had a decision to make.

Not that she wasn’t willing to continue. She yearned for the whole experience, everything he could give her that she had only dreamed of until this moment. She couldn’t even think about stopping now. Yet she didn’t know if she should tell Rick about her inexperience or let him discover it for himself.

If she did tell him that he would be her first lover, would he choose not to follow through? If she didn’t, would he be angry?

The time to make the decision was upon her as Rick reentered the room. But her voice headed for the hills when she saw him standing before her, all dark, sexy, sinewy male.

Moonlight filtering in from the window spilled over his body, casting shadows that enhanced masculine planes and lean muscle. A gold chain sporting a small pendant hung to his sternum, a slight dusting of dark hair as its backdrop. She visually followed the progression of that hair as it traveled down his washboard belly in a silky ribbon.

Lord, he was magnificent. She’d seen her share of male anatomy during classes and clinicals, but she’d never seen anything quite like him, especially that very virile part of him that kept drawing her attention.

His sensuous smile sent a succession of pleasant chills all over her body. He threw back the covers and slipped into bed beside her, gazing at her as if she were priceless. She knew in that moment he deserved the truth.

He tried to kiss her again but she turned her head to one side. His lips landed on her cheek. With gentle fingertips, he turned her face back toward him. “Do you want me to stop?”

“No. Definitely not. There’s just something I need to say. I want you to know that I don’t usually do this. In fact, I—”

“It’s okay. I know.” He ran his tongue over the seam of her lips. “You don’t have to say anything, Miranda. Just feel.”

The way he said her name brought her senses to life as his sultry song had earlier that evening, potent as any aphrodisiac, robbing her of the need to confess.

He came to his knees before her and tore open a foil package. She watched in fascination as he rolled the condom on, then slipped her panties down and tossed them aside.

This is it, Miranda. No turning back now.

When he reached for her camisole, she grabbed his wrist. “Don’t!” She hated the panic in her voice, but she couldn’t let him see the very thing she hid from the world. She couldn’t take it if he turned away, repulsed by the sight and feel of her damaged flesh.

He sat back on his haunches. “Why not?”

“I think it’s kind of sexy, leaving some of your clothes on.” It was the best she could do under the circumstances.

He gently brushed her hair back. “Listen, Randi, you can leave it on if you feel more comfortable. But if you’re doing this because some jerk told you that you’re inadequate, I want you to know right now that he’s dead wrong. You are beautiful, and you’re not one of those women whose beauty ends at the superficial.”

She imagined he’d had plenty of experience with women, but she wouldn’t let that spoil the moment. Not when he spoke to her with a sincerity that deprived her of air. Not when he studied her with a heated gaze that captured her thoughts and flung them away.

No matter how deliberate she’d been in her planning, nothing else mattered at the moment but him. Not past or present. Only now. Making love with him could never be a mistake, even if it was only this once.

She reached her arms out to him. “Rick, please. I want you so much.” Please, before you change your mind.

“I want you, too.” His voice was a husky whisper. “I do want you.”

He parted her legs and bent her knees with gentle fingertips, then moved between her thighs. She felt the first pressure as he began to enter her.

He bent and kissed her again, his tongue simulating the act of love she so desperately needed. He nuzzled her neck and whispered, “You’re so small.”

That wasn’t the half of it. And soon, very soon, he would know the truth.

When he pushed harder, she felt a slight burning and winced.

Rick froze like a statue. “Randi, are you…have you…?”

“No, I haven’t.” She turned her eyes away from his scrutiny.

He dropped his forehead against her shoulder. “Damn.”

Bracing her palms on the sides of his head, she forced him to look at her so he would see how much she needed this. How much she needed him. “It’s okay.”

Even in the dim light, she glimpsed uncertainty in his eyes. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You won’t. Not unless you stop.”

She tilted her hips in encouragement, welcoming him into her body, opening a whole new facet of her soul. With an animal groan and one hard thrust, he filled her completely. More completely than she’d ever thought possible. He stilled against her for a long moment, giving her body time to adjust and for the discomfort to subside. He whispered his praise with erotic, sensual words, some phrases spoken in a language Miranda didn’t understand. Spanish, she decided. Lyrical, erotic, enticing. Seductive and mysterious, like the man. She caught fire all over again.

Miranda shifted restlessly beneath him, wanting more, needing more, even though she feared it might be too much for her to bear—more pleasure than she could survive. He began to move inside her, as fluid as his music, using his fingertips to play her like a fine instrument above the place where they were joined. She became lost in the movement of Rick’s powerful body, delighting in the heady sensations of this lovers’ dance.

He continued to love her with care, until suddenly his thrusts grew harder and faster as he took her with him on a surreal journey. Her heart stuttered and her respiration quickened. Flashes of light flickered behind her closed lids. She registered so many sensations she couldn’t catalog them all. Random thoughts tumbled around in her brain, then disappeared altogether as she spiraled toward the same bliss she’d experienced earlier. And when she hurled headlong into welcome oblivion, a cry escaped her lips. He was with her this time, proclaiming his own release with a ragged moan.

Rick collapsed against her, his heart pounding at her breast. She cradled his head and sifted her fingers through his dark hair, delighting in the feel of his body molded to hers. A single joyful tear slipped from the corner of her eye. She thumbed it away.

So this was what it was all about, she thought. This was what she had been missing. Then again, she wondered if Fate had intervened, dictating she wait for this one night, this one moment, this one man. The feelings were so much more overwhelming than she’d expected. She had been transformed in the arms of one incredible man regardless of the fact he was a virtual stranger.

Still, she couldn’t afford to feel anything beyond physical pleasure, so she pushed aside the romantic notions and tried to see the experience for what it was. A spontaneous act. A one-night stand. Nothing more. It couldn’t be anything more. Not if she wanted to guard her heart.

Rick rolled to one side, taking her with him. When he slipped from her body, she almost cried out, No! She didn’t want to let him go just yet. She wanted to imprint the memory in her mind in case she never again experienced such bliss.

“I’m sorry,” he said regretfully. “I should have known.”

Old insecurities surfaced from a place deep within Miranda. “Was I that bad?”

That brought him up on one elbow to loom over her. “No, no. You were great. Better than great.” He touched the tip of her nose. “And I love those little sounds you make.”

After what they’d just done, Miranda thought she would never be embarrassed again. Wrong. She was thankful for the limited light, hoping he couldn’t see the hot blush raiding her cheeks over her sudden lack of inhibitions.

He rested his head back on the pillow and sighed. “If you’d told me you hadn’t been with anyone, I would’ve been more careful.”

Despite her efforts to protect her fragile emotions, the concern in his voice drew her close to his side. She nestled against him. “You couldn’t have been more careful.”

He turned his face toward her. “I didn’t intend for this to happen. But I’m glad it did.”

Miranda stroked his roughened jaw and the smooth skin above that had drawn her like a magnet all night. “I did. Not originally. But for some reason it seemed right.”

He came back to his side to face her with a worried expression. “Randi, there are a few things you need to know.”

She placed a fingertip to his lips. “I don’t expect roses and chocolates or promises, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

“Then what do you expect?”

“You gave me a wonderful experience, that’s all I wanted.”

“An experience I hope you’ll want to repeat. With me.”

She hadn’t planned on this. One night of pure fantasy and fantastic lovemaking would have to suffice. She couldn’t—wouldn’t—let herself want more.

Miranda focused on the glowing bedside clock to avoid his scrutiny. Almost 1:00 a.m., all the excuse she needed to end the disturbing conversation before she had to answer more questions. “It’s late. I’ve got to go.”

She came to her knees and leaned forward, fumbling around in search of her panties. A moment passed before she noticed the feather-light touch on her backside.

“Randi, what happened here?” he asked, his voice laced with concern.

She scurried to the bottom of the bed and finally found her underwear thrown over the footboard. After grabbing them up, she scooted around to face the door and draped her legs over the side of the bed. She tried to steady her voice. “It’s an old injury. Skinned my hide in an accident. It happened a long time ago.”

“What kind of accident?”

She worked her panties up her hips. “A car accident. I don’t like to talk about it.”

“Okay, you don’t have to.”

Before she could stand, he wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her against him, her back to his front, then rimmed the shell of her ear with his tongue. “Stay with me tonight.”

She lost her train of thought along with the oxygen from her lungs. “I have to be at work by eight.”

“I have an alarm.”

So did she, and it was going off in her head. Now that she knew how it felt to be a woman, it would be oh so easy to buy into the yearning. She couldn’t let that happen. She would inevitably get hurt.

Pushing out of his arms, she worked her way back to the edge of the bed, ignoring the urge to take him up on his offer. “I can’t.”

“Why not?”

She stood and faced him, fighting the impulse to tell him everything. She wasn’t about to ruin the night with a bunch of sorry confessions. “I really need to go.”

He made no move to cover himself, just stretched out on his back with his hands stacked underneath his head and his glorious body laid out like a feast before her. “Are you sure?”

Miranda wanted to say no, she wasn’t at all sure. In fact, she wanted to ditch her shirt, get rid of the barriers, and crawl back in bed beside him. But she had already unveiled too much. Although the pitted flesh on her buttock didn’t seem to bother him, it was nothing compared to the damaged skin on her back. She wasn’t willing to stick around to find out if he could accept her flaws.

Miranda willed her eyes to stay focused on his face. “If you recall, I originally planned to have one drink, remember? It’s way past that now. I have to get some sleep. I’m afraid if I stay, that might not happen.” Her traitorous eyes immediately went to the proof of her words nestled below Rick’s belly.

His lips curled into a devilish smile. “Beautiful and observant.” He sighed and sat up. “I want to see you again.”

A thousand protests played out in her mind. A thousand reasons why that wasn’t possible. “You’ll probably change your mind tomorrow.” Even if not tomorrow, he would if he learned of her scars, those inside and out. She couldn’t trust that he would accept her, and through past experience she’d learned not to take that chance.

Rick grasped her hand and rubbed circles on her palm with a fingertip. “I won’t change my mind.” He spoke with conviction, his voice a low command.

She tried to tug her hand away. He wouldn’t let her. “I really do have to go,” she pleaded.

He raised his dark eyes to her, then gave her another memorable smile and words that would haunt her the rest of the night, if not the rest of her life. “I’ll let you go tonight, but I want to make one thing clear. This isn’t over, Randi.”




Three


This isn’t isn’t over, Randi….

“Miranda, I’m not through yet.”

Miranda’s glance shot up from her empty mug, her face hot with embarrassment. She had tried hard to focus on the clinic office manager’s break-room dissertation, but to no avail.

The woman had been giving her the particulars of the job for the past few minutes while Miranda’s thoughts drifted off like spring dandelions. She hadn’t been able to concentrate on anything but memories of the night before and the incredible passion with Rick—a man whose last name she didn’t know. Her mind was a muddled mess, but her body still hummed like a live wire when she thought about his touch. She couldn’t forget what had happened, or his parting words. She also found herself wondering if maybe she would see him again. Maybe he would understand and accept her the way she was, flawed beyond repair.

Miranda couldn’t think about that now. She had to get this over with and get on with her day. “I’m very sorry, Mary Jo. Guess I could use some more coffee. I was up late. Just all the excitement.” Excitement that had nothing to do with the new job.

“Yes, maybe you should have some more coffee. Shall I continue now?”

“Of course. Go ahead.”

Mary Jo clasped her hands before her atop the break-room table in typical schoolmarm fashion, her face as stiff as her white blouse, knee-length navy polyester skirt and neatly coifed silver hair. “As I was saying, there have been a few changes in what we originally planned for you.”

“Fine. Whatever you need me to do.”

“Your duties will be the same, but you’ll be working primarily with Dr. Jansen instead of Dr. Bridgestone.”

Miranda searched her brain, what was left of it. “I haven’t met Dr. Jansen, have I?”

“No. Out of the six, he’s the only one you haven’t met. You interviewed on a Friday, and he doesn’t work on Fridays.”

Miranda ran a shaky hand down her pink teddy-bear smock and centered her gaze on Mary Jo. “So tell me about this Dr. Jansen.”

“What would you like to know?”

One look at Mary Jo’s guarded expression and Miranda’s concern kicked in. “First of all, what’s wrong with him?”

The woman’s all-business demeanor disappeared and bright red streaked down the sides of her neck. “Nothing. He’s just a bit…”

Miranda leaned forward in the plastic chair. “Difficult?”

“Yes, I suppose you could say that.”

Oh, Lord, now she knew why they had been so eager to hire her. No one else could work with the man. “How difficult?”

“He’s a perfectionist, but I’ve been told most plastic surgeons are rather meticulous. Just the nature of the beast.”




Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.


Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию (https://www.litres.ru/kristi-gold/doctor-for-keeps/) на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.