Читать книгу Doctor For Keeps - KRISTI GOLD - Страница 8

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.