Doctor For Keeps. KRISTI GOLD
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“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.”
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