Doctor's Delight Read online

  Annabelle turned and left without a word.

  “Oh dear.” Tim raised the beer can to his mouth. “Something I said?”

  “Yes, thank God.” Rick raised his wine glass in salute.

  “You had that desperate look about you. A drowning man.”

  “With The Barracuda circling.”

  Tim snorted a laugh and took a healthy chug of beer.

  “What are you doing here?” Rick asked curiously. “I didn’t think these sorts of gatherings were up your alley.”

  “Mother split with her latest boyfriend, so I was her next choice of escort.”

  “You?” Rick somehow doubted that Margaret Clarke, the city’s most respected paediatrician, would willingly choose her own son as her escort.

  Tim grinned widely. “They broke up five minutes before they were due to come here. I was the next poor bastard in an emergency.”

  He might have been laughing outwardly, but Rick saw the shadows in his friend’s eyes. Margaret wasn’t the most motherly woman around, which was pretty rich, considering her profession.

  Rick gave him a light punch in the shoulder. “Thanks for saving my arse. I was worried she’d take a bite out of it.”

  “My mother?”

  “No, you jerk. Annabelle.”

  “She’s looking for a prospective husband. Somehow I don’t fit the bill.”

  “Count yourself lucky.”

  Tim and Rick clinked beer can and wine glass cheerfully.

  Tim glanced around. “What say we ditch this joint and head off for friendlier fields?”

  The proposition was a most welcome one. Rick glanced down at his watch. He’d been at the affair for about three hours and could now bid his host farewell without offending anyone. Not that he really cared about offending anyone, but he didn’t think putting himself on the wrong side of his colleagues so soon would be wise.

  “Give me five minutes to make my farewells and I’m all yours.” Rick paused. “Where are we going, by the way?”

  “Where are you staying?” When Rick told him, Tim nodded. “There’s a good bar across the road from it. Let’s go.” He chugged down the last of his beer and took careful aim at a bin partially – and tastefully –hidden by a rose bush.

  Before he could let fly with the can, a waiter politely plucked it from his fingers and placed it on his tray, smiling vacantly the whole time. “Would Sir care for another?”

  “No, Sir wouldn’t,” Tim replied. “Sir is going to a place where he can sit down and slurp without fear of offending the majority.”

  “As Sir pleases.” The waiter walked off, the tray balanced perfectly on his hand.

  “Sir actually isn’t very pleased right now,” Tim informed Rick gravely. “Sir really needs a drink from a burly barkeeper who calls him ‘arsehole’ instead. It suits my class better.”

  “I hear you, buddy.”

  “Sir will meet you in the car park. You brought your car, didn’t you?”

  “I did.”

  “Good, because Sir had to come in Mummy’s car, and I doubt she’s going to let me take it, especially when I tell her I’m leaving.”

  Rick laughed and strode off to find his host. He was on his way back towards the car park when Annabelle appeared, stepping out from behind a blooming gardenia bush like a barracuda from behind a mound of coral.

  She pouted a little, obviously mindful that a small pout was cute but a full-on pout was just nasty. “Going already, Richard?”

  “Rick.”

  “Rick.” Gliding forward, she laid perfectly manicured fingers on his coat sleeve. “Must you?”

  “All work and no play make Rick a dull boy,” he replied lightly. “But work needs to be attended anyway.”

  Work, hmmm?” She brushed a speck of non-existent lint from his arm. Obviously she liked the sound of that.

  Oh yes, The Barracuda would love to hear that her prospective prey was working hard. No work, no money, no good lifestyle. Couldn’t have that, nu-uh.

  “I’ll let you go, then.” She moved a little closer, and the scent of her expensive perfume was thick and heavy and nearly burned a hole in his nostrils. “How about we meet for lunch next week?”

  How about we don’t? “That’d be nice, Annabelle, but I’m afraid I need to devote myself to my new position and settle in before that pleasantry can be considered.” His insincere smile was all charm. “May I suggest another week?”

  She pounced on that statement like a ravenous dog on a bone. “The week following? Absolutely. Wed the twenty-sixth, say eight pm at Mason’s?”

  Damn it. His smile was all teeth. “Until then.”

  She smiled warmly, squeezed his arm lightly, and walked passed him back to the party.

  As Rick approached the car, Tim looked up from where he was leaning against the door. “Let me guess. Annabelle?”

  “Teeth like a barracuda.” Rick pressed the key control and the locks on the car clicked up smoothly. “Got those teeth into me and now I damned well have a dinner date with her.”

  Tim guffawed as he folded his long, lean length into the car.

  “Unless something was to happen to get me out of the dinner date.” Starting the car, Rick drove along the circular drive and down towards the big, wrought iron gates that stood open at the end of the long drive.

  “Yep,” Tim said. “We need a drink.”

  “Or two.”

  “Why bother with that? Let’s get them rolling in.”

  Hearing a sombre note in his friend’s voice, Rick glanced at him. “You all right? Is something wrong?”

  “Not at all. Drive on, James, Sir wants his drinks and a nice time with a like-minded friend.”

  “Mummy issues?”

  “When is it not?” Tim shook his head. “Let’s not talk about it.”

  “Fair enough.”

  They spoke about the pros and cons of human patients versus animal patients while driving the distance through the traffic, and then Rick pulled into the motel car park. From there they walked across the road to the bar on the other side, claimed a couple of bar stools and settled down to enjoy themselves.

  It was late by the time they left the bar.

  ~*~

  Chewing her bottom lip, Cherry peeked out the curtains to the dark car park beyond. No car lights, no slamming doors. No man. No Damien.

  Dropping the curtain back in place, she reached for the glass of orange juice then changed her mind. If she drank, she’d want to pee, and peeing with a strange man waiting for her wasn’t a good thing. Not that she had a man here waiting for her.

  She looked at her watch. Eleven pm on Saturday twelfth at the Indigo Motel. Right date, right time and right place. And so far she was here alone. No Damien. Weren’t escorts supposed to be punctual? Then again, Saturday night, he could be caught in traffic. Would he have his own car or come by taxi?

  Oh God, what if the taxi driver was someone she knew? Cherry almost panicked until she remembered she had only the light on in the bathroom. The glow coming through the partially opened door cast the room in shadows. No one who saw her silhouette in the doorway would know it was her.

  Calming down, she took a small sip of the orange juice and studied herself once more in the mirror. The dimness of the room meant Damien would be able to see her, but not too clearly. She didn’t want him to see her body with the overly-generous curves and dimples, too closely, and she most certainly didn’t want him to see her face too much. God forbid he came in as a patient one day!

  Nope, they were doing this in the dimness. She’d decided that for safety reasons. Safety reasons being she wasn’t going to risk coming face-to-face with him in the hospital ward and have him saying cheerfully, “Hey Ms Jones! How’s your non-virginal vagina doing these days? Need another boink soon?”

  Not that he probably would, being a professional and all – she hoped – but it didn’t pay to run risks. Hence she’d snap on the outside light when he knocked and she’d get a good look at him through t
he window before she turned off the light and opened the door to lover-boy.

  Loving in the dimness. How romantic if it were candles instead of the bathroom light. Still, virginal, desperate beggars couldn’t be choosers.

  Anyway, it looked like her destiny with a hot hunk might not happen. She looked again at the clock and sighed. Time was ticking away.

  She nearly dropped the glass when a fumble sounded at the door. It was him! Hands shaking, she licked her lips, smoothed her dress over her ample hips, and strode to the door. Mind made up, she wasn’t going to shirk away now. She’d waited forever for this moment.

  Snapping on the light, she peeked out the window. He stood with his head bent, fingers flicking through a ring of keys. Tall in height, his jacket was slung negligently over one broad shoulder, his lean waist and hips poured into black dress slacks. The sleeves of his white dress shirt were rolled up to just below his elbows and she could see the play of muscle in his forearms.

  He raised his head when the light came on, revealing his profile. Slightly dishevelled black hair that came down to his collar, a hank of it hanging rakishly over his forehead. A straight, autocratic nose, and, she saw when he looked inquiringly at the window face-on, bright green eyes and a mouth that was full enough to be sensuous without being feminine. A strong jaw line.

  Oh my God! He’s drop-dead gorgeous! Damien is hot.

  And he was hers for two hours. Naked. On her, in her.

  Oh shit! Cherry was so glad she had thought to do everything in the dimness. A hunk like this looking at her pudgy body in the full glare of the punishing light was a definite no-go.

  Quizzically, Damien looked at the window. “Hello?” He stepped back and studied the door before looking back at the window. “This is the right room.” He sounded puzzled.

  No wonder, him standing out there while she gawked – okay, drooled – at him through the window. Cherry dropped the curtain, snapped off the outside light, took a deep breath, and opened the door. “You have the right room.”

  “Really?” In the gloom, he peered at her. “You are…?”

  “Ms Jones.”

  “Ms Jones?” He angled his head.

  “Molly Jones.” Smiling – though goodness knows he probably couldn’t see it properly in the dimness – she held out her hand. And felt immediately stupid when he took it slowly and gave it a gentle shake. Did one shake hands with the man one didn’t know who was going to boink one’s brains out?

  “Molly Jones.” He studied her. “Well.”

  “Please, come in.” She stepped back and to the side, trying to sound professional but inwardly quaking with nerves.

  She was going to do it. She was really going to do it!

  Damien walked past her slowly, his stride long and sure, his head angled down slightly as he looked at her with interest.

  Comforted in the knowledge that he couldn’t see her face too clearly, she inhaled deeply and was immediately assailed with the scents of masculine cologne and whisky.

  The poor bastard probably needed a drink before going off to shag his next client. Needed to get his courage up, not knowing if he was going to be bedding Bella the Ballerina or Martha the Mega Lady. She fell more on the Martha side, unfortunately. But she would be nice to him, he was doing her a favour. A paid favour. Don’t think about it.

  She shut the door and clicked the lock into place. About to turn back, she was stopped by a hand appearing before her nose to land palm down against the door. Gawking at the hand, she became instantly aware of the heat of a hard body at her back.

  “So, Molly Jones.” His breath was warm, stirring the hair at her temple. “What a delightful surprise.”

  No kidding. Goosebumps sprinkled down her arms. “Mmmm.”

  One finger came up to run lightly along the neckline of her dress, leaving a hot, sparking trail in its wake as he pushed a heavy swath of her hair aside. “You’re not quite what I expected.”

  Instantly she stiffened. Was he referring to her weight after all? No! He’s not supposed to care.

  The finger at her neckline slid down, becoming a hand that came to rest against her lower back. “Voluptuous. Soft.” The chuckle was whisky-tinged and so sweetly hot against her skin as firm lips pressed a kiss against her nape. “Tim knew what I needed.”

  “Tim…?” All thought left her when those firm lips pressed against her throat, and a tongue laved expertly across her suddenly pounding pulse. Her knees almost buckled when his palm slid down to spread against one buttock.

  Was it possible for a bum cheek to go on fire? Cherry was sure she was going to find out.

  “Turn around, sweets. I want to sample my surprise.”

  When had this turned into his surprise? Did escorts act like this? Wasn’t there a meet’n’greet system or something? Hell if Cherry knew, and hell if she cared. Damien was coming on strong and forceful, and by God, she liked it. She didn’t have to think, didn’t have to make nice, she just had go along with the flow and enjoy it.

  Slowly, she turned to find him as close as he’d felt. He was leaning on the door with one hand, and his hand on her bottom trailed around to rest on her lower abdomen as she moved. Looking up, she was disappointed that she couldn’t see his face properly.

  “Let’s have a little look at what delectable delight I have here,” he murmured, reaching for the light switch.

  “No!” Cherry grabbed his wrist.

  “No?”

  “No.” She took a deep breath. “My choice, remember?”

  “Not really.”

  “My rule. No looking.”

  His teeth were a flash of white in the gloom. “I can still see a little. What’s the harm in letting me see everything?”

  She stiffened. “No.”

  “Intriguing. A mystery woman.” His laugh was soft, deep. “I like it.”

  Cherry relaxed against the door, relief sweeping through her.

  “I can see a little of you, enough to know that you’re pretty.” He leaned closer still, his forearm resting against the door. “So, Molly Jones.” His big hand crept slowly up over the gentle swell of her stomach. “Any other rules I need to know?”

  Thinking right now wasn’t easy. Her nerves were jumping, her blood starting to rush a little bit faster through her veins. It had always been a fantasy to be in this situation, and to have it actually come to life…she just hoped she didn’t faint.

  “Or are there no rules?” Damien’s voice was huskier, his lips brushing her brow.

  One big palm closed over her ample bosom and Cherry’s heart started pounding in her chest. Sweet Jesus, she was going to have a heart attack any second!

  Looking up in the dimness, she saw the glitter of his eyes, the green shards of his irises catching the little bit of light from the partially opened bathroom door. A wicked glint shone briefly before he moved his head lower still, blocking out the light so there was only shadow.

  “Let’s go with no rules, Molly Jones.”

  Nerve endings were fired off in all directions when one hard thigh slid between her softer ones and pressed against her mound. Hoo boy!

  “You look like you want to say something.” The whisky on his breath was filtering through her senses along with the scent of his cologne and maleness. “Say it.”

  His hard thigh nudged her femineity through the material of her dress and panties, and she gasped. “Oh sweet mercy!”

  Low and deep, his amused laughter slid through the room with heat and through her senses with lust. “Let’s see if we can do better than that.” Swooping down, he caught her mouth. Firm lips moulded to hers, his tongue tracing the seam of her lips with heady determination.

  Cherry couldn’t think, her thoughts scattering as his tongue slid inside and swept through her mouth to take her flavour and leave his own behind. One big palm flipped her hair back over her shoulder before dipping down under the low neckline of her dress to slide in and press on her bra-covered nipple, rubbing sensuously against it while his hard thi
gh kept up a steady nudging of her defenceless womanhood, forcing her to ride his thigh. Feelings exploded inside her, a searing flush of heat that burned through her as her thighs, forced open by the width of his thigh, offered little protection to her labia, enabling him to press against her clitoris.

  Fearing her knees were truly going to give out, she reached up and gripped his shirt.

  “Good idea,” he whispered. “Let’s get it off.” Keeping one hand at the small of her back, he drew her away from the door while unbuttoning his shirt with his free hand. His gaze slid down her body, lingering on every swell.

  Cherry gulped inwardly. Even in the dimness he’d be able to see she was no Bella the Ballerina. Her wrap-around dress had a low neckline, showing her ample cleavage to advantage, and it skimmed her waist which, thankfully, swept inwards, but then the skirt of the dress swept out to gracefully ride the generous curves of her hips before falling to brush around her knees.

  At least in the dimness he wouldn’t see the dimples in her knees. Or in her arse cheeks, and she knew they were there because she’d just about done herself an injury one day, craning her neck in the mirror to check out her arse. It was the last time she’d ever looked at it.

  She didn’t have to worry with Damien, however, in this dimness he wouldn’t be able to see dimples. Dim enough to know she wasn’t slim, but not enough for the glaring faults to stand out.

  It worked two ways. She had enough light to be able to see his hard, muscular body as he bared it to her eyes. The dim light picked out every hard swell of his pecs, the six pack he so brazenly displayed as the shirt parted, and the impressive flex and swell of his biceps as he shrugged out of the shirt and tossed it aside.

  “Fair is fair, sweets.” His words were seductive.

  Distracted from staring at his body, Cherry looked up at him. “What?”

  His smile was another flash of white teeth in the gloom. “My shirt is off, I want your top off, too.”

  Cherry swallowed. Here it was, the undressing. With trembling fingers, she reached for the tie at her waist, pulling the knot free easily. Everything loosened immediately and she mentally girded herself.