Craving Her Rough Diamond Doc. Amalie Berlin

long—but with a cup of effort and a bushel of unladylike noises, she peeled herself off the seat and made her way off the bus.

      Wyatt stood at the counter, talking and laughing with the rosy-cheeked, grandmotherly innkeeper, charm personified. Another new mask. Were they gossiping? He had never once tried to charm her. Because he didn’t want her working for him. And maybe he also just didn’t like her. She didn’t rate Charm Face. Well, she didn’t particularly like him either, so whatever.

      “Dr. Beechum.” Screw him and his renaming her. She’d still say his name however he wanted—regardless of the spelling. It was called being a professional. “Pardon me, did you say a room?”

      When he turned to look at her, the smile left his deep brown eyes. “Yes, and Miss Arlene has saved the room for us.”

      “To share?”

      “Double room.”

      “To share?” she repeated, leaning heavily on the second word to drill its importance into him. Why couldn’t she have promised Amanda that she’d just come and take care of her, not her job? Then she wouldn’t be stuck about to share a room with a man who…who…who…was bossy. And stuff.

      “Amanda never minded.” He cleared his throat, smiled at Arlene And leaned away from the counter to approach Imogen.

      “You’re her cousin! She has to like you well enough to share a room. And she’s Amanda. Even if she minded, she wouldn’t mind.” Why was she yelling? Imogen stopped the flow of words and rubbed the tension from her forehead. Maybe she’d just sleep on the bus. There weren’t any blankets, but there were pain relievers and really uncomfortable vinyl exam tables.

      Sigh. Too tired. Way too sore.

      “She had a long day and dragged felled timber for me yesterday,” Wyatt said to Arlene, making more excuses for her behavior. This day just kept getting better.

      “Come on.” Key in hand, he winked at Arlene and then steered Imogen out of the office and to the nearby room. “Run a bath and soak, it’ll help. I’ll put your bag outside the door and fetch dinner.”

      “There aren’t any other rooms available, are there.” She couldn’t manage more than the faintest trace of a question in her tone, just giving the realization a voice.

      “Not for about thirty miles.” He paused inside the room, hand on the knob, ready to exit again. “Want to go there?”

      Imogen looked around the room, the full weight of the décor hitting her at once. “Do they film porn in here?”