Temporary Doctor, Surprise Father. Lynne Marshall

“That would be too convenient.” His irritated stare let her know in no uncertain terms he was no happier about this than she was. So why had he offered? “I think you’re overdue for a ride on my chopper.” A punishing smile thinned his lips.

      Jan found it hard to sip tea through a locked jaw, especially with Beck sitting across from her, glaring.

      “What?” she challenged.

      “What do you mean, what?” He played dumb, but never broke his stare.

      “We both know you’ve got an axe to grind with me.”

      He crossed a foot on his knee and continued to bore a hole into her head with his stare. “So true.”

      She defied him, refusing to look away, and drank more tea, though it burned all the way down. His long fingers tapped rhythmically on the tabletop. She took another punishing sip. He cleared his throat.

      “You know, it’s customary when people say they love each other to keep in touch when one goes away.”

      “I didn’t realize you were such a traditionalist, Beck. I thought you couldn’t get out of Atwater fast enough.”

      It hurt like hell to be flippant, but she had no choice tonight. Now wasn’t the time or place to sort out their differences. She’d made her choice years ago and he couldn’t find out about her secret. Not tonight. Not ever. Not if she could help it.

      “We had an agreement, January.”

      “Too bad, so sad, guess I broke it.”

      Beck went completely still. Warning cold serpent eyes sent a chill slithering down her spine. “That’s garbage and you know it. Level with me. Your mother sent you away, didn’t she?”

      She vehemently shook her head. “Nope. I wanted to go.”

      “Where? Where did you go?”

      “To modeling school.”

      “Then why are you a nurse?”

      “Look at me, Beck. Do I look like model material to you?”

      At a stalemate, they stared at each other across the booth, the dim lights hiding the truth.

      “Let’s go,” he said, standing to his full six feet two inches.

      Jan would rather have walked home barefoot on hot coals than ride on the back of his Harley. What had once been exhilarating and sexy as all hell had suddenly turned into an exercise in torture.

      CHAPTER THREE

      DETERMINED not to make physical contact with Beck on the motorcycle, Jan pushed as far back on the pillion as it allowed. She planted her feet on the bars and braced her hands behind her along the edge of the elongated seat, gritting her teeth as if doing so would keep her steady and safe. Once settled, she gave Beck directions to her house.

      She used to love riding on the back of Beck’s motorbike, but this time it made her feel jittery and tightly strung. Out of practice, she stared at the back of his neck rather than watch the road spin by.

      The moonlit sky and pleasant temperature normally would have made for a perfect night to ride with the top down in a car. But this? Completely vulnerable on the back of Beck’s bike, she chewed on her lower lip and prayed she’d make it home in one piece. When had she become such a chicken?

      After a stoplight, he jumped into what felt like hyper-speed and her hands went flying around his leather-covered torso. But Beck was on a residential street where the speed limit was thirty-five m.p.h. What felt like reckless abandon to Jan was probably because of the hot toddy and the real speed doubtless closer to twenty-five.

      Turning her face, if it weren’t for the bulky helmet, she’d have smashed her cheek against his back. He stiffened and sat a bit straighter. As it was, her chin dug into the muscle just above his scapula. Solid and steady, he stayed ramrod straight, making it easier for her to anchor herself to him.

      A quick reminder of the stable force he’d once been should have helped her relax. It didn’t. Her arms were around the last man on earth she’d ever wanted to see again.