“Denver…” She used an I’m-your-boss warning tone to cover her confusion.
“I’m joking, Lindsay. This is friends only. Friends blowing off the steam of the day in a nice heated pool.”
“Yes, I know. I knew that. I know.” She pulled away from his hand, furious with herself for imagining much more…and doubly furious for being disappointed he hadn’t.
DENVER FINISHED ANOTHER frustrated lap and lolled at the edge of the pool, staring up into the perfect sky visible through the glass ceiling. He’d kept the lights off to enjoy the view. There was even a moon tonight, waning past full, white and pristine. The water was warm, the air cool, a large raft floated nearby for ultimate relaxing—how much more appealing could the setup be?
One way. But Lindsay hadn’t showed. Not that he expected her to. He didn’t even know why he’d bothered asking her, didn’t know why he’d turned so stubborn about making her open up to him. Didn’t know why he stayed in this town, at this bar, instead of trying to rebuild his plastic surgery career the way he envisioned it in medical school, helping people disfigured by fire, disease or defect, not hiking up the boobs and eyelids of vain rich people.
He’d been unceremoniously canned from one of L.A.’s most prestigious practices after losing his temper at a mother who’d wanted him to cut apart her beautiful and striking sixteen-year-old daughter and put her back together according to some bland ideal of perfection.
No, the mom hadn’t invented the attitude, she hadn’t deserved what he’d dished out. But she’d been the final straw for him and apparently, for his bosses. So he’d packed his broken-backed camel, driven across the country back to his home state of Massachusetts, parked his possessions in storage and his body in his globe-trotting parents’ early-retirement house in Brookline and had taken the job at Chassy, intending to be there only a few months while he got his head together. Nearly a year later he still hadn’t left.
At first he told himself he stayed for the comfortable routine, the excitement of watching the bar grow and change under Lindsay’s skillful leadership. Then he told himself he needed a little more time, what was the hurry? Money wasn’t a problem, his parents weren’t due back for a while and he really hadn’t decided yet where he wanted to settle or whether he wanted to return to California at all. Then he told himself Lindsay needed a friend. She’d been under some kind of extra stress in the last several months and refused to let anything out. He was a poster boy for what happened when you let discontent build too long.
All those were plausible reasons. Excellent reasons. Logical reasons. All contained a large grain of truth.
They just didn’t tell the whole story.
And he wasn’t sure he was ready to admit even to himself what that whole story was. All he knew was that his interest in Lindsay had slowly changed. Increasingly powerful sexual feelings were mixed with respect, friendship and, lately, growing concern.
None of it made sense. Jenna, his first love, had been a sweet petite redhead. With her he’d felt like Sir Galahad. After Jenna, his type became brainy plus voluptuous plus passionate, with eyes he could warm himself by, legs ditto. A woman with a healthy libido and a healthy grasp on her character and emotions.
Not some frosty blond beanpole with enough baggage to travel to Antarctica for a year.
What was wrong with this picture?
Annoyingly, he found himself in a position few doctors tolerated well—one requiring patience and restraint. He couldn’t order her to let him in, couldn’t give her pills for what ailed her, couldn’t prescribe spending time with him as the perfect cure, wasn’t trained to perform emotional plastic surgery to erase her internal scars.
He could only let her know he was there, willing to listen and to do what he could to help, prod occasionally, but never push or she’d get her back up and whatever progress he’d made gaining her trust would be undone.
Why the hell was he doing this to himself? Why hadn’t he just found another red-blooded wild woman to make his life easier and a whole lot more exciting?
Maybe because he’d counted on changing his life by coming home and more of the same no longer appealed.
The slide of the glass entrance door made him jerk his head up and peer at the shape entering the pool area, a flood of adrenaline letting him know how much he hoped it was Lindsay.
The figure approached and he had to keep himself from frowning disappointment. Not Lindsay. Shorter, curvier, wavy hair. Adele, whom he assumed was another friend of the Robinsons.
“Hi.” She spoke softly and came to stand at the edge of the pool. “How’s the water?”
“Perfect.”
“Perfect’s good enough for me.” She slid in gracefully, swam a leisurely circumference, then came back toward him, smiling. In the dim light her pale shadowed face made her look like the star of a black-and-white movie. Water droplets sparkled on her forehead and shoulders. She was undeniably beautiful—high cheekbones, almond eyes, lush curving lips. He instinctively gathered his legs under him as she drew closer, ready to move out of reach. The look on her face was purposeful, her eye contact pointed, but he wasn’t interested in staying in temptation’s way, because…
Because why?
He kicked off and swam a lap, then another, plowing through the water as if it deserved punishment. What kind of loyalty did he owe Lindsay? He wasn’t supposed to date his boss any more than he was supposed to date his patients in California and he’d had no trouble there steering clear of any and all offers. Why hold back from Adele? Lindsay could be dating four other guys for all he knew. Was he going to keep himself away from all other women while she showed next to no interest in getting close to him?
Except…
He did affect her. He knew he did. The way she fought her attraction, tried to deny it and got so flustered, had only made him more determined to wait her out until she surrendered. That might sound cavemannish except as much as he wanted her to give in, he wanted what could happen between them afterward even more. He wasn’t a hit and run type of guy—unless the woman made it clear that was all she wanted.
It could be all Adele wanted.
He pulled up to the wall back at the shallow end next to her, breathing slightly hard, probably more from emotion than exertion.
“Thought you were running away.” Her low voice echoed in the glassed-in room; she flicked her fingers so water splashed his face.
“Why would I want to do that?”
“I can’t imagine. I don’t bite.” She smiled and tilted her head coyly, wet hair shaped close to her head so her stunning cheekbones stood out farther. “Unless you want me to?”
“Hmm.” He stalled for time, hoping the battle didn’t show on his face. “That is an interesting idea…”
“Then how about it?”
“Maybe. Someday.”
“Someday.” Her disappointment was clear. “Not tonight?”
He sighed. Why not tonight? Why the hell not? Why turn down a warm willing female because of a cold unattainable one?
Because his thoughts were full of Lindsay tonight. And the night before that and God knew how many nights before that or how many nights stretching out ahead.
As a doctor, he had to tell himself the obsession was unhealthy. Not to mention it was turning him into a monk.
“Not tonight.”
“No?” Adele lunged unexpectedly toward him, caught hold of his shoulders and wrapped her legs around him. The movement brought her incredible breasts out of the water, the perfect rounds pushed toward each other and toward him by the astonishing mechanics of her skimpy top. “You’re su-u-ure?”
He uh…thought he was