Doctor's Delight (3 page)

“Yeah.” Cherry
moistened her lips. “He’d be a real stallion in bed.”

“I may have to
go home and jump Ben.”

They sat in
silence for several minutes. Cherry thought about her dream man.
She could hire one like him. Hire her dream man to make love to
her, touch her, kiss her…

“One phone
call, Cherry.” It was almost as though Susie could read her mind.
“One phone call and your dream man could be right here instead of
us.”

“Virginity
gone.” Maxie snapped her fingers. “Kiss, cuddle, mad monkey
sex.”

Cherry looked
at them. “Hey, I’m not picking up the phone now to hire an
escort.”

Maxie sighed.
“I told you she wouldn’t go for it.”

“Not straight
away, but maybe later.” Susie’s eyes twinkled. “Now you have the
idea, girlfriend, you can stew on it all night.”

“I don’t
know—”

“You have
time.” Susie stood up. “The rest of your life, in fact.”

“Yeah.” Maxie
unfolded her slim length from the sofa. “Just don’t leave it too
long or your vagina will rust up.”

“You are so
vulgar sometimes.” Cherry stood up also.

Susie patted
her shoulder. “Just promise me you’ll think about it.”

“I’ll think
about it.” Not.

Susie looked
closely at her, a funny little expression on her face. Then she
nodded. “Well, gotta go and by some groceries for tea. Catch you at
work tomorrow.”

“Okay.”

Standing on the
veranda, Cherry saw her friends off and then stood staring out at
the garden. Hire a male escort? Ridiculous. There was no way she
could hire a male escort.

Could she?

Going inside,
she shut the door with a decisive snap, but her movements back into
the lounge were slow. Picking up the romance novel, she looked at
the cover.

The hero and
heroine entwined in a heated embrace. Something she’d never
experienced in her life.

Their job is to
please you. You, Cherry. You can have that closeness. Susie’s words
echoed in her mind.

Going into the
bedroom, she looked at herself in the mirror. The woman staring
back at her was short, plus-sized, an over-blown hourglass. She had
nice hair, thick and brown and bouncy, and her eyes were pretty, so
she’d been told. Not quite blue or green, just a shade between
each, outlined with thick black lashes. But there was nothing
remarkable about her face.

She was plain
in a pretty way, or pretty in a plain way, however you looked at
it.

Cherry sighed,
a wave of longing going through her.

No man had ever
found her pretty enough to pursue. To kiss and hold and want to
take to his bed. But a male escort… Their job is to please you.
You, Cherry. You can have that closeness.

Frizz meowing
around her legs made her look down and she smiled sadly. “Yeah,
maybe if I had the guts, Frizz, I would do it. But I’m not like
Susie. I can’t pay a man to make love to me.”

That night in
bed, her dream man invaded her dreams once again, and she awoke in
the morning with the familiar yearning of just wanting to wake up
in a man’s arms.

How bloody
pathetic. Scowling, she got out of bed and went into the
shower.

As the warm
water sluiced the soap from her body, the now familiar words went
through her. Their job is to please you. You, Cherry. You can have
that closeness.

Now

And now here
she was, three days later with an appointment to meet a man in a
hotel, a man who would see to her every desire. Who would kiss her,
cuddle her, and make love to her.

A man she’d
paid to do all that, so how real was it?

Cherry looked
at her reflection in the window glass. As real as she’d probably
ever get. “Looks like you’ve got a date with sex.”

Chapter
Two

Rick looked
around the gathering with jaded eyes. The same kind of crowd. The
GPs, both those up-and-coming and the established, the surgeons,
and their wives and girlfriends. The wives were dressed expensively
but discreetly, the epitome of good taste, while the girlfriends
hung onto every word their boyfriends uttered. Apart from a couple
of women whom he knew genuinely loved their boyfriends, the other
couple he was sure were in it for the money and prestige. Ah, to be
the wife of a general practioner, or even better, a surgeon.

And one of
those barracudas was heading right for him. Annabelle, tall, slim,
and gorgeous with her blonde hair up in an elegant chignon and her
make-up perfect. Diamonds glittered in her earlobes. Her bright
blue-eyed gaze was fixed on him, and her laughter was light and gay
as she came to a stop before him and pressed a light kiss to his
cheek, barely brushing his skin. Her perfume was expensive, just
like the woman herself.

“Richard,” she
cooed. “How delightful of you to come.”

“Rick,
please.”

“Rick.” Gaze
sweeping over his face, she took his arm. “And how are you finding
our little city, Rick?”

“Lovely. It’s
why I chose to come here.”

“Of course you
did.” Reaching out, she picked up a flute of champagne from a
passing waiter and handed it to him before taking one for herself.
“And how are you settling in?”

“Fine. I start
work next week, quite looking forward to it.”

“Ah yes. Your
own practice, wasn’t it?”

“No.” Rick
noted Annabelle’s father glance over towards them and smile widely.
Obviously he’d noticed his barracuda of a daughter zeroing in for a
bite and approved. Rick looked back at Annabelle, meeting her gaze
squarely. In spiked heels, she matched his six foot two inches
admirably. She was one tall woman. “I’m in the Hallery
Practice.”

“That’s right.”
She made a little moue of her red lip sticked mouth. “You do have
plans to start your own practice one day, though?”

The Barracuda
was circling, weighing up her prey. Rick smiled slightly.
“Maybe.”

“Maybe?” One
elegant brow, plucked painfully thin, arched.

“I’ll see how I
go, check out the competition.” Oh-ho, The Barracuda liked that
term all right. “Find my feet.”

“Delightful
plan.” Taking a sip of her champagne, she glanced around. “Let me
introduce you around.”

And so went the
evening. Rick smiled, shook hands and exchanged pleasantries, all
the things one should do when coming into an established circle of
professionals, most of whom he’d be working with at some time. He
wouldn’t have minded so much if The Barracuda wasn’t listening
intently to his answers to everyone’s questions. No doubt she was
mentally notching up her approval and disapproval on a mental
scoreboard. The final score would dictate if she’d come after him
hungrily or drop him like the proverbial hot brick.

He tried
several times to politely veer away from her, but no, each time
Annabelle clutched his elbow and chattered away brightly to all and
sundry. Prying her off with a crowbar was the only thing that would
work and, unfortunately, not actually be considered polite.

Damn it.

“Hey!
Rick!”

It was with
relief that Rick watched his old school friend approach in his
gangly, long-legged stride. “Tim. How are you?”

“Doin’ well,
mate. How about you?” Tim shook his hand vigorously.

Annabelle eyed
him with her top lip slightly curled. Not enough to be noticed by
anyone except Tim, who leered back at her, and Rick when he glanced
sideways.

Amused, Rick
introduced them. “Annabelle, meet my oldest friend, Tim Clarke.
Tim, this is Annabelle Forbes.”

“Daughter of
the General Surgeon, Peter Forbes.” Annabelle smiled coldly and
shook Tim’s hand limply.

Grinning
widely, Tim pumped her hand up and down energetically. “Of course.
Ol’ Pete’s offspring. Wouldn’t expect that sour-faced old bastard
to have such a stunning kid, but then again, I expect his sperm can
cause many surprises if we studied them closely.”

Rick
grinned.

Annabelle
didn’t miss a beat. “Are you, by any chance, in the sexual health
field, Timothy?”

“Vet,
actually.” Tim’s smile only got wider. “Depends what I’m up to at
the time. Oh, get it?” He nudged Rick and guffawed loudly. “Sex
field and up to?”

“You have real
wit,” Rick said dryly.

Annabelle
looked at Rick like she was mentally wiping shit off her shoes.
Obviously he’d scored really badly. What a shame.

“I do believe,”
she said coldly, “That my father wants me.”

“Really?” Tim
peered over at the cluster of surgeons who were importantly – and
loudly - discussing the current trend of lap banding. “He seems
involved in something already.”

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.