Rock Her (Crimson Romance) (8 page)

Some distant part of her recognized she was out of control. Hell,
they
were out of control. She could feel tremors wrack him and heard his panting breaths. He reached between her legs.

She froze.

She pushed his hands away, frantically. He lifted his head, looked into her eyes and groaned, moving his hands away.

Kate scrambled off him, mortified, unable to make eye contact with Alec or the cab driver who stared at them in the rear view mirror. The cab had stopped. How long had they been sitting in front of the hotel? Squelching hysteria, she pulled the door handle, scrambled onto the sidewalk and dashed past the bellhop a few feet away.

He winked at her.

Oh my God.

Ducking her head, she made for the hotel lobby and elevator, dress still partially unzipped. She clenched the material tightly under her arms to keep it on. She took a panicked step toward the stairs at the end of the lobby, just then the elevator dinged its arrival. Heart racing, key card in hand, she rushed in and pushed her floor. The doors were half closed when a white shirt-clad arm thrust between them. She shrank back into the farthest corner, stared at the number panel and bit her lip. She felt rather than saw him look at her as he entered.

“Kate.” Alec’s voice was still husky from arousal.

She peered at him through tousled hair.

“I take it you don’t want to continue this upstairs?” His tone was matter-of-fact.

A wave of mortification rose and crested, scorching her neck and face. “N-no.”

They rode up the rest of the way in silence. He walked her to her room and she said a quiet goodnight. After she closed the door, she slid down onto the carpet.

A rap made her jump.

“Don’t forget to lock the top,” he said.

“Thanks,” she said, weakly.

God.
What had she been thinking? Clearly she hadn’t. He would probably return to his room and call one of the brunettes from the airport. Or both. Or a supermodel. Whoever. Anyone but her. He was definitely not the person to risk her heart with.

Alec was grateful she hadn’t brought up the previous evening’s antics on the flight back. He spent most of the time in the car, at the airport, and during the flight conducting business — on the phone and computer. Kate was polite, but distant. He could tell she was still mortified, obviously uncomfortable around him. She studiously avoided all eye contact.

What had he been thinking? He knew his way around women, but he’d never lost control like that before. What was it about her, this girl, that made her so different from the others?

She buried herself in her e-reader for a few hours, before falling fast asleep. She hadn’t reclined the seat so he moved his laptop into the seat pocket and leaned over to do it for her. As he straightened, he got a whiff of her intoxicating scent — something fresh and floral. Images of the previous evening in the cab flashed before him and he felt himself harden. Stunned, he sat the rest of the way back in his seat, staring down at his lap in disbelief. That was the second time in two days! She wasn’t even his type. Not at all. He didn’t go for short, pale, redheads. Apparently his body hadn’t gotten the message. She was beautiful in her own way, but without a hint of glamour or sophistication. He wasn’t interested in her. But if that were true, what the hell happened last night?

Kate was … fun. Happy. Down to earth. And here he was, next to her, fully aroused, the day after he’d lost his freaking mind with her in the back of a cab in Manhattan. Bizarre. Maybe he was experiencing an early mid-life crisis.

She said good-bye at the airport as she left for her connecting flight to Cielito, still barely making eye contact. A strange combination of relief mixed with pique swept through him. Apparently, she wanted nothing to do with him. He took a car from the Los Angeles airport home.

As he unpacked his bag, his cell rang. He smiled at the familiar number. Asher Lowe. Rock star, lead singer and front man for Spade and his best friend since they had started out in the LA music scene all those years ago.

“Ash.”

“What the fuck, man?” The voice on the other end of the line was indignant.

Alec frowned. “What?”

“It’s bad enough you don’t call when you do something heroic … ”

“Yeah, yeah. Like you care.”

“You wound me, man.”

Alec laughed.

“But this?” Asher said.

“Dude. I have no idea what you’re talking about. My flight just landed.”

“My inbox is full. There’s a video circulating of you singing my song at a karaoke bar.”

Alec froze, dirty laundry in hand. So much for not wanting the media back in his life. There would be speculation about his performance for weeks. He had no idea anyone had recorded him last night. But of course they had. Everyone had video capability on his or her cell phone these days. He looked heavenward and gave a short laugh.

“And who is the smokin’ hot chick with you? She is not your usual type,” Asher said. “Are you back in, dude? Cause I got first dibs if you are. I’d give my right arm to collaborate with you.”

“That was the extent of my comeback for now, but why don’t we meet for lunch or something later in the week. I’ve been considering other options lately.”

“Other options?” Asher’s tone was sharp. “Don’t tease me. Are you getting back in?”

“Asher, I have so much going on right now at this rate I’ll never get to Cielito. Let’s get together later in the week. I’ll be in town Thursday.”

“Shit. I’m out of town Thursday. Promoting in Japan all week. The week after, okay?”

“You know you’re always welcome in Cielito.”

Asher sighed. “Tell you what, I’ll spend a few days there at the end of the month. I should be able to wrap up this promotional stuff by then. We head back into the studio after the first of the year.”

• • •

Five days after the rescue, Kate strode out of the hospital, searching her bag for her cell phone. She pulled it out and checked the face. Two missed calls from her sister.

What now?

She wished Emma would just call to chat, but lately the only time she called was when she needed something, and that something was usually money. Maybe Kate would call back after she’d slept. It would take energy to deal with her sister. Energy she didn’t have after all these twelve-hour night shifts. If nursing were this tough three years out of college, she could only imagine how hard it would be in twenty or thirty years. And it wasn’t only the effect on the rest of her life. Work had been crazy since she had come back from New York. They had been inundated with patients on her floor and the night shift was not well equipped to handle it.

Craig Billingsly, M.D., cardiothoracic surgeon, leaned against the door to her car.

She halted mid-stride, the air leaving her lungs in a whoosh. “Dr. Billingsly,” she said.

“Please, call me Craig.” His eyes twinkled. “We’re barely on hospital grounds.”

Just yesterday she passed a new billboard with his giant, handsome face promoting Cielito Community Hospital and touting his experience. The public relations department was determined to milk his impeccable credentials and reputation for excellence in surgery for all it was worth. Heart patients were coming in droves, some from hundreds of miles away.

“I was hoping you’d join me for dinner Saturday night. I checked the schedule. You’re off.”

Her palms were sweating. She took a deep breath. She’d promised Ava she’d try. And he’d been really nice and collegial last week when he sat with her in the cafeteria. His insights on nursing care for his post-op cardiac patients were invaluable. She really didn’t want to date people she worked with, but where else was she supposed to meet guys?

Take risks
. This guy
had
to be a safer bet than Alec Sawyer.

“Sure. I’d love to.”

Shivering in the crisp morning air, she hugged herself. She hadn’t thought to change out of her scrubs or grab a jacket from her locker.

He beamed at her. “Terrific. Pick you up at six-thirty? We’ll have dinner at Chez Henri.”

“Great.”

He raised a hand and walked by her toward the hospital, the strong odor of his woodsy scent lingering in the early morning air. He sure did lather on the cologne.

Her doorbell rang at six-thirty exactly. Kate stroked up the nape of her neck, checking her chignon. She hoped she was dressed appropriately for Chez Henri on a Saturday night. She smoothed the little scarlet dress over her hips, grabbed her only clutch and opened the door.

His eyes widened appreciatively. “You look beautiful.”

“Thanks.” She licked her lips nervously and noticed his gaze lingered at her mouth.

“Nice car.” Parked in the curve of the driveway was a shining ebony beast of a Mercedes.

“That thing? It’s nothing. My actual car is being serviced, so I got a loaner from the dealer.”

Locking the door to the cottage, she tottered the few steps to where he held the door of the black sedan open for her. This was a real date. She gave him points for helping her into the car. Help she could use in a tight fitting dress and four inch heels.

“So, Craig.” It felt weird to call him that. “I don’t know anything about you. Are you from around here?”

“No,” he said. “Alabama.” He steered the big black car onto the street.

She moved back in her seat to examine him. “Alabama? You don’t have an accent.”

“I got rid of it. Accents make you sound ignorant.”

She pressed her lips together and shook her head. “I don’t think so.”

He glanced over at her and sighed. “Let’s get the trivial stuff out of the way, shall we? My father was a minister. Very, what’s the term he would use? Strict. My mother had eight children with him. Well, there
were
eight of us. My older brother drowned in a flash flood when we were kids.”

Kate stared at him, awash in mixture of horror and sympathy. “Gosh. I’m so sorry. I … I don’t know what to say. How horrible for you and your family.”

He shrugged. “It’s in the past. I got out of that podunk town as fast as I could. Never looked back. Don’t like to talk about it.” He sent her a smile, teeth gleaming in the dark car.

Kate twisted her hands together in her lap. It must be his cologne that was making her slightly nauseous. Or that harrowing childhood experience. “Still — ”

“I don’t like to talk about that stuff, if that’s okay with you.”

“Sure,” she murmured. “So, do you like Chez Henri?”

“Eh. It’s okay, considering the limited options in town.”

“Oh, good.”

This was so much more awkward than she imagined. And she’d imagined it would be pretty damn awkward. They lucked out with a parking spot right in front. Craig helped her out of the car and held the door on their way into the restaurant. He gave his name to the man at the podium.

“It’ll be a few minutes. Would you care to wait at the bar?”

“Certainly,” Craig said.

Kate settled herself onto a barstool.

“What’ll you have?” the bartender asked.

Craig looked at Kate in askance.

“I’ll have a glass of Pinot Noir,” Kate said.

“ River Myst Haven?” the man asked.

“Perfect,” Kate replied.

“And you, sir?”

“A margarita, rocks, with your finest tequila. No salt,” Craig said.

Craig asked her some questions about her family. He’d seen the interview on the morning show, so he knew she’d lost her mom to cancer. He was attentive and curious as he asked about her struggles as a hybrid sister-and-mother.

Before she knew it, she was opening up to him about her desire to travel.

“Oh, Kate. Traveling outside the United States sounds wonderful, but in reality it’s a major headache. You can’t imagine the inconveniences, even in Europe. They don’t use the same currency; the outlets require converters and a host of other horrors.” He shuddered. “I loathe foreign travel.”

She deflated.

He pulled his phone out of his pants pocket. Kate glanced at it. What was that on the face of it? A bright red background? He held up his index finger to her and put the phone to his ear. The maître d’ came over to let them know their table was ready. He got the finger too. The man’s lips curled into a sneer, but he waited, tapping the menus in his hand. Kate took a healthy swallow of her wine.

Craig spat out a few directives about the patient to whoever was on the other end and disconnected the call after the longest minute of Kate’s life.

“Hospital,” he said. Rising from the stool, he took her arm. “Shall we follow this gentleman?”

Muted earth tones, dim lighting and the quiet murmur of conversation gave the restaurant a romantic feel. Kate had been there before, special occasions, dinners with the Morgans, celebrations with Emma. It was a treat to go to Chez Henri.

“So, which hospital did you practice at before coming to Cielito?”

His lips twisted and he adjusted his collar. “I thought we weren’t going to talk about the past.”

Kate blinked.
Geez
. What was he, in witness protection?

With a forced smile, Kate steered the conversation to work. By the time their food arrived, she was seriously annoyed. The attentive guy from the bar was gone. Craig had typed out no fewer than four text messages. He had barely put his phone down, even to order.

The food arrived and Kate waited, fork poised over her entrée, for him to put the phone away. With a sigh, he put it on the table, within arm’s reach. Squinting at the phone, she tried to make out the crimson background. Was that a photo?

During dinner he picked up the phone every time it vibrated and tapped out messages. Kate attempted, and failed, to carry the conversation. If he said, ‘now, where were we?’ one more time she would scream.

The waiter cleared the entrees.

“More wine?”

“No, thanks,” Kate answered.

“Another drink, sir?”

“Yes. And wheel the dessert cart over.” He winked at Kate. “I know how you gals love the sweets.”

Kate cringed.

He typed out yet another message on his phone.

The desert cart arrived at the table. The waiter explained each one, pointing them out with flourish. Craig craned his body over the tray. “Let’s have one of each.”