by Jill Monroe
She had to fix this mess. Larissa owed it to Dr. Mitch Durant. Then she’d ask him to breakfast. And lunch and dinner or brunch or second breakfast or whatever the man would agree to.
Something had to be wrong with Dr. Durant’s formula for those four volunteers to react so differently from the previous subjects. Dr. D tweaked the ingredients from time to time. If he’d fine-tuned something the wrong way, she had to tell him. He’d also want to interview the four missing subjects. Then she’d have to tell him she’d lost them. Larissa had let the man down. She rubbed her neck and squeezed her eyes shut. She hated that the most.
The phone rang, and a jolt of excitement energized her despite her all-nighter at PharmaTest. But the caller ID revealed it was only her roommate, Kay.
“You wearing the tight pencil skirt?”
She was in comfy salmon PharmaTech scrubs. “Yes,” Larissa replied. She could always change later. After turning the man down, she didn’t plan to greet Mitch wearing sloppy scrubs.
“And the do-me heels I loaned you? I’m telling you, those have never failed. What time is Doctor Hottie supposed to get there?”
“I asked you to stop calling him that. I’m not even sure he’ll show.”
Her roommate’s knowing laugh was clear through the phone line. “Oh, he’ll show. I mean, honestly, I’ve never seen two people more in lust than you and the doc. You’d think nature, in the interest of propagating the species, would have given one of you some idea of how to express sexual interest to the other, but no. You’d be hopeless without me.”
Any other morning, Larissa would have eaten up her roommate’s words with a spoon. But this morning, the man she’d thought was only interested in his research had asked her out for breakfast, and she’d had to turn him down flat.
After the higher-ups at PharmaTest learned of last night’s fiasco, she’d be fired. This morning would probably be the last time she’d ever catch a glimpse of the sexy doc who’d starred in all her fantasies for the past three years. If he showed up. Her heartbeat kicked up at just the thought of seeing him. She was pathetic.
The little red light flashed on the side of the phone, indicating a voice mail. She’d checked the PharmaTest voice mail sometime after midnight and there’d been no messages. Her breath caught. All four patients had left wearing their PharmaTest badges last night. Had they discovered the tags around their wrists and called?
“...just take off those sexy glasses of his, grab him by the tie and demand a little downward-facing doctor.”
“Kay, I have to go.” Larissa disconnected the call without waiting for a response. Then she pressed the voice mail button.
“Hi, this message is for Larissa at PharmaTest. This is Stella Holbrook.”
Larissa sucked in a breath. Test subject ninety-two. Yes!
“And Owen Perkins.” Still with the handsome firefighter. And those two had definitely left with Thirty-Five and Seventy-Eight. Stella straightened her spine. Could she be so lucky that they were all still together?
“We just called to let you know we’re great and you have nothing to worry about. In fact, we’re staying in the most beautiful room on the second floor at the Market Gardens. We hope we didn’t cause too many problems when we bailed on the test earlier. Bye.”
Larisa shot up from her chair with such force the thing rolled away and bounced against the wall. The Market Gardens wasn’t too far. After changing out of her scrubs, Larissa raced to where she’d left her shoes, grabbed her purse and keys and was out the door.
* * *
STELLA TRIED TO THINK. Did she remember last night? No. In fact, she couldn’t recall a single detail from Thursday at all. “The last thing I remember was Wednesday afternoon,” she told this tall, sexy stranger beside her, hating the way that sounded.
A line formed between his brows, and he rubbed the back of his neck. “Wednesday. That’s the last day I remember, too. I’d loaded up the truck to drive to Dallas.”
“You’re not from around here?” she asked, her voice rising despite the fact that she had warned herself not to freak out. Stella couldn’t decide whether her sexy hookup not being from the metroplex was a point in his favor or not.
“Colorado.” His hazel eyes were a bit unfocused, like his mind was busy trying to put together the events of the past twenty-four hours instead of staying with their conversation. “Actually, I do remember hitting the road, but not arriving in Dallas. We are in Dallas, right?”
“As far as I know.” She angled her head toward the window. “Only one way to find out.” Stella tried to push back the gauzy curtain, but it was on some sort of automatic system. She pressed the button located on the wall with force. The curtain rose and the Dallas skyline stretched before them. She breathed out a sigh of relief. “Looks like you made it.”
“Why were we in the tub?”
She shrugged. “We’re in Texas. I’m guessing tornado.”
“This time of year?”
A lot of people not from the plains states assumed where there was rain, a funnel cloud was sure to follow, regardless of the season. But this guy knew fall wasn’t usually tornado season. So that was something she could add to her inventory and assessment. Knows the area.
“If you have a better explanation, let’s hear it,” she told him.
“I’m guessing we were fulfilling that bubble-bath fantasy you’ve wanted to try out. Great choice. I’m the man for the job.”
Her lips pressed together in a tight line but she focused her gaze on Reunion Tower. Tonight The Orb would light up bright and beautiful. It was one of her favorite things about Dallas.
“I don’t think so,” she managed, trying to figure out her next steps. Get dressed and get out. Wonderful, she had a plan.
“Not a morning person?” he asked. “Good to know.”
Stella whirled away from the window. “You won’t need to know that because you won’t be seeing me again.”
His eyes widened for a moment, and he coughed. Then his gaze lifted first to her eyes, then her mouth, and finally settled somewhere behind her shoulder. He seemed to be doing everything he could not to check out her breasts. Nice touch, not ogling the naked woman in front of him. Made him a little more likeable. Especially after that morning-person crack. She was perfectly delightful in the morning.
She started to say something, but her eyes landed on his pecs.
The human form was anything but remarkable to her. Until a few moments ago, she’d thought nudity was now a nonissue to her. Stella had seen the human body brand-new and screaming in the delivery room and generously gifted after death in her gross-anatomy class. To her, the body had become nothing more than parts to assess and categorize.
Unless those parts were ripped abs, strong hold-me-all-night arms and accentuated by a flame tattoo...
Okay, stop. Stop right there. Sure, her man-drought was over, and even though she couldn’t remember all the fun she’d (surely) had exploring this man’s angles and planes, it was a new day now, and playtime was over.
She shook her head. Good one, Stella. Sure, nudity means nothing to you. Ha! Life had a funny way of throwing all the assumptions you made about yourself completely off-kilter. Maybe she should follow his lead. Eyes up and away from bulging biceps and sculpted pecs.
Get dressed and get out.
Oh, yes, her plan.
“I’m not actually opposed to seeing you again,” he said. There was a slight drawl in his voice that indicated he’d spent a long time in Texas.
She shifted her weight from one leg to the other.
“So, um, you...?” she began, focusing her eyes on the wall behind him.
Now why was his answering chuckle the kind that made her bare toes curl against the plush carpet?
“I’m a firefighter, stationed along the Sawatch Range in Colorado.”
Stella pictured the tall peaks of the Rockies dotted with gorgeous pines. But she also pictured the kind of man who thrived on adrenaline spikes and the rush of ad
venture. The kind of man who kept the ER hopping with broken bones, lacerations and abrasions. Stella didn’t date emergency room frequent flyers. Strange that she’d hooked up with him last night.
“I’m in medical school, almost done.” She tried sitting down on the bed, only to be confronted with the muscled breadth of his shoulders and a line of hair that shadowed his chest and lowered in a tempting line toward—
She stood up quickly. “So, are you returning to Dallas or just a visit?” Please say visit. Please say visit.
“Family thing.”
Her shoulders sagged. Good. Once out of these handcuffs, she’d never have to see him again. Then her stomach lurched. Really? The possibility of not seeing him was what got a reaction from her body?
Again, shouldn’t she be more alarmed?
“Are you worried about this?” she asked, focusing on her toes.
“Worried about what—the hot woman? The handcuffs? Or the fact that I can’t remember a damn thing?”
“All of it,” she answered with a shrug. Then she bit the inside of her cheek as she waited for his answer. And no, she would not let her breath go all shallow because he’d called her hot.
“I feel like I should be worried. I always play it safe with sex.”
“That explains the huge box of condoms,” she said, aiming for a little levity.
“It’s more than safe sex. I want to know the woman I’m with.”
And then her breath did get all shallow, and her pulse became thready. The way he said know, as if he’d recognize the touch of a particular woman’s skin with his eyes closed. As if he basked in his lover’s pleasured moans, memorized her taste, delighted in heating her blood. Excitement thrummed through her. Her nipples hardened and— No!
She’d adopted that man-fast for a reason—she was about to go through the most grueling stretch of her training so far. How she did in the next year would not only allow her to graduate at the top of her class but also open doors to the best hospitals around the country.
She forced her gaze to focus on anything but this beautiful man in front of her and what he made her want.
And that’s when she spotted a rumpled swath of black fabric lying in a discarded lump on the carpet. With an excited cry, she began to race toward what had to be her leggings.
She’d taken only three steps when her arm caught on the cuffs and she was yanked back. How did people even begin to think handcuffs were sexy?
The big, seductive stranger steadied her against the heated warmth of his chest. Her fingers clutched sinewy muscles and smooth heated skin. Oh, that’s why people thought handcuffs were sexy.
“Going somewhere?” he asked, and Stella discovered a delightful hint of teasing green in the hazel of his eyes.
“Clearly not without help,” she grumbled, but she honestly couldn’t make it sound too cranky. See—she was perfectly delightful in the morning.
She cleared her throat. “Sir, would you care to accompany me into the drawing room? I believe I may have spotted last night’s attire.” Yep, she’d brought out the big guns—formal manners. Because really, how else were you supposed to conduct yourself when you were handcuffed to a sexy man, naked, with no memory of said man or how you got completely in the buff?
He nodded, and the two of them crossed to the black fabric. Black leggings. Ugh, she didn’t even remember putting them on the night before. Which nicely bookended with not remembering taking them off. Although somehow she suspected the man beside her had taken them off for her. A quiver of delight settled between her legs as she imagined his fingers on her bare skin.
Get dressed and get out.
Yes, but were his palms calloused or smooth? Had his hands shaken with pent-up desire or had he caressed her skin with the sure strokes of a man who knew exactly how to touch a woman to make her need him more?
No. Don’t go there. Tamp that down right now. There would not be an idealized replay of a night she couldn’t even remember.
Her panties were not in sight, but with her handcuff buddy’s help, she stepped into her leggings anyway. In the brighter light of the living area, her skin appeared flushed. The faint coloration of a tiny love bruise was forming on her inner thigh, and her muscles ached with a kind of sensuous lethargy—all due to the man she couldn’t escape. She gripped the waistband of her leggings in an effort to jerk herself clothed. The slide of the knit fabric up her legs was like a taunting caress, and the handcuffs meant she was truly stuck.
“Good. I’ll think better,” he mumbled.
Did he mean...? Was he actually...? Did her nudity disturb him? Stella wasn’t used to big sensual men like this one finding her attractive. Or if they had, she’d been too tired or too busy to notice. A shiver sizzled down her back and her breathing hitched. And suddenly she was all too aware of his naked skin. And hers. Ugh, a flush spread across her chest and her nipples hardened.
Yeah, she had to get dressed and get out.
But what about him? Get him clothed or get him uncuffed? Okay, that was a no-win situation. She needed both to happen. Now. She scanned the room for the rest of their clothes.
A note card caught her attention in the corner.
“Do you see that?” she asked, pointing at a paper on the intimate dinette for two. A delicate scalloped tablecloth decorated the table along with fresh Texas wildflowers and lilies, heart-shaped chocolates and candles. The romantic mood in this setting would strangle a valentine.
They rushed to the wooden dinette, the sweet scent of daylilies filling her nose. Large block letters spelled READ ME on the card propped against the vase, where they were sure to spot it.
“That’s my handwriting,” he told her. He lifted the note from the table and unfolded the paper. “‘You’re in danger,’” he read.
A twinge of alarm settled between her shoulder blades.
“You wouldn’t—” she began.
“What?”
Stella pointed to the mantel above the fireplace. “There’s another note. My handwriting this time.”
Any other day she’d take a moment to appreciate the masterpiece of the art deco fireplace with its beveled edges and rounded corners. Black-and-white ceramic tile surrounded the firebox, finished off with a highly polished wooden mantel carved with the geometric designs popular at the time. Of course she would have left a note for herself here.
She unfolded the paper. ‘“Only trust Owen.”’
The man beside her sucked in a breath.
“I’m guessing you’re Owen.”
He nodded. “Owen Perkins.”
She crumpled the note in her palm. Danger? Trust? What had they gotten themselves into last night? “It’s like we woke up in one of those urban-legend stories.”
“At least we didn’t leave a note for ourselves to call 911.”
“Yet. Look, we left ourselves more notes.” Now that they’d spotted the first two, their eyes were opened to the others strewn about the room.
Owen went to the right.
Stella went to the left. The chain between them forced them back together. His hands curved around her shoulders as he steadied her. The man was built like an immovable boulder.
“Easy,” he said, his breath ruffling the hair at her temple. The man might be as solid as a rock formation, but his voice was soothing. Reassuring. It was also sexy as hell. Mountainous men weren’t usually her style, but she could see the appeal. In a one-time deal.
“We’ve got to get out of these cuffs. Where’s the key?”
His brow lifted. “What makes you think that they’re mine?” His gaze dropped to the chain between them. “Actually, these could belong to me. Sort of.”
“Yeah. Uh-huh. Thought so. So, grab the key.”
“Probably in my bag.” He scanned the room. “There it is.” His voice was warm and soothing, with just a hint of nonaggressive authority. It instantly put her at ease.
Wow. That was some bedside manner he’d cultivated. Her bedside manner sucked.
Relief that they’d soon be free lifted her spirits. “Key first. Then the notes.” She could almost smile.
And then he grabbed her hand and twined her fingers between his before crossing the soft carpet toward the bag.
Stella wasn’t a hand holder. She’d left that behind with high school dances and Friday night football games. But this, the intimacy of her hand in his, was kind of nice. Right up there with his reassuring voice that said they would figure out this whole weird morning together.
Only trust Owen.
What happened to get dressed and get out?
His bag was more like a duffel, something used for an overnight or quick weekend trip. Maybe that’s why she’d chosen him last night to end the man-fast—because she’d never have to see him again. But then why the handcuffs?
Stella examined her skin under the metal. No chafing ran around her wrist. You’d better believe there’d be a ton of abrasions if that handcuff had been placed on her by force.
A balled-up pair of socks lay forgotten on the floor near his duffel. A T-shirt teetered half in and half out of the bag. Like they’d already ransacked his belongings. Had they previously searched the bag for the key and failed to find it? Her heartbeat revved up, but she tamped down the panic. No need to assume the worst.
Owen dove his hands inside, taking out more folded clothes until the bag was empty. Then he began sliding his fingers along the inside and searching through the zippered pockets.
“Nothing,” he finally told her.
“Did you find any toothpaste?”
He tossed her one of those tiny travel-size tubes, and she twisted off the top and squeezed some onto her finger without jerking his hand around too much. He stretched out his finger, and she squeezed some on for him, too. Then they both finger-brushed their teeth.
“Maybe in your pants pocket?” she suggested once that task was complete.
His jeans lay carelessly tossed on the back of the couch. Clearly they’d been in a hurry last night. In a hurry to get naked.
Together they crossed to the couch, and Owen lifted off his pants. Now, he could have been in a bigger hurry to put those jeans back on, as far as she was concerned. He’d been on the right track earlier; she could think better with those pants on him. Change fell out of his pocket as well as his car keys, but no handcuff key.