by Diana Palmer
“The thrill of your life?”
“Oh, no, getting my degree was that.” She glanced at him uneasily. Some people were immediately hostile when she mentioned her extensive education.
He lifted a bushy eyebrow. “Fitting me for a mold?” he mused. “Will you faint if I tell you that I have a degree of my own?”
Her eyes brightened. “Really?”
“I’m a music major,” he said.
“I’ll bet that gave the sports announcers something to talk about during games—” She stopped dead. Things she’d read and heard on television, bits and pieces were coming back to her. She didn’t follow sports, but there was one sports figure who’d confounded the critics and the fans when he suddenly dropped out of professional football to found of all things a rock group. He’d only had a mustache then, not a full beard and long hair besides. She’d seen his photograph in the paper, and she’d seen an interview on television.
“Oh, my God,” she said in a whisper.
“Put it together, did we?” he mused, smiling. “Go ahead.”
“Desperado,” she said. “You played for the Dallas Cowboys and quit after the best season you’d ever had to go into music. Everybody thought you were crazy. Then you won a Grammy…”
“Several Grammies,” he said, correcting her.
“Several. Amanda is your lead singer,” she added, remembering that tidbit. “She’s beautiful. But…didn’t she marry?”
He chuckled. “Yes. She married a poor Wyoming rancher and she’s very, very pregnant and Quinn Sutton is beside himself with worry. She’s not having an easy time. We’re trying to protect her from the press and it hasn’t been easy. We’re all afraid that word is going to get out about her problems with the pregnancy and she’s going to be covered up by the press.”
“We?”
“The group,” he said. “She’s very special to all of us, although she and Quinn are deeply in love.”
“Are you in love with her?” she asked bluntly.
“I was, in the old days,” he said easily. “We all were. She’s beautiful and talented. But now she’s kind of like a kid sister that we try to take care of. I’d do anything to protect her. Even,” he added ruefully, “kidnap a reporter.”
“That would have been terribly intelligent,” she said sarcastically. “What a story it would make!”
“I didn’t say I was thinking clearly,” he muttered darkly. “I had to act fast, before she could file that story. And look what a great job I did!”
“Anybody can make a mistake. But she doesn’t know about Amanda, you know,” she added. “She knew that you were here and she was going to tell her office that a man at the lodge said you were about to get engaged to someone you met here. That’s the hot scoop she had.”
He leaned back against the door and laughed delightedly. “Good God!”
“So it doesn’t really matter if she gets to a phone, does it?”
“No.” He groaned and ran a hand through his thick hair. “Hell, I could have saved myself all this trouble!”
“Not to mention saving me a little,” she said irritably.
He looked surprised. “I saved you from St. Bernard.”
Her lips protruded. “I don’t need saving from a man like that. He had lips like a lizard.”
He chuckled. “Did he?”
She closed the lid on the piano. “He wasn’t my type at all.”
He moved closer and raised the lid. “What is your type?” he asked as he ran his elegant fingers over the keyboard.
“I’ll know the minute I find him,” she assured him.
He lifted his head and looked into her dark eyes. “You don’t like rock music, you said.”
“I don’t listen to it,” she confessed. “Except that one song that I told you about.”
“Yes. This one.”
He sat down at the piano and began to play it, softly, smoothly, his eyes seeking hers.
“It was you,” she said slowly.
He nodded. “Amanda sang it. I don’t have a lead voice, only one good enough to second the rest of them. But I can write music. None of them can.”
She came to stand just behind him, with a soft hand on his shoulder as he increased the tempo.
“I meant it to be a rock song. Amanda made me slow it down. They ganged up on me and made me put it on the album. I didn’t want to.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s intimate,” he said shortly. “It’s part of me, when I do something like this. There are things I don’t want to share with the world.”
“You should share music like this, though,” she replied. “It’s exquisite.”
He smiled at her. “But you like opera. And historical music.”
Her fingers became unconsciously caressing on his shoulder. “Yes. But this is beautiful.”
He finished the piece and lifted his hands from the keyboard. She hadn’t moved.
He reached up and smoothed his fingers over her hand before he lifted it to his mouth.
He swiveled around and caught her by the hips, his eyes darkening, narrowing as they looked up at her.
She felt him move before she saw him. He drew her to him and eased her to her knees between his outstretched legs. Then he framed her face in his big hands and bent to kiss her with slow, tender hunger. She started to protest, but he stayed the instinctive backward movement of her head and kept kissing her, until she gave in to him and slid her arms around his neck.
It wasn’t until his hand trespassed onto her soft breast that she stiffened and caught his fingers.
He lifted his head and looked at her flushed face as she fought with his invading hand. There was something very calculating about his expression.
“You’re…analyzing me,” she accused.
“You aren’t used to a man’s hand on your breast,” he commented, watching her gasp. “You’re twenty-six, right? Then why haven’t you had a man, Poppy?”
“For heaven’s sake!” She pushed at him and he let her go. She scrambled to her feet, pushing back her hair, and stared unseeing out the window while she fought for composure.
He joined her at the window, leaning idly against the window frame with his big hands in his pockets. “Are you physically or emotionally scarred in some way?”
She shook her head.
“Then, why?”
She frowned. “What do you mean, why?”
“Why haven’t you slept with anyone yet?”
He seemed to think it was a matter of course, that women had the same freedom that men did and should enjoy it.
“Well, I don’t respect men who sleep around just because they want to satisfy a fleeting physical hunger. Why should I want to be that way myself?”
He frowned. “Everyone sleeps around.”
“Bull,” she said, raising her hand when he started to speak. “And don’t quote me statistics. Statistics depend on whom you interview. If you ask two hundred people in New York City what they think of a free sexual life-style, and then you ask the same question of two hundred people in a small town in Iowa, you’re going to get a heck of a different set of statistics!”
His big shoulders moved. “I hadn’t thought about it that way. But the times are changing.”
She only smiled.
“Don’t tell me,” he chided gently. “You’re going to save yourself for the man you marry.”
“Of course I am,” she said matter-of-factly.
He threw up his hands. “Lunacy,” he muttered. “You don’t know what you’re missing.”
“Sure I do. I’m missing all those exciting risks, including the one that can kill you.” She pursed her lips as she studied him. “And if we’re going to get so personal, how much of a swinger are you?”
“I’m not,” he replied, shocked. “Only an idiot sleeps around these days!”
She burst out laughing.
He liked the way she laughed, even the way she lost her temper. “Want to draw straws to see who gets to co
ok supper?”
She traced his face with soft eyes. “I’ll do it, if you’ll tell me what you like. Not cereal,” she added.
“Steak and baked potatoes and salad, then,” he said.
“I like steak, too.”
“Two of each for me,” he added. “I have to get enough protein.”
“I’ll bet you’re expensive to feed,” she remarked.
“Yes. But I’m rich,” he added with a meaningful glance.
“I take it all back, what I said about buying women for yourself,” she told him pertly.
“Oh?”
The expression on his face was only faintly threatening, but she left him with the piano, just the same.
* * *
They shared meals and conversation for two days. He didn’t come near her in any sexual way, although she caught his gaze on her. He wasn’t feeling well. His skin was flushed and he had a terrible cough. He’d been out working on that generator her first day at the cabin, and he hadn’t really been dressed properly for the cold and the vicious snow. He’d caught a cold and it had gone into his chest. She was worried now, because he was obviously feverish and there was no telephone, no way to get him to a hospital. When he went to bed, he refused to take even an aspirin.
She went to bed in the guest room, reluctantly, hoping that he’d be better the next day even when she knew in her gut that he wouldn’t.
The third morning, he didn’t get up. If only she had access to her supplies back at the clinic in Sioux City, she could have used enough antibiotic to do him some good. As it was, she could only hope that he had a virus or the flu and not pneumonia. If it was a bacterial pneumonia, he could die if help didn’t come in time.
She went into his bedroom to check on him, and had to force her legs to carry her the rest of the way. He’d thrashed his way out of the covers and he was lying there totally nude on top of the sheet and blanket. Her embarrassed eyes couldn’t leave him. She’d never seen a man in such a condition before. He was beautiful without his clothing, tanned all over, with just enough body hair to make him attractive to the sight and not enough to make him repulsive. It was all on his chest and flat stomach, black and curling hair that ran over his broad chest in a wedge and down over the ripple of powerful muscles to his flat stomach and powerful thighs. Her eyes lingered there with curiosity and fascination and a little fear. She didn’t need anyone to tell her that this man was physically exceptional.
He groaned and his eyes opened. He was flushed with fever, his lips dry, his body lifting as he coughed and grimaced from the pain.
“I’ve picked up that damned bug my band had,” he said hoarsely. “Getting chilled working on the generator must have pushed me over the edge.” He sat up, realized his condition and with a rueful smile, jerked the sheet over his hips. “Sorry. I must have kicked off the covers. But then, you’re a doctor. I don’t suppose you’re easily shocked by a man’s body.”
She wasn’t about to answer that.
He lay back and coughed again. She moved a little closer, grimacing. “We’re going to have a problem if you get worse. Your medicine cabinet is inadequate and I don’t have my bag. I don’t even have the right medicines or enough of them. The best I’m going to be able to do is mix up a folk remedy for cough and give you aspirin for fever.”
“I don’t need nursing,” he told her.
“Of course not,” she agreed. “Oh dear, oh dear.”
He closed his eyes, too weary to talk anymore, and fell asleep. She spent the rest of the day sitting by his bedside in a chair, trying to keep his fever down with aspirin and his cough at bay with a mixture of honey, lemon and whiskey. Amazingly the cough remedy seemed to do some good. But the fever didn’t go down, despite the aspirin.
The generator was holding, thank God, so it was warm in the cabin. She had to get that fever down. He did at least have a thermometer, but what it registered was hardly reassuring. A high fever could burn up the very cells of the body. She had to stop it.
She got a basin of warm water and a washcloth and towel. With a deep breath as she gathered her nerve, she turned the covers back.
He lay quietly until she began to bathe him, then he groaned harshly and opened his eyes. “What are you doing?” he asked in a weak, raspy tone.
“Trying to get the fever down,” she said. “I’m sorry, really I am. But this is the only way I know. The aspirin is only holding it at bay. It’s very high. I’ll try not to let you get chilled in the process.”
“Stroke of luck, kidnapping you,” he said with wan humor. “And they say you can’t find a doctor when you need one.”
She winced, but his eyes had closed again and he didn’t see it. She kept on sponging him down, drying him with the towel as she went and feeling his skin slowly begin to cool.
It wouldn’t have been so complicated if his body hadn’t started reacting to the motion of the washcloth against areas that were normally hidden to the eyes.
He groaned again when she reached his flat stomach and his eyes opened as his powerful body suddenly reacted helplessly—and visibly—to her touch.
She drew her hand back at once and blushed to the roots of her hair. The terrible thing was that she couldn’t drag her eyes away. She was paralyzed by the forbidden sight, fascinated and shocked.
“It’s all right, Poppy,” he said huskily. “Don’t be embarrassed. It’s a natural reaction, even if it seems shocking to you.”
Her wide eyes sought his for reassurance.
“Go ahead,” he said gently. “Don’t worry about it. We’ll both ignore it. Okay?”
She hesitated for a minute, but as the shock wore off, she began to weigh her embarrassment against his state of health. “Sorry,” she said as she continued, working her way down his powerful legs.
“You’re a doctor,” he murmured, but he was watching her narrowly. “Aren’t you?”
“Well, yes. Sort of.”
His eyebrows lifted. “Sort of?”
She cleared her throat as she finished sponging him down and gently pulled the cover up to his waist, averting her eyes as she did so. “Yes. I am a doctor. I have a degree and a diploma to prove it. But…”
“But?”
“Well…I’m not exactly the sort of doctor you think I am.” She put the basin and cloth on the floor by the bed.
“What sort are you?” he persisted.
She bit her lower lip and looked at him guiltily. “I’m a veterinarian,” she confessed.
CHAPTER FOUR
“You’re a what!”
“Please lie down, and don’t get excited,” she pleaded, pushing him gently back against the pillows. “And it’s all right, really, I did have two years of premed, so I’m not a dunce about human anatomy.”
“I don’t believe this,” he groaned, throwing a big arm across his eyes. “My God, I’m being treated by a vet!”
“I’m a good vet,” she muttered. “I haven’t lost a patient yet. And you shouldn’t complain about being treated by a vet, if you insist on looking like a grizzly bear!”
She got up from the bed and walked out with the basin and cloth and towel, fuming. He acted as if she were guilty of malpractice, and she’d been nursing him all night long!
He must have thought about that, because when she went back into the bedroom, he was more subdued.
“I’m sorry,” he said shortly. “It was a shock, that’s all. I don’t guess you slept all night, did you?”
“I slept in the chair there,” she said. “I was nervous about leaving you with such a high fever.”
“Thanks.”
“I’d have done the same for any sick animal,” she replied.
“Rub it in,” he said with a wan smile.
She smiled at him. “I’d love to.”
He was barely strong enough to glower at her. “What if you catch this stuff?”
“Then I guess you’ll have to look after me, if the blizzard doesn’t stop,” she informed him.
He lifted
an eyebrow and let his eyes work their way up and down her slender body with a speaking glance. “I’d get to sponge you down, then, huh?” He smiled wickedly. “What a thrill.”
She flushed. “You stop that! I didn’t enjoy it!”
“Didn’t you? I thought you were familiar with a man’s anatomy until I saw that scarlet blush. I wondered if you were going to faint.” His blue eyes narrowed. “You haven’t seen a naked male like this before, have you?”
She moved restlessly. “I’ve seen lots of naked male dogs,” she said defiantly.
He chuckled, stifling a cough. “It’s not quite the same thing.”
She could have agreed wholeheartedly with that, but she wasn’t going to. She pushed back her hair with a weary hand. “If you’ll be all right for a few minutes, I’ll heat up some soup.”
“You’re tired. Why don’t we both sleep for a little while, and then you can worry about food.”
“Are you sure?”
“I’m sure. I don’t feel half as bad as I did last night. Go on. Grab a couple of hours’ sleep. I’ll wake you if I need you.”
“How will I hear you?” she asked worriedly. “The guest room is down the hall….”
“Curl up beside me, if you’re concerned about that. It’s a big bed.”
She wasn’t sure, and it showed.
“Don’t be silly,” he said gently. “I’m too sick to be a threat.”
He was. She gave in, smiling shyly as she went around to the other side of the bed and lay down, all too aware of the expanse of his hair-roughened chest, the length of his powerful body. He was really huge this close and she’d never been more aware of her lack of stature. Of course, beside him, a six-foot woman would seem small. She curled up under the covers and stifled a yawn.
“Don’t you want to put on something less constraining?” he said. “I won’t look.”
She smiled. “I’m too tired even to do that. I could sleep for…a week….” Her voice trailed off. She was out like a light.
* * *
It was dark when she woke up. A night-light was on and Hank was snoring gently beside her. He’d knocked the covers off again, but it was chilly now. She got up and went around the bed to replace them, pulling them up over his chest and tucking them over him. He looked younger when he was asleep, relaxed and unstressed. She wondered what he was like when he wasn’t upset or sick. She’d probably never have the chance to find out, because he was famous and she was a nobody in the veterinary practice back home. It would be something to remember, though, that she’d known someone like him, even briefly. Under normal circumstances, she was certain that they’d never have met at all.