Hot Bodies Boxed Set: The Complete Vital Signs Erotic Romance Trilogy

by Hughes, Jill Elaine

  Randall smirked. “How did it turn out, then? Though I can well imagine. The newspapers didn’t exactly paint a pretty picture.”

  “Well, Bob Watson—that’s the sleazebag I was dating—dragged us all into court, where he was challenging his original divorce decree from his wife, who was a coworker of mine. He was somehow going to finagle that both he and the hospital had the right to the new chief surgeon’s patent royalties because the new chief surgeon was dating his ex-wife while they were still married, or something.”

  Randall blinked. “Sounds pretty convoluted to me.”

  Shirley sighed and shook her head. “Well, you’re right, it was. But Bob Watson, he made it all sound so simple. The guy was a real smooth talker. You know the type—he could probably sell ice to the Eskimos if he tried. And I fell for it hook, line and sinker. I wasn’t the only one, either. As I’m sure you already know, since you followed it in the papers.”

  “Didn’t the hospital administrator who was involved—Joe Middleton, was it—didn’t he drop dead of a heart attack right after the feds got involved?”

  “Yep. And good riddance, if you ask me. He was even worse than Bob Watson, in my opinion. Sure, he didn’t come up with the scheme himself, but he was after the money. As soon as he found out there was a loophole in Dr. Wilkinson’s contract that might help him get his paws on those patent royalties, he jumped at the chance to exploit it. You could almost see the dollar signs flashing in his eyes.”

  The waiter came to collect their appetizer plates. Randall dusted samosa crumbs from his hands and gazed at her intently. “And you? What were you supposed to get out of it?”

  “Well, this is kind of the embarrassing part. I wanted money, of course. Who doesn’t? But in truth, the real reason I signed on to the whole thing was because I was jealous.”

  “Jealous?”

  “That’s right, jealous. Sounds petty, I know. But it’s true.”

  Randall looked puzzled. “What exactly were you so jealous of that it induced you to commit a federal crime?”

  Suddenly Shirley felt very small. “I was jealous of my coworker. Who also just so happened to be Bob Watson’s ex-wife.”

  “Why?”

  “Because the new chief surgeon was madly in love with her. And I would have much preferred that he was madly in love with me instead.”

  “And matters of the heart have a funny way of not working out the way that we want them to,” Randall said.

  “Exactly. So did what any good American girl would do. I committed a federal crime.”

  Randall guffawed and clapped his hands. “You know, Shirley, that’s exactly why I like you. You don’t take anything too seriously.”

  “I’m afraid I learned that the hard way.”

  “So if you were in on the whole conspiracy from the beginning, how is it your name never came up at the trial? How did you stay out of the papers?”

  “I had a very expensive lawyer. So expensive, in fact, that I went bankrupt from legal bills. I sold almost everything I owned to pay that lawyer, and it still wasn’t enough. So I had to file bankruptcy. I had to sell my living room set in order to afford the bankruptcy filing fee. Now I’m totally broke, with no retirement savings, no credit card, and I live in a studio apartment. I don’t even have a car.”

  “So you’ve still managed to pay for your crimes, then.”

  “Yep. Sometimes I wonder if it would have been better if I’d just gone to jail.” The waiters arrived with their entrees; Shirley stared down at the strange-looking aluminum tray that contained eight different tiny round metal bowls filled with several different brownish-orange vegetable stews arranged in a circle. In the center of the circle was a pile of strange hot-pink meat that vaguely resembled chicken. Randall had the same, though he’d ordered his extra hot, while hers was (supposedly) mild.

  “What the hell is this?” she blurted.

  “That’s your lunch. It’s a tandoori thal, the specialty of the house.”

  “You told me you ordered the best thing on the menu.”

  “That is the best thing on the menu. Try it, you’ll like it. I promise.”

  She picked at the hot-pink chicken with distaste. “They took the skin off,” she said. “And why is it so—pink?”

  “It’s a lot healthier with the skin off, you know. Less fat that way. And the pink color is from the spices they marinade it in.” Randall cocked his head and smirked with amusement. “You know, for someone with an advanced degree, you don’t seem to know much about food.”

  “I don’t know much about anything,” she retorted. “Which would go a long way to explaining why I got sucked into Bob Watson’s little scheme. Only a really stupid, naïve person would do what I did.”

  “I don’t think you’re naïve. Passionate, maybe. But not naïve.”

  Her fork stopped in midair. “Passionate, huh? Whatever would make you think that?”

  “It takes a passionate woman indeed to risk prison just to get back at a romantic rival,” he said, dipping a corner of naan into a spinach curry. “I used to think that kind of passion only existed in the movies. But maybe not.”

  A thread of sexual tension grew in the space between them. And Shirley was stunned to find it wasn’t all just on her side of the table now, either. She’d taken a huge risk spilling her guts to Randall like this—and to her surprise and delight, it seemed to have paid off. Instead of being repulsed by her criminal past, in Randall’s eyes, it just made her more attractive.

  And as much as Shirley wanted him to be attracted to her, she wasn’t entirely sure that was a good thing.

  “Well, Randall, I am a passionate person,” she said. “But in the case of what happened back in Statesville, I was passionate about the wrong things. Nobody should ever be passionate about trying to destroy the life of a friend and coworker. Something I wish I’d understood at the time.”

  “What was her name? Joanna Watson? The press really took a shine to her, as I recall.”

  “Joanna Watson-Wilkinson now. And yeah, the press loved her. She’s gorgeous, for one thing. And she really played the damsel-in-distress role to the hilt.”

  “That she did.”

  “She married Dr. Wilkinson too, you know. And he of course got to keep all those patent royalties, plus collect a shitload of punitive damages on top of it. He was rich all along, but now he’s a gazillionaire. And Joanna gets to share her life with that man—and all his wealth.” Shirley paused and picked at her meal, having suddenly lost her appetite. “I know I should be happy for her, but I’m not. I’m still just jealous of everything she has.”

  “So would a lot of people.”

  “But you don’t understand! My parents didn’t raise me that way. I know that it’s wrong to be envious of other people, to covet what they have—let alone take revenge on them for it the way I did. But that doesn’t change the way I feel sometimes.” She sighed and hung her head. “You must think I’m a terrible person.”

  “Not at all. On the contrary, I think you are a remarkably honest and forthright human being. Not many people are willing to admit their most personal faults out in the open to a total stranger like you just did.” Randall took a couple bites of tandoori chicken, chewed and swallowed thoughtfully. “Don’t beat yourself up so much. You know what you did was wrong, and it seems to me that you’ve more than atoned for it. If it still bothers you so much, sometimes it’s best to confront the person you wronged directly and tell her you’re sorry.”

  Shirley dropped her fork. “Oh, no! That would never work!”

  “It’s never too late to apologize. And you might be surprised just how gracious some people can be about it.”

  She sighed, blinking back tears. “I’ve tried to apologize to her several times, actually. She’s not interested. She hates me, and I suppose she has good reason to.”

  “Give her time. Maybe after she’s had a couple of years to cool off, have a couple of kids, she’ll be a little more open-minded.”

&nb
sp; “I don’t think so.”

  Randall reached across the table and put his large, strong hand over Shirley’s tiny, quivering one. “Shirley, I think the first thing you need to do is to forgive yourself. You’re only human. You made a mistake. So has every other human being ever to walk the surface of this planet. It doesn’t mean you have to punish yourself for the rest of your life.”

  Shirley pondered this for a moment. He kept his warm, large hand cradled over hers, passed the tip of his forefinger back and forth over the soft, tender skin of her upper wrist. Even this slightest caress was erotic to the core. Bolts of electricity wound their way up her arm and down her torso until they merged and exploded between her legs. She felt her panties dampen as her juices began to flow. This man—this wonderful, sexy, enigmatic man, cared about her. Really cared. And now, he was touching her as only a lover would. “I guess I’ll try to forgive myself, then,” she whispered.

  “Don’t try. Just do it. Right now. It’s easy.”

  She screwed her eyes shut, visualized Joanna Watson-Wilkinson’s beautiful face. It appeared in her mind’s eye, and Shirley silently offered an apology. The phantom Joanna offered no sign of acknowledgment, but Shirley felt as if a huge burden was lifted from her shoulders almost immediately.

  She opened her eyes, found that Randall was staring right into them. “Well?” he said. “Feel better?” He still hadn’t let go of her hand. In fact, he’d set down his fork and was now stroking her forearm with the other hand. The soft buzzing that had erupted between Shirley’s legs had grown into a full-blown explosion. She was on the verge of coming right here in the restaurant after just a minute or two of innocent handholding. If that’s what Randall could do to her at a dinner table, imagine what he would do to her once they got into bed together!

  Assuming, of course, he wanted to go to bed with her.

  Shirley couldn’t stand the suspense any longer. She needed to know where she stood with this man, damn it. Sure, a certain amount of mystery was attractive in a man, but there got to be a point where it could drive a girl insane. “Umm, Randall, ummm, I was kind of wondering,” she stammered, suddenly feeling like a teenager with a boarding-school crush. “How do you, ummm, feel about me?”

  Randall’s eyes twinkled and he grinned, stepping up his caresses of her forearm. The feeling was like having a pack of fairies do a dance on her arm—pure magic. “Can you be more specific?” he teased. “Do you mean feel in the tactile sense or the emotional sense?”

  “Please don’t turn this into another one of your jokes,” she snapped. “I’m out on a limb here, and if I don’t get an answer to that question very soon, I just might drop dead of a heart attack.”

  “I see. Well, we can’t have you having a heart attack here at the only Indian restaurant in town. What would it do to their business? I’d probably be out of my only chance of getting decent tandoori chicken this side of Atlanta.”

  “Randall, please—“

  He put his index finger to her lips, shushing her. He squeezed her hand hard, sending bolts of heat up her arm and down her body, until both her legs trembled. The tension in her body built and built and built, climber higher and higher, until Shirley’s breath caught and a tiny whimper of ecstasy escaped her mouth. She was about to come, right here, right now in a public restaurant with at least two dozen other people watching, and this damned incorrigible man was still withholding his true feelings from her. The situation was beyond ridiculous. It was insane.

  He smiled broader, seemed suddenly very interested in his cuticles. “You do realize that I’m a murder suspect, don’t you? One would think that would put a bit of a damper on any designs you might have on this body of mine.”

  “I don’t believe you killed Enola Higginbottom for a minute,” she snapped. And it was true. She really didn’t think he had it in him.

  “I appreciate that, Shirley. Because I promise you, I am wholly innocent of that crime. But unfortunately, at this point I can’t prove my innocence, which might end up being a bit of a problem with the police. Are you still interested in my answer?”

  “Yes,” she growled. She was damn interested, in fact. She was so interested that if he didn’t give her the goods that instant, she was going to kick him right in the crotch.

  “I could be arrested at any time, you know. Police could walk right into this restaurant in the next three minutes and put me in handcuffs.”

  “I don’t care,” Shirley hissed. Now she was desperate. So she might as well come right out and commit a desperate act. She leaned forward until her nose was mere inches away from Randall’s. The hem of her scrub shirt dipped into a bowl of lentil dhal soup, but she didn’t notice. “Randall,” she whispered. “If you don’t take me somewhere and fuck me in the next five minutes, I swear to God I will have to crawl away somewhere dark and hidden to kill myself.”

  Randall leaned into her and kissed her passionately on the mouth. With tongue. Lots and lots of tongue. They didn’t come up for air for almost a full minute.

  “Shirley, as a physician, it is part of my sworn Hippocratic oath to prevent suicide whenever possible. So I’m afraid I have no choice but to oblige your request.” He flagged a red-faced waiter. “Check please. The lady and I will take these lunches to go.”

  Fourteen

  Twenty minutes later, Shirley and Randall were at Randall’s sprawling Georgian Revival house, a white, pillared relic from before the Civil War. “The previous owner went bankrupt restoring it, so I got it cheap—relatively speaking,” he explained when Shirley gaped in awe at the two-story entry hall, complete with a winding staircase and stained-glass rotunda. “His loss was my gain.”

  “Wow. It’s so beautiful—“

  He put a finger to her lips. “You’re beautiful.” With that, Randall swept her up in his arms and carried her up the winding staircase. “We can discuss the history of my home later, madam. Right now I intend to take you upstairs and ravish you senseless.”

  Very Gone With The Wind.

  They made it to the top of the winding mahogany staircase. Randall carried her down a marble hall lined with gold-plated wall sconces, the kind that would originally have been for gaslights but were since retrofitted for electricity. The walls were paneled in buttery, polished walnut with gold inlay, and the ceiling was painted with ornate Renaissance-style murals depicting golden cherubs flying through a starry sky. The opulence surrounding her was breathtaking; Shirley felt as if she’d been transported to a Hollywood movie set.

  A movie with explicit sex, anyway. Because things were about to get down and dirty.

  They entered a room with a massive four-poster bed, the kind that required a step to climb into it. Randall set her down carefully on its high surface, and the bed’s billowy down comforters and pillow-top mattress threatened to swallow her whole. She sank down into the luxurious satin and velvet bedclothes, and before she could take a breath, Randall managed to sweep off her Nurse Mates and her scrubs, so she was clad only in her bra and panties. Waves of heat rose up her body, bringing a deep red flush to her skin, which was soon coated all over with a light, musky dew. The feel of the expensive satin sheets against her flushed, sweaty skin was pure sensuality, like velvet left out in the rain. The crotch of her panties was already soaked through, her nipples hard and sharp as cut glass. Her body ached to be separated from those little slips of nylon, cotton and lace.

  Randall read her mind. He slipped one finger underneath the elastic waistband of her sopping-wet panties and tugged hard, ripping the thin nylon fabric in two and wrenching it from her body. He reached around behind her back and expertly unfastened her bra with one flick of his wrist. All at once she lay naked before his still fully clothed body, naked and breathless and exposed.

  He plunged one finger into her depths, then two, then three. “My God, Shirley. You’re so wet. And you smell so good, so sweet. I want to taste you.”

  She gave her consent by spreading her legs wide.

  Randall’s sandy
head dropped to Shirley’s dripping satin petals and began to feast. His tongue probed deep inside her first, licking her salty, musky juices, tasting the slick, ribbed walls of her sheath. Then it transferred to her hard, hot little nub, sending bursts of scorching sensation up and out to all corners of her body. She bucked underneath him, mewling and moaning as the first of what would be many orgasms took hold of her body. He fed upon her sweet juices for what seemed like hours, making her come again and again and again, until her whole body was on fire, sweaty and spent and pulsating.

  The old stories were true—doctors really do know how to fuck better than anyone. All those years studying anatomy are bound to pay off, after all. And boy howdy, now Shirley was reaping the benefits.

  Just when she thought she couldn’t possibly take any more, Randall took things up a notch. He started unbuttoning his shirt with one hand, and slipped four fingers from the other deep inside her cunt. He found her G-spot in less than an instant, and began pressing, pressing, pressing hard up against it in a slow, steady rhythm. He broke their connection just long enough to get out of his clothes, but to Shirley, even that brief respite was pure agony.

  That agony didn’t last long, however. Shirley heard the familiar crinkly sound of a foil condom wrapper being torn, felt Randall’s firm, hard chest pressing down on top of her a moment later. “Can I come inside?” he whispered, teasing her cunt with the tip of his bulging cock.

  She managed a small nod, and he plunged in. He was huge—the biggest, longest, thickest cock she’d ever taken into herself, and given all her randy activities of late, that was saying something. He plowed into her so hard and stretched her so wide that she thought she might split in two. He slipped his hands underneath her buttocks and pushed her up to meet him at each and every thrust, turning her body to such an angle that he hit her G-spot square in the middle on the way in, rubbed her clit with his shaft on the way out. It was simple, bread-and-butter fucking, but it was oh, sooooo good.