by Inez Kelley
Charlie glared. “How arrogant of the medical profession to dictate what I’m allowed to do with my body based on their opinions. A man can get snipped without fathering a child but a woman, oh no, can’t let her decide for herself.”
“Reversals are easier in men but I don’t make the rules. And I’m the flipside. I’d give anything to have a child of my own but it isn’t possible, so I guess I just don’t understand how anyone could have that power and not want it.”
He laced his fingers together, the grip turning his knuckles white, and studied his thumbs. He raised his chin and deliberately caught her eye. “But now the woman I love doesn’t want children. Maybe there’s a reason I’m sterile. Maybe I was meant to be with you. If I look at it like that, then I’m blessed, not cursed.”
Just above the last knuckle on his middle finger, he had a freckle. The tiny dot, barely noticeable, seemed to pull her eyes. She’d never known it was there. As well as she knew him, she’d never know everything, not if she studied him for fifty years. She padded to the cabinet, cracked open the door and grabbed the small round disc from beside the Cheerios.
His eyes dropped to her hand and what it held. “You keep your pills in the kitchen?”
“I don’t forget to take them if they’re above the coffeemaker.”
The monumental minute weighed in the room like a prizefighter shuffling around the mat, sizing up its opponent. Bastian held his breath. She was in control and he would abide by her choice. Tiny numbered circles were traced, caressed, their power reflected on.
Her destiny, her life, was in her hands and at her command.
Could she give that control away?
“I’m sorry, I just…I can’t.” She popped a tiny white pill from the foil.
His eyes slid closed but he nodded once and kept his face blank. “I understand.”
He didn’t. He really didn’t. The pill stuck in her throat and she gulped too-hot coffee to shove it down. The forced calmness in his tone made her hands shake. “When we go to bed, the condom issue I’ll—”
“I’m not fucking you, Charlie.” Tension bled into his stance and his words were curt, sharp as ice. “If I take you to bed, it’ll be for forever, not a night. No condoms then. I trust you.”
The slight emphasis he put on the last word stung and she blinked. “This isn’t about you. It’s about me.”
Disbelief warred with hurt his eyes. A false smile lifted his lip into more of a sneer than a smile. “Right. If you want pizza, you better hurry up and get dressed.”
Charlie jumped at the diversion and headed to the bathroom. She needed a closed door between them right now, to insulate her from his pain. She stood beneath the spray and let the soap drip down her body but she still felt dirty. Part of her wanted to leap out of the shower and beg him to forgive her, to pitch the pills in the trash and let go of the crutch. But another part refused to relinquish her control, and her feet stayed planted in the tub.
Low music blended with boisterous chatter and filled the casually darkened restaurant with a warm, welcoming atmosphere, but the air was considerably cooler at their table. Charlie fiddled with her fork. Bastian made flat, mindless conversation.
She thrust the fork away. “Look, it has nothing to do with you or trusting you or any—”
“Drop it.” He wouldn’t meet her eyes.
“I can’t. I hate it when we fight.”
He snorted, some of the tension leaving his shoulders. “No, you don’t. You like arguing with me, you thrive on it.”
“No.” She shook her head and reached for his hand. “I like debating with you. I hate arguing with you.”
He squeezed her fingers. “Promise me you’ll really think about it. Even if we never sleep together—which will crush every erotic dream I’ve been having and leave me with a mammoth case of blue balls—this is your health we’re talking about.”
A bass drum grew in her chest. Stomach jittery, she grabbed on to laughter as a lifeline. “How can we do this?” She laughed on a forced breath. “How can we sit here and talk about birth control like discussing the weather?”
“Talk is foreplay, you say it every show. We talk about everything else. Why shouldn’t we talk about it? Just means if it does happen for us, there’re no surprises, just pleasure.”
“Oh, there’ll be surprises as well as pleasure. I promise you that.” She brought her cup to her lips and watched her flirt register. Sexual innuendo she could handle. It was forever she was having fierce doubts about.
In true Dr. Hot fashion, he volleyed back. “I think I can promise a few surprises of my own.”
On impulse, she leaned over the table and smacked a kiss on his mouth.
“Get a room, Talbot.” A deep masculine snicker approached from behind and Charlie craned her neck while sitting down. Straight from Hollywood casting for polished sex-on-a-stick, the dark-haired man grinned broadly. Everything from his thick purposely salon-disheveled hair to his Colgate-bright smile was designed to appeal. He twanged her slime-meter like a bell clapper.
Bastian shook his hand. “Charlie Pierce, Dr. Royce Nichols. He’s a partner at the UC.”
“Hello.” Charlie smiled but her skin crawled.
“Want to join us, Royce?”
Before she could kick Bastian under the table, Royce shook his head. “Thanks, but Keri took the baby for a diaper change before we head out. I’ll sit a while, though.”
He moved into the secluded booth beside her. The tendons in her neck strained as she bit back a caustic remark. This was Bastian’s new coworker. She had to be polite but Charlie knew a rat when she saw one.
“So this is your Honeypot.” The leer in his tone dripped with innuendo but, like all men, Bastian seemed oblivious to the scum of his gender. She scooted an inch to make more room but Royce followed until his thigh pressed against hers.
The men made shoptalk and Charlie fought a snarl. Royce relaxed, stretching his arm along the back of the booth and “accidentally” stroking Charlie’s nape. She leaned forward, elbows on the table. Just as she reached for Bastian’s hand, the Chipmunks sang from his pocket.
Bastian glared at the screen then a secretive smile broke along his mouth. He slid out of his seat. “Excuse me a minute. I’m going to step outside to take this. It’s about a certain birthday coming up.”
Charlie didn’t give a tinker’s damn about her birthday surprise right now and glared at his retreating backside. That adorable ass hadn’t even made it through the glass door before Royce’s palm landed on her thigh. She jerked his fingers back toward his wrist. “Hands off!”
“Easy, baby,” he cooed. He tugged his hand away and reached for her cheek.
Her lip curled. Grown men should not coo and her name was sure as hell not “baby.” “Isn’t your wife in the bathroom?”
“Yes, she is. And Bastian is outside. It’s just you and me.”
“I don’t care what you do, Royce, but I don’t cheat. I’m with Bastian.”
His soft chuckle fanned the hair along her temple. “The radio thing, I heard it. Nice gimmick.”
“It’s not a gimmick.”
“No man in his right mind would refuse to take you to bed, not if he’s straight and I assumed Bastian was. I could be wrong, though.”
Her jaw dropped and her mind blanked. “What?”
“A lot of doctors hide their orientation. It can make patients feel weird if their doctor, the guy who sees them naked, is a homosexual.”
A snort choked the laugh that erupted from her throat. “Bastian’s not gay.”
“Doesn’t matter to me one way or the other. But he’s not sleeping with you and he’s not going to marry you, so it’s either a fabulous publicity stunt or he’s hiding behind your miniskirt.”
Sudden fear rose from her belly, washing into the back of her throat with a bitter taste. “What do you mean, he’s not going to marry me? He’s asked me half a dozen times. We’ve got three states placing bets.”
A lust-d
runk gaze slid over her bustline then rose to her face. “Doctors marry women who help their careers, not ruin them.”
“What makes you think I’d ruin Bastian’s career?”
“Oh, I’m sure it wouldn’t be on purpose. But partnerships slots are prized and offered only to the best and brightest, the ones who fit in.” His finger trailed down her bare arm. “Think about it. All the UC wives get together every Thursday for lunch at the club. They talk shoes and makeup and which charity to volunteer for at the hospital. The kinkiest thing they do is put out a little missionary on a Sunday afternoon. They don’t sit around and talk about blow jobs and G-spots.”
Indignant fury narrowed her eyes. “Sounds like your sex life is boring and you’re fishing for a quickie.”
“My sex life is fine and quickies are for losers. I prefer a more stable arrangement with a little variety on the side, no harm.” His voice dropped to a sensual caress. Angling his head closer, he let his whisper blow across her ear. “Keri’s classic, proper and the perfect doctor’s wife. You, on the other hand, would make one hell of a mistress.”
“You and me, huh?” A slow rage brewed, pushing aside her worries and tightening her jaw. “What about Keri and Bastian?”
“What Keri doesn’t know doesn’t hurt her. As for Bastian, I can give you something Dr. May-or-may-not-be-gay Talbot won’t. Satisfaction.” He traced the curve of her cheek. “Play doctor with me, Charlie. I can be very…generous.”
“All set.” A perky voice made his hand fall away from her face. A dark-haired woman in a pink twinset with a pearl brooch smiled at them, Little Miss Apple Pie all grown up. A babbling infant in a carrier wore a sailor suit straight from a magazine photo shoot. Royce introduced them, slick as silk while scratching his cell number on the back of a business card. He slid the card toward her, stroking her finger even though his wife stood directly behind him. Charlie jerked her hand away, leaving the card on the tabletop.
Keri’s eyes landed on the card then narrowed. “Is Charlie short for Charlotte?”
“No,” Charlie answered firmly.
Despite the society-polished façade, a hint of wizened barracuda lurked under that flawless makeup. Cold eyes flicked over Charlie then rose to her face. A tiny line curved around her lips, a smirk that said Charlie fit neatly into some preconceived mold. She’d bet her next paycheck Keri knew all about her husband’s extracurricular activities, and she’d pegged Charlie as his next in line.
Please, her standards were much higher than that.
“So Bastian proposed.” Saccharine dripped from Keri’s words but couldn’t completely hide the warning. Charlie doubted she meant it to. “You’d better move fast. Cute single doctors don’t last long around the UC. There’s always someone…waiting to pounce.”
The word better lurked in the pause. It rang through Charlie’s ears like a silent gong, vibrating her bones. It shook the Bitch clean out of her cage, and Charlie fixed her face into a predatory grin. “Good thing I have claws, huh?”
One perfectly sculpted brow arched in answer. “Most alley cats do. Well, if things work out, I’ll have to introduce you to all the wives.”
Charlie would rather drink toilet water. “Sure. But then again, I might just fuck him and call it done.”
The crudeness was automatic, lashing out at the disapproving shimmer barely hidden behind that Ms. Apple Pie face. Bastian’s return spared her from any affronted response. A polite round of goodbyes was cut mercifully short by the arrival of their food. Her appetite had fled.
Bastian served her a slice of deep-dish and then filled his own plate. He flicked the ignored business card with his finger. “Royce hit on you?”
Her chin jerked up. “You knew?”
“Sure.” He shrugged. “Royce is a jerk. You’re a big girl. I’ve seen you shoot down smoother men than him. You don’t need me to fight your battles.”
“He thinks you’re gay.”
That stopped him, pizza slice halfway to his mouth. “What?”
Charlie tore the card in half, folded it tight and tossed at him. “According to Dr. Dick, you won’t go to bed with me so you must be gay.”
Bastian shoved the mangled paper away. “Just for that, I’m pinching his ass next time I see him.” He took a huge bite and chewed. “Asshole.”
“And his wife is a bitch in classic Chanel.” She shook the Parmesan container hard enough to spill fine pale flakes across her plate and half the table. “How can you stand to work with him?”
“Work with him, Charlie, not be his friend. All I have to do is be polite and professional, not cozy up next to him. He’s a good doctor and the UC’s a good place. There are sixteen doctors, plus PAs and staff. It makes up for it. You deal with Nathan, I’ll deal with Royce.”
She attacked her pizza, shoveling in bites as if the spicy red sauce could erase the nasty taste in her mouth. It took one full slice before she was ready to admit what was really bothering her. It wasn’t Royce and his blunt proposition. Hell, she’d gotten those a dozen times. It was Keri.
That disapproving glint struck hard at the most vulnerable spot. Charlie knew what she was. She wasn’t good enough. Not for someone like Bastian.
“Gotta tell you, Doc.” She slipped into Honeypot mode for strength. “There is no way in hell I could do the lunch-with-the-wives thing. I’d throw a blood clot restraining myself.”
Bastian’s brows shot up. “Who asked you to?”
“Keri said all the wiv—”
Bastian sighed and wiped his fingers. “Stop worrying about what other people think or do. And no more joking about blood clots, okay? I know too many damned side effects of those fucking meds you’re on to have that in the back on my mind.”
She crumpled her napkin on her plate. Bastian had never corrected her, never told her to “act like a lady.” He wouldn’t. So sure and confident in himself, he couldn’t care less what anyone thought of him.
But Charlie cared. She cared enough to make sure he never suffered because of her. Being his friend was a stretch, being his wife was an impossible dream. Even if they could make it work, society had already damned them. She was used to the shunning, but Bastian didn’t deserve it. She’d be doing him a favor by not marrying him.
Chapter Seven
“Welcome back, lovers. You’re tuning in to Let’s Talk about Sex with Dr. Hot and the Honeypot and tonight’s theme is Cherries Jubilee. Give us a ring, tell us about your first time. Losing your virginity is a rite of passage, a milestone on the road to growing up and becoming an adult. Whether you waited until your wedding night or gave it up under the bleachers, it’s a memory that stays with you, good or bad. Did you see shooting stars? Or was it more of a crash and burn? Did you knock teeth and lock braces? Was it all moonlight and roses? So far, all of our callers have been women. Let’s hear from you guys out there. Call me, lover.”
Charlie arched her foot, pressing it deeper into Bastian’s hands, biting back a moan of pleasure. Dr. Hot had hands of gold in more than one way. She’d once read about a woman who could reach orgasm from a foot massage but had never managed the feat herself. If he kept working his thumbs that way, though, she just might. A giggle grew as she wondered what that would do for the show ratings. The FCC’s reaction she could already figure out.
“So break the ice for us. Tell us about your first time, Doc. Did you see shooting stars?”
“Honey, I was a typical sixteen-year-old boy. Of course I saw stars. I saw stars when the wind blew hard.” Leaning back, his eyes closed as if reliving the moment, and Charlie was entranced. A dreamy tenderness washed over his face, easing the tiny lines around his eyes and lifting his lips in a smile. “It was in her parents’ living room on the couch, listening in case her little sisters woke up and praying her parents didn’t come home early. They weren’t the ones who were early. That would have been me. Again, a typical sixteen-year-old boy.” The admission brought a blush.
“Your poor girlfriend. What was her name? Deanna?
”
“Yeah, Deanna. She taught me a lot more than English Lit that year.”
A fleeting light crossed his eyes, and Charlie tasted a tang of jealousy. Not for some teenaged study partner but for a memory without her. She pulled her feet from his lap, a knot forming low in her belly. How could a twenty-year-old memory make her envious?
“I take it there weren’t many shooting stars for Deanna that night.”
Bastian shook his head. “’Fraid not. Again, I was a sixteen-year-old boy. I didn’t know a clitoris from a carburetor.”
She gaped at him before collapsing back into her chair, howling with laughter. She wasn’t envious of that little unfulfilled moment. Dark pink stained his cheeks but his eyes sparkled with mirth. In the control booth, Justine shook her head, an indulgent motherly expression on her face.
“Ah, Doc, this is why we love you. You’re so honest it hurts. I hope you’ve figured out the difference.”
“Rebuilt your engine, didn’t I?”
Together, they’d stumbled their way around her salvaged classic Firebird’s motor, bringing it back to perfect working order two years ago. But his words implied more, the double entendre heavy and barely concealed. The glint in his eyes dared her to correct him. He’d been under her hood in more way than one since then.
“That you did. My Firebird runs like a dream. But it has more raw horsepower than most drivers can handle. Do you really think you’ve got what it takes to make that engine purr like a satisfied kitten?”
The intensity of his perusal sent jitters up her spine. “Marry me and find out.”
The warning look she shot him was met with a wink. They’d agreed not to discuss the wager until the last fifteen minutes of each show, but Bastian wasn’t letting her forget he was a man on a mission.
“Let’s take a caller. Hello, lover, you’re on the air with Doc and Honey celebrating our Cherries Jubilee. Tell us your story.”
“Actually, I’d rather ask a question.”
“Sure, sugar. Go ahead. What’s your name?”