by H. C. Brown
“Drugs at first, and when I refused to open the surgery door, they threatened to rape me.” Tamara shuddered. “Thank God you came along. I told them you were a cop and more were on the way.”
Fane scrubbed his hands over his face. He used the delay to retrieve information from his AI. “I’m new in town. Is this regarded as a bad neighborhood?”
“The gangs are a problem. I volunteer at this clinic twice a week.” Tamara pushed the hair from her face. “I’m not usually here this late. Staying alone was a dangerous mistake.” She sighed. “Please remove your shirt.”
A lingering look at the rose nipples nestling in the top of her half-cup bra sent aphrodisiac saliva rushing into Fane’s mouth. The sweet taste lingered on his tongue. He imagined suckling those delicious buds and watching her pupils dilate with pleasure. He inhaled. The scent of expensive perfume lingered on her skin, mixed with her own subtle, feminine fragrance—the type of smell a man never forgot. He wanted to lick her all over—slowly. God, he could taste her. Fane lifted his gaze. “I’ll do whatever you want, but first you should cover up.” He grinned. “I’m only human.” He unbuttoned his shirt. “You’re covered in dirt. Why don’t you take a shower, and I’ll walk you home. Trust me, I’ll be fine.”
“I don’t think that’s appropriate, Mr. Jacobs.” Tamara folded her arms across her chest. “Lie down.”
Fane grinned. The woman had attitude. He liked that, and the way her eyes flashed with annoyance. A natural, fiery redhead—and with a pussy to match, I bet. A woman with attitude would be a challenge to train. His cock pressed hard against the front of his pants. Her gaze dropped to his sex for a fraction of a second, and then she lifted her chin defiantly and tried to stare him down.
He gave a long sigh for effect. “Fane, and I agree. It’s not appropriate for you to arouse me when I’m in no shape to comply with your demands.”
“C-c…comply? I’m a doctor. I insist you lie down this instant. You have a head injury, and it’s obvious you have no idea of the seriousness of your condition. You could be bleeding to death, Mr. Jacobs.”
“I don’t think so. You’re injured, white as a ghost, and trembling. That tells me you’re the one in shock. Look, babe, I’m worried about you. So placate the injured man and go take a shower.” He winked at her. “I promise, I won’t watch.”
“There’s no shower here, so that’s not an option.”
He could almost see her thought processes at work. She chewed nervously on her bottom lip. Her eyes held a soft, vulnerable, expression of smoking desire. He’d aroused her. Her hard nipples peeked invitingly over the top of her lacy bra, and her breathing had become ragged. The woman in her wanted him to take her right here, right now. The ethical doctor in her would only think of his injuries. He would make it easy for her. Computer, turn off pain, realign right clavicle.
With a grunt for her benefit, he straightened his arm, allowing the collarbone to snap back. “I’ve broken my clavicle heaps of times; it’s no big deal.” He met her gaze. “Okay, so we compromise. You go over there and wash up, and I’ll take a look at your shoulder. Then, when you get your color back, you can help me with this scratch. I don’t want you passing out on me, Doc.”
* * * * *
Tamara swallowed hard. Fane certainly appeared lucid after that strange outburst. How he had managed to snap his clavicle back into place without passing out defied explanation. He held her gaze with his magnetic eyes and his mouth turned up in a crooked grin. This close, he made her heart race and her pussy cream. Holy hell, he was her patient, and she had sworn an oath, although, right this minute she could not quote it to save her life. She considered the damsel in distress syndrome and the paper she had read about women who fell for the men who saved their lives. With a shake of her head, she dismissed the idea. He was far too gentle for her—not the dominant man she craved. Yet something about Fane drew her to him, sexually.
The past few years she’d had a string of would be lovers, but none had satisfied her. She’d made the decision to follow her desire to try flogging a few months previously. She had joined the BDSM club, Depravity, and experienced the joy of domination. The house Doms and her ‘no sex’ policy had gained her experience, but had not cured the longing for her own Master. A man she could love and trust to give her what she needed to achieve a sweet, pleasure-pain climax. Not that she’d had too much luck finding a suitable Dom to go all the way with at Depravity, either.
Tamara took stock of the man before her. Fane had broad shoulders and muscles chiseled from steel. Not to mention those handsome, rugged looks she liked in a man. His amazing eyes trapped her. She inhaled his masculine musk, and the unique scent made her legs weak. Desire shot straight to her core. The overwhelming need to bend her head and sample his full, luscious lips made her head spin. She could imagine his hands all over her. He had such large hands, the type perfect for spanking. Her pussy quivered. To make matters worse, he actually liked her—red hair, freckles, and all. The massive bulge in the front of his pants gave her all the proof she needed.
Tamara met his gaze. She would comply with his wishes. His bleeding had stopped, and he did not appear to be in any immediate danger. The best idea would be to seal his wounds and get him the hell out of her clinic before she made a complete fool of herself. With a nod, she turned toward the glistening, stainless steel sink and washed her face and arms. Drying her hands on a paper towel, she turned to face him again.
“Okay, you win.” She pulled on latex gloves and dropped a pair on the bench beside Fane. “Wash your hands, and I’ll get the supplies.”
“These gloves won’t fit me.” Fane moved toward the sink. “And, I promise I don’t have any germs that could harm you.”
After selecting a variety of bandages and instruments from various drawers, Tamara set them on a surgical cart and wheeled it to the table. Fane stood looking down at her with his startling blue eyes. She gave him her best professional smile and sat on the bench. “I feel rather foolish sitting here when you have a gunshot wound.”
“Women are precious, and they need to be cared for.” Fane sniffed at a bottle of antiseptic. “This is going to sting.”
With the care of a surgeon, Fane swiftly cleaned and then applied a dressing to Tamara’s shoulder.
When he finished, she slid off the table. “Thank you. Please lie down on the table, Mr. Jacobs.”
He moved back to the table and stretched his magnificent body along the entire length of the bench. Tamara held back the desire to push a lock of silky black hair from his face. The wound on his shoulder appeared much smaller than before. How could this happen? It made no sense at all. The man should be bleeding and in significant pain. She activated the Bio Scanner. The holo-image flashed on for a few minutes then faded. The entire system crashed, but not before Tamara glimpsed enough of the internal workings of her patient to cause her concern. She gasped and stepped back, knocking the cart into the wall. Instruments clanged to the ground, spinning off in all directions. There must be some mistake. The hologram depicted a man with an integrated, neural pathway. He had bionic eyes far beyond any technology she had seen before. A strange-looking, metal, egg-shaped object sat where his appendix should have been.
Tamara backed away, frantically feeling behind her for the door. Fane slid off the table. His large hand flashed out and closed around her wrist as if to steady her.
She met his gaze. “I’ve never seen such advanced robotics.” She swallowed hard and forced herself to relax. “That was very unprofessional of me. I’m sorry, Mr. Jacobs.”
“I’m not a threat to you, Tamara.” He sighed. “I’m sorry I destroyed your scanner.” He gave her a thin smile. “I couldn’t allow you to examine me. I’m classified.”
Heart thumping in her ears, Tamara fought to understand his statement. Classified? “I doubt you could crash my system by lying on the table, Mr. Jacobs.” She took in his bland expression and sighed. “Are you going to tell me you are part of some secret milit
ary experiment?” She gave a snort of disgust. “You must think I’m gullible.”
“You’ve seen an integrated AI matrix before?” Fane dropped his hand and sat back on the table. “I had no idea this technology had been released.”
So damn casual, he sounded like a hero in a science fiction novel. I’m losing my mind. Pull yourself together. There must be a logical explanation. “No, I can’t say I’ve seen anything like you before—except in movies. Although, I would like to know who did this to you. Have you been involved in a secret, government project?”
* * * * *
Fane inclined his head. Tamara’s hands were shaking, and her attention flashed constantly toward the door. He wondered if doctors had a code of ethics in this time and accessed his AI for information. He had to say something. With a little editing, his story would satisfy her curiosity. He dropped his voice. “Can I trust you with classified information, Tamara? My story may never leave this room—lives are at stake.”
“Of course. I am very interested in your story. Robotics, especially those that integrate with the brain and spinal column, are of special interest to me.” Tamara began to tidy the instruments remaining on the tray. “My father was in the military. I fully understand the repercussions of divulging military secrets. You may speak freely.”
“I became integrated about four years ago.” He waited to gauge her reaction. “I signed up for a secret, military mission on Terros 9. They said they needed to enhance me… make me stronger.” He frowned. “I woke up three months later with a computer in my brain and all the changes you noticed on the hologram.”
“Good Lord.” Tamara sat on the table beside him, her hands gripping the edge. “Terros 9 is a secret army base, I assume? Did you go AWOL?”
Fane covered her trembling hand and stroked her wrist with the pad of this thumb. She turned her amazing green gaze on him, and his belly did a flip-flop. If she licked her lips one more time, he would kiss her. He cleared his throat. “Terros 9 is a restricted area. I signed up to be a soldier, and I ended up a freak. They tampered with my DNA, which has certain advantages.” He paused to give her time to absorb the implications of his words. “It was all a lie. They didn’t want a soldier at all. They sent me to an organization that wanted a cyborg. I didn’t agree with their work ethics, so I decided to leave.”
* * * * *
Tamara shook her head in disbelief. Her heart ached for the man. “It’s hard for me to believe the government would do such a thing. Then again, the classified information they have released lately would make anyone’s hair curl.” She touched his face. “As a doctor, I have to ask: do you communicate with your AI?”
“Yeah” He grinned mischievously. My AI controls everything. I have nanobots in my blood to heal my injuries.” Fane met her gaze. “I am human, Tamara, with emotions and needs. But to Gryd, my boss, I was a cyborg and had to obey his commands.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I left before he tried to turn me into a killing machine.”
Oh, my God. Tamara began to swab the wound on his shoulder. “You did the right thing.” She dressed both wounds. “How’s your head?” She stripped off her gloves and threw them into the bin.
“The pain is easing.” Fane frowned. “Do you think I’m a monster?”
Tamara blinked. I think you’re gorgeous. If you were a Dom, you’d be perfect. “No. You look perfectly normal to me, Fane. Having robotics isn’t as unusual as you think.”
“Okay that’s my story.” Fane grinned. “Tell me about Dr. Tamara Bright. How did you get interested in robotics? Do you have a man in your life?”
I guess it would be wise to keep him talking. Tamara raised a brow.” I’m not married, and I haven’t found a man to meet my specifications as yet.”
“Specifications? Have robotics advanced to that degree in this State?” Fane chuckled. “Or do you crave something special in a man?”
Tamara smiled. “I think every woman craves something special in a man.” She sighed. “To answer your other question, I was a military brat, dragged around the world for most of my life. I attended medical school and later got involved in creating prostheses for men injured in war. I have a private practice on the other side of town, and I do my civic duty by volunteering my services in the free clinic twice a week. Does that satisfy your curiosity, Mr. Jacobs?”
“A lonely life for a kid… always moving from school to school… I would never do that to a kid.” Fane rubbed the back of his neck. “My wants are simple… I’m looking for a woman to love me… forever.”
Tamara ran her hands through his hair, searching for injuries. Silky strands brushed against her arms in a soft caress. She inhaled his warm, masculine fragrance. His face was so close to her exposed flesh, his damp breath brushed her aching nipples. Without warning, Fane’s large hands closed around her hips. Heavens above, what do I do now?
“Fane… Mr. Jacobs, I’m your doctor. It’s not appropriate to touch me.”
“You are not my doctor.” Fane sighed. “I’ll put our meeting down to a good Samaritan deed on both parts.” He narrowed his eyes. “But I’ll be happy to pay you for fixing me up.”
Tamara snorted. “I wouldn’t think of asking you for payment. You risked your life for me.”
“So we agree?”
“Sure.”
* * * * *
Fane’s fingers bunched in the back of her skirt. He met her smoldering gaze. She wanted him he had no doubt. Tamara’s breathing became heavy. He lifted his chin and brushed his lips across her mouth. Her lashes dropped, shielding her eyes, and she made a small, keening sound. With a moan, he increased the pressure, and her mouth opened to his kiss. He angled his head to slide across her delicious lips, wanting to devour her. Slow, take it slow. To his surprise, her tongue flicked out and touched his tentatively. The second his aphrodisiac saliva hit her senses, Tamara trembled under his palms. Her small fingers curled in his hair, drawing him closer. She began to kiss him back with passion. He glided his hands up her bare back, the skin soft against his fingertips. She tasted like paradise and smelled like heaven. He drew her closer, reveling in the touch of her against his bare chest, the taste of her. His heart twisted in recognition. Tamara—my dream girl.
Chapter Five
Fane broke the kiss. His aphrodisiac had worked its magic. Tamara could not refuse him now. He had her in the palm of his hand. But damn it, he did not intend to use the woman to slake his lust. She deserved better, and so did he. He wanted to get to know her, to enjoy the slow seduction he had dreamed of for so many lonely nights. He craved the intimacy of a permanent relationship. A quick fling on a hard table was a little too clinical—too much like the past four years of emotional hell. With a sigh, he gazed into her sultry eyes. Tamara mewed, grasped his head, and pulled his lips back to her mouth. Fane took her shoulders and eased her away.
He smiled. “Much as I’d like to continue this, I have a rule.”
“What rule?” Tamara licked her bottom lip.
That sexy tongue drew his attention. He forced his gaze back to her eyes. “You don’t know me. I like to date a girl before we have hot, monkey sex. Trust me, babe, if we continue, you will hate yourself in the morning.”
* * * * *
Tamara frowned. He has no idea what I’d like him to do to me. She licked her lips, wanting to taste him again. Lord, he tasted better than chocolate. In fact, he tasted so darn good she could become addicted to him. His lips were full and generous, perfect for kissing, and what he could do with his tongue conjured images in her head that would make a prostitute blush. Now he was quoting rules. What the hell? Her knees turned to jelly at the thought of impaling herself on him. Her pussy craved him. She wanted to be on her knees, begging him to flog her. What would he do if he knew her depravity? Laugh at her? Be disgusted?
She drew a long breath and tried desperately to control the raging lust surging through her. “Sure… I understand. I’m not your type.”
“Oh, you’re my type.” He touched he
r cheek. “Give me your number, and we’ll start over.”
Not unless you have a flogger in your back pocket. Tamara sighed and stepped away. She had little choice; to encourage him would be a mistake. Moving to the desk, she took a card from the holder, and handed it to Fane. “If you have any problems with your shoulder, ring this number and make an appointment. The free clinic is usually busy.”
* * * * *
Ouch! Fuck this. I’m out of practice. He re-ran the scene through his AI. I know you want me, babe, and sooner or later, you’ll come round to my way of thinking. Fane pushed the card into the pocket of his jeans. “I’ll walk you home.”
“It’s fine. I’ll call a cab. I was intending to go to my club tonight, but I’ll go straight home.” She went to a cupboard and swore. “I thought there might be a surgical gown or something to wear in here.”
Fane got up and reached for his jacket. He draped it around her shoulders. “There you go.”
“Thanks.” Tamara lifted her chin. “Where are you staying? I’ll return it with the cab.”
Fane met her gaze. “I’m staying at the Strand Hotel. Why don’t you bring it back tomorrow and stay and have dinner with me?” He held out both his hands. “I’m a lonely guy and out of practice with a beautiful lady.” He inclined his head. “Tell me you’ll come…please.”
“I don’t think that’s wise.” Tamara pulled a phone out of her pocket and called a cab. “You are correct… we don’t know each other.”
“What about giving me your number?”
She turned and lifted one perfect, burgundy brow. “I have a rule. I don’t give out my number to strangers.”
Fane moved toward the door. Touché. “I’ll wait with you until the cab arrives.” Computer, get me Dr. Tamara Bright’s phone number.
Outside, the wind wrapped around his heated skin in a cold embrace. The cab arrived, and he settled Tamara inside. She glanced up at him, her lips curled in a small smile, but her eyes held a distant sadness.