BETTING ON LOVE
“If you make this bet, I’m gonna be driving this car.” She smiled. “All over town.”
He moved in close. His body blocked the crisp breeze, filling her space with warmth and the scent of faded aftershave, leather, and something definitely masculine. It was enough to make a girl reconsider the promises she’d made herself.
Especially when the little glow, which had sparked to life when he showed up this morning, started to shine hot, reminding her that it had been a long time since that fateful night before the bombing when she and her lover had made the bed rock. She crossed her ankles as the ache inside her flourished beneath his gaze.
She wet her lips. “You want to shake on it?”
He grinned slowly as he took off his sunglasses. “Why don’t we kiss on it?”
Her mind was screaming not to go there, but sometimes you had to go there because it was what you really wanted to do. She wanted to kiss Brett. When she was sixteen, back when she didn’t know how to kiss, she had fantasized about kissing him. Now she definitely knew how to kiss, and here he was in real life. Hers for the taking. How could she refuse such a daring opportunity?
She anchored her arms around his neck and leaned into him, absorbing the undercurrent of something unspoken and denied that was flowing between them. He angled his head, and their lips met. There was no testing uncharted territory as their mouths locked together.
Books by Patricia Preston
ONE WEEK IN YOUR ARMS
EVERYTHING HIS HEART DESIRES
Published by Kensington Publishing Corporation
Everything His Heart Desires
Patricia Preston
LYRICAL SHINE
Kensington Publishing Corp.
www.kensingtonbooks.com
All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.
Table of Contents
BETTING ON LOVE
Also by
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
Acknowledgments
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
About the Author
To the extent that the image or images on the cover of this book depict a person or persons, such person or persons are merely models, and are not intended to portray any character or characters featured in the book.
LYRICAL SHINE BOOKS are published by
Kensington Publishing Corp.
119 West 40th Street
New York, NY 10018
Copyright © 2017 by Patricia Preston
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.
Lyrical Shine and Lyrical Shine logo Reg. U.S. Pat. & TM Off.
First Electronic Edition: January 2017
ISBN: 978-1-6018-3948-0
eISBN-10: 1-60183-948-0
ISBN-13: 978-1-60183-949-7
ISBN-10: 1-60183-949-9
In Memory of Mary Sue Seymour for all her encouragement
Acknowledgments
To Liz Burney, RN for your assistance with this book, your friendship, and for all the wild years we worked together at the clinic. Best times ever!
And with special thanks to John for being a wonderful editor.
Chapter 1
Fast and flirty, Rhonda was built to please, and Brett Harris had been hooked the moment he saw her. She was fine in all the ways that mattered. Perfect body and black leather suited her. What more could a guy want? Rhonda had been worth every dime of the fifty-two thousand Brett had paid for her.
In mint condition, Rhonda, a 1969 Road Runner, was one of four classic muscle cars that he owned. Cathy the Camaro, Molly the Mustang, and Farah the Firebird were the other three. He affectionately called them “my girls.” They were beauties, and they never let a guy down.
He swung Rhonda into the physicians’ parking bay at Lafayette Falls Medical Center. Since it was Friday, the private parking lot was almost empty. Over half of the medical staff, including Brett, took Friday as their day off. He lived for three-day weekends.
“It’s all about heaven on earth, Rhonda.” He patted Rhonda’s shiny blue fender and headed toward the catwalk that would take him to the physicians’ entrance.
The brown leather bomber jacket he wore over jeans and a black T-shirt warded off the crisp chill of the November morning. Soon it would be cool enough for a fire in the fireplace. He loved the scent of wood smoke. You knew it was fall when you smelled wood smoke in the hills of Tennessee.
This weekend, a warm front was going to keep the temperature in the seventies. Great weather for picking up a chick and heading to the cabin at Covington Lake.
He tapped in his code on the keypad and walked into the physicians’ lounge, which was as deserted as the parking lot. Brett followed the aroma of freshly brewed coffee into the kitchenette, where his friend, pediatrician Dr. Aaron Kendall, was sitting on a stool, eating a bowl of cornflakes.
“Hey,” Aaron said. Dressed in blue scrubs, the former college baseball player still had the lean build of an athlete, and he played ball when he got a chance. “I’ve asked around, and no one knows anything about a meeting this morning.”
Brett frowned. “I can’t imagine what Sheldon wants.” An hour ago, he had received a cryptic message from the chief of staff, Dr. Neal Sheldon.
Meet me at the hospital. Nine o’clock. Executive Conference Room.
It was a simple command with no explanation. Sheldon, being who he was, did not have to explain his orders. His commands were not questioned. Nevertheless, ever since Brett had received Sheldon’s message, his mind had been considering all the possibilities and coming up with nothing.
Aaron gave him a thoughtful glance. “What about the chief of cardiology position?”
“You know I don’t have a chance.” It wasn’t that he didn’t want it. He would give anything for it. He might even give up one of his girls for it. That was how much he wanted it.
“You’re trained in interventional cardiology. That’s a huge plus.”
“Doesn’t matter. It’s all politics.” More than once the politics had gone against him. He was from the wrong side of town. He’d grown up on Trinity Road, a strip of worn asphalt that snaked through the hills outside of town. Trinity Road had once been home to a branch of the Dixie Mafia, and it was known for its roadhouses and violence. By all rights, he should have never even made it to college, much less through medical school and a cardiology fellowship.
“Lockett would never endorse me, and he has enough clout with the hospital board to make certain they’d go against me, too.”
Aaron scooped up a spoonful of cornflakes. “You haven’t had words with Lockett again, have you?”
“I haven’t spoken to him in three months,” Brett answered.
Lockett was the Ivy League prick who headed up business administration at the hospital. He and Brett had clashed since day one. Lockett had said Brett needed to look more like a doctor than a felon, and more than once, Brett had been reprimanded for his heated arguments with the administrator.
But latel
y there hadn’t been any big blowups between him and the administrator because Lockett was dealing with cash flow deficits at the hospital, and the interventional cardiac procedures Brett performed brought in sizable insurance payments. From what Brett had heard, Lockett was holed up in his office, trying to save his job.
“I don’t know,” Brett said, still mystified as he got a small cup of coffee. “I don’t have any patient complaints against me that I know of.” He took his work seriously, and he was good at what he did.
Aaron finished his cereal. “If you get the chance, you should mention the chief of cardiology position to Sheldon. You’d do a great job.”
“The only way I will get it is if everyone else turns it down.”
The position did mean extra work. The other cardiologists on staff were older than Brett, and they had families on top of large practices. They all balked at more responsibility.
“I think Foster will step up and take it,” Brett said. Dr. Roy Foster had been on the staff for over twenty years. He was well-liked, well-connected, and a better politician than Brett.
“Still, you should say something to Sheldon,” Aaron suggested. “Just see what his thoughts are.”
“He’d probably flatten me like a cockroach.” Brett glanced at the wall clock, which read eight forty-five. It never hurt to be early. He tossed the foam coffee cup in the trash. “I’ll let you know what happens.”
“Good luck, bro.”
Brett strode down the blue tiled hallway, thinking about the chief of cardiology position. Dr. Collins had held onto the position for twenty-five years. For the past few years, Collins had been biding his time, getting ready to retire. He had let things in the cardiology department slide. Collins never went to battle for new equipment or upgrades to the cath lab. Brett had found that frustrating, but mediocre Collins was Lockett’s golfing buddy, and he had the support of the governing board of trustees and the medical staff. You kiss my ass and I’ll kiss yours.
In the hallway, he passed a couple of lab techs. “Hey, Hot Rod,” they greeted him by his nickname. “TGIF!”
“You got that right,” Brett replied. Who didn’t love Fridays? Nothing like a Friday to put a little spring in your step. On Friday nights, he usually hung out at the Thunderbird Bar and Grill. He had invested a wad of cash into the Thunderbird, and it was paying off nicely.
What could he say but that life was good and just kept getting better?
As he approached the elevators at the end of the hall, the doors to one of the cars slid open, and he made a dash for it. He almost ran into Mrs. Rutherford, the hospital’s stodgy dietitian, who stepped out of the roomy elevator, built to accommodate stretchers and wheelchairs.
“Doctor Harris, aren’t you energetic this morning?”
“It’s Friday, Mrs. Rutherford.” Brett rushed into the elevator car as the doors started to close. He nodded at an elderly Asian couple who were standing near the door. He stepped to the left, where the operating panel was located, and pressed the number seven. The executive offices and meeting rooms were all on the top floor of the hospital. Then he settled into the front corner as the car shuddered and began its climb.
That’s when he noticed the hot chick standing in the right rear corner of the elevator, diagonal from him. Long hair, the color of gold dust, rippled over her shoulders and formed an S-curve. She wore a short burgundy jacket with embroidered lapels over a silky top, along with snug jeans and brown suede riding boots with stack heels.
She looked as if she had just stepped out of a Ralph Lauren ad. All cool and classy. Like she belonged at a polo match, on a sailboat, or in his bed, he thought with a grin. She held a couple of large, white pastry boxes from the hospital cafeteria.
He reflexively checked out her hands. Delicate clear nails and no wedding band or engagement ring. He grinned. Maybe it was his lucky day.
The elevator opened on the second floor, and the Asian couple got off. While the elevator was stopped, Brett took the opportunity to move to the rear of the car so he and the Ralph Lauren model stood in opposite corners.
The elevator hydraulics sighed as the door closed. He glanced toward her. She looked directly at him and smiled. Her face went perfectly with her lean body and stylish clothes. She had full lips painted a soft mauve color, a straight nose, and bold blue eyes that sparkled like sapphires as she pinned him with a gaze that would have fired up the pistons in any man.
She was fine, and he was available. So there you go.
“I’ve heard we’re going to have great weather this weekend,” he said, throwing some bait her way. He tapped the elevator handrail. For the first time ever, he wished the elevator would move a little slower.
She batted those baby blues at him. “There’s a storm coming.”
A storm? He had watched the weather report on TV before he left his house. Sunny autumn weekend, high in the seventies, no rain. “I don’t think so.”
“Oh, I’m fairly certain of it,” she insisted with a swift lowering of her lashes. She had a breathy voice with a slight lilt. She didn’t sound local. Her accent was cosmopolitan like a newscaster’s. No regional drawl.
She flashed him a tempestuous smile. “I love storms. Thunder and lightning can be very sexy at night.”
Whoa. Damn. He raked back his dark hair. The elevator passed the fourth floor. With his motor running, he cut his eyes toward her, and she didn’t shy away from direct eye contact. She gave him the once-over as if she were sizing him up. Then she wet her lips. Kinda like she was silently saying, I’m great at oral sex.
I love bad girls! If he had been a Christmas tree, every light on him would have been glowing. Where had she been all his life?
The elevator passed the fifth floor. There was no time, so he decided to go for it.
He had not been born humble.
“I’m going to be at the Thunderbird tonight. Hanging out. If you’re out that way, stop by. I’d love to have some company.” He didn’t make a big deal of it. Subtlety had its merits.
“You’re totally Type A,” the Ralph Lauren model said as she shifted her hands on the pastry boxes she held. He could see the flecks of violet in her blue eyes, and he caught the soft scent of her breezy cologne.
He blinked. Something seemed familiar about her. Then again, not.
“Type A?”
“Assertive.”
He nodded. Yeah, he was assertive. He didn’t lack confidence.
“Ambitious.” The elevator came to a halt on the seventh floor with a familiar chime as the car reached its destination.
“Definitely.” If he hadn’t been ambitious, he would not be where he was today. Ambition fueled him. He cut his eyes toward her and hoped the next attribute would be attractive.
“Asshole,” came next.
He frowned. “Not all Type A’s are assholes.”
“But you are.”
Bewildered, he blinked. “If you knew me, you wouldn’t think that.”
“I do know you,” she said as the elevator doors slid open. “And I do think that.”
Then she was on the move, heading down the carpeted hallways toward the executive suites. He caught up with her. “What do you mean you know me?” He was certain they had never met. He had never been so drunk that he couldn’t recall whom he’d picked up, and he couldn’t imagine not remembering her.
“Coach Vanderford’s biology lab.” The Ralph Lauren model stopped in the quiet, carpeted hallway. The top floor only housed medical staff offices, conference rooms, the medical library, and a rarely used observatory.
“Coach Vanderford?” Mentally, he had to sweep the cobwebs from memories that had been buried for years. Coach Vanderford had been one of his high school science teachers. “You’re talking Lafayette High?”
“You were always such a smart ass, Brett.”
“I was a teenager,” he countered. Teenagers were cocky. They came with an attitude. “There were a few guys a lot worse than me.”
“Not to Natalie La
yton.”
His face soured as if he’d just taken a dose of quinine. Natalie Layton. The senator’s daughter. Platinum blond hair cut short like Tinker Bell’s. Megawatt smile. The stuff of wet dreams. Voted Cutest Girl and Class Favorite. Always hanging onto her jock boyfriend or riding on a parade float in a lavish gown. Everyone had loved her but him.
He had nearly crapped when Coach Vanderford had handed out lab partner assignments and he got stuck with Natalie. If all that was necessary were cuteness and charm, Natalie could ace it, but if it required any effort and intelligence, you could forget it. She kept her head in the clouds.
While he was working his ass off, maintaining a 5.0 grade average so he could get a full scholarship and go to college, she spent half her time in class staring out the windows in some sort of fantasy world. Or drawing pictures instead of taking notes.
He had resented everything about her, including the fact that a boy from Trinity Road had no chance with a girl like her.
“When it came to Natalie Layton, I just didn’t suck up to her like everyone else did. I said exactly what I thought, and I guess I was blunt. Were you one of her friends?” Everyone had claimed to be her friend. Naturally. Her family owned a castle.
“It’s me, Brett. Slacker,” she said, nudging his memory again.
Slacker? That was the nickname he’d given Natalie when she was his worthless lab partner. What’s your ambition in life, Slacker? Trophy wife? If daydreaming made you smart, Slacker, you’d be the next Einstein. Hey, Slacker, maybe you can become a professional float rider.
“Natalie?” His eyes widened as the realization dawned on him. “You’re Natalie Layton?”
She produced the megawatt smile. “In the flesh.”
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