Immortal Bad Boys
Page 25
"Thank you, Dr. Adkins." He took the X ray, shaking a dust ball off of it, and wondered just when her residency was over.
With a little luck she would leave Acadia Inlet Hospital for another resident rotation at least fifty miles away, taking her sweet ass with her. Of course, she had just started her second year of residency so it could be a year or more before she left.
Until then, he was going to have to work overtime at pretending she didn't make him go hard just by entering the room. He'd had two rules since he had broken things off with his last semiserious girlfriend four years earlier. No long-term relationships. No anything with another hospital employee.
It had worked so far. He dated casually, and when it was mutually agreed upon, had some no-strings-attached sex. Neither of which were done with someone he had to see every day in a professional capacity.
But when he had joined the staff at Acadia Inlet three months ago, he had met Josie. And suddenly his hormones seemed to think rules were meant to be broken.
Taking this position had seemed like a good career move, allowing him to focus on reconstructive orthopedics, and he liked the other doctors in the orthopedic group. It was an intelligent decision and he wasn't going to let one sexy little resident interfere with that.
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Driving down the same road for the third time in twenty minutes, she was having difficulty applying the try-till-you-die approach. Where the heck was the turnoff? She'd missed it twice and was now driving slower than she could be walking in the attempt not to miss it a third time. Wait. Was that an opening in the trees? It was. Carefully camouflaged, the opening to Simon's drive could have easily been taken for a natural break in the flora and fauna alongside the road.
Eric had said Simon was a privacy nut, but this was ridiculous. One of them could have mentioned that the entrance to his property was as well hidden as your average state secret. Not that Simon had mentioned anything. He'd told Eric to give her directions and then dismissed the whole situation by leaving.
It was a good thing he was just a business associate and not her boyfriend. That kind of behavior would be really hard to take in a lover.
Fortunately, she reached the gate before her wayward thoughts had a chance to go any further afield.
She stopped the rented Taurus and pressed its automatic window button. It whirred softly as the glass disappeared between her and the small black box she was supposed to talk into. She reached through the window, inhaling a big breath of fresh, forest-scented air, and pressed the red button below the box.
"Yeah?" There was no mistaking that crotchety voice. She'd only heard it once, but Simon's housekeeper was unforgettable.
"It's Amanda Zachary."
"Expected you here a good twenty minutes ago, missy. It don't pay to be late if you expect to catch the boss out of his lab."
She glared at the box and reminded herself that this was business. For business, she could put up with a cranky old man.
"I'm sorry. I missed the turn."
"Guess you missed it more than once if it took you an extra twenty minutes."
What was this guy, the timeliness cop? "Perhaps, since I am already late, you would be kind enough to buzz the gates open so that I won't keep your employer waiting any longer."
"He ain't come out of the lab yet."
She ignored that bit of additional provocation and simply said, "The gate?"
"Can't."
"You can't open the gate?" She stared stupidly at the black box, at a complete loss.
"Right."
"Is it broken?"
"Nope."
Anger overcame confusion and good sense. "Then what exactly is stopping you from opening he darn thing?"
"You got to get out of the car. I need to make a visual I.D. before I can open the gate."
"Since you've never seen me before, what exactly are you trying to identify?"
"No need to get snippy. I done my job. I got a picture of you. No use you asking how. I don't share my trade secrets with just anybody."
For Heaven's sake.
She got out of the car and stood so her head and shoulders were clearly visible above the car door.
"You'll have to step around the door, if you don't mind."
Now he decided to be polite, while asking her to do something totally ludicrous.
"What difference does it make?" She glared with unconcealed belligerence at the camera at the top of the gate.
"You got something to hide, missy?"
"Not if you discount a body that wasn't femme fatale material," she muttered to herself as she stepped around the silver car's door.
Thoroughly out of sorts, she threw her arms wide. "Look, no automatic weapons, no hidden cameras, no nerve gas. Are you satisfied?"
"I think I could be."
No! No. No. Darn it. No. This had not been the housekeeper's voice, but another, unforgettable one—that of Simon Brant. In a reflex move, she crossed her arms over her chest as she felt heat crawl from the back of her ankles right up her body and into her cheeks. She was going to kill that housekeeper when she got her hands on him.
She was going to pick him up by his toes and hang him above a tar pit. And then she was going to let go.
"Hello, Mr. Brant. I've been informed that I'm late."
He didn't answer, but the gate swung inward.