Doctor For Keeps

Miranda sank back into the chair thinking she should probably leave. But she couldn’t. Not yet. Not until she caught another glimpse, just one more glimpse. Then she would go.

The steady sound of footsteps and the creak of the wrought-iron gate pierced the silence. Miranda squeezed her eyes shut again. The sheer thrill of seeing him kept her immobilized, and she waited.

“Are you okay?” he asked in a voice deep as the deadliest sin.

Miranda slowly opened her eyes to a gaze so dark it walked hand in hand with midnight and a face so striking it shamed the stars. His raven hair was sensually mussed, an unruly lock resting against his forehead, as if moments before he’d left his bed, or a woman’s arms. The single gold loop dangling from the lobe of his left ear twinkled like the stars above him. He wore loose black dress slacks and a tailored white shirt with the sleeves rolled up and the first two buttons undone.

A fantasy come to life.

He looked altogether dangerous. Seductively dangerous.

Miranda inched up, tugging her short floral skirt down as she went. “I’m fine. Why do you ask?”

Much to Miranda’s surprise, he pulled a nearby deck chair alongside the chaise, as if he’d been invited to sit, and rested his sax against one leg. “You were so still, and you’re wearing your street clothes. I thought maybe you’d passed out from too much sun.”

“What sun?”

He smiled an alabaster smile and looked up at the inky sky. The moon hovering above them had nothing on his luminescent grin. “You’re right. I believe the sun’s left us.” He brought his dark eyes back to hers. “Then from too much tequila, maybe?”

She tried to look appropriately incensed, a difficult task considering his sensuous smile. “Do I look drunk?”

“No, but looks can be deceptive.” He winked. “Even angels toss back a few now and then.”

Miranda’s face flooded with heat, both from the compliment and his assumption she might be intoxicated. “I assure you I’m quite sober, Mr…?”

He thrust his hand toward her. “Just Rick.”

After a moment’s hesitation, she took his hand, and as she had suspected, his grip was sturdy, his large palm sporting a callus. Imperfections on a man were deemed sexy. But on a woman…

She refused to dull her mood with regrets. “Nice to meet you, Rick. I’m Randi.” For some reason she gave him her childhood name, something she rarely did with strangers.

“Same here, Randi.” He released her hand and rubbed his chin. “Hmmm…Rick and Randi. Has a nice ring to it.”

“I’ll be picking out the china pattern tomorrow.”

He didn’t seem to mind her sarcasm, judging by his expanded grin. “So Randi-on-the-chaise, what brings you out here in the middle of the night?”

“Well, Rick-on-the-sax, it’s only ten, not the middle of the night, and I was looking for some peace and quiet.”

His smile faded. “And you found it until I disturbed you with my tune.”

“Actually, I was enjoying the music. I thought it came from hidden speakers.”

“I’m flattered.” Rick nodded toward the upper balcony. “Guess the guy upstairs doesn’t share your opinion.”

Miranda looked over her shoulder at the place he’d indicated, the apartment directly above hers. “Guess not.” She brought her attention back to Rick. “Do you do this often?”

“Talk to strange women?”

She couldn’t resist rolling her eyes. “Play music for the complex.”

“Not normally. I don’t live here.”

“You don’t live here?” Miranda wasn’t sure whether to be alarmed or disappointed.

“I’m apartment-sitting for a couple of friends. They’re on vacation, and I’m having some work done on my house.”

“Oh.” Could she really believe him? What if he was a rapist? Or a serial killer?

“Hey, don’t look so worried. I’m harmless.”

He was anything but harmless. Maybe not a criminal, but she could think of a dozen ways he could do her in with his charm. She could also think of reasons she might not mind at all. “These days a woman can’t be too careful.”

“No, she can’t.”

“Dammit, people, take it inside. Some of us are trying to sleep.”

Rick grumbled as his glance shot toward the reappearing neighbor. “What a redneck.”

“Yeah. Bet he wears his pants under his belly and has beer for breakfast.”

Rick smiled his damnable smile again and stood. “Well, shall we?”

“Shall we what?”

“Go inside.”

Miranda draped her legs over the side of the chaise and sat up, resigned to the fact that the conversation was over. Just as well, she supposed. “Probably should. I need to get to bed anyway.”

He rubbed his chin with a thoughtful expression. “Maybe you should walk me to my apartment in case I get accosted.”

She pretended indifference when in reality she was considering his suggestion. “You look quite capable of handling yourself for the short distance you have to walk to the apartment.”

His rough sigh rose over the cricket symphony surrounding them. “You’re determined to make this tough on me, aren’t you?”

She feigned an innocent facade, complete with a hand to her chest in her best Southern-belle imitation. “Why, sir, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

He crouched down and laid the sax across his knees. His musky scent wafted around her and his dark eyes impaled her. “I thought maybe you might join me in a nightcap at the apartment. Just to talk.”

Miranda knew she should refuse and leave that instant. She knew it would be best to say a fond farewell and get the heck out of Dodge. But what she knew and what she wanted had developed into two different things. An intriguing man was inviting her to share his time. A handsome stranger. The stuff fantasies were made of. “What kind of nightcap?”

“Milk. Orange juice. Whatever you want.”

“Tequila?”

His laugh, soft and sexy, rumbled low in his chest. “I don’t drink that stuff. It’ll kill ya if you’re not careful.”

A point in his favor. Obviously he wasn’t a back-alley drunk. Or at least she didn’t think so. But life’s bitter lessons came home to roost and caution kicked in. “I appreciate the offer, but I really don’t know you at all.”