In Good Hands (3 page)

Amber winced. “Don't believe everything Mary says.”

“No! She told me you'd be filling in. You're that doctor! You run a free clinic out in that artsy area of Chicago. What's it called?”

“Cherry Hills, not that there are any cherries or hills anywhere near. And it's really not that artsy.” More like converted warehouses. The neighborhood artistes gloried in their studio lofts, but the population included more reformed drug addicts and single mothers than wannabe Picassos. Like her, everyone in Cherry Hills was just at the edge of poverty, struggling to keep it together.

“And you're Doc Crystal!”

“My name's Amber. They just thought it was a crystal and the name stuck…” she began, trying divert the discussion. But it was too late. Claire was off and running.

“Yeah! Doc Crystal. You're like this doctor Robin Hood and Mother Teresa all rolled into one. Mary says you're amazing!”

“Mary's on massive painkillers. And I, um, gotta get back to these plants.” Amber turned away. She hated the hero worship that appeared in people's eyes the minute they heard “free clinic” and “doctor” in the same sentence. That's why she let people think she had a corporate background rather than high-end medicine. In her mind, they were one and the same, but for other people? There was a world of difference.

As for running a free clinic, her neighbor couldn't afford a doctor, so he had come visiting one night. And then another neighbor and another. Before she knew it, she had regular
patients. They didn't care that she wasn't affiliated with any hospital or clinic. They needed help she could give, and her services were free.

Meanwhile, Claire was following her around, her lips pursed in thought and a mercenary look in her eye. “How sure are you that Roger's straight?”

Amber blinked. That wasn't what she'd expected the woman to ask. But she answered anyway. “One hundred percent straight.”

“Prove it.”

“What? How?”

“Think you could get him to kiss you?”

Amber frowned. Well, she'd been fantasizing about just that possibility for weeks now. She'd even figured out a way to approach him, but she'd never thought she'd actually implement the plan. But Claire wasn't to be deterred.

“I'll bet you a double mochaccino that you can't.”

Amber laughed. “I don't drink coffee.”

Claire rolled her eyes. “Of course you don't. Okay, how about this? I'll get you a half-dozen of those big vegan muffins that Mary loves.”

Ooh, now there was a temptation. Amber had heard about those muffins. And truthfully, she had been thinking about arranging a meeting with Roger Martell for a while now. She thought RFE's product line was very interesting and knew Jack might be intrigued as well. Yes, Jack, her once best friend and—a very, very long time ago—her lover. They'd kept in touch over the last two years. He'd call and try and tempt her back to Mandolin. She'd never been interested before, but now, thanks to near poverty, she was beginning to consider it.

She could meet with Roger, arrange for the introduction with Jack, and use the conversation to discreetly find out how things stood at Mandolin. She didn't really want to admit it, but two years as a rogue researcher was wearing on her.
Maybe if things had changed at the hospital, she'd consider going back.

And if she managed to wrangle a kiss from Roger at the same time, well, a girl could dream. She'd been two years out in the cold in her sex life, too. She knew just how to attract his attention, although she'd have to dig to the very back of her closet to find the clothes. And God only knew what had happened to her makeup. But still, it would be fun to play. Just a little kiss. What would be the harm?

“Well?” pressed Claire.

“Deal.”

R
OGER WAS CURSING
at his watch when Claire buzzed him. Then he cursed again at the buzz because it was after seven on a Friday and he had to leave.

“Hey, Roger, you have a moment? I've got someone who needs five minutes of your time.”

“This is a really bad time, Claire,” he said. “Sam's bachelor party's starting in less than an hour. I've got to—”

“Five minutes,” interrupted a woman's voice that he'd never heard before. It was low and precise, like from a sexy accountant. A sexy accountant? What the hell was he thinking?

“I really haven't—”

“I'll make it worth your while,” the unknown woman said, and this time there was no accountant in the tone, just pure sex. “I've got some ideas about your newest product that I think could make both of us very happy.”

That caught his attention. RFE was desperate for new markets. Robotics companies couldn't survive on building a walking, talking robot like most people imagined. No one could really afford something like that. But attach a robotic arm to a wheelchair, and suddenly things got more interesting. Connect high-tech robotics to a prosthetic, and amputees started
expressing interest. And given the state of the economy, he couldn't afford to turn away any possibilities.

“Five minutes,” he grumbled as he powered down his laptop. He'd talk to the woman as he prepared to leave for Sam's party. The wedding wasn't for a month yet, but packed schedules had pushed up the date to tonight. And as best man, Roger wanted to get there early to make sure everything was the way it ought to be. He'd ordered booze, strippers and the best nachos money could buy. Sam wouldn't notice any of it—he was head over heels in love with Julie—but it was the principle of the thing. As best man, it was incumbent upon Roger to see that things were done right.

Then his thoughts stuttered to a halt as Claire showed a woman into his office. Not just a woman, but class in a pencil skirt and stiletto ankle boots. He straightened up from his desk to look closer. She was average height with light brown hair done up in a polished lift, but everything else about her throbbed with power. Not he-woman power, but corporate slick—the tasteful, expensive kind. Her suit and shoes were understated but of the finest quality. But what really got his attention was that she moved with a swaying precision that told him she could be completely business…or not.

And, wow, one part of him was very interested in the “not” side. Geez, even her scent—a simple lemon smell, he thought—had his dick lifting with desire. When was the last time that happened? No one had piqued his interest this fast since he'd first hit puberty. Thankfully, he was older now and could tell his libido to back down. At least he tried. Until she did the absolutely perfect move to pique his lust. She turned to Claire and smiled, instantly transforming her face from cool corporate to warm girl next door.

“Thanks, Claire. And thank you for the muffins,” she said as she lifted a box.

“They're for Mary. You have to earn yours,” Claire returned with a grin.

“I know,” the woman answered.

Roger struggled to keep his libido from completely taking over his brain. “Um, sorry, but I really don't have a lot of time,” he said as he snapped his briefcase shut. Then he cursed. He'd left his calendar out on his desk. He'd been searching through it, looking for a way to fit in a vacation. A couple days or a long weekend. Something. But he'd already looked three months out and he had nothing. Maybe the doctor was right. Maybe he needed to quit his job. But the idea of doing that just killed him inside.

The woman handed over her business card. “I won't take up much of your time, I swear,” she said.

Before he could answer, Claire spoke up. “I've got to get home, Roger. I'm going to lock up the front, so you'll have to leave through the lab. You're the last ones here, so kill the lights, too, okay?”

“No problem. Have a nice weekend,” Roger replied as he inspected his visitor's business card. “Dr. Amber Smithson,” he read out loud. “From Mandolin Hospital and Clinic.” He looked up, intrigued. She sure as hell didn't look like any doctor he knew, but then he'd never been to the prestigious Mandolin either. “What brings you to Chicago?”

The woman sat down in a chair and treated him to the delicious view of her skirt creeping up as she crossed her legs. The sight was so mesmerizing, he almost missed what she said.

“Oh, this and that,” she answered vaguely.

“Publicity, donations, benefit gala?” he asked. That was the usual reason someone like her came to Chicago. Just as he spent much of his time hitting those events, trying to connect up with the movers and shakers in medicine, looking for ways
to get robotic equipment to the people who could benefit from it the most.

“Not this trip,” she said with a smile. “But you've managed to catch my eye nonetheless.”

He put his calendar inside his briefcase, then leaned a hip against his desk. “Okay, Dr. Smithson—”

“Amber, please.”

“All right, Amber. You've got my attention. What is it that you're looking for?”

She arched a brow. “I have a friend who might be interested in a face-to-face with the power behind RFE. Your company has an interesting if rather scattered product line. But there are possibilities…”

He raised his hands in an apologetic gesture. “Sam's not here right now, but I'm sure we could make an appointment…” His words trailed off as she arched a sculpted eyebrow.

“Please. I've heard about Mr. Finn. He might be the genius engineer, but you're the corporate backbone. Trust me when I say I'd much rather be talking to you. He'll have to come to the meeting, of course, but you're the business guy. And as we both know, medicine is big business.”

He nodded slowly. It was true—all of it. Sam and he had been best friends since grade school, and together they had built RFE. But Sam was the visionary. Roger was the business guy who made it all come true. “You seem to know a lot about my company.”

Her smile was slow, but no less seductive. “I did my research. You've got quite the interesting place here.”

Wow, she was beautiful when she smiled. He wasn't even sure exactly what had him so hot. Piece by piece, she was not drop-dead gorgeous. She wasn't even wearing any makeup to speak of. But she had a glow about her, a warmth and a vitality that really grabbed hold of him.

Beep-beep! Beep-beep!

His watch alarm interrupted an extremely inappropriate train of thought. Thank God. He tapped the button, then smiled his apology to Dr. Amber Smithson. She nodded, pushed to her feet in a single lithe motion and extended her hand. “You have to go. It was good to meet you, Mr. Martell.”

“How long are you in town?” he suddenly asked. He didn't have time for an elaborate dance of maybe this, maybe that. But he could invest an evening or two.

“I'm not entirely sure,” she answered. “This is kind of a spur-of-the-moment diversion for me.” She glanced at him, her look significant, though damned if he understood why. “My interest in your company is real, Mr. Martell, but I do have an ulterior motive. I hope you're okay with that.”

He laughed. He already knew she had an ulterior motive. No woman who looked like her landed in his lap for no reason. There was always a price tag attached. “We're in the preliminary dance. I got that.” He looked at his watch again. “And I also have to go.”

“Of course,” she said. “Okay if I walk out with you?”

He smiled. “Fine with me. I'll show you the executive elevator.”

She preceded him out of his office door. “I'm all aquiver.”

Maybe, he thought with a grin, and maybe not. The “executive elevator” was really a lab elevator, extra large with no frills attached. It was used for moving heavy equipment, but it was also fast, private and emptied out near his car.

He watched her closely for her reaction to the stripped-down conveyance. Would she turn up her lip at the lack of polished brass and glass?

Nope. When the elevator doors opened and revealed its undignified glory, she merely raised her eyebrows in surprise then flashed him her warm smile. Like the one she'd given Claire earlier, it was filled with humanity and amusement. As
if he were getting a glimpse of the woman beneath the suit. And it was a glimpse that he liked.

They entered the elevator and while he hit the button for the garage, she tapped her toe on the rubber flooring. “Frills on the outside, no nonsense on the inside. I'm liking your company more and more, Mr. Martell.”

“Glad to hear—”

Grind.

That was the elevator gears, making a horrible sound. It was loud and grating, and they both looked up in anxious surprise.

Thunk!

The elevator dropped a half inch and stopped with a jerk.

He stumbled slightly, but kept his footing. Dr. Smithson, on the other hand, had on stiletto heels. She practically fell over. He caught her, of course. What else would any red-blooded man do? She grabbed his arms, he tightened his grip and a split second later they were full-body pressed together. He had the predictable reaction, especially when she looked up at him with wide, startled eyes.

“What just happened?” she gasped.

It took an effort to separate his mind and his libido, but eventually he managed it. She'd recovered her footing, so there was no need for him to be pressed up against her. But, damn, she felt so soft and womanly. He had to force himself to straighten his arms and step away.

He already knew by feel that the elevator was dead, but he crossed to the panel and pushed the button anyway. Then he switched to pressing the call button for building maintenance. Except it was after seven on a Friday night. No one was around to answer.

With a soft curse, he whipped open his BlackBerry and hit the first number in his speed dial. Sadly, his best friend was no more responsive than building maintenance. Hell. When
the call went to voice mail, he grumbled a quick, “Sam! We're stuck in your damned elevator. Call me and tell me how to fix this
now!
” Then he shut the phone with an angry clench of his fist, his mind already scrambling to worst-case scenarios. He was going to miss the bachelor party. He might very well be stuck in this elevator all night. One look at his companion, and he found that he couldn't quite call that a loss. But he had yet to see how she reacted under stress. A woman like her had to have evening plans.

She stared back at him, her lips already curving into a rueful grimace. “You're joking, right? We're stuck here? Seriously?”

“Sam's been tinkering with this thing. Wanted to make some special modifications before the wedding next month.” He held up his hand. “Don't ask because I don't know. I'm the stupid one here, engineering-wise. The point is that no one is available to rescue us, most especially not my best friend who is headed to his bachelor party across town. A party, I might add, that I'm hosting but am now going to miss unless I can get said best friend to answer his phone.”

“Wow,” she said as her eyebrows rose and her eyes lit with humor. “Wow, that really sucks.” Except it didn't sound like she was upset. In fact, if anything, it looked like she was on the verge of laughter.

He arched a brow. “Is there something I'm missing here?”

“No, no,” she said. “The universe does work in interesting ways, doesn't it?”

“Um, what?”

She lifted her face toward him, and it was definitely true. She was holding back great big belly laughs. “You're telling me that we're trapped here, alone in this elevator, with no one in the building. In fact, we're probably stuck here for like an hour or more.”

He frowned at her, wondering if this was a weird stress reaction. It didn't seem like that, but he'd never met a business woman who
laughed
at a schedule change. Their life—his life—was built too tight for that.

“Well,” he said, “I know I could call 911 or something, but as this is Sam's private elevator, I'd hate to have them bust through a panel when Sam probably can just phone me a fix.”

“No, no,” she said, waving a hand in the air. “Don't bother.” Her voice was still trembling with laughter.

“I don't understand—”

She abruptly stepped closer and pressed her fingers to his lips, cutting off his next words. “You don't have to understand, Mr. Martell. I think the universe is just arranging things for me. Which makes me feel incredibly guilty because I haven't exactly been honest with you.”

He did not like the sound of that. Straightening, he gently but firmly removed her hand from his face. His libido objected strongly, but at this particular moment, his brain was in charge. “I don't like lies, Dr. Smithson.”

“I don't blame you.” She flashed a rueful smile. “And I haven't lied so much as not confessed my ulterior motive.”

He folded his arms across his chest and arched a brow. “Yes?”

“It has to do with a bet.”