In Good Hands (6 page)

A
MBER STARED AT
the man who had just given her the two top orgasms of her life. “You want me to be your
doctor?
”

“Yes,” he said firmly, as if that made all the sense in the world.

“Do you know how completely unethical that is? I mean, we just… You…” She couldn't even put into words what they had done except that it had been incredible. The last thing she wanted was to suddenly step into a
professional
relationship with him.

He just waved away her concerns with a mild shrug. “Well, you just said you're a researcher now, not really a doctor.”

“That doesn't mean—”

“And I'm not asking for traditional medical science, obviously. Been there, done that, and it's not working. I want you to do the other stuff. Acupuncture, voodoo, mystical whatever.” He spread his arms wide. “Experiment on me. Just so long as I can keep my job.”

She sighed. She hadn't thought of him as a quick fix kind of guy. From what she'd heard and seen of him so far, he made quick decisions, but that was because he was a quick thinker. Not because he was searching for a short cut.

“I'm sure your doctor discussed with you all the other options for lowering your blood pressure. Diet, exercise—”

“Yeah. I'm doing it. Not helping.”

“Medications.”

He ran through the litany of meds he'd already tried. She leaned forward.

“Just how high is your blood pressure?”

He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a little card where he had recorded all his readings for the last five months. Her eyebrows shot up. Yes, he certainly did have a problem. “How long has it been like this?”

“Climbing steadily since my teens. You're looking at my stable point for the last year and half.”

“And you've been on—”

“Every hypertension medication known to mankind.”

She passed back his card while trying to keep her expression neutral. From what he described, he certainly needed something. If modern medicine wasn't helping him, then he had to look elsewhere. She knew exactly what she'd recommend for him, but it was drastic and not even remotely guaranteed.

“So?” he pressed. “Will you do it? Will you help me?”

She shook her head. “I can't be your doctor. I won't. We're…” She didn't want to say they were in a relationship, because they weren't. But they certainly weren't strangers, either. “There are some lines I won't cross.”

He sighed. “Fair enough. But how about advice? You give advice to friends, right? And after this, I'd really like to call you a friend.”

She cautiously nodded. Yes, she could see him as a friend.

“Okay then,
friend,
what would you recommend for me?”

She bit her lip and pulled out the most drastic course of
action she could think of in the hopes that he would compromise and do at least some of the items on her list. “As a friend, I would tell you that I think you should go on a raw-food diet, start meditating and hire someone to do energy sessions on you. And, of course, take a long vacation—right now—to really examine your life. Something's out of whack and you won't know what it is until you stop completely and listen.”

To his credit, he didn't even blink. But he did have a question. “Listen to what? Meditation tapes like mantras and stuff?”

She shook her head. “To your body. To your soul. To what you really want to have in your life and what needs to just disappear.”

He shrugged. “That's easy. My body likes red meat, my job and you. And not necessarily in that order.”

She laughed because he was being absolutely serious and kind of sweet at the same time. “As your friend, I recommend you do a two-week retreat. Raw food, yoga, meditation and absolutely no electronics whatsoever.”

He frowned. “How is that different from quitting my job?”

“How is
dying
from a heart attack different from quitting your job?”

He huffed and closed his eyes. “You sound just like my doctor.”

She stepped forward because he really did have a problem. He was pretending to have a flippant attitude, but she could see the fear in his eyes. The man was up against a wall, and he knew it. So she touched his cheek. And then, because she couldn't resist, she pressed her mouth to his. A moment later, his arm had snaked around her waist and he was hauling her closer. Bam, her blood started sizzling in her veins.

“I hear lots of sex is good for hypertension,” he said.

She might have said something snarky in response.
Something about men, and sex being their answer to all of life's problems. But he didn't give her time and before long, she'd lost the thread of her thoughts beneath the amazing skill of his tongue.

Then the ceiling fell in on them.

Perhaps that was fortunate, though, because nothing short of a ceiling access panel falling on their heads would have gotten their attention. As it was, Amber was tempted to just keep going. But that was because Roger took the worst of the impact.

“Ow! What the—”

“Sorry! Sorry about that!” came a voice from above.

Amber looked up to see a man in coveralls poking his head through the top of the elevator. Roger rubbed his head and glared at the newcomer.

“A little warning next time would be nice,” he groused. Then he frowned. “And why aren't you at your bachelor party?”

Ah! thought Amber. This was Sam Finn, CEO of RFE. The genius inventor and Roger's best friend. And obviously the man who was about to get married.

“Someone had to rescue you. Might as well be me.”

“You could have texted me that there was an access panel up there. Geez, we would have climbed out on our own.”

Sam just laughed. “I did, buddy. Apparently, you were too busy doing something else to look at your phone.”

Amber flushed at that. Had they really been so involved that they hadn't even noticed their rescue? She didn't need to answer the question. Obviously, they had been.

Sam leaped down into the elevator. Clearly, the man had done this before. He went immediately to the panel and popped it open, using some sort of handheld device to diagnose the problem. “I'm Sam, by the way,” he said over his shoulder.
“I'm Roger's boss, best friend and designated rescuer this week.”

“And I'm yours every damn day of the week,” Roger shot back.

Amber laughed. She could tell from the byplay that they were friends of long standing. They might poke at each other, but clearly the bond between them ran deep.

“I'm Amber,” she said warmly. “And I'm Roger's friend. Therefore, as his friend, I am breeching no confidentiality at all when I tell you that he needs to take a vacation.
Now.
For his health. Like starting yesterday and for a couple of weeks at least.”

Roger reacted exactly as she expected: with anger and a flash of betrayal in his eyes. She was sorry for that. Truly sorry. But for his own good, Roger needed his friends to force him to take that long break.

Meanwhile, Sam twisted to look at his friend. “Is that true?”

Roger huffed. “Look, we're going to have to fly out next month to the Mandolin Clinic—”

Sam straightened with a look of alarm.

“For business!” Roger scrambled to say. “There's a doctor there who's open to working with us on some products. There are some exciting possibilities.”

Sam ignored him, his expression narrowing. “This about your blood pressure?”

Roger grimaced. “I'll take a vacation right after the meeting.”

Sam nodded slowly. “What about the convention next month?”

Roger frowned. “Oh, yeah. It'll have to be after that. There's a lot to prepare—”

“And then there's the audit. Not a big deal, but you usually—”

“Yeah,” Roger groaned. “I want to be here for that.”

Sam rubbed his chin. Then he looked directly at Amber. “How serious is his condition?”

Amber shrugged. “As you can see, he looks and feels fine. But I believe he needs to get control of it now.”

Sam glanced at his friend. “By way of a vacation? Health spa or something, right?”

Roger shifted so he was standing between the two of them. “I'll take a vacation. Soon. I swear.”

Sam shook his head. “No, you'll take one now or you're fired. We can handle things without you for a while.”

“You can't even keep the elevator running!”

Sam shot his friend a look as he pressed a button. Right on cue, the elevator hummed to life. A moment later, the doors opened on the ground floor. Roger and Amber stepped out while Sam continued to tap keys on his pad. Roger turned back to look at his friend, a flush of desperation in his face.

“Sam, look, I know you care, but this vacation thing isn't the real—”

“Hey, Roger,” interrupted Sam. “Thanks for the bachelor party. It was really great, and the guys are still out there having the kind of time an engaged man shouldn't enjoy.”

“Sam—”

“You're a great best man. Now, if I see you again in the next two weeks, you're fired. No joke, man, you know I'm serious. Do what you need to do to get healthy.”

“I can't just disappear, Sam. I need to—”

Sam wasn't listening. He waved pleasantly to Amber. “Nice meeting you.” Then he pushed a button and the elevator doors started closing.

Roger leaped forward, but it was too late. The metal doors shut tight. “Sam!” he bellowed. Then he slammed his briefcase against the elevator doors. “Sam, you arrogant bastard!”

No response. Not that he seemed to expect one. Instead, he
just stood there, fuming silently. Amber thought about sneaking away. Maybe she could slip into the shadows before he remembered she was there. But she nixed the thought almost immediately. After all, she was the one who had told his friend and boss about the problem. It was only fair that she stand here and take the consequences. Besides, given the state of his blood pressure, he might well be about to have a coronary.

“Go ahead,” she said. “Kick it. Scream a bit. Don't hold all that fury inside.”

He spun around to glare at her. “You had to tell him.”

“I'm not your doctor,” she said firmly. “And as your friend, I'm worried about your health.”

“Are you worried about whether or not I'm going to strangle you?”

She smiled because she detected a hint of humor beneath his words. “No,” she answered truthfully. “I'm worried you're going to stroke out right now before we can get you feeling better.”

“I. Feel. Fine!”

She nodded, but didn't back down despite the fury on his face. “Okay, I'll make you a deal. And it's one I can't check on my own, so I'm trusting in your honesty.”

He arched a brow. He was listening.

“I'm willing to go right back upstairs now and tell Sam I was wrong. That you've got everything completely under control and that we can trust your judgment on your health.”

“Really?” he drawled, suspicion in every syllable.

“Yeah. Provided you can do one thing.”

He waited in silence.

“I want you to close your eyes, breathe deeply and not think of anything at all for one minute. Just listen. To your breath, to the sounds in the garage, to how your body feels. Just listen. Not a single word or thought attached to it.”

He frowned. “That's all?”

“Yup. That's it. Frankly, I'll be surprised if you last more than three seconds.”

“Ha. I used to do this with my mother.” He dropped his briefcase, folding his arms across his chest, then leaned back against the garage wall. “Bring it on, baby,” he snapped.

“Not a single thought.”

“Just listening. I got it.” He arched a brow at her. “It's not like I haven't done this meditation crap before.”

She smiled. Now she was getting down to the real Roger. A half hour ago, he wouldn't have dismissed her beliefs with words like “meditation crap.” But right now he was really ticked off, and so his true thoughts were shining through. She counted that as progress, so she held out her hand in the friendliest gesture she could make.

“I'll need to use your watch. I don't have one.”

He frowned. “You don't have a watch?”

“Not since I left Mandolin.”

He gave her a disbelieving look as he whipped off his tasteful digital watch and passed it to her. She took it and waited as he composed himself.

“Ready?” she asked.

“Yes,” he returned, his voice deep and even. That surprised her. Obviously, he really had done some meditation on his own. She could already see how his shoulders dropped and his breathing began to even out.

“Go.”

She started the timer on his watch. The seconds started to tick by. As long as he was trying to meditate, she should do the same, becoming as present as possible in the current moment. Her vision blurred out slightly, and like him, her breath steadied. She heard the sounds from the street outside, but then pulled her focus deeper. She listened to the draw of air in her lungs and heard the pulse of blood in her right ear, an annoying symptom she had yet to resolve. With her next
exhale, she consciously released the judgment and frustration she held in that thought. And then she released the thought about releasing her thoughts.

Barely two seconds later, she began to wonder how Roger was doing. Without willing it, her gaze snapped to him. His eyes were closed, his breath steady. Perhaps she had misjudged him. Perhaps he did know how to release his stress in a silent meditation…. Perhaps he was doing way better than she was because, frankly, she'd been thinking this whole time.

She pulled her attention back to her own silence, refocusing on
not
thinking. She managed it for seven seconds before she started wondering about Roger again. His breath was a little louder now, but in the silence of the garage, she heard it like an alarm.