In Good Hands (7 page)

Her gaze lifted to his and she saw him staring at her, his expression unreadable. A glance back at his watch told her it had only been thirty-four seconds.

“What are you thinking about?” she asked.

He glanced down at himself before back up at her. “You can't guess?”

It took a moment for her to understand, and then her gaze dropped to his groin. Well, okay then. He had a rather impressive erection going.

She stifled a laugh. “As a doctor, I can state with confidence that hypertension has not adversely impacted your sexual responses.”

“Ya think?”

She didn't even try to stop her snort at that. Then she sobered. “I take it I win the bet. You were thinking, weren't you? Not just…um…experiencing the physical changes, right?”

“Thinking, visualizing, just about everything a man can do without actually doing.”

She didn't know what to say to that. Unfortunately, her body had all sorts of ideas and suggestions, all of which flashed in
her mind's eye. Apparently, he wasn't the only one who could visualize in detail.

“So,” he said in a flat tone. “What now?”

She blinked. “Um, I guess I recommend some holistic retreats. They can be kinda pricey, but you're—”

“No need. I already have a retreat location in mind.”

She frowned. “You do?”

“Yeah. Your place. Or mine, I suppose.”

Okay, so her body was all kinds of good with that idea. But her mind slammed the door shut. “Roger, you need to take this seriously. Sex isn't—”

“I
am
taking this seriously. You have no idea how seriously. But since you're the
friend
who spilled the beans to my boss, you're the friend who's going to help me fix this particular problem.”

She huffed and threw up her hands. “This isn't an instant cure. It's not just drink some tea, stab yourself with some acupuncture needles and you're fine. This is serious work, and it's a life choice.”

He picked up his briefcase and readjusted his jacket. “Okay. Life choice. I
choose
you to help me fix this.”

“But—”

“Amber, please. I'm out of ideas here and rapidly running out of time. Thirteen different medications, one drug study and relatives up the wazoo who died from heart attacks. You think I don't know that I'm in trouble? I do. I have for a long time. I just don't know what to do about it!” He took a deep breath. “So, please. Will you help me?”

It was the vulnerability in his eyes that decided her. His face was rather still, kept rigidly under control, she suspected. But his eyes were pleading, and there was that slight hitch in his tone. He was a lot more desperate than he seemed.

But the big question here was whether she could help him, give him the advice he wanted without jumping him at every
opportunity. He wasn't the only one humming with desire right now. She'd just had two of the best orgasms of her life, and she was beyond ready to do it again. Her skin was flushed, her nipples tight and her legs were weak. This was a whole new level of attraction for her, and yet here he was asking her to give him medical advice. It just didn't seem to compute. And yet, no way could she turn him away. Not before, when he'd pushed her up against the elevator wall, and not now.

“My place,” she finally said. “I'll fix you dinner.”

R
OGER FOLLOWED
Amber home, driving behind her little Miata to what was once a warehouse district but was now converted crap. Housing crap where the poor, the struggling and the deluded lived. He could hardly believe it when she parked and got out of her car as if she were safe. He pulled in behind her, parking right in front of a fire hydrant. He'd risk the ticket rather than let her walk alone on the real-life set of
Rent.

“Amber, wait up!” He was out of his car in a second, wondering if this was the last he'd see of his Infinity M in this neighborhood. “You seriously live here?”

Her lips quirked, or at least he thought they did. It was hard to see in the sparse city light. “I seriously do,” she answered. Then she leaned down and touched the shoulder of a homeless guy set up in a building doorway. “Hello, Tammy. How's that cough today?”

“Better, Doc. Much—” Hack, hack,
sneeze.
“Wow, that was a big one, Doc. You must be getting more powerful!”

Roger barely resisted jumping away. Okay, so the homeless guy was actually a woman who was now wiping her nose with her sleeve. Amber just smiled and patted the woman's
shoulder. “Get some fresh fruit, Tammy. Salad would be even better.”

“Can't afford it,” the woman said as she held out her hand to Roger. “But if your young man would help…”

Amber chuckled and moved away. She didn't even wait for Roger to dig a five out of his wallet. He normally would have walked on past, but he couldn't just leave an old woman sitting in the street. Not one that he'd spoken to. But he worried that he was opening himself up to being harassed by every homeless person in a five-mile radius.

“Oh, thank you. You're a kind man…” murmured Tammy. Up ahead, Amber stopped walking long enough to turn around with her hands planted on her hips.

“You better share that, Tammy. Buy some fruit!”

“Rum's made from fruit, right?”

Amber just shook her head, but she did gesture to Roger's car. “And keep his car safe, will ya? As thanks for the cash?”

Tammy didn't answer. Just crossed her arms and huffed as she leaned back against the wall. Roger caught up to Amber and leaned close.

“Will she do it?”

Amber just shrugged. “Dunno. Depends on her mood.” Then she opened the door of a converted apartment building and started inside. He followed, climbing three flights of stairs before she finally stopped at a heavy iron sliding door. “Home, sweet home,” she quipped as she unlocked it and hauled it open.

He followed inside, not knowing what to think. She was still dressed in her suit and heels, though her hair was now freely flowing down her shoulders. She looked expensive and soft at the same time, just the right combination for his libido. Putting her in this environment just messed with his head. It
didn't fit, but while he got more uncomfortable, she seemed to relax, settling into a quiet confidence that startled him.

The Power Queen who had hit his office an hour ago was confident in the way of all women who demanded respect. She'd exuded dominance in every move, every breath. But here, in this neighborhood, she'd completely abandoned that persona. What he saw now was a woman at ease with who and what she was.

It was an odd impression, especially since they'd done no more than walk a city block together, but he couldn't shake it. And now, as he entered her apartment, the feeling got stronger. It was a huge, open place furnished with almost nothing. A scarred desk teetered in the corner, propped up under one leg by a stack of books. A large metal cabinet lay right next to it, closed by a massive padlock. A couch that must have been purchased at a garage sale dominated the center. And through a side door, he saw a bedroom complete with crates that served as holders for her clothes and a large futon bed. That, plus a couple of large plants, was the extent of her decor.

And yet, he felt a sense of peace when he walked in the door. A quiet that made him breathe deeply the minute he crossed the threshold. And he saw an echoing movement in her. She lifted her chin, smiled at one of the plants and released a slow happy exhale.

“You love it here,” he said.

She looked at him. “It's my home.” She spread her arms wide. “My
space.
” And there was a lot of that here: empty space. Yet it worked for her. And it apparently worked for him, too, because he found himself smiling at her Spartan existence.

“I like it,” he said with a bit of shock.

“Have a seat. I'm going to change.”

She disappeared into her bedroom as he stripped out of his suit jacket and then settled on her couch. But as he sat
there, he began to fidget. She didn't have any real music to speak of. No TV, no coffee table books, no coffee table even. No distractions of any sort, it seemed. And in the silence, he decided he needed to check his email.

Flipping open his BlackBerry, he thumbed through his messages until he saw that nothing exciting had happened in the twenty minutes since he'd left the office. No big surprise there. It was late on a Friday night, after all. But he still flipped through his mail searching for something to do.

“Checking in at work?” she asked as she came out from her bedroom. She was wearing a pair of yoga pants and a tight tank. Her hair was no longer softly waving about her face and shoulders, but tied back in a hasty ponytail. And as she walked, he saw that she'd abandoned her boots in favor of bare feet that didn't even sport nail polish.

He found himself grinning at her. She looked awesome in a completely different way. In fact, if he hadn't seen her step into her bedroom, he might have thought she was two completely different people. Sisters, perhaps. And this was the younger, wilder, happier one.

“You are a woman of many surprises,” he said softly.

She laughed, the sound free and breezy. “No. Just one surprise. This is Amber,” she said as she went into the kitchen and wet a washcloth. A minute later, she was wiping the makeup off her face, not that there'd been a lot in the first place. When she turned back to him, her skin was pink and fresh. “The woman you met before was Dr. Smithson, and she doesn't really exist anymore. Unless, of course, she's bent on catching the eye of the hot robotics executive.”

“Well, I was definitely caught,” he drawled. “But I gotta say, I really like Amber.”

“And I'd really like your BlackBerry.” She crossed to him, her hand outstretched.

“What?”

“Give it up, Roger.”

He passed it to her, mostly because he was pretty sure he could get it back if he wanted. He was wrong. She crossed to the large metal cabinet, undid the padlock and dropped the cell into a plastic basket inside.

“Wait a minute…” he said, but she shook her head and firmly relocked the door.

“You're officially unplugged. No iPod, no cell phones, no distractions while you're in this place. Doc Crystal's rules. I live in a quiet space.”

“As a rule, electronics aren't that noisy. I'll even turn off the ringer.”

She smiled as she shook her head, her ponytail bobbing attractively about her shoulders. “Quiet isn't about just sound, Roger. It's about a quiet soul. You can't hear your soul while you're checking email.”

He looked at her without speaking. It's not that he objected to what she said, only that she looked so normal as she said it. Her words were supposed to come out of the mouths of sixties hippies or evangelists who wanted him to plug into God. But it was just her, looking calm and sane and yet telling him to listen to his soul.

He gestured out the iron-grated window. “You say that to the homeless people, too? To listen to their souls?”

“Absolutely. And I make them give up their iPods, too.”

He leaned back on the couch. “They have iPods?”

She shrugged. “You'd be surprised what they come in here with.” Then she went back into the kitchen and popped open an old refrigerator. “I believe I promised you dinner.”

He moved to her kitchen, leaning up against the breakfast bar that didn't have any stools. “You know what? I've got a better idea. How about I take you out to dinner? You pick the restaurant. How about Antonio's downtown? I love Italian. Or I just found this great sushi place. We could—”

“Nope.” Just that. A flat, no-nonsense denial.

“Not a sushi fan.”

“I love sushi. One of the things I miss.”

“Perfect. Then—”

“Nope.” She pulled out two massive serving bowls from a cabinet, then started dropping big fistfuls of spinach leaves into them.

“Um, Amber? That's a lot of spinach there.”

She glanced up at him, barely pausing as she started dropping in cherry tomatoes. “You're a big guy,” she said.

Well, he had asked her to help with his blood pressure. Salad was likely to be part of the menu for some time to come. “Can I help with the cooking? I know a ton of great lean chicken recipes.”

She smiled as she started dropping shriveled blueberries into the huge bowls. “That's sweet.”

He pushed away from the breakfast bar. “So where are your pans?”

“It's sweet but completely unneeded. Relax. Kick back on the couch if you like.”

He shook his head. “I like it right here watching you work.” And he did. Her movements were almost breezy as she shook slivered almonds onto the salad. Then came a few mandarin orange pieces from a jar and she was pushing the bowl at him.

“Oh!” She spun around. “You probably want something to drink, too!” A minute later, she pushed a tall glass of filtered water toward him. Then she brandished two forks, one for each of them, and gave him a big grin.
“Bon appétit!”

He arched a brow at her. “It looks great,” he said. “If a bit huge.”

She flashed him a grin. “Well, as I said, you're a big guy. I figured you'd want a lot.”

“This is all that's for dinner, isn't it? No chicken, no wine, not even any low-fat tasteless fish, huh?”

She set down her fork, her expression shifting to what had to be her authoritative doctor face. He bristled immediately, but was careful to keep his reaction hidden.

“You asked me to help you control your blood pressure. You begged me to do some New Age mumbo jumbo on you. You've had it with standard medicine and now you're looking to the weird.”

“All true,” he admitted.

“Well, here it is, Roger. My prescription, so to speak, is a daily regimen of meditation—”

“Yeah, that's what I expected—”

“And live food only.”

He paused a moment, trying to understand her words. Wasn't all food live? Or at least had been. Or… “What?”

“Food that has not been cooked, processed or damaged in any way. It's got the highest energy vibration and is easiest on your system. Plus, it aids in detoxification and has a host of beneficial effects that are too numerous to count.”

He blinked. “Living food. As in salad.”

“As in fruits, vegetables and nuts.” She reached beneath the counter and pulled out two bowls, one of apples and another smaller one of raw peanuts. Then she looked at him, one brow arched in challenge.

And that's when he figured it out. He'd forced her into this. Not as in a gun to her head, but there'd been some pressure, some manipulation. He was desperate for a solution, so he'd pushed her to help him. So, in reaction, she was making her “prescription” as hideous as possible, expecting him to turn tail and run.

But he had her number. No person could live like that. Even Tibetan monks ate rice and cheese. He dropped his chin on
his palm as he looked at her. “And how long am I supposed to be on this diet?”

“Ideally? The rest of your life.”

He snorted at that. He couldn't help himself. “Salad. For the rest of my life.”

“Or until you get control of your blood pressure. But I gotta tell you, I've been raw for seventeen months now, and I'm not going back.”

He laughed, really laughed at that. No way was she really committed to a lifetime of eating only rabbit food. She forgot that he'd been up close and personal with her body. He knew the muscles that supported her frame. He'd felt the grip in her legs and the power in her orgasm. To get muscles like that, she had to have more protein in her diet than what she could get from a few raw peanuts.

She was making all this up. Just yanking his chain so he'd turn and leave. But he had no interest in leaving. Not yet, at least. He didn't stop to examine his thoughts too deeply. He just knew that he was up for whatever challenge she threw at him—so long as she matched him bite for unappetizing bite.

“Fine,” he said. “All raw. So you got a piece of cheese somewhere?”

She shook her head. “No dairy. Just trust me on this. It causes more problems than it solves. And before you ask, no coffee either.”

“I went decaf a year ago.”

She nodded. “Good. That'll make it easier on you.”

He smiled slowly at her. “I don't even eat chocolate.”

“Really? Wow. That's just crazy.”

He laughed at that because she meant him to. And because it was funny that she would draw the line at giving up chocolate. Then he sobered, trying to impress on her the truth of his next words.

“Amber, I'm sorry I manipulated you into helping me.”

“You didn't—”

He held up his hand. “I did, and I'm sorry. And I really am serious about addressing the hypertension.”

“Very good.”

“So can we dispense with the game playing?” he asked. “I'll do the meditation. I'll take supplements. I'll even cover my body with crystals while sniffing peppermint. Whatever. But let's do this for real.”

Her expression matched his for seriousness as she stroked one long finger down his cheek. “I'm not playing games, Roger. Raw food. For real. Or you can go home now with my best prayers for you.”