Smolder

SMOLDER

BY

GRAYLIN FOX

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This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Smolder

By

Graylin Fox

Copyright 2015 by Graylin Rane an imprint of Dark Fantasy Press

All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work, in whole or in part, in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means now known or hereafter invented, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher.

Published by Graylin Rane

Other Books by Graylin Fox

Coming Home

Your Biggest Fan

Candy Man Delivery Series (as Graylin Rane)

Tastes Like Chocolate*

Irish Cream Dreams

White Chocolate Cherry*

Apple Cinnamon Swirl

Hot Caramel Passion*

Dark Chocolate Peppermint

*Part of Red Hot Author Compilations

Arcane Court Series (as Rane Sjodin)

Death Dealer

Red Lady

Shadowed Vengeance (10/1/2015)

Puberty is a Demon (8/13/2015 – Short Story)

Chapter One

The alarm clock woke me up, but couldn’t remind me I’d moved to a new home. After I bumped into the first two walls, I found the light switch and headed to the bathroom. After a long, hot shower and a huge mug of coffee, I was off to start my new job. The three-mile drive to the hospital took thirty-five minutes. You can’t call it a rush hour if no one is moving faster than 25 MPH. The parking deck at the hospital stood empty. I had plenty of room to pop the trunk and pull boxes out to take to my office. I barely heard the offer of help turning in time to see the man coming close.

Oh, my.
Damn, he's gorgeous.

He stood a few feet away. I looked up into eyes the deep blue color of the ocean with gold flecks that made them sparkle even in the dim light of the parking deck. His black hair smoothed and perfectly placed except for one straggler hanging down over a brow. I wanted to fix it. His broad shoulders solid, confident as he watched my gaze linger over his body. His smile said he enjoyed the scrutiny. There were perfectly manicured nails on the hand he stretched out in greeting. Checking his left hand, no ring, that made me happy. I felt my knees go a little weak at his touch.

“Thank you,” I replied. “I could use an extra set of arms. I only know the hallway where my office is located, not the number.” My face flushed, I’d never asked.

“It’s next to mine,” he whispered in a sexy Russian accent.

My body responded with longing I hadn’t felt in a year. I think I swayed toward him as he spoke.

“I'm Dr. Komarnitskaia,” he added.

“Nice to meet you, I'm Dr. Ellie Quinn. Psychology.”

I took his hand. It was smooth and strong. As someone who talks for a living, I’m rarely out of words, but looking into his eyes I fumbled for my reply. “I should warn you, I will mangle your last name.”

He smiled, and my knees turned to liquid. I leaned back against the car for support. Reaching behind me, I grabbed the edge of the trunk and tried to make it look intentional. His eyes sparkled, he noticed, but he didn’t mention it.

“You can just call me Dr. K. Everyone does. I'm a critical care surgeon.”

That smile could sell anything.

“Okay, Dr. K it is then,” I said smiling in relief.

With my box in his hands, we left the parking deck, and he used his access card to get us in the doctor's entrance. I have to admit it was a little cool to use that door. I'm not big on superficial things, but I earned this degree, and I'm glad there are perks that go with it.

As he stood waiting for me to go through the door, I got a very good look at him. He was tall, with a straight back, his black hair brushed the top of his collar, his hips barely moved. There was an easy grace to his movements. It reminded me of an old karate teacher I’d had who made movement look casual and unimposing even on the attack. People in the hallways got out of his way, and he made the long walk effortlessly. I had to churn my short legs to keep up with him. I had to catch my breath when we got to my door.

My nameplate was already there on the wall. Human resources gave me the keys when I was here last, so I fished them out of my pocket and opened the door. Dr. K stepped in before me turning the lights on with his elbow. I was impressed.

A full-sized waiting room with leather furniture, toy boxes for the kids, a flat screen TV on the wall, and a bookcase, all fit easily within the space. I made my way to a large door at the back of the room. The smell of oak hit me when I entered. Bookshelves lined the right wall, and a mahogany desk took up one-third of the floor space. The back wall was half-windowed and looked out over a courtyard. The fountain looked like it hadn't worked in decades, but it was peaceful. Ivy covered the wide base and stretched up to wind around the three tiers that now sprouted clovers instead of water. Birds hovered around the top as if they waited for flowers to bloom. I placed my purse on the desk and turned to find Dr. K staring at me from the door.

“Thank you for your help, you can place the box on the desk, and I'll get to it when I get back from orientation.” I smiled at him. The best one I could muster given that my stomach was full of nervous butterflies.

“I’m out the door to your left, feel free to stop by anytime,” he said while he put the box down and headed for the door. “Anytime.”

I watched his tall, sexy form leave the room before I turned to grab a notebook and pen heading to the conference room for orientation.

I don't know who came up with the concept of orientation, but they should have to pay dearly for it. I could read the entire manual in an hour but instead, I spent a whole Friday listening to hospital board members blow smoke up our butts about the great work they each do, how wonderful they are, and the contributions they made to get onto the board. I'm not much for blowing your own horn so these people made me want to find the pharmacy, and quick.

Lunch was the standard conference sandwich with soggy bread, chewy ham, and stale potato chips. At least there was plenty of coffee to rinse the taste out of my mouth.

The last presenter was a former detective from Atlanta. He headed hospital security. If you built a stereotype for compact and powerful, it would be Security Chief Owen Mata. He looked about average height from where I sat, dressed casually in slacks and a polo shirt that accentuated his bodybuilder’s form. His blue eyes flashed with anger when he talked about safety, like he took it personally when you didn't follow the rules. His light brown hair was unruly with curls that poked out each time he ran his hand over his head. My hormones responded with a resounding ovation. I’d been at work for less than an hour.

Damn, I need help. Or a very long bath with a toy.

I would never remember what he said, but I made sure to write down his office number and location. In my business, it always helps to know security. I've been threatened and shoved, but never needed more than a few moments to calm someone down. I can't take chances. Not everyone admitted to the hospital was honest about their medications, and it only takes one sudden onset of psychosis to get hurt. Rarely happened, but I was careful.

Chief Mata smiled at me as the meeting ended. As I waited to get out of my row of chairs, I was caught between two people who ignored me as they tried to hug around me. A lovely blonde woman showed up with a smile just in time to offer me her hand and get me out of the way.

“That was close,” I said to my rescuer.

“They were about to smoosh you. Nice to meet you, I'm Lee. I'll be your assistant.” She was a little taller than my five foot four, in great shape if her legs under the skirt were any indication and walked with a determined gait.

Her accent was evident, but I couldn't place it. She was used to this and said “I'm Welsh” before I could ask.

I didn't remember any mention of an assistant. “I'm sorry, Lee. I don't remember that part of the deal. Although, I will happily accept your assistance.”

She waved off my concern. “It was a last minute decision. The board decided their one staff psychologist would need to spend more time with patients than handling paperwork and answering phones. They moved me over from the human resources office today.”

“Thanks, Lee.” I walked at her side back to my office suite. She unlocked the front door, and I noticed a small office I missed earlier tucked to the left as we walked in. It was large enough for a computer desk and phone, but with a door to shut out the noise if needed. She had a perfect view of the waiting room with a glass partition for privacy.

“Assistant under glass.”

“Exactly.”

I blushed. “I didn't mean to say that out loud.”

“It's okay, the same thought occurred to me.” She laughed, and the tension eased.

“Are they any patients I need to see today?” I looked at the pile of paperwork on her desk.

“Not today. Monday, you have a full day, and I'll try to get you out of the hospital tour they scheduled for some time next week.”

“They? As in the lady with the perfume smell?”

“Stench, you mean stench.” She wrinkled her nose.

Most people I’d run across who worked in healthcare didn’t wear scent. I never knew which patient would be allergic. “Yes, yes I do.”

She smiled. “Yes, she set you up for the standard first week, but forgot the doctors had a list of people they wanted seen as soon as possible. It’s why they asked the administration to bring someone in full time instead of consulting area psychologists with full time practices offsite.”

I walked down the hallway past our kitchenette, which I’d missed earlier thanks to the gorgeous doctor distraction. My purse sat on the chair. “Thank you.”

“No problem.” She shut the door and locked it behind us. “See you on Monday.”

“See you.”

Savannah traffic, while light, moved slower than Atlanta. The trees hung over the road, shading it from the hot Georgia sun like the opening of a movie. Moss wound through branches, swaying in the breeze overhead. The locals seemed not to notice. It was beautiful.

No one was in a rush, laying on their horns, or weaving in and out of slower cars. Rolling down the window, I caught the smell of barbecue as I passed small restaurants, barely larger than an efficiency apartment. Savannah was large for a small town.

Changing into yoga pants and a t-shirt, I grabbed a cup of coffee to tackle the unpacking. I left the garage door open as I unloaded the moving truck. One of my neighbors helped me unlatch my car from the back trailer hitch. A local moving company offered to take the truck and car trailer for a small fee as long as I was sure it was empty when they showed up.

My island cabin had a central hallway running from the front door to the kitchen in the back. A formal living room opened to the right, inside the door with bay windows overlooking a small lawn spotted with bushes. Two bedrooms on the left, the front guest bedroom, and I took the back one for myself. A small hall ran between the rooms opening into the garage.

I rented the house mostly furnished so I only needed to move in personal belongings and clothes. I brought my own couch and a couple of chairs for the den area tucked behind the formal living room. It cuddled up to the kitchen with sliding doors to the back pool. It was rustic with a wooden

beamed ceiling, hardwood floors, and a fireplace I could roast a small pig in. My boxes were all labeled by room and then contents so all I had to do was drop them right where they would be unpacked.

The last trip up the driveway would have burnt my lungs if the air wasn't wetter than a damp rag. The last load went in the bathroom. The smell of coffee beckoned me into the kitchen from the back of the place that was mine for at least the next year. I grabbed my travel mug and filled it, then topped it off with enough creamer and sugar to make syrup.

Ahhh, now it feels like home.

The cable guy came by earlier while I unpacked the car, and now the TV was on a local news channel. I found it easier to handle the local cheesy commercials on mute for the first few weeks.

Oh good, a car commercial with a goat. That makes perfect sense.

The couch fit along the wall in front of the fireplace, the television sat in the corner, and just off to my left, the yard had a view of the marsh. I still hadn't gotten an answer on why the pool has a glass house over it. I would think a greenhouse was not what you wanted in a Savannah summer. I curled my short legs under me and pulled the ponytail holder out of my shoulder-length blonde hair. It took boxes of hair color now to keep the natural look I hated as a kid, and it went well with my hazel eyes.

I looked forward to my first official week as a hospital psychologist. Years of training were about to be put to the test, and I was excited and nervous. Next week the disgustingly cheery human resources woman would try to parade me around the hospital, and I wanted to avoid that at all costs. She dressed like a “proper” southern woman.

I've been southern my whole life and still don't know why that means polyester clothing, helmet hair, and enough perfume to choke an unconscious man on the stretcher in the elevator. Her accent was syrup-southern, the one that women put on in the south when they don't like you and are pretending to be polite. I hated that sound. I always looked for the knife.

Outside, the sunset cast an orange glow on the river that wound around the small offshore island. The trees glowed as the sun changed positions.

This is a view I could get used to.

The silence settled my mind after yesterday's four-hour drive to get here from Atlanta. This would be my first official job.

A text message popped up on my phone. “Are you there yet?” from my father. I let him know I arrived and would call him as I got more settled.

My brain started to close for the night, and I knew there was no fighting it. I got up and shuffled off to bed.

Saturday, I got a majority of the furniture rearranged. Just as I started to tackle some large boxes, my father called.

“Yes, Dad?”

“You get settled yet?”

“I'm working on it. It's gorgeous here.”

“How was orientation?” he teased.

He'd been through similar painful days. “It was all a blur after the smoking-hot cop started talking.”