The World is a Stage (41 page)

“Did you stop to see if they were okay?” Julian asked, amused.

“They didn’t really tip over. It was more of a gentle lean. You should have heard all the cars in line, honking their approval. I felt like a superhero.”

“A vigilante in a Cadillac.” Julian laughed.

“Like the Green Hornet,” Kate agreed.

Julian settled back in his chair, taking in the scene with a deep breath. There was a gentle ferocity to Kate he hadn’t been expecting. He liked it. “So, you run cars off the road when you’re mad, you grew up in Seattle and you wear pretty shoes. What else should I know about you?”

She blushed and lifted one of her feet, examining the appendage as if seeing it for the first time. “You think my shoes are pretty?”

“Well, they’re not very functional, that’s for sure.” He fought the urge to rub his hand over her leg to double check how well that footwear was working out. “But nice. Definitely nice.”

She toyed with the stem of her glass, avoiding his eyes. “Thank you. But I’m not sure what else you want to know. Birthmarks? Employment history?”

“Good call, Kate,” Jada said from across the table. “Always start with birthmarks.”

“How about what it is you want Cornwall Park for?” Julian offered. He doubted he was going to get anything about birthmarks out of her.
Yet.

She blushed and played with the edges of her cocktail napkin. “It’s this group I’m part of. A historical preservation society—kind of like your Scottish Games, I guess? We do a big annual event, and we need a place to hold it.”

“Historical? Like what?”

“Umm…Regency. Jane Austen type stuff—the nineteenth century. We wear pretty elaborate gowns, and we do lectures.” Her leg tapped a nervous beat, inching closer to his own.

Julian nodded. An academic he was not, but he knew enough of history and women to know what she was talking about. Waist-cinching underthings. Thigh-high stockings held in place with ribbons and silk.

A group of women doing Regency playacting—he could get on top of that idea.

“That sounds interesting,” he managed to say without giving away the sudden loss of blood in his brain, which was coursing hot and thick toward his groin. “But isn’t that all indoor stuff?”

“Well, we hold balls and tea parties, and those are all inside.” She chose her words carefully and watched after each one for his reaction. “But I’m hoping to recreate this big, elaborate outdoor garden thing. And Cornwall Park is the perfect place for it.”

“You’re doing this all by yourself?”

“Sort of. It’s for the whole group, but I’m in charge of this particular event. It’s a long story, but I’m basically being punished for some…er…misbehavior on Jada’s part. I’m excited to do it, though. You probably think it’s silly, but—”

Her leg brushed against his. He reached over and rested a hand on her knee, stilling her nervous movements. “Don’t do that. It’s not silly at all. Recreating history and honoring the past is important.” He grinned down at her. “I should know. I do it in a skirt.”

He hadn’t yet let go of her leg, unable to pull the pad of his thumb and fingers away from the soft skin. Like before, her leg was almost cool to the touch.

“I’m sorry,” she said so softly it was almost a whisper. But her gaze was direct, and she didn’t pull her leg away.

“For what?”

“I’m so used to people making fun of the Regency group that I get weirdly defensive. If I’m not stammering about it, I’m usually up on a soapbox preaching the superiority of my ways.”

He nodded. “I get it. I used to get a lot of flak for the Scottish Games when I was younger, but I don’t anymore.”

“Of course you don’t. Who would dare?” She cocked her head and raked her gaze over him, appreciation and awe glinting warmly in her eyes. His internal body temperature jumped several degrees.

She softened her tone and added, “That’s not a fair comparison. You have extreme powers of intimidation. I don’t.”

Julian finally released his hold on her leg, allowing himself to take in the curve of her thigh where it met the hem of her dress, which fluttered higher as she shifted. All of it—the dress, the skin, the promise of what lay farther up—writhed with silken sensuality.

“Oh, you have powers too. Believe me.”

The road to heartbreak is paved with honorable intentions…

Fever Cure

© 2011 Phillipa Ashley

After a year dealing with her mum’s health scare and the end of a bad relationship, Keira Grayson was looking forward to kicking up her heels at her best friend’s wedding. Until she kicks off her (spare) knickers in front of the trifecta of perfection. Tom Carew. Son of an earl, honorable doctor and possibly the hottest man on the planet.

One look at Keira’s delightful embarrassment, and Tom’s hormone meter spins off the charts. Trouble is, his bags are already packed to return to the jungles of Papua New Guinea. He has patients waiting—and amends to make for a terrible choice that left devastation in its wake.

They both reason that indulging in a one-time dinner date won’t hurt…until their inhibitions melt away in the heat of their lethal sexual chemistry. Leaving Keira wondering if a sizzling fling is just what the doctor ordered, or another prescription for relationship disaster. And Tom fighting a battle against inner demons that could shatter both their hearts.
 

Warning: This book contains a hot aristocratic doctor, sparky heroine, new uses for a chaise longue, a steamy shower scene and a knicker-ripping encounter in a four-poster bed.

Enjoy the following excerpt for
Fever Cure:

Now why wasn’t there a convenient chasm around when you wanted one? A nice big pit you could disappear into completely.
Please don’t tell them about the pants
, she pleaded silently.

“We bumped into each other before the ceremony.”

Her insides began to liquefy.

“Keira mislaid something from her bag, and I picked it up.”

Was that strangled sound really coming from her?

“Absolutely.” He looked directly into her eyes as she held her breath. “I found her mobile from the church steps.”

The tension ebbed away. Her shoulders slumped. It was all she could do to keep from letting out a cry of relief.

Carrie beamed. “Wasn’t that nice of Tom?”

“Very…noble,” Keira muttered through gritted teeth, still feeling the warm cradling of his palm around her fingers.

“Tom’s a GP at the health centre,” offered Carrie.

Keira shot him a hard stare. “Really?”

Now just what was an aristocrat doing working in the local NHS clinic? It just didn’t figure. But then, Tom Carew was full of surprises.

“So you’re a teacher?” he asked.

She just couldn’t resist it. Sorry, but it had to be done. He’d enjoyed himself at her expense once too often today.

She raised her glass to him.
“Well observed.”

He gave a mock bow in return. “A teacher
and
a comedian. It must be my lucky day.”

Carrie gathered up her train. “We must go. My new in-laws await. Don’t forget to ask Tom to tell you about his work in Papua. It’s fascinating.”

Carrie offered her cheek to be kissed, and Tom duly obliged, brushing her face with his lips and giving a bone-melting smile. It brought brightness to his eyes, a softening of his expression that made him look… The only way of describing it was “at home”. Yes, that was it.
Comfortable
, rather than edgy and uptight.

“Fancy a pint, mate?” asked Matt.

“No, he doesn’t,” said Carrie firmly, laying a hand on her new husband’s arm.

“You go ahead,” said Tom. “I’ll join you in a moment.”

Keira waved her hand as Carrie dragged Matt off, cringing inside. Why did brides try to fix you up? As if they could somehow inject you with a dose of their happiness and good fortune. Well, fairy tales didn’t happen, especially not to the likes of her, and definitely not with minor aristocracy.

She couldn’t help glancing down at her bare toes. What must Tom think of her? No shoes, grubby feet, and he already knew—or thought he knew—what kind of underwear she wore. Well, she thought, two could play at that game, and she’d have bet fifty quid he’d got silk boxers on. They’d be black, of course, and clinging tightly to the contours of his firm backside. Suddenly, the urge to press her legs together was overwhelming. Fire shot through her as the image blew her brain. Tom, slipping his shorts over his thighs, the silk slithering over the powerful muscles she knew lay underneath.

“Can I get you some champagne?” he asked.

“Um. Oh yes. Yes, please.” So he was staying, then. He was probably just being polite.

He called to a passing waiter, completely oblivious that he’d turned her mind to mush. “Could we have some champagne, please?”

The waiter held out a silver tray. “Of course, sir.”

He was offering her a crystal flute, holding it by the stem to keep the wine chilled.

“So, you’re working as a GP at the health centre?” she asked, taking the glass carefully from his scarred hands. A cold bead of condensation slid down the stem and onto her fingertips.

“That’s right,” said Tom, helping himself to an orange juice.

Keira took a gulp of her wine. “Are you staying long in the city?”

“Not if I can possibly help it.”

She was momentarily floored. She hadn’t expected him to be rude; hadn’t seemed his style. She sipped her drink delicately and tried to keep her voice even, giving him another chance. “Is it that bad being back in London?”

“No, it isn’t. Look, I’m sorry. I was rather rude just then.”

“Yes, you were. In fact, if you were in my class, I’d really have to send you to the naughty corner,” said Keira in between unwisely large gulps of wine.

Tom raised an eyebrow. “I’m sure the naughty corner is politically incorrect these days,” he said.

Keira downed another large mouthful. “It is, but I think I could reinstate it, especially for you.”

He’d done it again. Made her breasts prickle against the lace of her bra. She couldn’t get the image out of her mind. The one that had Tom stripped naked and standing in front of her desk with a half smile on his lips, waiting for her command… What on earth had they put in this champagne?

His expression was deadpan. “Okay. I have apologised, but I can go to the naughty corner if you really want me to.”

She shifted uncomfortably, trying not to imagine Tom pinning her to the wall of the stationery cupboard, lifting up her skirt, his hands tugging down her knickers, his mouth settling over her nipples.

“That won’t be necessary,” she said, sounding prim as triple X-rated fantasies rampaged through her mind.

He was a doctor. She might have known he had an understanding of when people weren’t telling him the truth. His face softened. “I should explain. What I meant to say is, it’s not that I have an allergy to the locals. It’s just that I’m only here for a few months. I’m working a short-term contract at the health centre; then I’m going back to Papua. This situation is merely temporary.”

“Oh.”

Temporary.
Tom had just stood her under the power jet and turned the setting to “icy blast”. She might have known that meeting him was too good to be true.

“That will be a loss to your patients.”

He set his empty glass down on the table. “I’m sure they can’t wait to see the back of me. I don’t think I’m what they were expecting.”

The silence was thick, filled only by the sharp scent of Tom’s aftershave and her heart, beating slow and hard. “You made a nice speech,” she said, trying to shift the conversation to more neutral territory. “It was very…sincere.”

“Thank you.”

“Short too.”

“Now you’re teasing
me
, Ms. Grayson.” His eyes sparkled sexily, making the blood beat in her head.

She gulped down another mouthful of fizz, hoping it would stop her feeling all shivery inside. “I’m not teasing you,” she said as bubbles burst on her tongue. “It really was very good. I mean it was witty and funny, but you managed to avoid any jokes about ex-lovers or tales about the groom dropping his trousers on a boozy night out.”

“You know,” said Tom, “I don’t actually recall Matt losing his trousers. Then again, there was plenty of stuff I left out. Theft of traffic signs comes to mind, and there was an incident with a sheep… I didn’t think it would go down well with his new in-laws.”

“You’re the soul of discretion, then?”

“It is rather useful if you’re a doctor. You have to keep a lot of secrets, Keira, be they great big ones or little tiny ones.”

She felt her cheeks warming again as he gave her that look that felt like an MRI of her innermost thoughts.

“So you’ve been working in the rainforest. Carrie said it was in Papua New Guinea, at the station where Matt used to be a doctor?”

“That’s right.”

He beckoned to the waiter again and selected an orange juice from the tray. Keira shook her head. No way did she need any more stimulants.