Lethal Exposure. Lori Wilde

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СКАЧАТЬ I’ve accepted.”

      “Oh?” Sebastian said lightly, as if he didn’t care, but inside his gut balled up tight against his spine. “You’re jumping ship right after I make you partner?”

      Linc met his gaze. “You and I both know that I’m not cut out for public relations and this job with Keeley’s uncle would make use of the expertise I gained in the military.”

      Sebastian felt the same way he did when Linc had told him he’d enlisted, like he’d been kicked in the gut with steel cleats. But he refused to let it show. He gave his brother his best public-relations smile. “This is really what you want?”

      “It is.” Linc handed him back the nameplate.

      He stuffed the damnable thing into his jacket pocket. “Then go for it.”

      Relief shone in Linc’s eyes. “Thanks, man. I appreciate your understanding.”

      His nose burned. The nameplate weighed heavily in his pocket. He blinked and shrugged. “Not a problem.”

      Sebastian retrieved his carry-on luggage and humped it into the terminal with a backward wave at his brother. Once he was out of his Linc’s sight, he ditched the nameplate in a trash can, straightened his shoulders and moved through the security checkpoint. He found his gate and then boarded the plane, all the while managing not to feel a damned thing.

      It was only when they were airborne and he had the Confidential Rejuvenations file in front of him that the familiar—but unwelcome—sensation of abandonment stole over Sebastian.

       Knock it off, Black. Stop feeling sorry for yourself. Focus on the job. It always saves your ass.

      Work and a night on the town with a beautiful woman.

      That was exactly the antidote he needed. It never failed. A new assignment in a new city and a new woman to make him forget all about these unwanted feelings of missing out on something important. He was on the road again and as soon as he got to Austin, he planned on seducing the first appropriate female who crossed his path.

      After all, it had been months since he’d had a soft, willing woman in his arms and he had a reputation to uphold.

      “DEMARCO,” Maxine Woodbury called down the immaculately clean corridor. She was a sixty-nine-year-old emergency-room ward secretary who’d been floated up to Confidential Rejuvenations’ sexual dysfunction unit while the regular ward secretary was on maternity leave.

      “Yes?”

      “You’ve got a new admit coming in.”

      Julie DeMarco, R.N., suppressed a heavy sigh. It was her third admission of the day and while that was nothing unusual, the double whammy of crappy news she’d gotten in the morning mail had her feeling far less than her customary enthusiastic self.

      Normally, Julie was known around the hospital for her cheery, glass-half-full optimism. She prized a sense of wonder and tried to look at the world with kindness, hope and empathy. Sure, she got teased for it. And yes, she’d been a cheerleader in high school. She couldn’t seem to help herself. She did tend to look on the bright side of life.

      At work, she favored special-order pink scrubs patterned with red hearts and wore her long, wavy blond hair pulled back in a perky ponytail. Outside of the hospital environment, Julie wore floral prints and paisleys and richly textured fabrics that flowed softly when she moved and she allowed her hair to tumble about her shoulders in unbound curls.

      She knew she wasn’t a classic beauty. Her eyes were too wide, her forehead a bit too narrow, her lips too lavish and she was self-conscious about her slightly crooked front tooth. She’d promised herself veneers when she’d passed her credentials to become a certified sex therapist, but it looked like the veneers would have to wait. One of the letters she’d received that morning was the disheartening news she’d flunked her qualifying exam.

      The second unsettling piece of mail had come from her ex-lover, Roger.

      At the thought of the letter resting in the pocket of her lab jacket, Julie curled her fingernails into her palms. Just when she thought she was finally getting over him, he’d sent her into an emotional tailspin again.

      Dearest Julie,

      These last six months have been torture without you. I think of you constantly and dream of being with you again. I miss the taste of your lips. The sweet lavender scent of your hair. The bright hopefulness of your smile. I would love to get together and rekindle our old bond. Please know you’re never far from my thoughts.

      All my love,

      Roger

      The rat bastard wanted a booty call.

      She inhaled sharply. His letter held not a single mention of the reason they’d broken up. Julie had discovered that he’d neglected to tell her one crucial little detail about his life.

      Roger had a wife. And he had a daughter just eight years younger than she.

       It’s what you get for dating older men.

      The familiar guilt that had haunted her from the day she’d discovered Roger was a married man—the same day she’d broken things off with him—clamped down on her.

      She felt like such a stupid romantic fool. Roger had been only her second lover. Her first lover had been her college biology professor, who’d broken up with her once the semester was over and gone on to another student.

      She was a walking cliché. Burned twice by older men and her sexual naïveté. Her lack of in-depth, hands-on sexual experience was the main reason she’d asked to be assigned to the sexual dysfunction unit and it was the motivation for her decision to get certified as a sex therapist. She thought the knowledge could help her learn how to differentiate sex from love.

      It was something she clearly had trouble doing.

      Julie thought about Roger’s letter and how much he’d hurt her. She’d been so ashamed she hadn’t told anyone about her mistake except her two best friends, Elle and Vanessa.

      Her stomach knotted. Until Roger, she’d believed in fairy-tale romances and she’d always thought of herself as a “good” girl. Now she felt tainted, dirty.

      Shaking her head, Julie sidled up to the resplendent green granite counter of the nurses’ station. “What’s the new admit’s diagnosis?”

      Maxine was a thin, feisty woman who loved Confidential Rejuvenations so much she ignored the fact that she was past retirement age and just kept working. She dyed her hair flame-red and had a penchant for turquoise jewelry. Today she wore a pair of dangly phoenix earrings.

      “Priapism.” Maxine winked.

      This time Julie did sigh. “Priapism” was the medical term for an erection that wouldn’t abate even with repeated sexual activity. The cause was usually drug-induced. “Viagra?”

      “Some herbal thing.”

      “Guest’s age?”

      Confidential Rejuvenations’ new policy was to call the patients “guests” as part СКАЧАТЬ