With A Little Help. Valerie Parv

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      Tingles like faint electrical impulses had swept through her and she’d pressed closer to him. She found his long, lean body attractive. He had wide shoulders, narrow hips, a long neck and strong jawline faintly shaded by stubble. Urbane and sexily volatile.

      “Am I driving you wild?” she asked. He was definitely having an impact on her.

      “Mmm-hmm. Imagine what you could do if you were sober.”

      She’d recoiled as if stung. “I’m not drunk. All I’ve had to drink is one glass of wine and one orange juice.”

      “With a generous slug of vodka added by your brother.”

      “Oh, no, he wouldn’t.” The muzziness in her brain started to make sense. “I’ll kill him.”

      “You didn’t ask him to make you a mixer?”

      She shook her head. After starting work at 4:00 a.m. and not stopping to eat lunch, she’d been too tired to have more than one alcoholic drink, knowing the effect it was likely to have on her. “Must be his idea of a joke. You’d think with all his degrees and experience, he’d know better.”

      “They don’t give degrees in common sense.”

      Using Nate for leverage she’d straightened, aware of her head spinning. She was clinging to him like a demented sex kitten. What must he think of her?

      But all he’d said was, “I’m on call so often that I don’t drink a lot. I’ll take a rain check on driving you wild and drive you home instead.”

      She still wasn’t sure why she let him, because she’d had to listen to a lecture about keeping an eye on drinks even at a private party. In a low-slung Branxton sports car that she’d struggled to get into with some degree of grace, he drove fast but in control.

      Her head pounded. “I’m sorry for trying to jump your bones. This is the first time I’ve had a spiked drink.”

      “Hopefully also the last. Another man could easily have taken advantage of your…enthusiasm.”

      “But saintly medicos like you wouldn’t dream of doing such a thing.”

      He’d looked at her curiously. “What does my work have to do with this?”

      “According to my parents, doctors have to set a good example for the rest of us.”

      He made a point of slowing down, even though he was well within the limit, and smiled over at her. “Better not be stopped for speeding.”

      “Don’t worry. As soon as the officer sees the title on your license, he’ll assume you’re rushing to some medical emergency.”

      “Is that why you threw yourself at me?” He sounded amused by the turn the conversation was taking. “You fancy a man with a title?”

      “I’ve been surrounded by men and women with medical titles all my life. It’s not a novelty.” She didn’t like being reduced to the status of doctor groupie. “In my experience, more than a few doctors are walking, talking egos with delusions of godhood.”

      “That’s a sweeping judgment, isn’t it? You were the one who came on to me, remember?”

      Remember? Her skin still felt hot and tight. She knew she’d never forget this night as long as she lived. “I’m well aware of the fact,” she said, enunciating carefully. She really did feel horribly unwell. Throwing up on his immaculate leather upholstery would be the last straw, but she would not ask him to pull over so she could humiliate herself even more by the side of the road. “We’ve agreed the vodka didn’t help. At least that’s my excuse. What’s yours?”

      “Do I need one?”

      “You didn’t resist when I touched you.”

      “Pushing you away would have attracted more attention than I thought you’d want.”

      “You don’t have a clue what I want.” Liar, she told herself. She’d been attracted to him from the moment she saw him walk into the party as if he owned it.

      “I can guess what you want. But one, you’re too young. Two, you’ve had more to drink than is good for you. And three, your parents are my colleagues. I wouldn’t hurt them by taking advantage of their daughter.”

      But it was okay to hurt her, she thought bitterly. She chose the only thing on his list she could legitimately challenge. “For your information, I’m twenty-eight.”

      He shot her a sideways glance. “My mistake. I took you for a decade younger.”

      “I’ve always looked younger than I am. Ma says I’ll be glad one day, but it’s a pain having to show ID whenever I go out at night.”

      “Your mother’s right.”

      “At least I sound like my generation,” she said, tiring of him siding with her parents. “You can’t be that many years older than me.”

      “Wiser, maybe.”

      “Yes, the doctor ego thing.”

      “Don’t forget the delusions of godhood,” he said. “You have me typecast, but you haven’t told me what you do for a living.”

      “I’m a qualified chef.”

      “You’re not in medicine?”

      She’d slid down a little in the leather seat of his beautiful car. “Nope. Sad, isn’t it?”

      “Only sad if you wanted to and couldn’t.”

      “I didn’t want to. I’m creating a new branch of the Jarrett family.”

      “Good for you. Is this your place?”

      His voice gave no clue what he thought of the run-down house that was both home and business. “Mine and the bank’s.”

      “I’ll walk you in.”

      “No need.” Her keys were already in her hand. She was embarrassed enough for one night without him seeing the dilapidated former café she was slowly turning into a boutique eatery. She couldn’t do the renovations she wanted until the business brought in more money, and the small apartment she lived in at the rear wasn’t a priority.

      He came around to her side of the car and opened the door. “I’ll wait until you’re safely inside.”

      He sounded as if he doubted she could make it under her own steam. With good reason, she found as soon as the night air hit her. She concentrated on getting the front door open and herself inside without stumbling, sighing with relief when she closed the door behind her and leaned against it. After a few minutes, she heard him start his car and drive away.

      Had she really said doctors were walking egos with delusions of godhood? Thinking it was one thing, but saying it… She’d kill Todd for spiking that drink. But was it all his fault? Hadn’t the vodka provided the excuse to do exactly what she’d wanted to do from her first sight of Nate? СКАЧАТЬ