Kitabı oku: «Royal Seduction», sayfa 3

“I mean, he resembled the man I’d married years ago in Florida,” she continued, “but that Dr. Richie person strutting back and forth and tossing out all that overly dramatized gibberish was just too…” Her sentence trailed off and she shook her head.

Riley had never personally met Richard Strong, but having inherited the job of cleaning up the man’s mess here at the clinic—and the potential problems that could ensue—Riley had certainly learned a great deal of secondhand information about the man. Some people loved him, saw him as charismatic. He apparently had a way of garnering people’s trust. And Riley had heard it said that the man could sell ice cubes in Antarctica. And the suits in Administration had loved that “salesman” aspect of Dr. Richie’s personality. Plus, when he’d accepted the job of running the clinic, the famous guru of the Northwest had brought quite a fan following along with him.

But there were plenty of people who had their doubts about the man and his tactics.

“I just can’t believe what he’s done,” Carrie continued, amazement filling her tone to the brim. “What kind of person is he that he felt he needed to change his name?”

Riley perked up. “He changed his name?”

“Yes,” Carrie said. “He was born Strokudnowski. Richard Strokudnowski.”

A difficult name to spell, Riley decided as he attempted to jot it down.

“Well, there’s really nothing wrong with a name change,” he told her. “Lots of people do it.” Riley hoped he didn’t offend her. He only meant to offer another view. “Especially prominent people. Stars and the like. They want to be called something that makes an impact, something that’s easy to remember. Strong is much easier to remember than Strow…Strew…” His eyes grew wide when he realized that Richard Strong’s given name had slipped right out of his brain.

“Strokudnowski.” Her mouth quirked. “I see what you mean.”

“And surely you know,” he went on, “that Dr. Richie has been making a name for himself in the fitness world for some time now.”

“I’ve recently discovered his fame.” She winced as she asked, “But Dr. Richie? It sounds so lame.”

Riley shrugged. He thought the name sounded pretty silly, too, and wanted to shake his head every time he was forced to say it, but who knew how the Dr. Richie phenomenon got started?

“Sometimes a person grows larger than life,” he suggested, “and the fans are the ones who do the choosing.”

Her expression told him she hadn’t thought of that possibility before this moment.

“Dr. Jacobs, I need to find him.” She scooted to the edge of the seat. “I feel so bad about what I did, about what I said in that seminar. I need him to know that. Can you tell me where he’s gone? Did he move out of the state? Did he take a job at another clinic?”

“I’m sorry.” He shook his head, truly empathizing with the woman. “I don’t know where he is. Actually, we’re looking for him, too.”

Her eyes grow round. “Is he in trouble? Did I—”

“He’s not in trouble,” he assured her. “We’ve decided to do some testing on his weight-loss treatment.”

“NoWait.”

Riley nodded.

“I was asked to go give back my bottle,” she said.

Again, he nodded. “We’re hoping to collect as much of it as we can.”

“I’m relieved.”

Her response startled him into silence. Most of the clinic’s clients were upset about having to surrender their NoWait.

“Dr. Jacobs,” she said in a lower tone, “I’ve been visiting the clinic for weeks now. Since that oil was introduced, people around here have been acting like a bunch of horny toads ready to dry-hump anything that stands still long enough.” Her jaw dropped open and the color drained from her face. “I can’t believe I said that to a perfect stranger. I tend to let down my guard with people way too quick. Please forgive me.”

Riley cleared his throat, quashing his urge to chuckle, and attempted to remain unruffled. “It’s quite all right. This is an, uh, unusual situation we find ourselves in. We’re all a little off-kilter.” He rushed to get the conversation back to the testing. “There’s quite a bit of money being made today in specialty medicines meant to treat sexual disorders. If—and that’s a big if—Richard Strong has come up with a topical treatment made of natural ingredients, the results could be far reaching. But testing needs to be done. We’re going to get it started, but we’d like Dr. Richie to head up the effort.”

Once she’d regained her composure, Carrie said, “I feel I really need to be frank here. The man I married wasn’t—” She stopped, uncertainty shadowing her face. Then she tried again. “Although the Richard I attended college with was very caring and wanted very much to help people, there was no way I’d allow him to prepare any kind of remedy for me. He wasn’t a detail-oriented person, if you know what I mean, and formulating substances wasn’t one of his strongest talents.”

Ah, Riley thought, so the man’s less-than-scholarly reputation wasn’t just a myth.

“Don’t worry,” Riley assured her. “He’d have chemists and lab assistances at his disposal. However, judging from the amorous behavior we’ve witnessed, it seems he’s on to something significant.”

Carrie took a deep breath. “So you’re trying to find him?”

“Very discreetly. We know he’s still in town. He’s been seen. But he’s not answering his phone or returning calls. The staff here has to be very careful. It’s not like he’s missing, or in danger. He has a right not to be found if that’s what he wants.”

The woman nodded. “But I can look for him, right? I won’t be breaking any laws if I look for him myself?”

“I don’t believe so.” He flattened his palms out on the desktop. “If you do find him, please have him come to see us. Or tell him at least to call.”

Regret rounded her shoulders, and she clutched the handbag on her lap. “The way he left the conference room that day,” she said, “I’m sure he’s feeling very embarrassed.”

Riley agreed but he didn’t allow himself to nod. He didn’t want to make her feel any worse than she already did.

“Dr. Jacobs, was there ever a time when you wished you could relive a day in your life? Just one day? Just one hour? Heck, I’d take reliving just one minute. Wouldn’t it be nice if we could reach out and snatch back the words we say that hurt someone else?”

“Everyone has had that wish at one time or another.”

But Carrie hadn’t heard him. He could tell. She was too wrapped up in her misery.

She stared, unseeing, at a spot just over his left shoulder as she whispered, “What I wouldn’t give to be able to take it all back.”

Riley walked through the plush lobby with Catherine on his arm, still dumbfounded that one, he’d allowed himself to be bamboozled into a date, and two, that the bamboozler was the innocent-looking yet heart-stoppingly gorgeous woman at his side.

He’d spent the whole afternoon trying to figure out just how she’d gotten him to agree to take her to dinner. She hadn’t threatened or harassed. She hadn’t even pestered him, really. She’d lulled him into some sort of trancelike state—the same turmoil that had frightened the bejesus out of him the first time they’d met—and then she’d swooped in to exploit his weakened condition.

Riley prayed to high heaven that she hadn’t really realized he’d been suffering with a helpless fragility due to his oh-too-physical reaction to her, and that he’d merely agreed to treat the outlandish illness she’d labeled as lonesomeness by taking her out on the town.

But he wasn’t certain the town of Portland was ready for the likes of Catherine Houston. He cut her a quick sidelong glance.

She was a stunner. The black dress she wore clung to the curves of her luscious body. Her stiletto heels accentuated about a mile’s worth of firm and shapely legs. She was enough to make a man salivate.

“So what do you have planned?”

Her voice sounded like a soft caress.

Normally well grounded in realism, Riley was not a fanciful thinker. Relating her question to a soft touch was out-of-character for him. But even that realization didn’t keep the hair on his arms from standing on end. Riley shook his head and inhaled a lungful of mind-clearing oxygen.

“It’s a surprise,” he told her, holding open the heavy glass door for her. “We still have some daylight left. I have something I want to show you. One of my favorite places. We won’t get to stay long because they close at six. But you’ll get to experience a little of it, at least.”

Portland’s Classical Chinese Garden was a walled oasis. Located smack-dab in the center of “old town,” the gardens encompassed a full block of serpentine walkways, open colonnades and Asian architecture. The landscape was meticulously arranged with rare and unusual plants, mosaic stone paths and a small bridged lake.

Delight shined from Catherine’s eyes when they entered, and Riley told her, “Believe it or not, this used to be a parking lot. Back in the eighties, Portland became a sister city with Suzhou, China. Not long after, this land was donated and construction began on the garden.”

For several long moments they walked in silence, simply enjoying the sights, sounds and scents of nature.

Closing her eyes, she tipped up her chin and inhaled. “Mmmm,” she murmured. “I just love jasmine. Always have.”

Riley let his gaze trail down the long length of her milky throat. He envisioned himself pressing his nose to her heated, silky skin.

Realization suddenly struck. “That’s what you smell like. Jasmine.”

Her blue eyes sparked with appreciation, and warmth rushed to his face. He had no idea why he felt embarrassed over his remark. This woman made him react in the most peculiar ways.

“I—I couldn’t place the flowery scent in your perfume before,” he stammered. “But now I know. It’s jasmine.”

Her wide mouth curled softly. Deliciously. He got the distinct sense that she was grateful he’d noticed. The expression on her lovely face caused a repositioning of the warmth that had been in his face and neck, and the heat raced right to the pit of his gut.

“A French perfumery makes this scent just for me,” she said, and as soon as the words slipped from her lips, she looked annoyed.

“What is it?”

One wavy blond tress fell over her shoulder when she shook her head. “It’s nothing,” she told him.

“Of course it’s something. Your brow is knitted tighter than the wool scarf my mother sent me for my birthday.” He stopped, deciding not to take another step on the stone pathway until she answered his question.

She halted a couple steps ahead and then had to turn to face him. Evidently realizing she’d have to confess, she shrugged. “It’s just that I’m not a good liar.”

He chuckled. “And that’s a bad thing because…?”

“Well, I wanted to spend my time in Portland as any other average, ordinary woman.” Irony tightened one corner of her mouth. “But average, ordinary women don’t have perfume specially blended in France, do they?”

He wasn’t sure how he felt about her query. But one thing was clear. Faye had been correct; Catherine was a cut above. Just how far above, he had no idea.

“Catherine,” he began, “even without your small slipup, there’s no way that I’d ever think you were average. There’s not one thing about you that’s ordinary.”

Her countenance only became more glum and that made him chuckle out loud. But he quickly checked himself. People visiting the gardens liked the quiet. It was what they came here for.

“Stop that frowning,” he ordered. “Sticking out in a sea of standard isn’t a bad thing, Catherine. Some people can’t help it. And you’re one of them.”

Her face brightened a little. “If anyone ever asks me, I’ll just have to say that, no matter how grumpy the good doctor can be, he certainly can give nice compliments.”

He waved off her teasing. They started off down the path, and the heel of Catherine’s shoe caught on the stones. She lurched forward. Riley caught her by the upper arm and automatically drew her securely against his chest.

He couldn’t tell if the warm scent of jasmine in the air was coming from the flowers nearby or from her skin. Her golden hair brushed his cheek like the feathers of an angel’s wing.

“I’m sorry. These shoes aren’t very good on this uneven ground.” He supported her while she lifted one knee and bent to rub her ankle.

“I’m the one who should be sorry,” he told her. “I should have known better than to bring you—”

“Stop,” she insisted, lowering her foot back to the ground. “I’m fine. But can we sit for few minutes?”

“Of course.”

He led her to a nearby pavilion and they sat on the bench. A waterfall gurgled just behind them, and peace seemed to permeate the very air.

“This place is just wonderful,” Catherine breathed.

“I come here often. I enjoy trying to figure out the meaning behind the poetry couplets that are scattered throughout the garden. And I like the fact that each artistic effect in the garden has an important symbolic meaning.”

She nodded. “Now I get it.”

“Get what?”

“When we first arrived,” she said, “I couldn’t understand why a man like you would even know about a place like this.”

He didn’t understand. “A man like me?” He lifted one hand, palm up. “A place like this?”

“You have to admit that you and this garden are, well, opposites. Close your eyes a second and feel it. This place is serene and stress-free, content to simply exist. Sure, I hardly know you, but from what I’ve witnessed, you’re none of those things.”

Her tongue skipped across her dusky lips, and Riley had to force himself not to stare.

“But the poetry and the symbolism,” she continued, “make this a thinking man’s garden, now don’t they?”

Riley felt discomfited. He wasn’t sure he liked being analyzed. She’d done the same thing earlier today, evaluated his character.

“You don’t have to answer.” She reached up and tucked her hair behind her ear. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

Catherine crossed her long, sexy legs, then leaned forward, resting her forearm on her knee. She looked down at the ground, and then tipped up her chin to gaze into his face. Like a magnet, her creamy cleavage drew his gaze.

Something amazing gathered in those deep blue eyes of hers. And just as amazing were the mysterious tendrils that seemed to sprout from the very ground and climb along his legs, grappling and grasping and plucking at him.

Touch her. Kiss her. Taste her.

The phantom whisper seemed to come from nowhere. And everywhere. Every leaf, every drop of water, every pebble and rock vibrated with a wraithlike energy that called him to act.

The urge to reach out and stroke the graceful line of her jaw nearly overpowered him.

Riley’s mouth went desert-dry, and he cleared his throat with a small cough.

“We should go,” he told her. He stood, before the strange spell completely smothered all his good and logical sense. “I have other places for you to see, other things for us to do. This is a tour, remember.”

Determination resided on her pretty face, hinting that she was quite happy with the “thing” they were doing right now. But he pushed the issue by holding out his hand to her.

And after exhaling a quick, regretful sigh, she took it.

Three

D usk was falling as he headed out of the city on Highway 29. Riley didn’t have to go far. Satisfaction took root in him when, rounding a slight bend in the road, he heard Catherine’s sharp intake of breath.

“Beautiful,” she whispered.

“That’s Mount Hood.” He pulled to the shoulder and cut the engine. “In just a minute, you’ll see why this is called Sunset Highway.”

The sun hung low on the horizon, and the alpenglow it cast on the snow-covered cliff face was a pink so deep that they both went speechless for several long moments. They sat in silence. The color intensified, diffusing from pink to mauve, and from mauve to a rich magenta. Once the sun had disappeared altogether, the icy precipice radiated an electric midnight blue.

Finally, twilight darkened the sky, and the brightest of the stars became visible and twinkled overhead. The air in the car was still and quiet. Catherine’s jasmine scent caressed each breath Riley took. But then his breath caught in his throat when he heard the erotic sound of fabric against leather as she shifted on the seat.

“Wow.” She turned to face him, speaking softly, almost reverently. “At first I was disappointed that we were leaving the city. But that was…amazing. Thank you for bringing me out here to see it.”

“You’re welcome.” Riley turned the key and the engine roared to life. “We need to make a beeline back to Portland,” he told her, checking to see that the roadway was clear before making a tight U-turn. “I hope we don’t hit any traffic because we’ve got dinner reservations in twenty minutes. I hope you like Italian.”

“I love Italian.”

During the drive back to Portland, they chatted about Catherine’s workout routine, and Riley was pleased to hear that she found the clinic staff helpful and friendly.

He couldn’t help but notice that her voice held a spark that lifted his spirits, a playfulness that he found enticing. This woman allured him, that was undeniable.

As it turned out, finding a parking spot was their biggest problem. They’d had to circle the block three times before finding an available space. Riley took Catherine’s arm so they could hurry down the street to the restaurant. They arrived with barely a minute to spare. They were out of breath and grinning as they were seated at their table.

He ordered wine, and after he went through the tasting ritual, the waiter filled their glasses and left them alone to look over the menu.

“The antipasto is delicious,” he suggested.

Her pert nose wrinkled. “But the cheese and the olives and the pepperoni.” She gave a slight shake of her head. “Lots of calories. I think I’ll have a green salad.”

His eye traveled down the list of entrees. “I’ve had the shrimp with linguini,” he told her. “It’s out of this world.”

“Shrimp are full of cholesterol.”

He arched his brows a fraction, but remained silent.

“I never knew that,” she said, “until I read about it in the clinic’s nutrition book.”

Spying another of his favorites, he offered, “The ravioli with classic Bolognese is delicious. They make the ravioli by hand right back there in the kitchen.”

“Heavy cream, pancetta,” she read the ingredients aloud from the menu description. She looked up at him. “It’s all so fattening.”

Frustration got the better of him. “But that’s what makes it so good.”

Her mouth screwed up, and she muttered, “Tell me about it.”

“Catherine, splurging once in a while isn’t going to kill you.”

She sighed. “You’ve never had a weight problem, have you?”

“No, I haven’t. And I seriously doubt that you ever have, either. I’ll go even farther out on the limb and say that about eighty percent of the people who visit the clinic don’t have any real weight problems. The biggest problem, I think, is in their heads. In their perceptions of themselves.”

At that moment, the waiter arrived to take their order. With his feathers duly ruffled, Riley chose the antipasto and the shrimp linguini. And when it came time for dessert, he intended to order something rich and chocolaty, too.

“I’d like the house salad,” Catherine told the waiter. “Dressing on the side, please. And I’ll have the spaghetti marinara with just a shaving or two of parmesan.”

“I’ll be right back with your salads.” The waiter took their menus and retreated to the kitchen.

Riley picked up his glass and sipped his wine.

Catherine settled back in her chair and crossed her arms. “I see that I need to set you straight on a thing or two. I did have a problem with my weight when I was a child. I was a roly-poly little girl. And lonely, as well.

“I’m surprised that you’d demean the people who seek help from your clinic by diminishing the trouble they’re having with self-control and with motivating themselves to exercise. Granted, being overweight isn’t imminently life-threatening. But it leads to terrible health problems. You’re a doctor. You know that. You have to know that those—”

“Hey, hold on.” He leaned toward her, setting down his glass on the table. “I was only trying to offer you a compliment. To me, you look fit.”

Hell, she looked more than merely fit. She was enough to make a man break every promise he’d ever made.

“To me,” he continued, “most of the people coming to the clinic look to be in perfect health.” He shrugged. “Yes, we do have clients who are overweight. Some are even obese. But for the most part, I can easily see the clinic turning into another trendy place where people come to make their perfect bodies even more perfect.”

He was simply attempting to explain his thoughts on the matter, but it was clear he’d only irritated her further.

“It’s called keeping in shape. I’m surprised that you have so little compassion for those of us who really have to work at it.”

“I have plenty of compassion,” he assured her. He sighed, toying absently with one corner of the pristine white linen napkin neatly folded in front of him. “I have to admit that I never, in my wildest imaginings, expected to be managing things at a health clinic.”

“Ah, so your blasé attitude toward those with weight problems has less to do with the people who come to the clinic and more to do with you?”

He picked up his glass and took another swallow. “Calling me blasé is a little harsh. Let’s just say that, with all the intensive and extensive training I’ve had, I expected to be treating gunshot wounds and heart attacks, not checking triglycerides and prescribing jumping jacks.”

The annoyance that had tightened her jaw muscles waned and some unreadable emotion cast shadows in her sparkling blue eyes. Curiosity, maybe? He couldn’t be sure. But the waiter arrived with their salads and he spent a few moments filling their water goblets and grinding fresh black pepper for them.

Once the man had left them alone once again, Riley raised his wineglass and said, “To an evening filled with fun and laughter and good food.”

Her fingers slid around her own glass and she touched the rim of it to his. “And to new friends, too. May they become good ones.”

The sudden husky quality of her voice took him off guard. One moment she’d been piqued. The next she’d seemed inquisitive. And now? Well, now whatever it was that hummed in the air was steamy enough to wilt the romaine on their plates.

Her gaze seemed to darken even as he stared. “Of course,” he murmured. “To new friends.”

Without breaking eye contact, they drank deeply.

An hour and a half later, they were back in the car.

“Dinner was lovely,” Catherine said.

“I worked at the restaurant for a while as a kid. I bused tables, washed dishes, anything they needed me to do.” The owners had taken a gamble on him, and in doing so had given him a second chance. He’d spend the rest of his life feeling grateful. But he preferred that Catherine—and everyone else he’d ever meet—never know the details of that part of his life. In fact, he planned to do all he could to keep his secrets to himself.

Before she could inquire further, he said, “Do you like music? Are you up for listening to a little jazz?”

“Oh, I love jazz.”

Riley could feel excitement pulsing off her in waves.

“I’m having such a great time tonight, Riley. Thank you.”

Her effusive appreciation made his chest swell. He was reaping far too much pleasure from making this woman happy.

The parking lot of Midnight Blues was nearly packed. Riley pulled his sports car into one of the few remaining spots at the very rear of the lot.

When they entered the club, the sultry strains of a clarinet weaved with a saxophone’s smoky, soulful notes. A double bass was the glue that held the warm harmonics together.

Catherine tossed her evening bag down on an empty table and caught his hand in hers.

“Riley…”

The pleading in her tone and the scorching heat of her skin sliding softly against his hit him like a one, two sucker punch to the jaw.

“Can we dance?” She gave his fingers a tug, sending a message that she didn’t intend to take no for an answer. “Please?”

The boldness she flaunted appalled Catherine. She’d been trained to be modest and reserved. If she were back at home, she’d have squelched the brashness that continued to nudge her and fill her with confidence she didn’t normally have.

There was something about Riley. Something that liberated her. Something that made her feel not only limitless, but uninhibited, too. Her family would be shocked by her behavior, she was certain. But they were far away. Thank God!

Out on the dance floor, she twirled toward Riley, and his arms settled around her as if they’d been dancing partners a thousand times before. One of his strong hands clasped hers, and the other snuggled down low at the small of her back.

He smelled…

“Nice,” she murmured, closing her eyes to enjoy him.

Like sandalwood and citrus.

Catherine splayed her palm against his chest and was surprised by how firm his pecs were beneath his dress shirt. Her heart pattered like a butterfly’s wings. Flipping and fluttering.

“The music is nice,” he said, thinking he was agreeing with her statement.

She only smiled up into his handsome face for a second before closing her eyes again.

They swayed and turned and rocked. The smooth tune seemed to fuse the two of them into one being, and they moved as a solitary unit.

Instinct had her pressing her temple to his cheek. “You’re a good dancer,” she whispered.

“So are you.”

Each time he spoke, she felt the sexy vibration under the flat of her hand. Being pressed against him so tightly thrilled her more than anything else she’d ever experienced in her life.

Her insides were jittery and she decided the feeling was pure anticipation, the keen expectation of what the remainder of the night held in store. But she gently prodded the eagerness away. If she focused too much on what might happen later, she would miss the truly romantic moments taking place in the here and now.

Leaning back a fraction, she looked up into his face. Strong bone structure formed sharp angles she found more than just a little attractive. She zeroed in on his mouth.

She’d seen it formed into a firm slash that gave the impression he was displeased. And those lips all too often turned down into a frown. But at this moment, there was a softness there. A suppleness that had her wanting to explore.

How would his lips feel against hers?

Catherine’s pulse quickened when she thought about the end of their evening. Would he kiss her good-night? That was the American tradition, wasn’t it? For a man to kiss his date when he dropped her off at her door?

Royal protocol in Lextanya called for first dates to be chaperoned, and a chaste handshake was all any suitor was allowed. If the truth were to be known, Catherine had thanked the heavens for the strict etiquette many times over the years.

But tonight? Tonight she was grateful that no chaperone was watching her every move. Tonight she was hoping—praying—for a kiss.

But would it be soft? Warm and moist? Firm? Slow and languorous? Or furiously ardent? If she had her druthers, she’d prefer to experience his kiss in each of those forms. The thought had her grinning.

“What are you thinking?” he asked.

“Nothing. Nothing at all.”

Nothing she could tell him, anyway.

The music faded, and when they started back to their table, she kept hold of his hand. This nervy conduct was so new to her. It made her tremble with excitement. It also made her feel empowered.

By the time the band had started another set, Riley had ordered them drinks. A glass of champagne for her, a club soda for him.

The bluesy tune and the bubbly wine relaxed Catherine, and she looked around the darkened room. Men and women danced close; other couples sat at the small, round tables, their heads huddled together intimately. Some people were there on their own, some of those obviously on the hunt, while others seemed happy to simply enjoy the band.

The place was perfect, so was the night. She felt so lucky to be in Portland, far away from her controlling father and her selfish sister. Far away from the awkward situation of meeting that awful, skirt-chasing—

No, she told herself. She would not think about Étienne. She would not think about what awaited her at home. She would enjoy tonight. The music, the champagne…and Riley.

Once she’d fully banished the bad thoughts, she sighed, feeling as if she were in heaven.

“Somebody pinch me,” she said aloud.

Riley’s invisible vibes drew her attention. A naughty twinkle flashed in his dark eyes.

“Be careful what you wish for,” he teased.

Catherine’s laugh was throaty.

Immediately, though, he checked himself. “I’m sorry,” he murmured. “That was a little forward of me. I usually wait until the second date before I start blatantly flirting.”

She knew he was teasing, and she cut her eyes coyly. “Don’t you dare apologize, Riley Jacobs.” On the very next breath, she said, “I wouldn’t mind if you didn’t wait to give me a pinch or two.”

Had that tantalizing tone really come from her mouth?

Riley tossed back his head and laughed.

After downing the last remnants of her drink, she gave his arm a playful pull. “This music is calling to me. Dance with me.” She stood, dragging him along with her.

It was after midnight when they left the club. That second glass of champagne had her feeling as light as air.

“We probably shouldn’t have stayed out so late,” she told Riley as he started the car’s engine. “Do you have to be at the clinic early?”