DR. DEVASTATING Read online

  It was twilight when Lee got to the cabin. Overhead, the clouds kept growing thicker, a blanket of gray, blotting out the still-dim stars. The first drops of rain had spotted her windshield.

  She parked her car next to Derek's Suburban, in the clear space below the deck. Then she grabbed her small bag from the back seat and ran up the plank stairs.

  No one answered her knock. She tried the door. It was open. She called, "Derek?" No answer. She stuck her head in, called his name again and then cautiously entered, dropping her bag next to the door.

  She made a quick tour of the place. He wasn't there. He must have taken his pole down to the lake. The fish would be biting about now.

  Since she felt uncomfortable at the idea of waiting there in the cabin for him, she wandered back outside and stood at the deck railing, looking off toward the lake that gleamed through the pines. The wind came up, just a gust of it, and then quickly died to nothing.

  Lee shivered a little and wrapped her arms around herself as the random drops of rain began to fall more steadily, and ever more thickly, but without the fanfare of thunder and lightning. It was a true Oregon rain, the kind that seemed as if it might just go on forever, not dramatic at all, merely continuous. The drops drummed the deck and whispered in the tree branches. The world looked misty and dim.

  Lee just stood there, hugging herself, staring off toward the lake. The water drenched her hair and her T-shirt. It ran in little streams down her nose and over her cheeks. It made rivulets down her neck and arms.

  She tipped her head up and caught some in her mouth. It tasted fresh and misty, like the air. And then, when she looked out over the lake again, she saw him. He seemed to materialize out of the misty rain, carrying a fishing pole and one of those old-fashioned woven tackle baskets with the hole in the top where you can drop the fish inside.

  He saw her car first. And then his gold head—drenched, like hers—shot up. His eyes found her, waiting there at the railing above him. For a moment, he froze, staring, the rain drumming down, thick and cold, a silvery veil between them.

  And then he was walking fast, toward the stairs, up them, across the planks of the deck to her side. He held his dismantled pole and the tackle box in his good left hand and he simply stood there, the rain pouring down on him, looking at her.

  "You're soaking wet," he finally said.

  "So are you."

  "Did you bring a fishing pole?"

  "Mmm-hmm. It's in the trunk of my car." She watched the rain drip off his sculpted nose. He still had that bruise, on his temple, from the fall down the stairs. The cut over his eye was almost healed. She wanted to reach up and touch it. But she didn't quite dare. "You took a big chance today, with Otto Hirsch."

  "It was a calculated risk."

  "A dangerous one."

  "But necessary—and is that why you came, to talk about Otto Hirsch?"

  "No."

  "Good."

  They looked at each other some more. Lee knew they should go inside, but she felt no desire to move. "Did you catch anything?"

  He frowned at her.

  "I mean fish. Did you catch any fish?"

  "Trout. Four nice-size ones. I would have caught more. But the rain started really coming down. I gave up."

  "Understandable."

  "You like trout?"

  "I love trout."

  "I had seven more. Two weekends ago. But they spoiled, because I forgot all about them and left them here, after my little run-in with that damn raccoon. Today, when I got here, I had to throw them away."

  "That's too bad."

  "I still want to kill that rodent."

  "A raccoon is not a rodent and you know it."

  "I don't care what it is. I just want to get my hands on it."

  "Derek, you're never going to see that animal again."

  "If it's lucky, I won't."

  "Did you … bring your rifle?"

  He grinned then. "Can you believe it? I forgot it."

  She carefully suppressed her own grin of relief.

  He held up the tackle box. "We can have these for dinner… Did you have dinner?"

  She shook her head.

  "Or breakfast?" He lifted both eyebrows. "There is going to be breakfast, right?"

  "I'd like that."

  They stood there for another few seconds, under the shimmering veil of the rain, staring at each other. At last, he suggested, "We should go inside."

  She pushed the soaked hair from her eyes with a hand that hardly shook at all. "Yes. All right. Let's go inside."

  * * *

  Chapter Thirteen

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  Once he'd led her inside, Derek kept walking, out to the back porch. Lee felt strange trailing after him, so she waited, standing all at loose ends, near the cold potbellied stove in the main room.

  He came back a few seconds later, minus the fishing gear. He nipped on the kitchen area light and a standing lamp in a corner, one that had a shade painted with snowcapped peaks, a lake and leaping trout. He studied her face for a moment, then his gaze strayed downward, to her breasts. She glanced down, too. Through her wet T-shirt, she could see her bra. It was red-and-white striped. Shyly she looked up at him again.

  He gave her a crooked grin. "We need towels, I think."

  Since she was making a puddle on the floor, she didn't argue. "A towel would be great."

  He disappeared again, this time into the bedroom, and came back with a pair of towels. He handed one to her. She rubbed herself down with it, blotting up the worst of the water, as he did the same with the other towel.

  "I could build a fire," he said after a minute. "There's plenty of wood on the back porch."

  The room was cool; the towel had helped, but still her hair and clothes remained wet. "A fire sounds—" she stopped herself before she said the word great for the second time "—nice. Very nice."

  He turned and headed for the back porch again.

  Five minutes later, the window in the stove glowed red as the fire caught.

  Derek shut the stove door and gestured at the big, worn couch. "Sit down."

  She sat.

  "Do you want a blanket?"

  "No. I think the fire will be enough."

  He actually seemed to be rocking uncomfortably on his heels. "I, uh, should clean those fish I caught."

  "I'll help." She shot to a standing position.

  "No. Relax. I can handle it."

  She sank back to the couch as he disappeared for the fourth time. Lee sat and stared at the stove, thinking that this wasn't exactly how she'd expected things to go. He was Dr. Devastating, after all, and presumably quite adept at seducing women. She'd imagined that he'd sweep her right off her feet, carry her to the bedroom and proceed, with his expert kisses and caresses, to set her whole body aflame.

  Right now, the only thing flaming was the wood in the stove.

  Slowly the warmth filled the room. By the time Derek reappeared, carrying a platter with four trout on it, Lee was no longer shivering. "Hungry?" he asked.

  She was too nervous to be hungry, but she decided not to tell him that. She gulped and nodded. "Sure."

  In the refrigerator, he had a bottle of Chardonnay and the makings of a salad. Lee opened the wine and put the salad together, while Derek breaded and fried the fish on the cabin's ancient electric range. They didn't talk much as they prepared the meal. Lee watched him from the corner of her eye, noticing how well his wrist seemed to be healing. He used his hand almost as if it didn't pain him at all now. And of course, the plastic cast was removable. He even took it off during the messy fish-breading process, and then clasped it back in place when it came time to throw the fish into the pan.

  As they worked, Lee began to get the oddest feeling that they had simply picked up their friendship where it had left off. That he didn't intend to make love with her at all.

  The meal was a silent one. Lee drank a little more wine than she should have, feeling more edgy by the second, wondering what was go
ing to happen next. When the food was gone, they cleaned up. By then, it was after ten.

  They retired with the last of the wine to the sofa in front of the potbellied stove. Outside on the roof, the rain still drummed—a steady, whispery presence, like some huge, shy animal, purring deep in its massive throat.

  Lee slipped off her shoes and gathered her legs to the side. Staring at the fire in the stove, she sipped her wine. "Lee?"

  "Mmm?"

  He reached over and took her wineglass from her fingers. She dared to meet his eyes. They gleamed now like the lake in the misty rain. No man with only friendship on his mind looked at a woman the way he was looking at her. The lead ball of disappointment that had formed in her stomach turned into a thousand fluttering moths of pure apprehension.

  He asked, "Do you think maybe you've had enough?"

  "Enough?"

  "Wine."

  She let out a small, breathy laugh. "I guess I have." She watched him set her glass next to his, on the small table at his end of the couch.

  He turned back to her, drawing the leg nearest hers up onto the sofa. "You're nervous."

  No sense in denying it. That breathy laugh had already betrayed her. She nodded.

  A smile teased at his beautiful mouth. "Me, too."

  "No, you're not. You can't be." The words kind of popped out of her, and then she couldn't stop herself from explaining them. "I mean, you do this sort of thing all the time, don't you?" She put her hand over her mouth. "Oh, why did I say that?"

  He didn't look upset. "Blame it on the wine—and I meant what I said. I'm nervous, too."

  "Really?"

  "Really." He reached out his hand, the one with the cast on it, and slid his finger under the hem of her T-shirt. She held back a gasp. He asked softly, "What changed your mind?"

  She looked down as he idly ran his fingers back and forth along the shirt hem. "A hundred things."

  "I hope you're not going to tell me it's gratitude."

  "Gratitude?"

  "For this afternoon. For the way I stepped in with Otto Hirsch."

  She pondered that idea—though it wasn't easy to think right then. The man would not stop fiddling with the hem of her shirt. "I am grateful. And you were wonderful. But that's not why I'm here."

  "It's not?"

  "Uh-uh."

  "Then why?"

  "Mostly, I … missed you, I guess you could say."

  His eyes looked so soft. Soft and tender. "You saw me every day."

  "Still, I missed you. And, from the absolutely fair and professional way you've behaved all week, I've come to accept the fact that you were right."

  He instantly agreed with that. "Well, of course I was." And then he frowned a little. "What was I right about, exactly?"

  "About how it doesn't … it wouldn't have to interfere with our working relationship. To have an affair."

  "Is that what this is going to be?" His voice had gone as soft as his eyes. "An affair?"

  She put on a sheepish expression. "Well, I really was hoping for a little more than a one-night stand, if you don't mind."

  He chuckled. "I see."

  Boldly she inquired, "So, what do you say? Will it be an affair?"

  He nodded decisively. "All right. An affair. That's what we'll call it."

  She wanted to ask, "And how long is this affair going to last, do you think?" But she knew how insecure and inexperienced that would sound. She'd already confessed her virginity to him. No point in proving it with every word she said. She kept her mouth resolutely shut.

  He looked down at the hem of her shirt, still held so lightly between his fingers, and then back up at her. "Since we're having an affair now, would you mind taking this shirt off?"

  Her pulse was practically galloping. "I … sure." Carefully she took the hem of the shirt from him and pulled the thing up, over her head and off.

  The moment was a truly strange one. There she sat, Lee Murphy, nurse practitioner, minus her shirt, smiling rather shakily at Dr. Devastating. Her too-small breasts pointed right at him beneath the skimpy cover of her bra.

  He said, "I knew it. Candy canes."

  She looked down at her peppermint-striped bra.

  He said, "I could see your bra. Earlier. When your shirt was wet."

  She met his eyes again. "I like … interesting underwear."

  "I noticed." He reached out, and touched the side of her face. "I'm glad you drove up here."

  All her nerves seemed to be humming, purring, drumming like the rain on the roof overhead. "Me, too."

  "Let's go to the bedroom."

  "All right."

  She stood, and so did he. He took her hand and they turned for the other room.

  They got about two steps before they heard the clanging sound.

  Both of them froze. "What was that?" Lee asked in a whisper.

  "The garbage cans." Derek was scowling. "That damn raccoon. It's in the garbage cans down by the side of the house. It's after those spoiled fish." He turned for the back porch door.

  Logically, since he'd failed to bring that rifle of his, there wasn't much he could do but scare the creature away. Still, Lee didn't like the look in his eyes. She held on tight to his hand. "Derek. No."

  Outside, there was more clanging. A clattering sound. And then silence.

  He tried to yank free of her grip. "Lee. Let go."

  "Derek," she reasoned desperately, "you can't be sure it's that raccoon."

  "I'm sure."

  "What if it's … a bear?"

  "It's not. There are no bears around here and you know it."

  "But it could be. A big, hungry brown bear. With sharp teeth and long claws…"

  "It's a damn raccoon, Lee. Let go of my hand."

  "Oh, please. Stay here."

  "I want that animal dead."

  "Derek, please…"

  "Shh." He listened. There was no sound but the rain.

  "Derek." She took the hand she'd refused to release and wrapped it around her bare waist. Instinctively that hand took hold. His blue eyes narrowed—and then he yanked her close.

  He spoke right into her upturned face, his breath fanning warm across her cheek. "What are you up to?"

  She put her hands on his chest—catching his shirt in her fists so he couldn't escape without exerting great effort. "Distracting you."

  He closed his eyes, and looked very put-upon. "I knew it."

  "Leave the raccoon alone," she whispered. "Please?"

  His hand was moving, rubbing up and down her back. "If I do…"

  "Yes?"

  "Are you going to make it worth my while?"

  Even though she didn't want him to hurt the raccoon, she felt guilty about making promises she had no idea how to keep. "As you know, I am not terribly experienced at this."

  "You're experienced."

  "No. I told you, I'm—"

  "Lee." His voice was like a caress, soft and arousing, full of promise and heat. "I've watched you. While you were watching me. I'm not talking about what you've actually done. I'm talking about what you've thought about doing." He nuzzled her hair. "I believe you have an extremely active fantasy life."

  She licked her lips, and sighed. "You do?"

  "Absolute—"

  Right then, more banging sounds came from outside. Something hit the ground and rolled—probably one of the trash cans. Derek stiffened and let out a sort of low growl.

  Lee slipped her arms up and around his neck. "Kiss me."

  He growled again. "This isn't fair."

  "Come on, Derek. Kiss me, please…"

  With a muttered curse, he covered her mouth with his.

  * * *

  Chapter Fourteen

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  Lovely. His mouth on hers felt absolutely lovely.

  Lee let out a small, gleeful cry and parted her lips. His tongue came inside. She sucked on it eagerly.

  He yanked her closer and moaned into her mouth. At her bare back, his left hand started moving. It swept
in one long caress, from the curve of her waist, up to her nape and back down again—all the way down, over the roundness of her bottom and then under, lifting her, pulling her even closer than she already was.

  Oh, he felt wonderful. So broad and strong. His afternoon beard abraded her cheek, as rough as his lips were soft.

  Then his mouth left hers to slide over her chin and down her neck. His other arm went around her. He held her in place as his lips caressed her throat and his good hand moved between them, to touch her small breasts through her bra.

  Lee stiffened, cried out—and then melted as he rubbed his palm against her nipple, bringing it instantly to a hard, aching peak.

  Outside, there was more clattering.

  Derek muttered something.

  Lee took his golden head and guided it downward. He found her nipple through her bra and sucked it. She groaned and pressed him close.

  He went on kissing her, sucking her. She held his head and pressed herself up toward his mouth.

  And then, again, that mouth went roaming. He kissed his way down the center of her stomach, lowering himself to his knees as he did it.

  He looked up at her, his eyes burning into hers, as he unsnapped her waistband and tugged on her zipper.

  "More candy canes," he whispered as he pulled the jeans open and revealed what was beneath. He stuck out his tongue and he licked her, on the smooth section of flesh between her navel and the red-and-white bikinis. Once he'd licked her, he blew out a breath, making goose bumps, making her clutch his head again and push her hungry body toward him.

  At last, she felt his mouth—there, where she'd never let herself believe it would really be. Just as in so many of her fantasies, he found her through the fabric of her panties. He tugged on her jeans, and then pushed them out of his way. His hands wrapped around the backs of her thighs and he went on kissing her for the longest time, nipping and scraping lightly with his teeth, through the silky peppermint stripes.

  In the end, though, he wasn't content with kissing her through her panties. He pushed on her jeans impatiently. They were stuck somewhere below her knees, keeping her from parting her legs to his satisfaction.