It didn’t help.
Quickly she scurried into his apartment. “I can’t stay very long,” she told him with a nervous smile, flicking her hair back, wondering if he’d noticed that she had the ends trimmed.
Don’t think about the hair, she thought. Don’t think about the man. Instead she focused on the array of sporting equipment that lined the wall. There were baseball bats, an assortment of balls, a tennis racket and bag of golf clubs, but no pads or helmets. In fact, there were no safety devices at all.
“Quite the athlete.”
“I have some excess energy. It helps.” He moistened his lips, and she caught the movement, her eyes drawn, glued, until she blinked her vision free.
“Would you like a drink?” he offered politely, walking into the small kitchen that was off the main room, leaving her alone.
“Water, please,” she called, thinking that sobriety might be a good thing.
“I have wine,” he said, poking his head back into the room. “A few years ago, I went ballooning in Napa. The vineyards felt bad after the accident, so they sent me a few cases. It’s really good stuff.”
“I’ll take it.”
“You can take off your coat,” he yelled from the kitchen. A perfectly courteous remark that did not mean strip. Still, Jenna hesitated, then told herself she was being way too prudish for someone who had prepared a whole year for this grand seduction.
Quickly she slid the trench coat off, adjusted her boobs, straightened her dress, sat on the couch and crossed her legs in her most attractive pose.
When Cam reentered the room, he paused, taking in the legs, the dress, the boobs. The pause grew longer, and Jenna noted the pronounced swelling beneath his jeans, indicating growing sexual arousal. A small sound emerged from her throat. In layman’s terms, they called it a moan.
Okay, the plan was working.
In his hands were two glasses and a bottle of cabernet. An entire bottle was good. It said, Linger, kick back, let me climb underneath your clothes.
“Wow, you look very nice without a lab coat. Your dress, I mean. Very attractive.”
“It’s just something I—” picked out four months ago “—threw on.” She lifted the glass to her lips, gulped, feeling the warmth of the alcohol being absorbed in her blood. Actually, it was medically impossible for the lightheadedness and fever to be caused by alcohol, not this fast. But she blamed it on the drink anyway.
“You have the paperwork?” he asked, seemingly not affected by the alcohol at all.
Jenna licked her lips and he noticed. She leaned over to get the forms from her purse, and her neckline gaped, possibly exposing a hint of black lace that she hadn’t planned on exposing this early, but he noticed, and she noticed that he noticed.
She fumbled in her purse, digging past the condoms, lotions and handcuffs, until her fingers clasped the papers. Hands trembling, she pushed them toward him.
“You seem nervous,” he stated, a completely obvious statement that didn’t need to be put out there for public consumption. Jenna had been a National Merit Scholar, scored 10.3 on the MAC and won a prestigious (somewhat) prize for medical service. In light of her other accomplishments, did she have to be a genius at seduction, as well? No.
“I think I have the beginnings of a cold. Chills. Fever.” She sniffed. “Congestion.”
“Sorry.”
“It’ll pass.”
“Do you want me to fill these out?” he asked her, glancing at the papers.
“I think it would be more efficient, don’t you?”
“Actually, you made the trip for nothing. I’m not going to be in the city tomorrow. The boat race is way out, the tip of Long Island. It’s about four hours from here.”
Completely oblivious to how easily he had decimated her plans, Cam handed the papers back to her, an artless smile playing on his lips.
Bastard.
So now what, genius?
“Have you checked out the hospitals in the area? Southampton has a good trauma unit. Most boat injuries are head injuries or drownings. Have you considered that you might get chopped up in a propeller?”
Undaunted, he clicked her glass. “To not getting chopped up in a propeller.”
Normally, her patients nodded and wrote down her instructions, word for word. People did not argue with their doctors. They did not disagree with them, or doubt their ability to know all. Except for Cam.
It was time for a more direct approach. Pleading, in fact.
“Cam, don’t go.”
He pushed a hand through the thick thatch of hair, exposing a tense jaw, and angry eyes. Obviously he took his life risks seriously.
“That’s why you’re here? To talk me out of this?”