Adored (LOVE LETTERS #1) - Kristen Blakely Page 0,3
body are my stock-in-trade.”
How could he sound so matter-of-fact about it? “Why are they?” she demanded. “Why didn’t you choose to do something else?”
“I happen to enjoy what I’m doing. Are you going to tell me next that I shouldn’t enjoy my job?”
“Do you? Why?”
He shrugged, an elegant motion that rippled the muscles beneath his T-shirt. “It’s hard work, but I’m good at it, and it pays well.” His amber eyes narrowed. “I’m paying my way in the world, doctor. Doesn’t that count for something?”
“Of course.” She sighed and shook her head. “I didn’t mean to— It’s your life, of course, and if the people who love you couldn’t stop you from going down this path, then who am I, a stranger, to think I can talk you out of it in five minutes?”
“Ah, now here’s the guilt trip.” He laughed, but without humor. “I’ve heard it all, doctor. If it makes you feel any better, my parents are both dead, so I’m not breaking anyone’s heart.”
“But what about your girlfriend or your wife—?” She glanced down at his left hand. She did not see a ring, nor the telltale indentations that he might have ever worn one.
“Who would date me? And why date for free when I can apparently get paid to take women on dates? Free dates aren’t exactly the best return on investment for my time, are they?” The mocking edge was back in his voice.
“Guess not.” Vera sighed. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to light into you. I just saw the women today and—”
“And if I had come in here as dejected and miserable as they had, you might have let me cry on your shoulder?”
She looked at that magnificent specimen of a man. Relaxed, he slouched in the chair as if he owned the room. “You don’t look like you ever cry,” she said. She shut his file and slid it across the table into the huge pile of patient files she had seen that day. “Anyway, your blood tests are fine, and apparently there’s nothing else we need to talk about, so I guess we’re done.”
A slow smile tugged up at the corner of his mouth.
Vera blinked, and for a moment, forgot what she was going to say. She realized belatedly that she had not seen him smile before. She had certainly not anticipated its breathtaking impact.
“Thank you.” He pushed up from his chair, his body unfolding with the sinewy grace of a jaguar. “Good meeting you, doctor…”
“Rios.”
He nodded and smiled again. The curve of his lips was warmer that time. “Dr. Rios.”
Vera did not start breathing normally again until the door closed behind him. She sank into her chair, closed her eyes, and willed her heart back into a normal rhythm. Wow. What a man.
It was a damned pity he was an escort. She might have asked for his number otherwise.
Outside the clinic, Rowan slid into the driver’s seat of a red Audi, locked the door, and reached for his cell phone. He hit the first number on speed dial.
Minutes later, Iris picked up on the other end. “Hello?”
“Iris, it’s Rowan. How’s Jordan?”
“Whiney and needy, like every male child even remotely under the weather since Cain was born to Adam and Eve. How did you know he was sick?”
“Dr. Rios told me.”
“Vera?” Her voice trailed off. “Oh, your appointment at the clinic. Damn, I forgot you were coming in today for the results of your once-in-a-decade physical.”
“It’d be once-in-two-decades if my sister didn’t nag and insist on doing it herself.”
“I’m sorry I missed our appointment.”
“No worries. I had an interesting conversation with Dr. Rios. Vera.” Her name flowed off his tongue. It suited her—Dr. Vera Rios was both unpretentious and unconsciously exotic.
“Why? Your blood test results came back fine.”
“I’m sure they did. But instead of getting the rundown on watching my cholesterol levels and eating healthy, I got a lecture on STDs and safe sex.”
“But why would she…oh my God. You told her you were an escort?” Iris’s voice rose to a screech.
“She assumed it, actually.” Rowan laughed. It was easier to see the humor of the situation with sufficient distance between him and Vera. There was nothing in the world he found more sensually distracting than a beautiful Hispanic woman riding the moral high tide of righteous indignation.
“And you didn’t correct her?”
“Oh, she was on a roll. I didn’t want to interrupt.”
“Rowan! You have to go back and tell her the truth. I don’t want her to think my brother’s an escort.”
“I