In Good Hands by Kathy Lyons Page A

on—”
    â€œEvery hypertension medication known to mankind.”
    She passed back his card while trying to keep her expression neutral. From what he described, he certainly needed something. If modern medicine wasn’t helping him, then he had to look elsewhere. She knew exactly what she’d recommend for him, but it was drastic and not even remotely guaranteed.
    â€œSo?” he pressed. “Will you do it? Will you help me?”
    She shook her head. “I can’t be your doctor. I won’t. We’re…” She didn’t want to say they were in a relationship, because they weren’t. But they certainly weren’t strangers, either. “There are some lines I won’t cross.”
    He sighed. “Fair enough. But how about advice? You give advice to friends, right? And after this, I’d really like to call you a friend.”
    She cautiously nodded. Yes, she could see him as a friend.
    â€œOkay then, friend, what would you recommend for me?”
    She bit her lip and pulled out the most drastic course ofaction she could think of in the hopes that he would compromise and do at least some of the items on her list. “As a friend, I would tell you that I think you should go on a raw-food diet, start meditating and hire someone to do energy sessions on you. And, of course, take a long vacation—right now—to really examine your life. Something’s out of whack and you won’t know what it is until you stop completely and listen.”
    To his credit, he didn’t even blink. But he did have a question. “Listen to what? Meditation tapes like mantras and stuff?”
    She shook her head. “To your body. To your soul. To what you really want to have in your life and what needs to just disappear.”
    He shrugged. “That’s easy. My body likes red meat, my job and you. And not necessarily in that order.”
    She laughed because he was being absolutely serious and kind of sweet at the same time. “As your friend, I recommend you do a two-week retreat. Raw food, yoga, meditation and absolutely no electronics whatsoever.”
    He frowned. “How is that different from quitting my job?”
    â€œHow is dying from a heart attack different from quitting your job?”
    He huffed and closed his eyes. “You sound just like my doctor.”
    She stepped forward because he really did have a problem. He was pretending to have a flippant attitude, but she could see the fear in his eyes. The man was up against a wall, and he knew it. So she touched his cheek. And then, because she couldn’t resist, she pressed her mouth to his. A moment later, his arm had snaked around her waist and he was hauling her closer. Bam, her blood started sizzling in her veins.
    â€œI hear lots of sex is good for hypertension,” he said.
    She might have said something snarky in response.Something about men, and sex being their answer to all of life’s problems. But he didn’t give her time and before long, she’d lost the thread of her thoughts beneath the amazing skill of his tongue.
    Then the ceiling fell in on them.
    Perhaps that was fortunate, though, because nothing short of a ceiling access panel falling on their heads would have gotten their attention. As it was, Amber was tempted to just keep going. But that was because Roger took the worst of the impact.
    â€œOw! What the—”
    â€œSorry! Sorry about that!” came a voice from above.
    Amber looked up to see a man in coveralls poking his head through the top of the elevator. Roger rubbed his head and glared at the newcomer.
    â€œA little warning next time would be nice,” he groused. Then he frowned. “And why aren’t you at your bachelor party?”
    Ah! thought Amber. This was Sam Finn, CEO of RFE. The genius inventor and Roger’s best friend. And obviously the man who was about to get married.
    â€œSomeone had to rescue you. Might as well be