rights the pocket he'd turned inside out the night before in his frantic rush to get at his condoms.
He'd been hot to get at her, that was for sure. But, in truth, had she, herself, even been the goal? What he'd wanted was...to forget this awful emptiness.
Roy's dry smile faded. He shook out his pants and stepped into them. Maybe if his father were still alive Roy would have gained a sense of accomplishment at having achieved his life goal. His dad would have had to acknowledge, finally, that Roy had amounted to something, after all. Roy wasn't "completely irresponsible, a spoiled child," as his father had claimed during their last, big fight. His money was folded into a variety of solid investments, the sort of thing that made the world go round.
Scowling, Roy picked up his shirt and slipped it on. The problem was, he had a feeling that even if his father were still alive he'd find something to pick apart in Roy's life, something to disapprove of. Perhaps it was wrong to speak ill of the dead, but Spencer Beaujovais had been a master at criticism. He'd always given Roy excellent reasons to feel inadequate.
Roy reached for his cashmere sweater. "Now, if I could only find my wallet... Ah." He plucked his wallet off the night table and shoved it into his back pants pocket. On the way to the door, he took a last look around the room, to make sure he'd got everything.
Instead he caught her scent, a tart tang lingering in the air. As scents do, it went straight to Roy's memory center. The emotion in her dark eyes, the sweetness of her smile, the feel of her moving, sinuously, yearningly, beneath him. As if she were the other half of him.
Roy closed his eyes against an unwanted hit of grief.
Don't be stupid . Illusion. It had all been an illusion. There'd been no deep emotion, on either of their parts. Just a trick of the night, of two people needing a connection for separate reasons of their own.
Turning on his heel, Roy made for the door. A good time, that's all it had been. One really good, but ultimately forgettable, time.
CHAPTER FIVE
"Valerie, are you listening to me?"
"Hm? I'm sorry. Were you saying something, Peter?" Valerie made an effort to shake herself back to her surroundings. It was Monday morning and she was standing in the hall for the examination rooms of Desert Valley Pediatric. Planted before her was Dr. Peter Lindstrom, recently engaged but who, up until four months ago, had been sleeping with Valerie.
Valerie blinked up at tall, lean, vaguely Nordic Peter, and registered that she wasn't feeling a drop of emotion about him. No pain, no shame, not even anger. This morning he was just...Peter. No big deal.
Whoa , Valerie thought. I don't care. One night of great, but meaningless, sex with a total stranger and I'm all over my humiliating crush on the man who rejected me .
"I said," Peter repeated slowly, "Did you ever get the blood test results for the Carruthers baby?"
"What? Oh, yes. Yes, I did. Everything checked out fine."
Peter nodded, momentarily satisfied before his expression turned concerned. "Are you okay?"
Valerie blinked. "Excuse me?"
"You seem out of it this morning."
"What? Oh. Well, maybe I could have slept better." Understatement of the year. "Stress, stress, stress." Valerie brushed it off with a bright smile. "Bane of modern-day existence." It hadn't been stress that had kept her awake, however, but vain regrets. Totally vain. As if she'd done anything to regret. She hadn't!
While Peter continued frowning at her, Valerie spied Cherise coming out of one of the examination rooms. With skin the color of pale chocolate milk, Cherise managed to make her bland nurse's jacket look like Versace.
So far this morning Valerie had managed to avoid Cherise. If she were quick, she could do so again.
"Next patient," Valerie said to Peter. "Gotta get to him." She whirled, saw a chart with her color poking out of the holder on Examination Room 6, and stalked determinedly toward
He'd been hot to get at her, that was for sure. But, in truth, had she, herself, even been the goal? What he'd wanted was...to forget this awful emptiness.
Roy's dry smile faded. He shook out his pants and stepped into them. Maybe if his father were still alive Roy would have gained a sense of accomplishment at having achieved his life goal. His dad would have had to acknowledge, finally, that Roy had amounted to something, after all. Roy wasn't "completely irresponsible, a spoiled child," as his father had claimed during their last, big fight. His money was folded into a variety of solid investments, the sort of thing that made the world go round.
Scowling, Roy picked up his shirt and slipped it on. The problem was, he had a feeling that even if his father were still alive he'd find something to pick apart in Roy's life, something to disapprove of. Perhaps it was wrong to speak ill of the dead, but Spencer Beaujovais had been a master at criticism. He'd always given Roy excellent reasons to feel inadequate.
Roy reached for his cashmere sweater. "Now, if I could only find my wallet... Ah." He plucked his wallet off the night table and shoved it into his back pants pocket. On the way to the door, he took a last look around the room, to make sure he'd got everything.
Instead he caught her scent, a tart tang lingering in the air. As scents do, it went straight to Roy's memory center. The emotion in her dark eyes, the sweetness of her smile, the feel of her moving, sinuously, yearningly, beneath him. As if she were the other half of him.
Roy closed his eyes against an unwanted hit of grief.
Don't be stupid . Illusion. It had all been an illusion. There'd been no deep emotion, on either of their parts. Just a trick of the night, of two people needing a connection for separate reasons of their own.
Turning on his heel, Roy made for the door. A good time, that's all it had been. One really good, but ultimately forgettable, time.
CHAPTER FIVE
"Valerie, are you listening to me?"
"Hm? I'm sorry. Were you saying something, Peter?" Valerie made an effort to shake herself back to her surroundings. It was Monday morning and she was standing in the hall for the examination rooms of Desert Valley Pediatric. Planted before her was Dr. Peter Lindstrom, recently engaged but who, up until four months ago, had been sleeping with Valerie.
Valerie blinked up at tall, lean, vaguely Nordic Peter, and registered that she wasn't feeling a drop of emotion about him. No pain, no shame, not even anger. This morning he was just...Peter. No big deal.
Whoa , Valerie thought. I don't care. One night of great, but meaningless, sex with a total stranger and I'm all over my humiliating crush on the man who rejected me .
"I said," Peter repeated slowly, "Did you ever get the blood test results for the Carruthers baby?"
"What? Oh, yes. Yes, I did. Everything checked out fine."
Peter nodded, momentarily satisfied before his expression turned concerned. "Are you okay?"
Valerie blinked. "Excuse me?"
"You seem out of it this morning."
"What? Oh. Well, maybe I could have slept better." Understatement of the year. "Stress, stress, stress." Valerie brushed it off with a bright smile. "Bane of modern-day existence." It hadn't been stress that had kept her awake, however, but vain regrets. Totally vain. As if she'd done anything to regret. She hadn't!
While Peter continued frowning at her, Valerie spied Cherise coming out of one of the examination rooms. With skin the color of pale chocolate milk, Cherise managed to make her bland nurse's jacket look like Versace.
So far this morning Valerie had managed to avoid Cherise. If she were quick, she could do so again.
"Next patient," Valerie said to Peter. "Gotta get to him." She whirled, saw a chart with her color poking out of the holder on Examination Room 6, and stalked determinedly toward
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