Without a Net (20 page)

For a moment, she thought he would refuse.
Then he extended the device in her direction. Their hands touched briefly, and she jerked from the jolt of sensation that surged up her arm. She clutched the Blackberry. “Thanks.”

He stepped aside, and she lost no time skirting around him.
She could almost feel his eyes burning into her as she hurried across the porch, down the stairs, and toward her car.

###

Alex turned to admire the woman’s trim little backside and long legs as she scurried away. Even the severe gray suit with its pencil skirt and buttoned up jacket failed to dampen the sudden surge of lust.

A neatly executed
K-turn, and the late model Lexus shot up the street toward Main, disappearing around the corner.

Alex leaned against the porch railing, willing his arousal to subside.
In the twelve years since he’d moved back to Oakridge, there hadn’t been many strangers passing through town. The occasional biker die-hard looking for the Harley-Davidson plant half an hour to the north, or a family on its way to Hershey Park desperate for a pit stop, or some history buff asking for directions to Gettysburg.

This woman looked too polished to be a run-of-the-mill tourist stopping to fuel up and use the facilities.
And she certainly didn’t look like a college student backpacking her way cross-country. He pictured the diamond tear-drop pendant that hung on a delicate gold chain around her neck, the discreet glint of an Omega watch on her wrist. No, definitely not a college student. A reporter, then? He clenched his jaw at the thought.

After the unwelcome media frenzy he’d experienced in the four years since his company went public, the last thing he needed was another bottom-feeding journalist disturbing his peace.
He'd tried to protect his privacy over time, limiting personal interviews and photo-ops to an absolute minimum. He had especially tried to shield the kids from the intrusive media spotlight. God knew they'd suffered enough with the loss of their mother and then the return of their good-for-nothing father, who’d seen dollar signs and tried to contest Alex for custody. Thankfully a hefty settlement and cut-throat legal team had managed to stave off that attack.

Alex was sick of people targeting him for his money.
Women who wouldn’t have given him the time of day when he was an anonymous computer hacker were all of a sudden crawling out of the woodwork, propositioning him, staking out his house—to the point where, in a town so small that most folks still didn’t lock their doors, he had to invest in a high-tech home security system to keep uninvited guests out of his home and bed.

Except this woman didn’t seem to know who he was.
Was that even possible? Or was it just a pretense? Maybe she’d decided to take a roundabout approach to worming her way into his circle. The fact that the urgent care bordered on his property, and was empty most of the time, made it the perfect place to set up surveillance—if that was her intention. That he’d surprised her in her snooping was sheer dumb luck.

Even though Alex funded the clinic through the Argus Foundation, he didn’t usually get involved in its day-to-day management.
He had stopped by on impulse, after Doc Cohen called regarding some glitch with one of the clinic’s computers the previous day. Knowing Doc and his easy frustration with any “newfangled” gadgetry, including the clinic’s recently installed electronic medical record, Alex figured there was no point bothering Argus’s IT department over something he could easily check out himself. While there, he did a quick inspection of the living quarters upstairs—making sure that all was ready, in case the locum tenens doctor he was interviewing today decided to take the job.

So if not for Doc’s phone call, Alex wouldn’t have been here, and the woman would have been able to complete whatever she had been in the process of doing.
Clearly, she’d been flustered by his unexpected appearance. Maybe she’d decided to retreat for now, rethink her strategy, and approach him later?

Or perhaps he was being paranoid.
Was his ego so overblown that he couldn’t fathom the idea of someone not recognizing him? He might be the darling of the high-tech world, one of the few bachelors on the highly-feted “Forty under Forty” list of movers and shakers, but that didn’t mean every woman out there was panting for the opportunity to ambush him.

There could very well have been an innocent explanation for this particular woman’s presence here today.
Perhaps she was someone’s niece or daughter, visiting from out of state. Or maybe she was the new librarian over at Oakridge High. His nephew Matt had mentioned they’d hired one mid-year to replace old Mrs. Riley, who was out with a broken hip. None of which explained what she’d been doing on the porch of the urgent care.

But idle speculation was pointless.
Whoever she was—unless it turned out she really was just passing through—someone in Oakridge was bound to know her. Forget six degrees of separation. With just over eighteen hundred residents—and that included all the Argus employees who’d made Oakridge their home base—it was more like two degrees of separation.

Besides, if he was lucky, she’d still be at Mona’s Kitchen by the time he finished with Dr. Winters.
Buoyed by the thought of seeing her again, he glanced at his watch and cursed.

If he didn’t get a move on, he’d be late.
He briefly considered going home and changing into something less comfortable, then decided against it.

Whatever Sam Winters might be used to in Philadelphia, things were different here.
Common sense and compassion counted more than a wall full of degrees in Latin. And the sooner Dr. Winters understood that, the better. The last thing the residents of Oakridge needed was another fancy-pants big city doctor who wore three-piece suits, used six-syllable words to describe a run-of-the-mill stomach flu, and handed out prescriptions for brand-name medications that most of his patients couldn’t pronounce let alone afford. The last locum tenens doctor had been one of those, and he’d lasted all of three weeks. Good thing Doc Cohen hadn’t abandoned Oakridge, even though he was going on seventy and kept threatening to retire.

Hopefully, Dr. Winters would turn out to be a reasonable, down-to-earth sort, and they’d be able to come to a mutually beneficial agreement.
The job listing had advertised a six-month position, which according to the locum tenens agency that was handling the recruitment process, was a reasonable term. There didn’t seem to be any takers for a more permanent placement, despite the incentives Alex had thrown in, including free room and board, guaranteed salary base, and student loan repayment.

Alex figured their best bet for getting a doctor to permanently settle in Oakridge was for the Argus Foundation to fund the education of a local kid who wanted to go to medical school and return to practice in his home town.
So far, only old man Carpenter’s boy had taken up the scholarship offer—and he still had his fourth year of med school and another three years of residency to go through before he was ready to return as Oakridge’s first home-grown family doctor. Until then, they would most likely have to rely on Doc Cohen and a series of locums to fill the gap.

Alex swept the urgent care with a final look, made a mental note to stop by for the mail on his way home, and headed toward Main Street.

Click HERE to purchase
Taking a Chance

(Doctors of Rittenhouse Square, Book 3)

by Jill Blake

A random act of violence...

When a senseless act of violence shatters her perfect world, Dr. Isabelle DiStefano struggles to rebui
ld: new life, new job, new man.

A second chance at love...

But sometimes the past can be hard to let go of, especially when old flame Luca Santoro reappears in her life and decides he wants to start over...
this time, for keeps.

Chapter 1

Isabelle DiStefano closed her eyes and pressed the sweating glass of Long Island Iced Tea to her forehead. The throbbing techno-beat and pulsing strobe lights did nothing to ease her headache. Maybe arranging this ladies’ night jaunt to a strip club—or
male revue,
according to the website—hadn’t been the smartest thing she’d ever done.

At the time when she’d made the reservations, she’d thought it would be a blast. Worth it just to see the bride-to-be’s expression when she realized what was in store for the night.

How many times, over countless brunches and dinners, had she heard Jane say, “Nothing would surprise me”? And how many times, over the years, had Isabelle risen to the challenge?

So when Samantha, the maid of honor, had given her free reign in planning a bachelorette party, Isabelle had of course tried to live up to her reputation for outrageousness. After all, they had the rest of the weekend to enjoy sedate pre-wedding activities like the spa day Sam had arranged, and an elegant rehearsal dinner at Moonstone Manor, where the wedding itself was to take place in two days.

Except things hadn’t gone as planned. First, Isabelle got delayed at work with an emergency C-section. By the time she’d tucked her pre-eclamptic patient in for the night and signed out to the on-call physician, it was past eight.

Then her trusty little Prius failed to start. It took another twenty minutes and some light flirting with the AAA driver to get a jump start and be on her way—only to get bogged down in traffic that turned her usual ten-minute commute home into thirty.

She texted her friends to begin the evening without her. No point in Jane and Sam losing out on reservations to the much-touted Vetri just because Isabelle was running late. She’d pick them up after dinner in a cab.

She showered in record time, slipped into a halter-neck dress and heels, pulled back her unruly hair, and slicked on some lipstick. Her stomach growled, thanks to another day of working through lunch.
Just one more black mark against the new and amazingly inefficient electronic medical record that the hospital had forced on its staff. Ignoring her hunger, she figured she’d grab some food at the club before the show. Too bad no one had bothered to inform her ahead of time that the kitchen closed at eleven, and all that was available were watered-down drinks and phallic-shaped pretzels.

And to top it all off, Jane had merely lifted an eyebrow when they’d pulled up in front of the black-canopied entrance around the corner from the main gentlemen’s club. As if this were something she did on a daily basis.

“Want to try out the hot seat?” Isabelle prodded, once they were settled into a booth close to the stage. Men with ripped pecs and abs gyrated in various degrees of undress beneath the spotlights.

Jane quirked her lips in a half-smile.
“Sure, Izzy. After you.”

Samantha eyed the man closest to their table. “You think they know what anabolic steroids do to the heart?”

Isabelle shook her head. Leave it to ever-practical Sam to look past the eye-candy and see medication side effects. It was a wonder she’d managed to snag a major hottie for a husband. Then again, Alex Kane wasn’t an easy man to ignore.

A waiter approached to take their drink orders.

Isabelle eyed the man’s outfit—black bow tie, gleaming bare chest framed in black suspenders, tuxedo pants cut a little too snug in the crotch—and remembered the other reason she’d chosen this venue.

For someone who’d deliberately cultivated a reputation as a party girl, Isabelle’s life these days was remarkably staid. The only memento of her rebellious college years was the tattoo of a miniature
asklepian she sported on her left hip. Somehow the desire to shock had been overtaken by the desire to succeed, to prove to herself and her family that she, like the rest of the DiStefanos, was no slouch in the brains department. And besides, who had time in med school and residency to do anything but study and work?

As for life after residency, between office hours, OR time, hospital rounds, supervising residents and medical students, serving on various hospital committees, and volunteering at an off-site free clinic, she was lucky if she had enough time to grab a sandwich in the cafeteria and a quick shower in the L&D locker room.

Which was why, she supposed, her social calendar was so empty. In fact, these gym-sculpted, testosterone-enhanced
entertainers
were the closest she’d been to an almost-naked male since….

She thought back. Was it really four years? Her senior resident, when she’d been a lowly intern. Twelve months of frantic
fumblings in the call room, hurried couplings squeezed between endless hospital shifts and meals eaten on the run. And then…nothing. A long dry spell of living vicariously through her friends, as they paired off, one by one.

Samantha’s wedding three months earlier had been small, intimate, with just a few close friends and family in attendance.
Beautiful, despite the rushed preparations and surrounding media frenzy. It wasn’t every day that the last bachelor on Fortune magazine’s “Forty under Forty” list got married. But the furor eventually died down, and now it was Jane’s turn.

Unlike Sam and Alex, who’d gone from first meeting to exchange of rings within two months, Jane and Ross had been engaged for ages. They’d reserved the wedding venue a couple years ago: a bucolic twenty-five acre estate two hours west of Philadelphia. Extended family from both sides were gathering for a reunion and wedding rolled into one, with festivities lasting through the Labor Day weekend.

For Isabelle, the wedding was another reminder of what she had yet to attain. As if her job wasn’t enough of a reminder. She was an obstetrician, constantly surrounded by evidence other people’s happiness. Every day was filled with women, their husbands or boyfriends in tow, basking in glowing pregnancies, popping out perfect babies to round out their perfect lives.

Lately, it seemed everyone in the world had someone.
Everyone except Isabelle.

To hell with that.
She gulped down the rest of her drink and flagged down their waiter for a refill. She was here to have fun, damn it.

“You might want to go easy on that,” Sam said.

Isabelle ignored the warning and smiled at the waiter. “What are the chances of getting some real food?”

“Sorry, ma’am, the kitchen closed ten minutes ago.”
A flash of dimples and toothpaste-ad white teeth. “But I can get you some more pretzels, if you like.”

She plucked a penis-shaped pretzel from the small bowl he’d brought around earlier and slowly licked off the salt. “Sure, why not? You can never have enough…pretzels.”

Jane chuckled as he sauntered off toward the bar. “You’re incorrigible.”

Isabelle bit into the pretzel and chewed a little more vigorously than necessary. “Is thirty too young to be a cougar?”

Sam grinned. “No, ma’am.”

Isabelle chucked a pretzel at her. “You don’t have to rub it in. He’s probably what, twenty-one, twenty-two? Anyone past twenty-five would be a
ma’am
to him.”

“If you say so.”

Jane nudged her into silence as the waiter returned with fresh drinks and snacks.

Isabelle murmured her thanks and turned to watch the flexing muscles of his retreating backside. “You’ve got to admit the talent here is quite…amazing.”

Sam rolled her eyes.

“I just hope none of our patients sees us here,” Jane said.

They’d all gone to college together, and then medical school, though Jane had chosen to pursue psychiatry, and Samantha family medicine. Up until a few months ago, they’d lived and practiced within walking distance of Isabelle’s Rittenhouse Square townhome. That had changed when Sam took up a locum tenens position in the central Pennsylvania town of Oakridge. She’d ended up staying and marrying the local golden boy. Jane was in the process of relocating there as well, to live with her soon-to-be husband.

Isabelle waved a negligent hand. “You’re far enough away from Oakridge that I wouldn’t worry about it.
My
patients, on the other hand…”

She trailed off, frowning. A brief sweep of the room yielded no familiar faces. Not that it mattered, really. She was off duty, on her own time. Starting this weekend, she had two long, blissful weeks of nothing to do but relax and have fun. Tonight was the kickoff. Tomorrow she’d enjoy some pampering at the spa Sam had arranged.
Then the rehearsal dinner tomorrow night, followed by the wedding on Sunday.

And after that, she was off to Italy for a well-earned and much-anticipated vacation.
Nothing to do but play tourist in a country full of gorgeous men. No pager, no cell phone, no patients or residents calling her at all hours of the day and night. Pure relaxation.

“I wonder what the men are doing,” Jane said.

It took a moment for Isabelle to realize she wasn’t talking about the dancers on stage. “The same thing we are, I suppose,” she said. “Except their strippers probably stuff their bras instead of their jock straps.”

Jane frowned. “Ross mentioned something about Patterson’s pub. He and Alex were going to meet Luca there and talk business. I don’t think strippers were on the agenda.”

“They’d better not be,” Sam said, “if Alex knows what’s good for him.”

Isabelle fluttered her fingers.
“Um, hello? Does the term ‘double standard’ ring a bell?”

“Yes, but I’m not the one who booked this place.”

“Speaking of reservations,” Jane interrupted. “Dinner at Vetri was lovely, Iz. Thank you. I’m sorry you had to miss it.”

“Yeah, me too.”
Isabelle grabbed another handful of pretzels. “So, who’s this Luca person?”

Jane folded her napkin once, then again, smoothing the creases with her thumb. “You know Ross and Alex are doing a new start-up, right? Luca’s the third partner.
Teaches computer science at Princeton. He came up with some algorithm they’re using as the basis for their new software.”

“Alex says he’s some kind of genius,” Sam added.

“He’ll be at the wedding,” Jane said. “So you’ll get to meet him. You’re sitting together at the reception.”

That got Isabelle’s attention. “I thought bridesmaids were supposed to be paired with groomsmen.”

Jane shrugged. “You’ll have a groomsman on one side, Luca on the other.”

“Wait a minute,” Sam narrowed her eyes. “Are you trying to set them up?”

“So much for subtlety,” Jane sighed. “But it worked for you, didn’t it?”

“What are you talking about?”

“You and Alex.”

Sam straightened in her seat. “You didn’t set us up.”

“Who told you about the job opening?”

“You did. But…” She paused and frowned, then turned to Isabelle. “Do you know anything about this?”

“Hey, leave me out of it.” She finished her drink, rattling the remaining ice cubes before setting down the glass. “Though frankly, Sam, you’ve got nothing to complain about. Doesn’t matter how you and Alex met. Fact is, you’re together. And your life is pretty rosy now, isn’t it?”

Sam reared back, as if slapped. Jane shifted in her seat, but for once didn’t say anything to smooth the waters.

Isabelle bit her lip. Okay, so maybe that was a bit harsh. But as far as she could see, Samantha had it all: a hot husband who adored her, a successful career, and the perfect balance of time and opportunity to enjoy both. It hadn’t come easily, Isabelle knew that. And she didn’t begrudge Sam her good fortune. But she was allowed to feel just a teensy bit jealous, wasn’t she?

Her attention caught on a flurry of activity at the front of the room. One of the men had danced his way off the stage, pausing at a nearby table full of screeching women. Fists waving bills of various denominations reached for briefs that barely covered him. He grinned and performed an exaggerated bump and grind. One of the
women, egged on by her less-than-sober girlfriends, staggered up and plastered herself against him, draping her arms over his shoulders, and wrapping a leg around his hip. He took it in stride, settling his hands on her waist and taking her through a few dirty dancing steps, before letting go and returning her to her companions.

Jane shook her head when he approached their booth. Sam slouched down in her seat as if hoping that would make her a less conspicuous target. Isabelle offered him an apologetic shrug and a folded bill she’d managed to fish out from the bottom of her purse. He swiveled his hips closer, and she gingerly added the money to the bills already sprouting from his waistband,
then scooted back into the safety of the booth. Objectively speaking, he met all her criteria in the looks department: tall, dark haired, olive skinned. But the muscles were a bit too well-developed, the smile a little too slick, the moves way too blatant.