Man of Fortune

“That’s easy,” Rodney crooned.

“We will see,” Tamara retorted.

Duncan lay on a cushioned chaise on the terrace outside his bedroom, bare feet crossed at the ankles. He’d taken a mental-health day.

The night before he and Kyle had gone over to Ivan’s house after they’d closed their offices. They’d ordered takeout while watching the baseball game. He and Ivan had overruled Kyle, who didn’t want to watch the Mets playing on the west coast, but after downing a few beers it didn’t matter who was playing or on which coast. It was after three in the morning when he and Kyle had got into a taxi to return to their respective homes. The game had gone into extra innings.

Within minutes of walking into his bedroom, Duncan fell across the bed and went to sleep. When he woke the sun was up, and he’d called Mia Humphrey to tell her he wasn’t coming in.

He wasn’t hung over, but it felt good to lie around and do absolutely nothing. There were times when he felt guilty because Viola Gilmore had practically browbeat him by telling him he would amount to nothing if he didn’t take advantage of every minute of the day. His aunt took him on what she’d called a field trip to several blighted neighborhoods to show him burned-out and boarded-up buildings, vagrants and drug addicts standing around aimlessly and men and women who carried all of their possessions with them and slept in doorways because they didn’t have a place to call home. Viola equated laziness with failure, and even at fourteen, Duncan knew he didn’t want to become a failure.

The ring of the telephone disturbed the quiet. Reaching over, he picked up the cordless without looking at the display. “Hello.”

“Hel-lo.”

He listened for the woman on the other end of the line to say something. “I think you have the wrong number,” he said after the seconds ticked off.

“Is this Duncan Gilmore?”

Duncan sat up straighter, trying to remember where he’d heard her voice. “Yes, it is. Who’s calling?”

“Hold up, playa. Don’t you recognize my voice?”

“Tamara? Is that you?”

“Yes, it’s Tamara. I…I didn’t expect you to be home at this time.”

“Is that why you called now? Because you were trying to avoid talking to me?”

A soft gasp came through the earpiece. “If I didn’t want to talk to you, Duncan Gilmore, I never would’ve called. In fact, I would’ve thrown away your business card.”

“But you didn’t, and I’m glad you didn’t.”

“Why, Duncan?”

“Because I want to talk to you.”

There came a pause. “What do you want to talk about?” Tamara asked.

“When are you available to have dinner with me?”

“I’m open, Duncan. Any day, any time.”

A frown formed between his eyes. “Did you lose your job?”

“No,” she said, laughing. “I’m on vacation.”

He smiled. “If that’s the case, then what are you doing tomorrow?”

There came another pause before Tamara said, “I have to check my calendar.”

“I thought you said any time, any day.”

“I did, Duncan. I was just teasing you.”

“So,” he crooned, “the doctor does have a sense of humor.”

“Only when she’s not working,” Tamara retorted.

“How long are you on vacation, Tamara?”

“Four weeks.”

Duncan whistled. “I suppose that’s enough time for me to make you laugh.”

“Hold up, numbers man. Don’t get ahead of yourself. I only agreed to one date.”

It was Duncan’s turn to pause. “You’re right. Forgive me for being presumptuous.”

“You’re forgiven, Duncan.”

“Thank you. I have to make a reservation, then I’ll call you back.”

“Where are we going?”

“Sailing.”

“Sailing?” Tamara repeated.

“Yes. I’d like to take you on a dinner cruise along the Hudson River. I can see the ship from where I’m sitting. We can eat, listen to music and, if you want, dance or just take in the view.”

There came a beat. “That sounds wonderful.”

“It should be fun. Give me your number and I’ll call you back.” Tamara recited her number, he repeated it to her. “Hang up, Tamara.”

It took Duncan less than ten minutes to book a reservation. A satisfied smile softened his features when he dialed her number. She answered after the first ring. “I’ll pick you up at six-thirty.”

“What time do we board?” Tamara asked.

“Boarding is at seven-thirty and the cruise is from eight-thirty to eleven-thirty.”

“What if I meet you at the pier instead of you coming down to get me?”

“No. I want to pick you up, Tamara.”

“How will you get here?”

“I’ll take a taxi.”

“Don’t. I’ll take a taxi to you. Please give me your address.”

Duncan knew insisting traveling downtown to pick up Tamara, only to have to return to Chelsea and walk three blocks to the pier would result in a verbal exchange, something he sought to avoid. He’d managed to make it through adolescence without a physical altercation because his mother and aunt preached constantly that it was better to walk away than confront.

He gave Tamara his address. “I’ll be downstairs waiting for you.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow,” Duncan repeated, before ending the call.

He was going to share with Tamara Wolcott something he hadn’t with Kalinda because she was prone to seasickness. Physically, Tamara was as different from his late fiancée as night was from day, but both possessed a quality he found hard to resist—the rare combination of brains and beauty.

Tamara sat at the breakfast bar in the kitchen pondering her decision after she’d hung up the phone with Duncan Gilmore. It had been four days since she’d found herself trapped in an elevator with the most delicious-looking man she’d seen in years. The only man who’d come close to Duncan was a boy in her high-school graduating class. His good looks had proved advantageous when he was picked by a modeling agency to be the poster boy for a men’s cologne. His was the face of the nineties until drugs ravaged his looks and his career.

Although she’d never been turned on by a man’s looks, Tamara found Duncan the exception. She’d considered the possibility that he was gay since he was single and hadn’t fathered any children, then she chided herself for being biased and narrow-minded. If a woman chose not to marry or have children that did not necessarily make her a lesbian. When, she asked herself, had she become her mother? Moselle Wolcott was the most critical and opinionated woman on the planet, and Tamara feared she was no different when it came to Duncan Gilmore.

Resting her bare feet on the other tall high-back chair, she reached for the pen and pad and began making a list of things she had to do before her date. A trip to the hair salon was the first order of business, followed by shopping for an outfit suitable for a dinner cruise. It had been much too long since she’d had a date.

She’d dated a few men she’d met at several conferences, and she’d shared drinks with some of her male colleagues after her divorce, but she didn’t count the latter as actual dates. They usually took place in a group after a particularly stressful shift. Otherwise she’d go over to a local restaurant or bar for late-night dinner, or, if it was the weekend, brunch.

Anytime she found a man getting too close she usually gave some signal that stopped them in their tracks. Duncan was geting too close, but was helpless to repel or discourage him. Perhaps it had something to do with them being trapped together, and not knowing when they’d be freed. Tamara also had told him things about herself that she hadn’t revealed to her ex-husband because she thought she would never see or speak to Duncan Gilmore again. Oh, was she wrong. Not only had she spoken to him but she’d consented to see him again.

Tamara saw movement out of the corner of her eye and turned to find Rodney standing at the entrance to the kitchen. His damp hair was pasted against his scalp. He’d showered but hadn’t shaved. The stubble of his beard was reddish blond. Rodney had moved in Tuesday morning and she’d only caught glimpses of him either when he came in early in the morning or left for his night shift.

She had turned her spare bedroom into a den with a sofa that converted into a queen-size bed. The walls were lined with bookcases, a flat-screen television with a home theater audio system, a mini fridge and a bar. It was a space where she went to relax and entertain. Whenever her parents came into Manhattan to see a Broadway show they had usually stayed overnight at a hotel until Tamara invited them to stay with her. The first time Moselle walked into the two-bedroom apartment she was at a loss for words because the space looked as if it’d been decorated for a design magazine.

Although Tamara spent more time at the hospital than she did at home, the apartment had become her sanctuary—a place where she was able to escape the stress that came with working as an E.R. doctor. She didn’t own the apartment, but it was hers and hers alone. She invited who she wanted to her home and if she wanted solitude then she had the option of ignoring her phone or pager.

Smiling, she lowered her feet. “Good morning.”

Running his hand over his flat belly under a black tank top, Rodney walked slowly into the kitchen and flopped down on the chair. He glanced up and stared at Tamara. “Is it?”

Her eyebrows lifted. “Rough night?” she asked.

Rodney covered his face with his hands. “I wish. I had a fight with Isis.”

“I thought you broke up with her.”

Lowering his hands, his tortured gaze fused with Tamara’s. “She waited around for my shift to ask me if I’d mind if she brought a man back to the co-op.”

“Isis is just jerking your chain, Rodney, because she knows she can get a reaction from you.”

“It’s over, Tamara. I gave her exactly one month to find a place to live, then I’m changing the locks.”

Tamara didn’t recognize the Rodney Fox sitting in her kitchen. His expression was cold and empty. She liked the normally affable doctor—a lot. He loved his patients, and they in turn loved him back. The first time she had worked with Dr. Fox was when a young boy was brought into the E.R. with a broken leg from a hit-and-run. Although the eight-year-old was in excruciating pain, Rodney had managed to make him smile. At that moment she realized he would make an incredible father.

Pushing back from the center island, she stood and went over to the sink. “Would you like coffee?”

“Yes, please.”

“How do you drink it?”

“Black and strong.”

Tamara reached for a cup and coffee disk, inserting it into the well of the coffeemaker. The smell of brewing coffee wafted in the space. “How about some breakfast, Fox?”

“Hanging out with you has its advantages. Perhaps I should’ve hit on you instead of Isis.”

The brewing cycle completed, Tamara took the cup, placed it on a saucer and carried it to the table. “I don’t think so,” she drawled.

“Is it because I’m not your type?”

She patted his back. Baggy scrubs and street clothes had concealed Rodney Fox’s lean, hard body. “I learned a long time ago not to mix business and pleasure. The results can be devastating.”

Rodney took a sip of his coffee, peering at Tamara over the rim of the cup. “Are you speaking from experience?”

“Yes. I vowed not to get involved with anyone I have to work with.”

“You know you’ve become an object of fascination at the hospital.”

Tamara froze. “What are you talking about?” She knew she sounded defensive, but didn’t care. She detested office gossip.

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.