The Nurse's Not-So-Secret Scandal. Wendy S. Marcus

his chest pressed to her back, his palm flat on her belly. “Time to muster up some moxie, Roxie,” he whispered. “Every woman in this bar is wishing she had a body as gorgeous as yours, and every man is wishing he had your long, beautiful legs clamped around his butt.”

      Roxie relaxed. Smiled even. “Does that include you?” She allowed herself to be led to the large wooden bar.

      “Nah.” He assisted her up onto a stool, even though she didn’t need assistance then slid onto the stool beside her. He looked up, locked a pair of dreamy green eyes with hers and added, “My wish involves them wrapped around my head.”

      Hell-o! An excited tingle started—there—and flared out to her periphery. Roxie came dangerously close to grabbing him by the arm and dragging him off to someplace more private. So she could grant a little wish fulfillment. Because with men there was a Polly Pocket–size window of opportunity between “I want to make you feel so good” and “me, me, me.” But, “So that’s why you’re here? Sex?” Making him no better than the rest of her post-pornographic-video fan club. Too busy to bother with an official date, too cheap to shell out some bucks on dinner and a movie, but ready to get naked at the first opportunity. The slug.

      “I’m here because Victoria’s worried you’re heading down a dangerous path.”

      “Ah. How sweet.” Not. “And she sent her does-what-he’s-asked-to-do lackey to stop me?” Roxie stood. “Well, thanks anyway, but I don’t need a keeper.” She didn’t need anyone.

      “I beg to differ.” He caught her by a belt loop on her skirt as she tried to walk away. “Sit down,” he said quietly, but it was an order all the same.

      Not likely. “Who do you think …?”

      “I can tie a cherry stem in a knot using only my tongue and teeth,” he said, calm as can be. The randomness of his comment caught her off guard. Intrigued, Roxie stopped.

      “In eight seconds,” he added with a slow, confident smile.

      He was too cocky for his own good. “Triple B,” she called the bartender. “The usual for me. My friend would like something with a cherry in it.”

      “I guess that leaves you out,” Raunchy Rob from Radiology called from the other side of the bar. The guy next to him laughed.

      “Ha-ha,” Roxie said. Idiot.

      Fig stood, looking ready to do some damage. “Apologize to the lady,” he demanded.

      “What?” Rob asked. “I was only having some fun. You know I love you, Roxie.” He snickered. “Even more so on my computer screen.” He elbowed the loser next to him. They both chuckled.

      Fig took off.

      Now it was Roxie holding him by the belt loop in a futile attempt to slow him down. “Don’t.” The man was a plow horse. She was the plow, her sandals absolutely no help in the traction department. “Oh, look,” she tried. “Our drinks. Time to prove your oral dexterity.” Fig kept on going. “For heaven’s sake, apologize, Rob. Or I’ll tell everyone …” about his stubby little pecker. What a miserable night that’d been.

      “I’m sorry.” Rob hopped off his stool and backed across the dance floor. “I’m sorry. Hell, Roxie. Call him off.”

      CHAPTER THREE

      FLIRTY banter and sarcastic teasing aside, Fig refused to stand by and do nothing when a poor excuse for a man flat-out disrespected a lady. Especially one he considered a friend, whether or not she considered him a friend in return. When the loud mouth pleaded out an apology then scurried away, Fig stopped. “Anyone else have anything to say?” he asked the now quiet crowd. He stood tall, his arms at his sides, prepared to fight, hoping he didn’t have to.

      Because he had plans for later tonight and they didn’t include a visit to the emergency room.

      No one spoke.

      Good.

      Gradually the bar’s patrons resumed their conversations and turned back to their pool and dart games. Time to take Roxie’s mind off her quest for vengeance and convince her to leave. With him.

      “My hero,” Roxie teased from beside him. She looked down at the wood floor and nudged a small drink umbrella with the toe of her delicate gold sandal. “But if you’re looking to protect my honor, I’m afraid you’re at least ten years too late. I’ve had sex with—” she scanned the crowd “—at least half the men in here tonight. I bet the other half have watched me doing the videotaped hoochie coochie probably with their hands down their pants.” She shrugged. “I’m not proud of it. But I’m not ashamed, either. It is what it is. I am who I am.”

      He appreciated her honesty. “I like who you are.”

      She smiled up at him. “Because you want me to wrap my legs around your head.”

      “Hey. Don’t knock it.” He matched her grin. “I’ll make sure you enjoy yourself as much as I do.” Turned out Fig had a real knack for pleasuring women. He may have hit the sex scene later than most, but according to several very reliable sources he’d surpassed the competition in the oral sex arena.

      Two positives to come out of months and months spent as a patient in the hospital:

      Patience. From waiting for the nurses to bring his medication, waiting to get strong enough to walk to the bathroom on his own, to get healthy enough to return home. Women seemed to like his unhurried approach to foreplay.

      Chivalry. From the hours and hours of black-and-white classic movies his mother watched at his bedside. When he’d pretended to be asleep so she’d stop fussing over him. When he’d vowed if he survived long enough, got big and strong and lucky enough to find a woman who didn’t think he was a sickly, hairless freak, he’d treat her like a princess. In his early twenties he’d learned as much as they touted equality, women liked to be treated special, to be protected, cared for and respected. As much as they wanted independence, they liked a man to take charge.

      With that thought in mind, Fig caught Roxie around the waist, pulled her close. “Dance with me.”

      Roxie settled her body flush with his and clasped her hands behind his neck. “Since you asked so nicely.”

      Fig rested his hands on her hips, his cheek to her mane of soft, lightly perfumed curls, and swayed in time with the slow beat, loving the closeness, the feel of her. But he needed Roxie to understand. “About our date.”

      She leaned back to look at him. “You mean the one I got all dressed up for? The one I’d been looking forward to all week? The one you didn’t bother to show up for?”

      “That’s the one.” He pulled her back against his body and held her there. “I had a family emergency and had to run home for the weekend. Can we leave it at that as long as you know I didn’t get a better offer, because there’s no place I would have rather been than with you that night? And if there was any way I could have gotten to you I would have? I should have called.” But he’d been enraged that his mother had manipulated him. Again. For the absolute last time. “I’m sorry.”

      “And …” Roxie said.

      “I’m sorry for what went down at the hospital. I had no idea the investigation was hospital wide. Victoria asked me to help prove your innocence, and that’s what I’d intended to do.”

      “A-a-and?”

      And what? Fig had no idea.

      “And you’re going to make it up to me.”

      “Yes.” Most definitely. “And I’m going to make it up to you.” Tonight. All night long. Fig slid his hands into her back pockets and eased her hips closer, putting her in contact with his growing arousal, making his intentions clear. They’d had quite a tempting flirtation going last weekend, and Fig was eager to back up his words with a little action.

      Roxie