Cherry Adair - T-flac 03 Read Free Page B

lifetime. One month, one week, four days and nineteen hours.
    "Yeah? Ramon and I go back to our first year in med school at Stanford. Nice try, but no cigar."
    "Holy Hannah! Ramon has a medical degree?"

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    "No."
    Delanie frowned. "But you just said—"
    "I said we went to med school together. He didn't finish."
    "Did that have anything to do with the fact that he was at least ten years older than his classmates?"
    "He wasn't," Kyle told her shortly. "I was eight years younger than the average."
    "Doogie Howser, huh?"
    "Something like that," he said dismissively. "I'll make arrangements for you to leave tomorrow morning."
    "I beg your pardon?" That had certainly come out of left field.
    "Sorry." Kyle said, not sounding in the least bit apologetic. "Was that sentence too complicated for you?
    How about this. You." He pointed. "Leave." He made a running motion with his fingers. "Tomorrow."
    The finger took a dive.
    "You should've been a comedian. If you're so offended by my presence, you leave."
    "You don't know what the hell you're in the middle of, Delanie." Kyle kept his voice low and cool, and the fire in his pale eyes banked. "You don't know him like I do."
    "He's my lover," she reminded him coldly, wishing she had an antacid for her revolting stomach. "I assure you, I know him as well as I need to."
    "Somehow I don't think so." His brow cocked as he scrutinized her. Kyle Wright had an uncanny way of watching her that made her feel as though he could read her mind. It wasn't going to be easy hiding anything from him.
    "Once you dissect a cadaver together after an all-night keg party, you get to know the other guy pretty damn well. And believe me, Montero and I did our share of kegs and corpses together. Wanna compare notes?"
    She shook her head. He crossed the room toward her, his stride long and loose. His clothing was expensive, well-tailored, fitting his rangy body well. He could be a doctor, or an investment banker, or a businessman. But one look at his ice-floe eyes, and a person would know he wasn't anything so tame.
    Just what he was, she wasn't sure.
    She frowned when he sat in the middle of the same sofa and sprawled against the glove-soft leather, stretching out his legs, crossing them at the ankle. Speculation, and something else, flickered in his expression. It was the something else that made her heart lurch.
    Determined not to let him rattle her, she studied his face.
    "What could you have that a man like Ramon Montero would want?" she mused aloud. "It can't be your…" she eyed his black T-shirt, black jeans, black boots… black scowl. "Flair for fashion," she managed dryly. "And surely you've both outgrown keggers. Are doctors making house calls these days?"

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    She hadn't missed the obscene chunk of gold and diamonds he wore on the pinkie finger of his right hand. A twin to the ring Ramon wore. She loathed jewelry on men.
    Half turning, he rested an arm on the back of the sofa. It was a very relaxed pose, yet Delanie could almost feel the crackle and pop of energy emanating from him. "I'm not a medical doctor anymore."
    "Shitty bedside manner?" she suggested sweetly.
    "Ph.D. Switched to biotechnology and virology research." He tasted his drink and assessed her over the glass. "And you took a different career path, too, right? From showgirl to playmate? Were you aware of what Montero was before you… hooked up with him?"
    Oh, you mean a drug-dealing terrorist and a sadist ? Delanie forced a laugh. "Do you think I'd come to the middle of nowhere with him if I didn't?" She leaned back, flinching when she encountered his hand on the cushion behind her head. "And the reason I changed career paths ought to be obvious. Money.
    Glamour. Nice clothes. It only took a few weeks working at the Cobra before he singled me out."
    Agonizingly embarrassing weeks. Weeks