Lethal Exposure Read Free Page B

her two best friends, Elle and Vanessa.
    Her stomach knotted. Until Roger, she’d believed in fairy-tale romances and she’d always thought of herself as a “good” girl. Now she felt tainted, dirty.
    Shaking her head, Julie sidled up to the resplendent green granite counter of the nurses’ station. “What’s the new admit’s diagnosis?”
    Maxine was a thin, feisty woman who loved Confidential Rejuvenations so much she ignored the fact that she was past retirement age and just kept working. She dyed her hair flame-red and had a penchant for turquoise jewelry. Today she wore a pair of dangly phoenix earrings.
    “Priapism.” Maxine winked.
    This time Julie did sigh. “Priapism” was the medical term for an erection that wouldn’t abate even with repeated sexual activity. The cause was usually drug-induced. “Viagra?”
    “Some herbal thing.”
    “Guest’s age?”
    Confidential Rejuvenations’ new policy was to call the patients “guests” as part of the hospital’s attempts to revamp their image damaged by recent scandals. In Julie’s estimation it was a silly idea, but no one had asked her opinion.
    “He’s thirty-one.”
    “So this was a recreational thing, not a home remedy for impotence?”
    “Apparently.”
    Julie frowned. “Boys and their toys.”
    Maxine glanced over her right shoulder, and then over her left. Finally she leaned forward and lowered her voice. “The patient is a Hollywood director who’s been shooting a film here in Austin. He’s being admitted under a generic alias to the Corona Suite.”
    It wasn’t uncommon for celebrities to dodge the paparazzi by signing in with bland monikers like Smith or Jones or Black.
    “But before you escort him to his suite,” Maxine continued, “Dr. Carpenter wants you to put him in exam room one, do a physical assessment and then call him when you’re done.”
    “Gotcha.” Julie grabbed her laptop computer that was docked on a rolling cart, and headed off down the tiled corridor to check on the rest of her “guests” before the hotshot Hollywood director showed up on the floor.
    She’d just completed her rounds when a man in a beige London Fog raincoat got off the elevator and came toward her. He smelled of musky autumn rain and dark truffles.
    Stunned, she stood there staring.
    He was movie-star gorgeous, causing her to wonder why he’d chosen a career behind the camera instead of in front of it. Tall and lean, but muscular as an athlete. His thick black hair was brushed back off his forehead, giving him a powerful appearance, which was complemented by his perfectly tailored navy blue suit, cream-colored shirt and maroon silk tie. His eyes were enigmatic, his cheekbones high and chiseled, his mouth wide and inviting. His eyes, fringed by lush lashes, looked black as ink and full of mystery.
    He was the kind of man who made even a die-hard romantic like Julie surrender her happily-ever-after daydreams for the promise of one unforgettable night in his bed.
    Definitely a Hollywood type. This had to be her guy.
    The air between them weighed heavy with expectation. He looked as if he owned the entire hospital and everyone in it. He looked as if he wanted to own her as well.
    Feeling ambushed by this totally unexpected and wholly inappropriate sexual attraction, Julie’s stomach pitched as a dozen wayward fantasies flipped through her mind.
    She pictured herself rolling around on a bearskin rug in a woodsy Alaskan cabin with the guy. She imagined their sweat-drenched bodies pressed together as they made love on the white sand beach in the Canary Islands. She envisioned them writhing against each other on the dance floor of a trendy salsa club as they danced the Lambada.
    He was an Artic explorer and she was a native woman offering him the comfort of her igloo…and her body. She was a high-class call girl and he was her frisky sugar daddy and they were joining the mile-high club on a first-class trip to Paris. He was a virile cowboy and