Lori Avocato - Nip, Tuck, Dead

I did yawn again.

“No, it’s not the company,” I said as I undid the zipper on Neal’s jacket.

Soon he was only in his jeans-and I realized I had a real “thing” for shirtless, well-built jean-clad guys.

I, however, had my jeans gingerly removed in one sensual moment by Neal. Hey, he was a doctor for crying out loud!

My vision blurred a bit as another damn yawn snuck out. Although I didn’t want to admit it, the damn Benadryl had knocked me for a loop. Shit. I decided staying “active” would help keep me awake.

Neal bent over to lift his jacket and shirt up from the floor. I had to smile to myself at the guy’s perfection qualities. Jagger would have walked all over both of our clothing without a thought.

But the doc pulled his red shirt from the jacket, folded it, stuck it on the bedside stand and started to fold the shirt.

“Force of habit. I’ll be right with…”

Neal was talking. I knew it because I could hear his voice. But I wasn’t comprehending a thing as I watched him fold his shirt so carefully.

Red.

Expensive looking.

Hmm. Intriguing.

Shirt with the one side pocket…missing a tiny piece.

I knew it wasn’t the Benadryl that had my mouth drier than the sandy beaches of Newport. No. It was Neal. Neal folding his shirt. The red, expensive shirt. The fabric that looked exactly like the swatch I’d found on the bushes of Cliff Walk where Ian had died.

Suicide?

I didn’t think so.

Perfect Neal was wearing this particular red shirt as if mocking me. Giving me some kind of signal. Yikes.

Neal set the shirt on top of his jacket and turned back.

My jaw dropped.

Apparently he was better at reading body language than I was at hiding my reaction. His look became rather ominous, eyes darkening, face scowling.

He knew, just knew, that I had caught on about the shirt.

“Goddamn it, Pauline.”

I wrinkled my forehead and tried to chuckle. “What?” I asked, moving to the side with the hopes that maybe I was wrong. Maybe he wasn’t as crafty as I’d given him credit for. Or should I say devious? “I’m fine.” I tried to sit, but he pulled me back. “I have to use the powder room.” And get my pepper spray.

He looked at me and shook his head.

This time that body language said, “Doesn’t matter. You ain’t going anywhere. We have things to do.”

In my gut I knew Dr. Neal Forsyth wasn’t talking sex here.

And in my medical opinion, Neal brought me out there for one specific reason, and in the interim he snapped. Snapped like a twig. I could see it in his eyes. The guy was nuts.

I had to think fast.

“Let me go, Neal.” I leaned over and tried to kiss him on the cheek (as a diversion despite my nearly gagging), but he pushed me away.

Oh, boy.

This was not looking good.

Suddenly Neal was standing above me, and with his shirt off looked more like my older brother than the young doctor that he was. I pushed myself over to the other side of the bed and stared at him.

That ominous, dark look deepened in his eyes…and I realized…Neal Forsyth was not as young as I thought he was.

The guy must have had plastic surgery.

Oh, yeah. Neal probably had BDD too-or was hiding something.

Or had plastic surgery to change his appearance. Oh…my…God.

How could I have not noticed before? Okay, I cut myself some slack since it was so dark in Forsyth Manor the other night, Neal didn’t take off his shirt, which should have been some kind of clue, and I’d had…maybe a bit too much expensive alcohol.

I moved one way.

He followed.

I had to do something fast. “Oh, are we role playing here?” The words slipped out of my mouth in hopes that Neal would believe that I thought he was kidding. Then I could get away from him-and go where?

“Yeah, Pauline. We’re role playing.” He came to my side of the bed and looked down.

I tried to ease back and grab my jeans.

If something menacing was going to happen-and my gut was screaming that it was-I certainly didn’t want to be found in my floral pink undies.

I knew I needn’t worry since shark bait didn’t need to follow any fashion trends. Who the hell would ever see? I gave up trying to grab my pants and concentrated on what to do.

Save my life came to mind.

I yawned and felt my body getting lighter. My arms actually felt heavy, and I knew if I had to get up and run, my legs would fight me. The Benadryl could be my undoing here.

Benadryl that Neal had “encouraged” me to take.

All right, I’d been in this situation before. Facing the murderer and probably fraud criminal too. But despite my getting through it unscathed before, my mind was so woozy that I couldn’t remember what I’d done.

So I said a silent prayer.

Neal grabbed my arm. “Get up.”

“I’m cold. At least let me stick my jeans back on.” I tried to pull away, but he held me tightly. I told myself I should poke his eyes with my nails, but the damn antihistamine really had done a number on me and I could barely focus.

Why was I so vain that I didn’t want to barf in front of a hunky doctor?

“What are you doing, Neal? I thought we were…I mean…I really wanted to-” I leaned forward and whispered in his ear (all the while fighting back the nausea my words caused), “-make love to you. Real hot, naughty nurse sex, I’m talking.”

Long shot. Sure. But a guy was a guy was a guy.

For a few seconds he started to cave. I could feel him stiffening next to me so I continued prostituting myself in order to…live…and stiffen him.

I kissed him behind the ear and his grip loosened.

Sometimes survival was all out sickening.

“Neal, what happened? I mean, I thought you were younger than you appear.” I ran my fingers through his hair and nearly groaned in disgust. But a girl had to do what a girl had to do to get out of this treacherous situation. “Um, not that you still aren’t a hunk,” I lied, trying to appeal to his vanity.

He started kissing me back.

Bingo.

I swallowed hard so bile wouldn’t rise up in my throat. When faced in a life or death situation, I realized it was an out-of-body experience and pretended this really wasn’t me.

It wasn’t me he was kissing.

It wasn’t my neck he was breathing heavily on.

It wasn’t me Neal would have sex with-then flip overboard.

It was me thinking over my dead body.

But I did keep my mind on the problem at hand, all the while fighting like hell to stay coherent. I knew I could never take him, especially on the Benadryl jag, so I had to keep my wits about me and use my brain.

“What is really going on, sweetie? You were kinda scaring me for a few minutes.” I tried to chuckle, but it came out a strangled sound.

He eased back as he tried to undo the buttons on my top.

To buy time, I took his fingers from the clothing and kissed each one very slowly and deliberately. Ick.

“It has to end, Pauline. It has to end,” he whispered near my ear.

He wasn’t talking finger kissing, that much I was certain-and hoped to hell that I wasn’t the “it” he’d just mentioned. “What, Neal? What has to end?”

Slowly his hands relaxed and he eased me down on the bed. But thank goodness he balanced himself on his arms. Then he looked so very odd. Almost as if in another world. Neal really wasn’t with me right then as he said, “The deception. The killing. My own brother.”

My heart stopped.

When it started again, my hands were shaking so badly I worried Neal would notice. Don’t show fear to the enemy became my motto-although it was much easier to repeat in my head than to actually do. “Deception?” The killing could wait since I figured out that he must have pushed Ian off the cliff. But was Ian his brother? How to get away from this wacko?