Valerie Parv - With A Little Help

Sophie hitched a slender hip onto a stool at the counter. “Good for the bank. Now tell me about your mother’s visit. Who’s she trying to fix you up with this time?”

Emma affected an air of nonchalance. “What makes you think she’s trying to fix me up?”

“Since the day we met in high school, that’s all she’s been doing. Who is it this time? A psychiatrist who can get to the bottom of your doctor phobia?”

“I don’t have a doctor phobia.”

“Oh, no?” Sophie pushed her glasses to the end of her nose and mimed holding a pad and pen. “Tell me, Ms. Jarrett, how long have you hated your horse?”

Emma snorted a mouthful of coffee. “I don’t have a horse, either.”

“You only think you don’t have a horse. Come lie on my couch and tell me all about zis problem. I’ll lie here beside you. Closeness helps break down zee inhibitions.”

Laughing, Emma blotted her shirt front. “My mother doesn’t have a psychiatrist lined up for me, thank goodness. She wants us to cater a birthday bash for Nathan Hale.”

Sophie pressed a fist against her chest. “The heart surgeon? According to She Magazine, he’s the sexiest man in medicine. Tell me you said yes.”

Emma gestured around the congested kitchen. “Look at this place. How can we take on a sit-down dinner for fifty or more?”

“Charge like a wounded bull, then hire waiters. Some of my study group might help out. They always need cash. Even if his party is on a class night, I can do some of the prep work with you and put in a couple of hours at the venue before going to school.”

Sophie was studying for a postgraduate diploma in nutrition and Emma had agreed to work around her commitments, knowing Sophie would be free of them in another few months. Her diploma, which was focused on food services management, would widen the range of services they could offer. Emma bit into a tart. “The upfront expenses will be a stretch. I know they’ll be billed back to him, but we’ll have to carry the costs till then. The sexiest man in medicine won’t settle for anything but the best.”

“Ancient Chinese wisdom says Where there’s a will, there’s a way.”

Sophie liked to spout Confucian wisdom whenever possible. Her grandparents had emigrated from Hong Kong to Australia, where their baby girl had grown up and married an Australian sailor, Sophie’s dad. “According to you, the only wisdom is ancient Chinese,” Emma teased.

“Not at all. There are wise Australian sayings like ‘she’ll be right’ and ‘no worries.’”

“True.”

“Translated from the original Chinese,” Sophie added with a wicked grin.

“No doubt. Was there anything you guys didn’t invent?”

“You’re just jealous.” Sophie leaned forward on her stool. “Confucius would say It’s better to try and fail than not to try at all.”

Emma laughed. “Confucius obviously didn’t have a kitchen the size of a bathroom.”

NATE WAS ONLY A CLIENT. She hadn’t been herself when they met at her parents’ party. Emma repeated the phrases like a mantra as she drove to his place on Friday morning. She was a professional, she could do this. All he had to do was cooperate. Amnesia would also help, she thought.

Nevertheless her fingers twitched at the memory of a dark crew cut crowning a classically shaped head. She’d spent half the party resisting the urge to run her palm over it, until finally she gave in to temptation after finding him tucked in a shadowy corner near the conference room. He’d looked as surprised as she felt, but didn’t resist, pressing a kiss to her fingers. When he hadn’t shown any inclination to move on to her mouth, she’d taken the initiative, kissing him with increasing enthusiasm as she felt him respond.

“You taste of truffles,” he’d murmured when he ended the kiss with what she’d swear had been reluctance.

“Not bad,” she’d said, her mind spinning. She’d handled truffle oil hours before, yet he’d still detected the traces on her skin. Had he also noticed the throbbing of her pulse or the racing of her heart in response to his closeness? “What else do you sense?”

He’d looked serious, considering the question before nuzzling her ear with his mouth. “The faintest aura of Paloma perfume. You could drive a man wild with those two scents.”

Tingles like faint electrical impulses had swept through her and she’d pressed closer to him. She found his long, lean body attractive. He had wide shoulders, narrow hips, a long neck and strong jawline faintly shaded by stubble. Urbane and sexily volatile.

“Am I driving you wild?” she asked. He was definitely having an impact on her.

“Mmm-hmm. Imagine what you could do if you were sober.”

She’d recoiled as if stung. “I’m not drunk. All I’ve had to drink is one glass of wine and one orange juice.”

“With a generous slug of vodka added by your brother.”

“Oh, no, he wouldn’t.” The muzziness in her brain started to make sense. “I’ll kill him.”

“You didn’t ask him to make you a mixer?”

She shook her head. After starting work at 4:00 a.m. and not stopping to eat lunch, she’d been too tired to have more than one alcoholic drink, knowing the effect it was likely to have on her. “Must be his idea of a joke. You’d think with all his degrees and experience, he’d know better.”

“They don’t give degrees in common sense.”

Using Nate for leverage she’d straightened, aware of her head spinning. She was clinging to him like a demented sex kitten. What must he think of her?

But all he’d said was, “I’m on call so often that I don’t drink a lot. I’ll take a rain check on driving you wild and drive you home instead.”

She still wasn’t sure why she let him, because she’d had to listen to a lecture about keeping an eye on drinks even at a private party. In a low-slung Branxton sports car that she’d struggled to get into with some degree of grace, he drove fast but in control.

Her head pounded. “I’m sorry for trying to jump your bones. This is the first time I’ve had a spiked drink.”

“Hopefully also the last. Another man could easily have taken advantage of your…enthusiasm.”

“But saintly medicos like you wouldn’t dream of doing such a thing.”

He’d looked at her curiously. “What does my work have to do with this?”

“According to my parents, doctors have to set a good example for the rest of us.”

He made a point of slowing down, even though he was well within the limit, and smiled over at her. “Better not be stopped for speeding.”

“Don’t worry. As soon as the officer sees the title on your license, he’ll assume you’re rushing to some medical emergency.”

“Is that why you threw yourself at me?” He sounded amused by the turn the conversation was taking. “You fancy a man with a title?”

“I’ve been surrounded by men and women with medical titles all my life. It’s not a novelty.” She didn’t like being reduced to the status of doctor groupie. “In my experience, more than a few doctors are walking, talking egos with delusions of godhood.”

“That’s a sweeping judgment, isn’t it? You were the one who came on to me, remember?”

Remember? Her skin still felt hot and tight. She knew she’d never forget this night as long as she lived. “I’m well aware of the fact,” she said, enunciating carefully. She really did feel horribly unwell. Throwing up on his immaculate leather upholstery would be the last straw, but she would not ask him to pull over so she could humiliate herself even more by the side of the road. “We’ve agreed the vodka didn’t help. At least that’s my excuse. What’s yours?”