KRISTI GOLD - Doctor For Keeps

She refused to dull her mood with regrets. “Nice to meet you, Rick. I’m Randi.” For some reason she gave him her childhood name, something she rarely did with strangers.

“Same here, Randi.” He released her hand and rubbed his chin. “Hmmm…Rick and Randi. Has a nice ring to it.”

“I’ll be picking out the china pattern tomorrow.”

He didn’t seem to mind her sarcasm, judging by his expanded grin. “So Randi-on-the-chaise, what brings you out here in the middle of the night?”

“Well, Rick-on-the-sax, it’s only ten, not the middle of the night, and I was looking for some peace and quiet.”

His smile faded. “And you found it until I disturbed you with my tune.”

“Actually, I was enjoying the music. I thought it came from hidden speakers.”

“I’m flattered.” Rick nodded toward the upper balcony. “Guess the guy upstairs doesn’t share your opinion.”

Miranda looked over her shoulder at the place he’d indicated, the apartment directly above hers. “Guess not.” She brought her attention back to Rick. “Do you do this often?”

“Talk to strange women?”

She couldn’t resist rolling her eyes. “Play music for the complex.”

“Not normally. I don’t live here.”

“You don’t live here?” Miranda wasn’t sure whether to be alarmed or disappointed.

“I’m apartment-sitting for a couple of friends. They’re on vacation, and I’m having some work done on my house.”

“Oh.” Could she really believe him? What if he was a rapist? Or a serial killer?

“Hey, don’t look so worried. I’m harmless.”

He was anything but harmless. Maybe not a criminal, but she could think of a dozen ways he could do her in with his charm. She could also think of reasons she might not mind at all. “These days a woman can’t be too careful.”

“No, she can’t.”

“Dammit, people, take it inside. Some of us are trying to sleep.”

Rick grumbled as his glance shot toward the reappearing neighbor. “What a redneck.”

“Yeah. Bet he wears his pants under his belly and has beer for breakfast.”

Rick smiled his damnable smile again and stood. “Well, shall we?”

“Shall we what?”

“Go inside.”

Miranda draped her legs over the side of the chaise and sat up, resigned to the fact that the conversation was over. Just as well, she supposed. “Probably should. I need to get to bed anyway.”

He rubbed his chin with a thoughtful expression. “Maybe you should walk me to my apartment in case I get accosted.”

She pretended indifference when in reality she was considering his suggestion. “You look quite capable of handling yourself for the short distance you have to walk to the apartment.”

His rough sigh rose over the cricket symphony surrounding them. “You’re determined to make this tough on me, aren’t you?”

She feigned an innocent facade, complete with a hand to her chest in her best Southern-belle imitation. “Why, sir, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

He crouched down and laid the sax across his knees. His musky scent wafted around her and his dark eyes impaled her. “I thought maybe you might join me in a nightcap at the apartment. Just to talk.”

Miranda knew she should refuse and leave that instant. She knew it would be best to say a fond farewell and get the heck out of Dodge. But what she knew and what she wanted had developed into two different things. An intriguing man was inviting her to share his time. A handsome stranger. The stuff fantasies were made of. “What kind of nightcap?”

“Milk. Orange juice. Whatever you want.”

“Tequila?”

His laugh, soft and sexy, rumbled low in his chest. “I don’t drink that stuff. It’ll kill ya if you’re not careful.”

A point in his favor. Obviously he wasn’t a back-alley drunk. Or at least she didn’t think so. But life’s bitter lessons came home to roost and caution kicked in. “I appreciate the offer, but I really don’t know you at all.”

“How ’bout I give you my mother’s phone number for a reference?”

“Not good enough. Mothers never find fault in their sons.”

Some unnamed emotion flared in his dark eyes, maybe sadness mixed with a little regret, but it disappeared as quickly as it had come. “I guess you’re right.”

He dropped back into the chair and adjusted the sax to rest against his other leg. Miranda immediately zeroed in on his hands—large, strong, probably skilled in many areas.

“Okay,” he said, “if you don’t want to go inside, then I have another suggestion. Why don’t I pull a couple of chairs onto the front porch of the apartment? That way we can sit there instead of the middle of this courtyard where every word we say bounces off the swimming pool. We’ll be out of Redneck’s earshot, and you can run if you get the urge.”

“Are you saying you’re going to give me a reason to run?”

His frown didn’t detract from his gorgeous face. “Do I look that threatening to you?”

Yes, he did. In a too-sexy-for-his-clothes kind of way. And the way she was feeling right now… “Maybe.”

He leaned forward, allowing her another good whiff of his cologne and a search of his dark gaze. The moonlight danced off the blue highlights in his hair. His olive skin looked smooth and touchable above the slight shading of whiskers on his jaw. Miranda had the strongest urge to find out how touchable it was. Her hands actually itched at the prospect. She clamped them together to keep from doing just that.

“I promise I’ll keep my distance,” he said, “if you’ll promise to join me. I’m just in the mood for company. Besides, it’s too nice a night to go to bed.”

Miranda half expected him to add “alone.” When he didn’t, she considered his request for a moment. What could one drink on a porch hurt? A little adventure? Her instincts told her to take a chance. After all, that’s what she had done by moving here and accepting a new job, determined to start a new life. She had built a cocoon around her world for most of her twenty-five years. It was high time to slowly unravel it.

“Okay, one drink.” She pointed at him. “But just one. I have to be up early.”

His smile lit up the night. “Good.”

When Rick held out his free hand, Miranda stared at it for a moment, then curled her fingers around his and allowed him to help her up. Once she was standing, he let her go. For some reason that disappointed her.

She trailed behind him and waited outside until he returned from the apartment with two spindle-backed dining-room chairs, sans saxophone.

“So what will it be, milk or orange juice?” he asked. “Or I have beer.”

“Beer,” Miranda blurted out. Lord, why did she say that? She didn’t even like the stuff.

“A beer it is. I’ll be back in a minute,” he said, then disappeared into the apartment.

Miranda took the chair near the boxwood hedge, farthest from the door, and closest to the walkway. Just in case.

She shook her head, trying to clear the cobwebs from her common sense. She must be nuts for agreeing to this. For heaven’s sake, he was a stranger, albeit a beautiful one. But she had to admit she was more than a bit curious about him. For instance, why on earth had he extended the invitation to her when the man could have his choice of women?

Okay, so the complex wasn’t buzzing with buxom blondes this time of night on a Sunday. Obviously Musician Rick had invited her—thistle-thin with waist-length, straight-as-a-two-by-four, mousy-brown hair—because she was the only woman available.

“Here.” He handed an amber bottle of beer over her shoulder. She studied the dusting of dark hair that extended up his arm. She found his strong square fingers fascinating. She found every inch of him fascinating.