ARE YOU LONESOME TONIGHT? (Running Wild) (14 page)

Edna was taking a call in the kitchen and Maxine was putting Graham to bed when the doorbell rang shortly after seven. Harry wouldn’t arrive for another half hour, Polly knew, so it had to be Turner.

She was ready, but she wasn’t eager. She wiped her damp palms on a tissue and cursed Edna, Maxine, the crutches, and the stupid custom of dating as she made her way to the door and yanked it open.

"Hello there, Hopalong.” Bruce was smiling, and he handed her a bouquet of violets tied with a yellow satin ribbon. She had a weakness for violets. She didn’t let him see how much she liked them.

Or how much she liked the way he looked.

He had a mouth that could only be described as indecent, and the golden beard accentuated his lips. He was always smiling. That, combined with the undeniable fact that his shoulders were massive, his waist narrow, and his hips lean, meant that he qualified as a boy toy, she assured herself. And after tonight, she'd have him out of her system.

"Come on in,” she said. “Thanks for the flowers.” She left him standing in the living room and stumped into the kitchen, violets clutched in one hand. She found a water glass and carefully arranged them. They smelled sweet and innocent, and for a moment she wished she were.

“Where’s Maxine and Edna?” He was peering around, obviously curious.

"Turning tricks in the back bedroom,” Polly snapped. "That’s where they keep the S-and-M stuff.”

“Oh, of course, how stupid of me.” One eyebrow lifted sardonically and he nodded. “Well, I hope they’re practicing safe sex." He reached politely for her purse and her jacket, but Polly snatched them away, forgetting momentarily about her precarious balancing act on the crutches.

“Whoops, careful there, Counselor.” He grabbed her by both forearms to keep her from falling, and his hands on her bare flesh sent tingles shooting through her. She felt her nipples stand at attention against the flimsy cotton of her dress, and she knew by the way his eyes flickered down and then quickly up again that he’d noticed. He didn’t release her immediately, and the intensely interested look on his face made her decide not to smack him with one of the crutches.

Damn, she fumed silently, allowing the moment to go on and on. Damn, damn, damn. She wanted him. 

What she’d admitted to Edna was an understatement. Bruce Turner didn’t turn her on a little bit. This was big-time, ten on the Richter scale. For the first time she understood what romance novels meant when they described a touch as electrifying. And on her arms, for heaven’s sake. What the hell would happen when he touched a real erogenous zone?

The man was a walking sex bomb, and at the moment she felt like a match on the verge of spontaneous combustion. But she really ought to get through dinner before she seduced him. It was not classy to jump his bones in the first hour.

It was comforting to see that he wasn’t unaffected. The perpetual twinkle had faded from his dark brown eyes, replaced by what could only be outright lust. His breath sighed out and his big hands drew her closer instead of releasing her, sliding around to her back to draw her to his chest, bringing her weight fully against him. Feeling safe, feeling supported, feeling horny as hell, she let the crutches drop to the carpet and enjoyed the moment.

He lowered his head slowly, giving her ample time to pull away, but she didn’t want to.

She wanted him to kiss her, and when his lips finally came down on hers, she wanted more. Much, much more. And quickly. She tightened her hold on his neck and deliberately pressed her hips into his, rocking gently, teasing herself every bit as much as him.

Damn, the man knew how to kiss. His mouth was firm and confident on hers, applying just the right amount of pressure, using his tongue a little. She didn’t even mind the beard; it was surprisingly soft and exceedingly sensual against her skin. He tasted musky, erotic.

She opened her lips a little more and used her own tongue, touching the arch of his upper lip, pushing inside just the slightest bit, exploring his teeth and delving deeper, totally engrossed in the process. He tasted rich and smoky and sexy, and yes, she was definitely going to take this man to bed tonight.

They’d go to her apartment, she’d say she had to pick something up there. She probably did, at that; she didn't think she had any condoms in her purse.

She was really starting to get carried away when he drew back. After a moment spent getting her libido tamed enough to think, she decided he was deliberately insulting her by stopping first.

“Shouldn't it be the woman who stops?" Her voice was annoyed, but it was also huskier than she'd expected it to be, and she cleared her throat and scowled up at him, still having to rely on his arms to support her.

“I thought we settled all that with equal opportunity legislation,” he said with an easy grin, somehow managing to hold her steady but not too close while reaching down and retrieving her crutches. “Besides, I didn’t want to get my face slapped for making a serious move on you before we’ve been out together three times.”

Three times?

“What rule book did you read? Because it must have been ancient history,” she snapped as she got balanced on her crutches again. She knew her face was flushed. Her whole damned body was flushed.

Never mind. If she knew anything about men, it was the fact that their crotches and their brains never worked at the same time. It would be simplicity itself to seduce him later this evening. “Okay, Turner, go ahead and play hard to get,” she muttered, adding in a more audible tone, “So if we’re going, Doc, let’s get gone.”

He gave her a mock bow and swung the door wide. She stomped out, head high, crutches swinging, but she had to proceed with caution on the steps. Much as she hated to admit it, his presence at her side was comforting.

“You rented a van?" She’d sweated over how she’d manage gracefully getting in and out of the sports car he’d surely have insisted upon from the insurance company.

“I have two vehicles,” he explained. "My grandma is in a wheelchair. I like to be able to take her out for dinner on my days off. She’s in a care home and she enjoys getting out once in a while. With the van, I can just wheel her in, wheel her out. Makes life less complicated for both of us.”

Kind, she ticked off reluctantly on his report card.

So he had a heart beneath that hairy, manly chest. So what? She’d soon find out where his weaknesses lay. She always had before. By the time she was through with him at the end of the night, he’d qualify for one of the general unflattering headings in her own history book:

Self-absorbed. Cheap. Angry. Boring. Predictable. Unimaginative. Premature ejaculator. One- shot Charlie.

But what he’d just said lingered in her mind, and with the usual stab of guilt and sorrow and pity, Polly thought of her own mother. It would be so wonderful to take her mother out to dinner when she visited in Winnipeg. Her mom was in a care facility, too, but Janet Kelville’s mind was far too confused to chance taking her anywhere. She was as likely as not to think she was being kidnapped and scream the place down.

He opened the door of the cherry-red van, and before she could object, he’d removed her crutches, picked her up, and smoothly settled her on the soft leather seat.

So he was strong; so the playboy physique wasn’t just to show off at the beach. So what? He was probably insufferably vain about it. 

“I’m taking you to my favorite restaurant," he said as he started the van.

Confident, damn his eyes.

“I didn’t think they served food in the delivery room."

He laughed and shook his head. “That place tops my list of favorites, all right, but not for dinner. I’m hoping we can avoid the delivery room tonight.” He frowned. "None of my moms are actually due today, but in this business that’s no guarantee.”

“So where are we going?” She’d never admit it, but just being dressed in something besides a track suit and getting out of the house for a couple of hours was a turn-on, regardless of the fact that her one bare leg looked ridiculous above the cast. She felt that the other one went a long way toward making up for it, with the delicate stocking and that tantalizing bit of garter she was making sure showed under the hem of her dress.

But he was concentrating on driving.

Oblivious, she noted, feeling piqued.

God, she badly needed to get her life back if it mattered so much to her that a doctor noticed how sexy she was. Maybe it was simply her own abstinence that made Turner seem so attractive.

“Where are we going?" she asked again.

“It's a surprise," was all he’d say. He turned on music, softly classical, gave her a smile, and drove in silence.

Tasteful. Doesn’t need to fill the air with empty words, she added reluctantly.

The surprise was obviously located downtown, but he seemed to know every side street and alleyway that would avoid the heavy traffic, which made the drive interesting.

As they turned onto Robson, Polly began to get anxious. In this location, he was probably taking her to one of the city’s nicer restaurants. She worked not far from here, she’d eaten in almost every one, and she was certain to know somebody. She didn’t want to see anyone she knew tonight; being on crutches was a humbling experience. She didn’t feel like answering questions and putting on a sassy front. She didn’t want everyone staring at her one bare thigh.

But he pulled off Robson onto a side street, then nosed the van into an alleyway and somehow slid it into a parking spot that seemed far too small.

“It says, ‘Private parking.’ You’ll get towed,” she pointed out, but he just came around and helped her out, making sure she had a firm hold on the crutches before he released his grip on her arm.

Stubborn. Probably hopelessly bullheaded.

"Right in here.” He led the way down the dark alley to an unmarked door in a brick wall, opened it, and stood aside as she hesitantly stepped inside.

At first glance it was bedlam. She was in the kitchen of an Oriental restaurant. Steam billowed up from cauldrons, and the tangy smell of fresh seafood filled Polly's nostrils. Her ears rang with what seemed a loud and violent argument being waged at full voice among the dozen or more cooks. They were deftly stir-frying greens in gigantic woks, tipping baskets of live lobster into cauldrons of boiling water, scooping steaming rice into bowls, slipping carefully bundled wontons into fragrant pots of broth, all the while hollering aggressively.

Bruce called out a friendly hello, and the hubbub quieted a little. His appearance was greeted with broad smiles, head bobbing, and a new barrage of noise.

A small busboy went scurrying out, and a moment later a tall, distinguished Asian man in a nicely tailored gray silk suit came through the swinging doors, smiling broadly at Bruce. He hurried over and took Bruce’s hand in both of his, shaking it heartily, his sculpted face creased in smiles.

“Dr. Bruce, Dr. Bruce, I have been waiting for you. Welcome, welcome, I am so glad you’ve come.”

“Good to see you, Tommy. This is my friend, Polly Kelville. Polly, Tommy Wong.”

Tommy bowed formally over her hand, and then indicated that they should follow him. 

“This way, this way," he urged, clearing a path through the cooks so that Polly could maneuver her crutches through the swinging doors and along a short corridor into a dimly lit restaurant filled to overflowing with customers.

Tommy seated them at a table that had obviously been prepared and reserved just for them; it was very private, in a curtained alcove at the back, and a special padded armchair and footstool had been prepared for Polly and her cast. She sank down, gratefully propping her leg up.

The moment they were seated wineglasses appeared, along with a bottle of fine champagne. A pretty young woman in a snug fitting red silk dress came through the curtains carrying a fat and beautiful baby whom Polly judged to be about six months old. She handed the baby to Bruce, and he hefted him and let Polly hold him.

She nuzzled his sweet neck and made admiring comments about his weight and beauty and obvious good nature and good health.

“My wife, Way Lin. My son, Rupert,” Tommy said to Polly, his gaze on the baby, his voice and eyes brimming with pride. Way Lin bowed and took the baby away.

"You like seafood?” Tommy demanded of Polly, filling her glass with more of the delicious wine.

“Very much." She felt dazed. It was obvious that Bruce was an honored guest here, part of the family.

Tommy left, and Polly turned to Bruce.

“What’s the deal? Why are we being treated like royalty?’’

“Way Lin had some problems carrying a baby to term, she’d lost several before I met her. I was her doctor with Rupert, and fortunately everything went well. Tommy and I became friends."

Modest.

Polly knew there had to be more to the story than that, but before she could delve any further, a basket of deep-fried prawns arrived with a tangy dipping sauce.

"I’m starving,” Polly admitted, spreading her napkin across her lap. Propping her injured leg up had made her skirt ride high, and she knew that Bruce had to have noticed the garters that held up her single stocking. He’d have to be blind not to, but he still wasn’t reacting in any visible way. She was more than a little disappointed.

Low libido? She scratched that out. Not possible.

Maybe she just didn’t turn him on?

Nope, that wasn’t so either. She had that one kiss to go by, and there’d been no mistaking the lump in his trousers.

Polly was too hungry to worry about it at the moment. She attacked the succulent shrimp with a groan of pleasure.