Long Haired Persian (2 page)

Chapter Three

Tonya pushed the button to take a picture of Shamira’s broken leg. She had trouble hovering her finger over the button, it was shaking so badly. What was wrong with her hand? Another dumb question. She knew perfectly well it was leftover trembling from Mr. Gaspar Zakaria’s touch. Stop! Stop! Stop. You cannot—will not—fall for him. The man is off-limits.

Somehow Tonya managed to take, and process, the x-rays of the cat. She slipped the films inside the lighted boxes and put on her glasses to view the first one, of the cat’s hind leg.

“Looks like a break in the metatarsus,” came a soft voice from over her shoulder.

The sound—and accent-less English—made her literally leap into the air. She spun on Gaspar, claws distended, ready for battle.

“I owe you a serious apology.”

“You damn well do.” She whirled away and, stiff-spined, went back to reading the x-rays. How dare he deceive her that way! No, it was her fault, for being taken in by a handsome face. For thinking he might be different from other men. For falling under the spell of his touch.

He’d been right, though. The cat’s leg was broken about an inch from the first phalange. As far as she could tell, there were no internal injuries.

“I think we should keep her overnight.” The words came out in staccato fashion. She couldn’t help herself. Rage at his deception was barely held under control.

An agonizing hour later, she had treated the cat for shock and settled it comfortably in a cage at the back of the clinic. Several times Gaspar apologized. Each time she ignored him. Even when their hands touched as he helped move Shamira into the cage.

Just get through this and send him home—the words became her mantra. Get him out of here and she wouldn’t have to see him again. In a day or so, when it came time to release Shamira, Tonya could just sign off and let Taryn, the tech, take care of everything. Taryn would be instructed to encourage Mr. Gaspar Zakaria to take the cat to his own vet for follow-up care.

Finally, the paperwork was done. Tonya shut the door on a still-apologizing Persian. A gorgeous, pussy-drenching Persian who apparently had knowledge of cat anatomy.
And
spoke English like a pro. She’d think about that later. No. No. No. She would not think of him any more.

Tonya threw on a threadbare robe, reheated some chicken curry and ate it in front of the television. Though her favorite show, NCIS, was on, and she was looking at the screen, the only show playing before her eyes was she and Gaspar—even though her anger at him hadn’t abated one iota. They were doing things she hadn’t done in a very long time.

She leaned back on the cushions, remembering his face. The tiny dimples at the corners of his mouth when he smiled. The double V between his eyes when he was worried. The five o’clock shadow that, because of his very dark hair, was probably there all the time.

Her fantasy-gaze roved lower. Not too much chest hair. Just enough to twiddle as her fingers made their way toward his deep, dark areoles. Nicely defined muscles, though he was no Arnold Schwarzenegger. That was okay with Tonya. She hated a guy that looked better than her. Her robe sagged open as her fingers tweaked her own nipples to eraser-like points. Her right hand pushed lower—on herself, yes, but at the same time, on her imaginary lover. More hair there: an oh-so-defined arrow pointing down, down, to the prize in the Cracker Jack box-ers.

She popped open the top and–

Yikes!

Time for BB to come out and play. Hopefully, the batteries were fresh because she’d need them big-time tonight.

And later she would write one hundred times why she would not think any more about Gaspar Zakaria.

Chapter Four

Gaspar pounded both fists on his desk. Damn, he was mad. And tired. He’d spent the entire night sitting in this chair berating himself for screwing the vet. No. Screwing
with
the vet. Get a grip, man. He slammed his fists down again.

The phone rang. Since the receptionist wasn’t in yet, he answered, hoping it was a cancellation of his first appointment. “Good morning, Gaspar Zakaria here.”

“Good morning, this is Taryn from Tender Hearts Pet Clinic.” His heart jumped. Why hadn’t Tonya called? “We wanted to let you know that Shamira is doing fine. She rested well through the night and just finished her breakfast and a bowel movement.” There was a giggle. “Not at the same time, of course.”

“Of course. When can she come home?”

“Doctor Lansing isn’t in yet. She will examine Shamira later this morning, and someone will call to let you know.”

“Okay, thanks for calling.”

Sounds in the outer office signaled the receptionist had come in. After checking messages, she’d bring the coffee she’d gotten in the habit of picking up at the local coffee shop each morning.

When she came in, he told her about Shamira’s accident. The receptionist was a cat-lover herself—had five of her own feline creatures. They commiserated a moment.

“What time’s the first appointment?” he asked.

“Ten minutes.” She thumped the desktop with a knuckle. “So, drink up. A clean lab coat is in the closet.”

The morning was busy, and it passed quickly. He hung the lab coat on the back of his desk chair and flopped into it. His lunch had been delivered. The
lamb biryani
sat steaming in its Styrofoam container. Gaspar distracted his wandering libido with a forkful of pistachio sour cream and a cashew.

The door opened and the receptionist poked her head around the door. “Sorry to disturb you, but we have a walk-in. Looks like a dislocated shoulder.”

Most times, he made patients who arrived without appointments wait till he finished eating, but a dislocated shoulder was damned painful. He shoved the food aside, washed his hands in the adjoining bathroom, slipped into the lab coat and opened the door that adjoined the examination room.

And nearly ducked back into his office because, there on the table sat none other than Dr. Tonya Lansing, woman-child vet.

Chapter Five

Tonya shot off the table when Gaspar came in. She tripped over her sneakers and launched shoulder-first into the wall, then crumpled right there on the floor, pain shooting to places she’d forgotten existed. When the pain subsided enough she could breathe, she opened her eyes. And came face to face with that face, those eyes, that V between his eyes, the five o’clock shadow that made her wear out a set of batteries last night.

He put a hand to her forehead. “Checking for a fever. You’re all flushed.”

Was there laughter in his voice?

Tonya didn’t dare look him in the eye.

She
did
deserve laughter. She was acting like a schoolgirl having her first breakup. Okay, get your ass in gear. Go sit on the table like a good girl and let the lying, bastard, lying, son-of-a-bitch, bastard pop the damn shoulder back in place so you can get the heck out of here.

Why Rianna wouldn’t do it for her, she had no idea; they had to put several pet’s shoulders back in place over the course of a year. Nothing to it.

But noooo. Rianna had to throw her in the car and come here, of all places. Man, would she hear about it when Tonya got back in the waiting room.

Gaspar took out a thermometer and—

“It’s my shoulder that’s hurt, you idiot. Nothing else. So put that thing away.”

“Wow, you get testy when you’re in pain. Let’s make a deal—I will put it away if you get back on the table.”

“Okay. Okay.”

He put out a hand. Tonya didn’t want to touch him. Been there, done that yesterday and still felt his hands on her boobs— Wait, that was in her fantasy.

She sighed, took his hand, and allowed herself to be helped onto the table. Her feet dangled off the end. Even the moving feet hurt the shoulder. He stepped between her legs—which officially stopped them from dangling. Whoa, he’d wedged himself in there last night too. Damn, that was also the fantasy.

“Want to tell me what happened?” His gentle fingers probed the bad shoulder.

“Not really.”

“Okay. How is my cat?”

“Fine. You can take her home tomorrow.”

Gaspar chucked a hand under her chin and lifted her head to peer into her eyes. “I really think I should take your temperature.”

Big deal, her face was red. What’d he expect? That sort of thing usually happened when faced with a serious upheaval in the status quo—which began this morning when she tried to encourage that Great Dane onto the scale. Sheesh. Dog was only in for a post-partum exam. And the whole thing turned into a wrestling match—with her the loser.

Red face, huh?

Well, he wasn’t making things any easier by rubbing against her inner thighs that way. It was sending her pussy into conniptions. If he didn’t move from there soon, the table would look like a pregnant lady’s water broke on it.

“What are you laughing at?” he asked. His breath smelled like garlic. Why did people recommend not eating garlic if you were going to be close to someone? It smelled nice. He leaned back, obviously waiting for a reply to his question.

“I’m not—wasn’t—laughing.”

“Yes, you were.”

“It’s probably nerves. Can you just put my shoulder back in place so I— Ouch!!”

“There. Good as new.”

Tonya flexed the shoulder. It hurt a little, but moved freely. He dangled a canvas sling in her face. “You should wear this.”

“But—”

“Have it your way, you know what can happen if you don’t.” He dropped the thing in her lap and walked to the side of the room.

Tonya slid off the table. “Thanks.” She laid her hand on the knob, expecting him to try and stop her. To apologize again for lying to her.

He said nothing except, “Let me know if there are any problems.”

Chapter Six

Gaspar flopped on the examination table Tonya had just vacated. It was still warm…very warm. His cock jumped to attention. He had to find a way to get to her. To apologize. To ask her out. To make this boner wilt a little so he could go out there.

She was still in the outer office; he could hear her talking to whoever had brought her in. Berating her probably, for bringing her to see this ogre. He hopped off the table and pulled the edges of the lab coat to the front. Looking down on it, the hard-on seemed gargantuan. Maybe from the front it didn’t show.

He yanked open the door. Tonya, her friend and his receptionist spun around. It seemed all their eyes focused directly on the bump in his pants. His first instinct was to cup his hands over it, but instead he strode toward Tonya. On the one hand, he wanted to drag her into an embrace and plunge his tongue in her mouth. On the other hand, it was three against one. He’d be pummeled to death before he got so much as a taste of her mouthwash.

He covered the awkward moment with, “You left before I finished writing your prescription for the painkiller.”

She didn’t move. Gaspar could tell she wanted to turn it down, tell him to go to hell. Surely she could write her own script.

But she stepped forward, good arm stretched toward him. “Thanks.” Then she turned and walked out of his life.