Private Party (32 page)
“You golf?” He sounded impressed.
“Actually, I bought the cart because I live only a half mile from here and figured it a more economical choice than a car.” Technically, her rationale had been the more she saved on auto expenses, the more she would have to invest in the resort. Since he actually looked impressed now, she kept that tidbit to herself. Not that she was trying to impress him. Even if she could get past the whole “order” thing, he probably had performance-anxiety issues.
How small could he be?
Her gaze strayed back to his crotch, lingering for a few seconds before intelligence caught up with her Pepsi-starved brain. “I do golf, when time allows for it.”
“Same here. It’s been a while since time has allowed for it,” Jordan admitted, perhaps a bit grudgingly.
Danica closed his file and pushed her chair back from her desk. “Work has a way of taking over.”
“That it does.”
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“Having a job you love helps.”
He gave a noncommittal murmur. She took it to mean he wasn’t comfortable with the conversation any longer. While the casual talk had lifted his oppressive air and mostly relaxed her stomach, it was time to get on with the tour.
She gestured to the door, then pointedly led him to the elevator and out into the parking lot so she wouldn’t be tempted to peek at his ass.
“Have you tried a natural approach?” Danica asked as she slid into the driver’s side of her golf cart.
After climbing into the cart, Jordan looked over with a frown. “Natural?” The breeze wreaked havoc on his previously flawless hair. The sun baking through the roof of the cart already had perspiration gathering on his forehead. He should look like an imbecile for how warmly he was dressed. Not to mention completely unappealing with that frown. Instead he looked sexy and sweaty, and he smelled downright appetizing.
It was a good thing he probably had performance issues, because Danica was aching to let passion rule her in a way she hadn’t allowed in ages.
“Have you tried exercising your…” She sent a covert glance at his groin. “The area in question?”
“Yeah. Sure. Didn’t work.”
She started the golf cart. “What about pills?”
“Didn’t do a thing.”
“There are a lot of placebos being illegally marketed as the real deal. It’s an easy mistake to make.” Jordan wanted to view the words as an insult. The reassurance in Danica’s greenish gray eyes when she told him it was an easy mistake made that hard to do.
She wasn’t what he’d expected. For one thing, she didn’t wear glasses—not at present anyway—and for another she did play golf. Her behavior skirted from strange to skilled to sexual. She kept staring at his crotch. No way in hell could he be imagining it, his dick would know the difference and not be in the process of tenting his pants. Then there was her appearance.
The Internet hadn’t done her justice. In person, her layered, shoulder-length hair was more fiery copper than dull red, her nose narrow and straight with a charming bump and even more charming freckles near PrivateParty
the tip. Her mouth was soft pink, lush, and wide, and he had more than one idea of how she might use it on him.
Danica reached across to a small compartment in front of him. The back of her hand brushed against his knees, jetting frissons of heat up his thighs to his stimulated groin. On a sharp inhale, Jordan retracted his body into the seat. He was acting like a pubescent teen, but he didn’t want to like her, and he sure as hell didn’t want to want her.
“Sorry.” With a sympathetic smile, she lifted a pair of wire-framed glasses from the compartment. “You don’t want to ride with me when I’m not wearing my glasses.” As it turned out, Jordan didn’t want to ride with her when she had her glasses on either. The golf cart had clearly been modified to go beyond traditional speed. Twice, on the mile or so ride, he’d been certain she was going to need to call 911 to come scrape his remains off the ground.
Danica halted the cart in front of a wooden footbridge surrounded by tropical underbrush and trees. “It’s easier to walk from here.”
He jumped out and hoofed it across the bridge, wanting the hell away from the psycho driver who had overtaken her body. The bridge opened up on the other side to reveal a number of pale gray and slate blue villas detailed in sky blue and separated from one another by a good-sized yard and towering palms. A three-story, mostly glass building loomed past the villas. He headed in that direction, guessing it to be the facility she planned to show him.
She surprised him by sprinting past, the developed muscles of her bare legs constricting enticingly. His gaze lifted to a high, round ass cloaked in a short jean skirt, and his blood heated. She could owe her body to faithful jogging. More likely, her muscles and the ample breasts filling her knit pink tank top were the result of implantation.
“In a hurry?” Jordan called after her.
“I thought you were.” Danica dropped back to match his reduced pace and gave him an openmouthed smile. “I’m all yours till noon, so anything you want to know”—she looked at his crotch—“don’t be shy about asking.”
The glimpse of her moist pink tongue and the suggestive words would have been enough to have his shaft hardening again after the hellish ride’s deflating effect. The continued ogling of his groin had his cock stiff as a board.
He considered stripping away his suit coat and dress shirt under the pretense he was roasting his ass off
—technically not a pretense but a reality he owed to the airport for losing his luggage during flight transfer—and seeing how she responded. Learning she slept with prospective patients in the hopes of PrivateParty
ensuring their patronage would be as good of a way to start unveiling the resort as a bad investment as any.
“We have a fully equipped hospital,” Danica said in a voice that sounded both professional and proud,
“but the majority of our surgeries are done in ambulatory facilities, which are housed in the same building as the surgeons’ offices for the associated procedure. Using these facilities is one of the ways we’re able to keep our costs substantially lower than most public practices.”
“Should I be worried
ambulatory
and
ambulance
sound remarkably similar?” Her throaty laugh was as unexpected as her appearance—totally enticing, totally dangerous to his mission. “Not at all.
Ambulatory
means you arrive and leave the facility on the same day. Your phalloplasty surgery…” She sent him another of those damned apologetic looks that made it difficult to remember she was the bad guy, or rather woman. “I didn’t mean to put it into words.” Jordan sent a pointed look around. The closest person lounged on the front porch chaise of a villa over a hundred feet away. “I don’t think anyone heard.”
“I’ll still be more careful.”
“You said same-day facilities are one of the ways the resort’s able to keep costs down,” he rushed out, needing to get the apologetic look off her face. “What are the others?”
“Unlike a lot of the islands around us, we’re not governed by the United States.” Now they were getting somewhere. “In other words, you’re able to avoid licensing fees and training staff in the latest procedures.”
Danica stopped walking to shoot him a frosty glare. “All of Private Indulgence’s facilities and staff are accredited and operate under international standards, Mr. Cantrell.” The icy look softened, along with her tone. “The cost of living is simply lower here, which allows us to charge less overall while providing first-rate, state-of-the-art services by top-notch specialists. Many of our procedures are discounted seventy to eighty percent as compared with the national average.” Well, fuck. Instead of uncovering a skeleton in the resort’s figurative closet, he felt impressed for the second time since meeting her. He couldn’t stop his smile. “I’d prefer you to call me Jordan.”
“Like the almond.” Cheeks gone rosy, she leaned close to release another of those dangerously enticing laughs. “That probably sounded odd.” Her eyes warmed as she confided in a husky whisper, “It’s just that I have a nut fetish.”
PrivateParty
APHRODISIA BOOKS are published by
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Copyright © 2007 by Jami Alden
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