Man of Fortune

by Rochelle Alers

  The ring of the telephone disturbed the quiet. Reaching over, he picked up the cordless without looking at the display. “Hello.”

  “Hel-lo.”

  He listened for the woman on the other end of the line to say something. “I think you have the wrong number,” he said after the seconds ticked off.

  “Is this Duncan Gilmore?”

  Duncan sat up straighter, trying to remember where he’d heard her voice. “Yes, it is. Who’s calling?”

  “Hold up, playa. Don’t you recognize my voice?”

  “Tamara? Is that you?”

  “Yes, it’s Tamara. I…I didn’t expect you to be home at this time.”

  “Is that why you called now? Because you were trying to avoid talking to me?”

  A soft gasp came through the earpiece. “If I didn’t want to talk to you, Duncan Gilmore, I never would’ve called. In fact, I would’ve thrown away your business card.”

  “But you didn’t, and I’m glad you didn’t.”

  “Why, Duncan?”

  “Because I want to talk to you.”

  There came a pause. “What do you want to talk about?” Tamara asked.

  “When are you available to have dinner with me?”

  “I’m open, Duncan. Any day, any time.”

  A frown formed between his eyes. “Did you lose your job?”

  “No,” she said, laughing. “I’m on vacation.”

  He smiled. “If that’s the case, then what are you doing tomorrow?”

  There came another pause before Tamara said, “I have to check my calendar.”

  “I thought you said any time, any day.”

  “I did, Duncan. I was just teasing you.”

  “So,” he crooned, “the doctor does have a sense of humor.”

  “Only when she’s not working,” Tamara retorted.

  “How long are you on vacation, Tamara?”

  “Four weeks.”

  Duncan whistled. “I suppose that’s enough time for me to make you laugh.”

  “Hold up, numbers man. Don’t get ahead of yourself. I only agreed to one date.”

  It was Duncan’s turn to pause. “You’re right. Forgive me for being presumptuous.”

  “You’re forgiven, Duncan.”

  “Thank you. I have to make a reservation, then I’ll call you back.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “Sailing.”

  “Sailing?” Tamara repeated.

  “Yes. I’d like to take you on a dinner cruise along the Hudson River. I can see the ship from where I’m sitting. We can eat, listen to music and, if you want, dance or just take in the view.”

  There came a beat. “That sounds wonderful.”

  “It should be fun. Give me your number and I’ll call you back.” Tamara recited her number, he repeated it to her. “Hang up, Tamara.”

  It took Duncan less than ten minutes to book a reservation. A satisfied smile softened his features when he dialed her number. She answered after the first ring. “I’ll pick you up at six-thirty.”

  “What time do we board?” Tamara asked.

  “Boarding is at seven-thirty and the cruise is from eight-thirty to eleven-thirty.”

  “What if I meet you at the pier instead of you coming down to get me?”

  “No. I want to pick you up, Tamara.”

  “How will you get here?”

  “I’ll take a taxi.”

  “Don’t. I’ll take a taxi to you. Please give me your address.”

  Duncan knew insisting traveling downtown to pick up Tamara, only to have to return to Chelsea and walk three blocks to the pier would result in a verbal exchange, something he sought to avoid. He’d managed to make it through adolescence without a physical altercation because his mother and aunt preached constantly that it was better to walk away than confront.

  He gave Tamara his address. “I’ll be downstairs waiting for you.”

  “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “Tomorrow,” Duncan repeated, before ending the call.

  He was going to share with Tamara Wolcott something he hadn’t with Kalinda because she was prone to seasickness. Physically, Tamara was as different from his late fiancée as night was from day, but both possessed a quality he found hard to resist—the rare combination of brains and beauty.

  * * *

  Tamara sat at the breakfast bar in the kitchen pondering her decision after she’d hung up the phone with Duncan Gilmore. It had been four days since she’d found herself trapped in an elevator with the most delicious-looking man she’d seen in years. The only man who’d come close to Duncan was a boy in her high-school graduating class. His good looks had proved advantageous when he was picked by a modeling agency to be the poster boy for a men’s cologne. His was the face of the nineties until drugs ravaged his looks and his career.

  Although she’d never been turned on by a man’s looks, Tamara found Duncan the exception. She’d considered the possibility that he was gay since he was single and hadn’t fathered any children, then she chided herself for being biased and narrow-minded. If a woman chose not to marry or have children that did not necessarily make her a lesbian. When, she asked herself, had she become her mother? Moselle Wolcott was the most critical and opinionated woman on the planet, and Tamara feared she was no different when it came to Duncan Gilmore.

  Resting her bare feet on the other tall high-back chair, she reached for the pen and pad and began making a list of things she had to do before her date. A trip to the hair salon was the first order of business, followed by shopping for an outfit suitable for a dinner cruise. It had been much too long since she’d had a date.

  She’d dated a few men she’d met at several conferences, and she’d shared drinks with some of her male colleagues after her divorce, but she didn’t count the latter as actual dates. They usually took place in a group after a particularly stressful shift. Otherwise she’d go over to a local restaurant or bar for late-night dinner, or, if it was the weekend, brunch.

  Anytime she found a man getting too close she usually gave some signal that stopped them in their tracks. Duncan was geting too close, but was helpless to repel or discourage him. Perhaps it had something to do with them being trapped together, and not knowing when they’d be freed. Tamara also had told him things about herself that she hadn’t revealed to her ex-husband because she thought she would never see or speak to Duncan Gilmore again. Oh, was she wrong. Not only had she spoken to him but she’d consented to see him again.

  Tamara saw movement out of the corner of her eye and turned to find Rodney standing at the entrance to the kitchen. His damp hair was pasted against his scalp. He’d showered but hadn’t shaved. The stubble of his beard was reddish blond. Rodney had moved in Tuesday morning and she’d only caught glimpses of him either when he came in early in the morning or left for his night shift.

  She had turned her spare bedroom into a den with a sofa that converted into a queen-size bed. The walls were lined with bookcases, a flat-screen television with a home theater audio system, a mini fridge and a bar. It was a space where she went to relax and entertain. Whenever her parents came into Manhattan to see a Broadway show they had usually stayed overnight at a hotel until Tamara invited them to stay with her. The first time Moselle walked into the two-bedroom apartment she was at a loss for words because the space looked as if it’d been decorated for a design magazine.

  Although Tamara spent more time at the hospital than she did at home, the apartment had become her sanctuary—a place where she was able to escape the stress that came with working as an E.R. doctor. She didn’t own the apartment, but it was hers and hers alone. She invited who she wanted to her home and if she wanted solitude then she had the option of ignoring her phone or pager.

  Smiling, she lowered her feet. “Good morning.”

  Running his hand over his flat belly under a black tank top, Rodney walked slowly into the kitchen and flopped down on the chair. He glanced up and stared at Tamara. “Is it?”r />
  Her eyebrows lifted. “Rough night?” she asked.

  Rodney covered his face with his hands. “I wish. I had a fight with Isis.”

  “I thought you broke up with her.”

  Lowering his hands, his tortured gaze fused with Tamara’s. “She waited around for my shift to ask me if I’d mind if she brought a man back to the co-op.”

  “Isis is just jerking your chain, Rodney, because she knows she can get a reaction from you.”

  “It’s over, Tamara. I gave her exactly one month to find a place to live, then I’m changing the locks.”

  Tamara didn’t recognize the Rodney Fox sitting in her kitchen. His expression was cold and empty. She liked the normally affable doctor—a lot. He loved his patients, and they in turn loved him back. The first time she had worked with Dr. Fox was when a young boy was brought into the E.R. with a broken leg from a hit-and-run. Although the eight-year-old was in excruciating pain, Rodney had managed to make him smile. At that moment she realized he would make an incredible father.

  Pushing back from the center island, she stood and went over to the sink. “Would you like coffee?”

  “Yes, please.”

  “How do you drink it?”

  “Black and strong.”

  Tamara reached for a cup and coffee disk, inserting it into the well of the coffeemaker. The smell of brewing coffee wafted in the space. “How about some breakfast, Fox?”

  “Hanging out with you has its advantages. Perhaps I should’ve hit on you instead of Isis.”

  The brewing cycle completed, Tamara took the cup, placed it on a saucer and carried it to the table. “I don’t think so,” she drawled.

  “Is it because I’m not your type?”

  She patted his back. Baggy scrubs and street clothes had concealed Rodney Fox’s lean, hard body. “I learned a long time ago not to mix business and pleasure. The results can be devastating.”

  Rodney took a sip of his coffee, peering at Tamara over the rim of the cup. “Are you speaking from experience?”

  “Yes. I vowed not to get involved with anyone I have to work with.”

  “You know you’ve become an object of fascination at the hospital.”

  Tamara froze. “What are you talking about?” She knew she sounded defensive, but didn’t care. She detested office gossip.

  “I’ve lost count of the number of doctors who’ve come up to me to ask about you. They want to know if you’re married,” Rodney continued, “and if not whether you’re seeing someone.”

  Waiting until her cup was filled with the aroma of coffee, Tamara carried it to the table and sat opposite her roommate. “What do you tell them?”

  “I tell them to ask you.”

  Tamara smiled. “No one has ever asked me, so I assume they aren’t that curious.”

  “That’s because you’re not only unapproachable, but also quite intimidating. No guy wants to be shot down before he can get close to you.”

  Her smile faded. “The one man I allowed to get close to me I married.”

  Rodney set down his cup, his hand shaking slightly. “You were married?”

  “In a past life,” Tamara confessed. “Are you going to bed or staying up for a while?” she asked, changing the topic. She didn’t want to tell Rodney about her failed marriage because she wasn’t certain whether he would repeat it, and she had no wish to become a part of the hospital rumor mill.

  “I’m going to be up for a while. I’ll probably crash later, but it won’t matter because I’m off this weekend.”

  Tamara stood up. “Let’s go out for breakfast. My treat.”

  Rodney rose to his feet. “Where are we going?”

  “There’s a coffee shop a couple of blocks from here.”

  “Would you mind if we go to my favorite diner? It’ll be my treat.”

  She removed the cups from the table, rinsed them and placed them in the dishwasher. “Where is it?”

  “Twenty-Second and Tenth.”

  Tamara felt her heart lurch. Rodney wanted to go to Duncan’s neighborhood. In fact, that diner was only one block from where he lived. What, she mused, were the odds of her running into the man she planned to see the next day? She dismissed her musing, realizing she couldn’t obsess over a man she hadn’t known existed three days ago.

  “Okay. As soon as I change my shoes I’ll be ready to leave.”

  It had taken three days for her to get used to going to bed before midnight and not at sunrise, and for the next four weeks she would get up and go to bed, shop and take her meals like the average person.

  Something else had changed for Tamara. For the first time in six months she would go out with a man—a man who intrigued her more than she wanted.

  CHAPTER 4

  Tamara forgot about running into Duncan when she sat in a booth at the Empire Diner with Rodney. It was the first time she’d eaten at the twenty-four-hour Chelsea eatery that was modeled after a black-and-white art-deco train car. She’d foregone her normal breakfast of cereal and fruit for steak and eggs.

  She smiled across the table at Rodney. “This place is nice. I’m surprised I’ve never been here.”

  Rodney swallowed a mouthful of corned beef hash. “That’s because you never venture beyond the East Side.” He held up a hand. “Don’t go off on me. You told me that yourself.”

  “I go to Macy’s. And don’t forget that I have to go to Penn Station to take the train to Long…”

  Tamara’s words trailed off when the last person she wanted to see at that moment walked into the diner. Although a battered baseball cap covered his head, and he had on a pair of sunglasses, a T-shirt, jeans and running shoes, she still recognized the tall man standing at the counter. He turned and looked in her direction for several seconds before cradling the bag a waiter had given him. She doubted that he’d recognized her in her painter’s cap, peasant blouse and jeans. She exhaled an inaudible breath. He’d come to pick up a takeout order.

  Rodney, realizing something had captured Tamara’s attention, glanced over his shoulder. His gaze swung back to her. “Are you all right?”

  She gave him a warm smile. “I thought I recognized someone I know.” Picking up a glass, Tamara took a sip of water. “What’s on your agenda for the weekend?” She’d segued from one topic to another smoothly and effortlessly.

  “I have an appointment with a real estate agent later this afternoon to show the apartment. Tomorrow morning I’m going to Sag Harbor for the weekend. If you’re not doing anything you can come along with me.” Rodney’s grandparents owned an oceanfront home in the exclusive enclave, and, as a child, he’d spent his summers there.

  “Sorry, but I have something planned for tomorrow evening.” Tamara didn’t want to tell Rodney that she’d just seen her date for the following evening. “I’m not going back to the apartment after we leave here,” she told him instead. She planned to go to Barneys, her favorite clothing shop, to buy an outfit for the dinner cruise.

  “Whatever you have planned I hope it’s good,” Rodney said with a wink.

  “I’m certain it’s going to be,” she said confidently.

  They finished breakfast and walked across Twenty-Third to Fifth Avenue. Rodney decided to walk back to the East Village while Tamara walked another block to take the uptown bus.

  Forty minutes after she’d walked into Barneys she walked out with a dress and a pair of shoes. The two items totaled a week’s salary, but she hadn’t batted an eyelash because when she saw herself in the mirror she realized she hadn’t pampered herself in a very long time. Lab coats and scrubs weren’t exactly haute couture.

  She stopped in Saks to buy an evening bag, perfume and makeup, feeling like a teenager on her very first date. There was something about Duncan that was different from the other men she’d known, and Tamara knew it had nothing to do with his looks. Besides, she didn’t want to think of herself as being that shallow. If she had been, then she never would’ve married Edward. Not only was he more than twice her a
ge, but he wasn’t what women would call smokin’ hot. He was what she referred to as charming and ruggedly attractive.

  Duncan Gilmore, on the other hand, was so smokin’ hot he sizzled!

  Now the only thing she had to ascertain was whether he’d asked her out of a sense of chivalry or because he was as attracted to her as she was to him.

  * * *

  Duncan was waiting as the taxi pulled up to the curb. Walking around to the driver’s side, he peered in to see the fare on the meter. Reaching into the pocket of his suit trousers, he took out a bill, handing it to the driver. “Keep the change.”

  He then opened the rear door to help Tamara. She placed her palm on his hand as he pulled her gently to her feet. Smiling, he turned her hand over and pressed a kiss to her scented wrist.

  What Duncan saw rendered him speechless. Tamara had had her hair cut and styled into a profusion of curls that ended inches above her shoulders. The little black dress she wore was a silk sleeveless shift with a ruffled hem that flared around her knees. The four-inch heeled slingback pumps added several inches to her tall frame. He smiled when he saw the signature red soles. His gaze lingered on her expertly made-up face and her sensual mouth outlined in vermilion. The smoky colors on her eyelids made her eyes appear darker, mysterious.

  “I didn’t think you could improve on perfection, yet you have,” Duncan whispered reverently. Cupping her elbow, he leaned closer. “You even smell delicious.”

  Tamara lowered her gaze, totally unaware of the seductiveness of the gesture. “Thank you, Duncan.” She glanced up, smiling. “You look wonderful—as usual.” Sunlight slanted over his face, turning him into a statue of bronze. Again, she found herself transfixed by his large gold eyes.