Tamed Spirit

by Alison Tyler

  "What the—" Within a flash, the expression on his face switched drastically. He was speechless, frozen to the spot, unable to believe the scene below.

  Cat Roy had made a perfect landing—not onto the cold, hard concrete pavement below but into a huge inflated mattress. Now she was casually being helped off by some guy in a rain slicker who handed her a thick towel and coat. She looked up as she slipped on the raincoat and met Luke's stunned stare.

  "Thanks, Doc." She waved. "Told you I'd be okay." She started off and then turned back to him. "If things ever do get that bad for me, Doc, I sure hope somebody like you will be around."

  A man who was standing off to the side near the cameraman who, in Luke's frantic rush across the street he had mistaken for a newsman, came out from his shelter.

  "Hey you, buddy."

  Luke stared openmouthed down at the man.

  "That was a great improvisation. I'd like to use it in the film. There's a nice little paycheck in it for you. What do you say?"

  Luke did not say a word. Instead he slammed the window shut, stormed out of the empty apartment, and, not bothering to wait for the elevator this time, either, flew down the stairs two at a time.

  His harangue would have been a lot more effective if he could have stopped coughing, sneezing, and losing his voice. However, he did manage to make his point to the director, who silently nodded at him with a look of disappointment and bewilderment on his face. Most people would give their eyeteeth to be in a major motion picture.

  As for Cat Roy, Luke did not waste any words. One long glower got his point across. She gave him another of those earth-moving smiles, but this time Luke was angry enough to be immune. He stormed off across the street to his apartment, ignoring the large puddles he stepped in along the way.

  CHAPTER TWO

  His temperature read 102 degrees, but Luke was convinced the thermometer wasn't registering properly. He'd been doing a slow boil for the last two hours, and he knew his temperature had to be skyrocketing. He pulled his flannel robe more tightly around his chilled frame and tossed the thermometer on the coffee table. He leaned back on the couch, waiting for pneumonia to overtake him. There couldn't be a more fitting end to this insane day.

  When Luke first got back to his apartment, he stalked the rooms with a fury, practically tearing off his drenched shoes and trousers, tossing them mindlessly around the apartment. Finally, when he'd stood under a hot shower long enough for his teeth to stop chattering, the anger began to subside, leaving in its place an even worse feeling of utter foolishness. The whole scene—his bursting in on the filming of a movie, trying to rescue some damn actress playing a part of a suicidal maniac, being asked permission to use his inadvertent role— made him feel sicker than the rotten flu did.

  His anger resurfaced. That woman had not only made a fool out of him, but she'd also had a grand time doing it. While he'd stood there, his shoes wet, chilled to the bone, beseeching her not to kill herself, she had herself a good old chuckle watching him make an ass out of himself. No wonder there were fewer and fewer do-gooders in this world. He risks his failing health to try to save her life, and she leads him on right to the finish. Boy, would he like to get his hands on her, he fumed. His anger triggered off a sneezing fit. In the middle of it the doorbell rang.

  He opened the door on the last sneeze.

  Cat Roy, dried off and wearing the very latest in Western fashion, from the chocolate-brown suede Stetson hat to the studded riding boots, a fringed white leather jacket and tight-fitting jeans in between, leaned against the door jamb.

  "How did you get into the building? You didn't buzz." His voice cracked, partly from the cold and partly from shock.

  "Some nice young guy who lives here held the lobby door open for me. He even helped me locate your apartment number on the mailbox. I guess he didn't think I looked too dangerous."

  Luke could have argued the point, but he was too busy coughing.

  "Your cold sounds worse," she said in that throaty voice Luke had already become familiar with.

  "I wonder why," Luke said sarcastically. "Have you come to wheedle my consent to use that piece of film, or did you simply need another laugh?"

  She grinned, removing her cowboy hat, her thick mane cascading down around her shoulders. Luke, as angry as he was, did not fail to notice that with her hair no longer dripping wet around her face, she was even more ravishing than she had been when he saw her out on that ledge.

  "It was a great dramatic moment," she said with a crooked little smile, which, on her face, looked sexy. "But Carl decided it wasn't right, after all. We'll have to shoot it over again."

  "How disappointing," he mocked. "You'll have to forgive me if I beg out on the retake. Hollywood will have to wait."

  "You were good," Cat offered.

  "And that for a guy who didn't even get a chance to memorize the right lines." He gave her a searing stare. "This should teach me not to make house calls."

  "I'm sorry."

  Luke studied her more closely as she looked contritely at him. She stepped closer. He turned away.

  "Forget it," he grumbled.

  "No, honestly. I shouldn't have misled you like—"

  "Misled me," he roared, sweeping around to gape at her with disbelief, his hands thrown up in a gesture of amazement. "That's beautiful. That's the best understatement I've heard all year. Do you realize, young woman, that you might have— have given me a coronary. Sorry, you tell me. Sorry…" He fired the words at her, his hands still poised in midair.

  Cat met Luke's eyes directly. She'd wondered about their color this morning, but the water running from her hair into her eyes had not allowed a careful inspection. They were green, she saw now—a warm, misty heather. Even in his rage, his eyes maintained that soft hue. And a striking look of sincerity.

  She liked the way he looked—lean, crisp, sharp, without the pretty-boy features she had become all too familiar with over the years, growing up with actors and stunt men on Hollywood back lots. With Luke there were no affected glances or studied poses, no macho-cool mannerisms or trendy come-ons. Dr. Luke Eliot was a new and different breed. He was straightforward and refreshingly honest, even if his candor was a trifle painful at this particular moment. Cat shifted her cowboy hat from one hand to the other.

  "I guess you're still mad," she said, making some attempt to look repentant. It didn't quite come off. "Could you finish scolding me inside? I've had a hectic day and I'm wiped out." Her eyes shone with humor despite Luke's harangue. "Besides, I brought you a peace offering." She extended a Thermos bottle. "My secret cold remedy. From the look of it, Doctor, you could use some."

  "How thoughtful, Miss Roy. And here I was going on about how little you cared for my welfare." He gave her a facetious grimace. Without having made a conscious decision, he found that he had stepped aside, allowing Cat access to the apartment.

  As she walked in she said, "I was pretty confident I wouldn't cause a coronary." She let her glance deliberately scan over his body. Luke felt oddly uncomfortable standing there clad in his well-worn bathrobe for her inspection. Refusing to be intimidated—after all, in his profession, he had learned that lesson well—he fixed her with a cool and hopefully intimidating glare. It had little effect on Cat.

  "You look too vigorous for premature heart failure," Cat commented lightly. "Except for that cold, Doctor, I'd say you were quite fit. This little drink of mine should soon fix what's ailing you."

  "A homespun physician as well as an actress. Quite a lot of accomplishments for one lady."

  "I'm not an actress," Cat corrected.

  "Of course. When you jumped off that ledge, a movie crew just happened by and not only caught you, but also signed you up for a part. Not as tame as Schwabs Drugstore for a discovery but quite creative. Or was it just your lucky day?"

  Cat sat on the edge of an armchair, hand cupping her chin. "You're cute when you're angry."

  "I am never cute," he balked.

  Cat laug
hed. Luke glowered for a moment and then laughed, too.

  "I'm a stunt woman," Cat said as she took in the neat, well-organized living room, save for a pair of slacks haphazardly crumpled against a tidy magazine rack. "Liz Fuller is the star of the film. I take all of her falls, collisions, and an assortment of other dangers." She walked over to the sofa, leaned against the arm, then casually slid back, landing on the cushion, her long, slender legs draped over the side. "God, I'm exhausted."

  She yawned, stretching. As she unbuttoned her jacket, revealing a form-fitting cowboy shirt, Luke fought to repress a flash of arousal. He was still angry at her, didn't know her from Adam, and as much as she provoked his fantasies, he never did like women who called the shots. If Cat Roy was providing herself as well as her no-doubt-drugged medicinal drinks as a peace offering, he was not biting. At least not yet.

  "Look, Miss Roy. I've had a rather harrowing day myself," he said curtly. "I'm sick, I have some work to do, and I have a seven a.m. patient tomorrow morning. So," he said, bending over her, grabbing her elbow and helping her up, "if you don't mind, the fun and games are over. You've had your laugh. Maybe someday down the line I might have a chuckle over the whole ridiculous scene myself, but right now I am not in a pleasant mood. Do you get my drift, Miss Roy?"

  "It was Cat when you thought I was about to die. If I remember correctly, you told me you would like to get to know me better." She tugged away from his grasp. "And you begged me to whip up some of my cold remedy for you. So I did." She sighed. "Where's the kitchen?"

  "What?"

  "I have to heat this stuff up, and then you can drink it down. I guarantee you'll feel a lot better very soon."

  "Please—please go home. I don't want your— your brew. I'm not into drugs. Good old orange juice, aspirin, and as much sleep as possible are the only remedies for the flu. I'm a doctor, I should know."

  Cat was already on her way to the kitchen. She had no trouble finding it, since there were only three rooms in the apartment.

  He followed her in, still protesting. "Are you always like this? You walk into a total stranger's apartment and simply take over?"

  "You're not a total stranger," she muttered, her head inside a cabinet as she rummaged for a pot. "You saved my life. Or you would have, if it had needed saving. I owe you."

  Luke took hold of her wrist as she carried the pot to the stove. "Do me a favor. Don't owe me, okay? Just go away. I'm going to pretend this whole day was nothing but a bad dream. I'll make believe you were simply a gorgeous figment of my imagination."

  "Thanks for the compliment, Doctor. I was beginning to think you might not like girls." She grinned impishly.

  Luke sputtered for a moment, then, seeing her laughing eyes, sighed. "I give up." He took a deep breath. "What's in that concoction, anyway?" he asked warily.

  "Don't worry. I'm a vegetarian and I don't believe in drugs. There's nothing in here but a marvelous blend of herbs, roots, and seaweed," she said enthusiastically.

  "Not only don't I believe in all that healing mumbo jumbo, but even if I did, there is no way I would drink that—that…"

  "Nonsense," she scolded softly. "It happens to taste great. Don't think about the ingredients if they don't appeal to you." She tested the brew with her pinky finger, slipping her finger into her mouth afterward. "Perfect."

  Luke found her gesture surprisingly erotic. For a second he forgot about the drink altogether. Until she poured it into a mug and offered it to him.

  "Really Cat, I—I can't drink that. I—I'm feeling better, anyway. Yes, really, this flu is probably breaking." He pressed his palm against his head for emphasis. "No more fever."

  Cat stepped closer. She took his hand away, replacing it with her own cool palm. Shaking her head, she murmured, "You're losing your touch, Doctor. Your head is hotter than burning embers. Here," she insisted, pushing the drink into his hand.

  Luke noticed that her eyes weren't really black— more a midnight blue. Maybe they changed with the weather—or her mood. He was still thinking about her eyes as well as how good her touch felt when he took the first sip, Cat standing close to him, those dark, intriguing eyes of hers watching him carefully.

  He took a second taste. "Well, it's not as awful as I thought it would be." Then he added, "You sure you didn't slip anything illegal into this?"

  "Drink up. Doctors orders." Cat smiled. Once she was convinced he would finish it, Cat walked back into the living room. He followed her in and found her standing at his desk, idly scanning the surface, her eyes coming to rest on one large pile of papers.

  Luke nervously moved toward the desk, blocking her view.

  "You do a lot of writing for a doctor," she observed blithely. "What kind of physician are you, anyway?"

  "I'm a psychiatrist," he answered, more officiously than he meant. What was she smiling about now?

  "Oh," was all she said as she continued to focus on the desk, despite Luke's attempt to play interference. "What are you writing? Everyone's deep, dark secrets?"

  Luke folded his arms across his chest. Again sounding officious, he said, "What happens between a psychiatrist and his patient is strictly confidential…"

  "I'm teasing," Cat said, patting his shoulder as though he were a small child. "I haven't needed your kind of services myself, but in the business I'm in, plenty of people I know do."

  Luke would have enjoyed telling her not to be so sure she didn't need her head examined. What kind of woman makes a career out of jumping out of windows? However, he bit his tongue. He always made a point of abstaining from professional analyses with anyone other than patients.

  Instead, he said wryly, "Teasing seems to be something you enjoy doing. How fortunate for you I'm so gullible."

  "Oh, I don't think that. You impress me as a shrewd, intelligent, caring kind of guy. Nobody else came running to my rescue today. And you had a good line. I honestly think if I were planning to kill myself, you could have talked me out of it. I bet you're very successful in your work."

  "I am, as a matter of fact," he said, the officious-ness gone. He smiled. "I'm amazed at your analysis, though. I certainly would not have formed the same conclusions witnessing my ridiculous behavior this afternoon. I still don't know how I mistook those cameras for TV news equipment. I guess I was too worried about you." His glance drifted over her face. "I'm usually a lot more observant."

  "I did try to explain." She grinned. "But you were so determined to save me, I didn't get the chance to finish. Then, well… Once Carl spotted you at the window, he pulled back behind the car and motioned me to—to play out the new scene. He's like that, believes in letting his cast try new ideas, improvise."

  "Great," Luke muttered. "Obviously, it doesn't matter at whose expense. But then the show must go on, so they say."

  "I know it wasn't very nice of me. I suppose it's going to make you even angrier when I admit that I kind of got caught up in the whole thing. You seemed so sincere, so earnest. You really made me feel that what happened to me honestly mattered to you. It was pretty romantic for a moment up there."

  She flushed slightly, which surprised Luke more than any of her previous responses. He squinted his eyes, reminding himself that Cat was pure Hollywood and this might simply be another great piece of dramatic acting. In fact, he couldn't figure why she was a stunt woman instead of an actress. He'd give her the vote for an Oscar on this performance alone. He stepped back, observing her closely, again wondering what made her tick.

  Cat's flush vanished in the wake of her broad smile. "You look like you're about to ask me. 'What's a nice girl like me doing in a job like this?' " she said with a throaty laugh.

  Luke grinned. "You're right. Very astute, Miss Roy."

  "All the more reason to wonder why I sail out of windows?"

  "Right again. I suppose men often ask you that question."

  "Actually, the men I know take it for granted. I grew up in the business. I can't remember a time I wasn't working on some stunt or another. I'll
bet you I was the only three-year-old in history who knew how to leap off a moving cycle without suffering so much as a scrape."

  "I'll bet you're right."

  For a moment there was an awkward silence. Neither of them was exactly clear as to why they suddenly felt vulnerable. Maybe it was the look that passed between them, or their awareness of the others attractiveness; Luke's sensitive, angular, intense good looks; Cat's vibrant, reckless beauty. Something sharply new had occurred. They both felt it.

  Cat's gaze returned to the desk. She spotted some travel folders on Greece but drew her attention back to the stack of typewritten papers.

  "What is all this writing about?" She kept her tone light, striving to regain her equilibrium. She had already admitted to herself before coming here that she found Luke fascinating and was curious to see him again. But still, her reactions tonight were more intense than she expected. That was not like her.

  "I'm working on a book," he said obliquely.

  It was the wrong way to answer the question. Cat immediately cocked her head curiously. "What kind of a book?"

  Turning slightly, he mumbled, "A manual for sexual fulfillment."

  There was no reason on earth to feel awkward about it, he told himself. Sexuality was a vital aspect of life, and of his work with patients. He had given lectures, written erudite papers in prestigious psychiatric journals, and held conferences on sexual problems and ways to achieve a more fulfilling relationship. So why was he feeling so uptight now?

  He knew why. For the last twenty minutes or more, his mind had been warring with his body over whether or not to try to seduce the enchantingly delectable Cat Roy. Telling her about his book seemed to him like an admission of just where his thoughts had been this whole time. From the amused yet sultry smile on Cat's face, it was clear that she was having no difficulty reading his mind. She also appeared interested. Or so Luke assumed as he stepped toward her.