Prescription: Marry Her Immediately

by Jacqueline Diamond

  “Can it, both of you!” Amy roared. “Ice-skating is also a sport. Get over it!”

  They gave her dirty looks. “The lady’s right!” Quent bellowed. “Stick a sock in it!”

  “I guess you told ’em,” Brian said, although he sounded dubious.

  Amy glanced at Quent. “Thanks for the support.”

  “It can’t hurt us to watch.” Turning to Brian, he ordered a ham sandwich, one of the few food items available at the Paris Bar. “I’m trying to broaden my horizons.”

  “That’s a good idea. I love ice-skating.”

  They sat in companionable silence. Outside, rain drummed on the roof, nearly drowning out the music and conversations.

  Despite her usual enthusiasm for the sport, Amy quickly lost interest in what was on TV. All she could think about was Quent sitting beside her.

  The image of him playing with children made him even more masculine, more desirable to her. She wished they could be alone together.

  At her age, she ought to know a subtle way to persuade him to leave the bar and take her somewhere. Right now, though, she couldn’t think of anything that wasn’t embarrassingly blatant.

  ALL THE LEAPING and spinning on TV couldn’t compare to what was going on in Quent’s nervous system. Being near Amy sensitized his entire body to every little movement she made.

  Although his last couple of efforts at romance had petered out, this, Quent decided, was the perfect time to put his campaign into action. “Let’s go dancing,” he said.

  Amy gave a start and nearly fell off her stool. “Did you say dancing?”

  That wasn’t a promising reaction. Quent refused to let it bother him. “There’s a restaurant down by the water that has a band until 1:00 a.m. on weekends,” he said. “Would you like to go?”

  “I’d love to! I…” She glanced ruefully down at her jeans. “I’m afraid I’m not dressed for it. And I didn’t bring any fancy stuff to my aunt’s house.”

  Quent wasn’t going to let a little detail like clothes stop them. “It’s not far to your condo,” he pointed out. “You could change.”

  He’d prefer it if they never even left the condo. But that wouldn’t be romantic, he reminded himself.

  “Done!” Amy said. “Besides, I want to see how my roof is holding up.”

  They swung their stools toward each other at the same moment and bumped knees. Through Amy’s jeans, Quent could feel the shapely length of her legs. “Sorry,” he muttered, although he wasn’t.

  “You get up first.”

  “My pleasure.” Skimming to his feet, he caught her waist as Amy stood. Although she had no need of aid, she didn’t object.

  His palms registered the litheness of her toned muscles and the slimness of her midsection. Fire shot through Quent. With difficulty, he schooled his features into a pleasant mask and hurried to open the door for her.

  Amy studied him uncertainly as she slipped by. Her pupils appeared slightly dilated, but perhaps that was a trick of the light.

  He followed her car with his SUV. The burst of rain had softened to a persistent drizzle, and the wet pavement glimmered beneath his headlights.

  When they arrived, Quent was glad to see that the property manager had done a good job. The tree was gone and the hole had been neatly boarded over.

  Inside her living room, all appeared dry but disorderly. Bits of white ceiling lay everywhere and a musty smell arose from the carpet. “I’ve ordered new carpet and arranged to get the ceiling fixed,” Amy told him. “Everything’s on hold until the roof’s done.”

  While she went into the bedroom, Quent stood listening to the rustling noises from the other room. He couldn’t help picturing Amy stripping off her jeans and sweater.

  Silence followed. She must be standing in front of the closet, choosing an outfit. Quent pictured her wearing the lingerie he’d seen in the drawer. Mostly, he imagined her bare waist, sculpted navel and those long legs.

  He wished Amy would stroll out and pose sensuously in the doorway, wearing nothing but her bra and panties. If she gave him that sweet smile of hers, he’d be there in an instant to draw her against him.

  This time, he wouldn’t grope her like an overeager adolescent. He’d take it slow, pleasing her at every step, and, oh, she would certainly know how to please him.

  To his embarrassment, Quent registered the fact that his pants had grown tight and his breath was coming fast. He went into the kitchen and stared at a Lakers’ home game schedule on the refrigerator until he recovered.

  A short time later, Amy appeared, a maroon sweater-dress clinging to her slim figure. Long dark hair flowed around her shoulders and she paused in the kitchen entrance just as he’d imagined, although with more clothes on. Quent moved toward her.

  “It’s stopped raining,” she said. “Shall we take your car or mine?”

  His instincts urged him to sweep her into his arms, but he knew Cary Grant would take her dancing first. “I’ll drive,” he said.

  Amy grabbed a coat from the hall closet. “Come on, slowpoke!”

  With a sigh for lost opportunities, Quent followed. Outside, the drizzle had ended. The moon peered through parting clouds and a few bold stars sparkled against slivers of blue-black sky.

  In his SUV, they whipped down Pacific Coast Highway and pulled into the parking lot of the Sailor’s Retreat, a seafood restaurant beside Serene Harbor. In front, an anchor mounted on a concrete block reflected the nautical theme.

  Quent opened Amy’s door. “This is different,” she said as they walked toward the wood-shingled restaurant.

  “They haven’t changed anything as far as I can tell.”

  “Not the restaurant. The way you’re acting. You held the door for me several times tonight.” She shot him a questioning look. “Is this a date?”

  “Would you mind if it were?” Quent asked.

  She took a long breath. “No,” she said. “Not at all.”

  Pleased, he escorted her inside, to the welcome lilt of a romantic melody. The earlier rain must have kept some customers at home, because the hostess agreed at once when Quent asked for a table near the dance floor.

  Heads turned as Amy, radiantly beautiful and completely unselfconscious, crossed the room. Proudly, Quent held a chair for her and slid it forward when she sat down.

  As they ordered drinks, her nearness hummed through him. The knit dress breathed with her, becoming part of her allure. Her hair, loose and dark around her expressive face, drove him crazy.

  “You look amazing,” Quent said.

  Wariness shaded her eyes. “Amazing how?”

  He smiled, touched by her lack of ego. “I’ve never met a woman who wrapped so many different personas into one. You’re a tomboy, a professional woman and a siren, all at the same time.”

  “A siren?” she asked. “Me?”

  On the verge of pointing out that men flocked to her, Quent made a quick mental right turn. He didn’t care about those other men and he didn’t want Amy to care about them, either. The growing intimacy between the two of them was the only thing that mattered.

  “A man could get lost in your eyes,” he said, staring into them in fascination. “They’re so dark and honest.”

  She took in a shaky breath. “It’s as if you can see right down inside me.”

  “I can, because of how well I know you.” On the table, Quent cupped his hand across hers. The delicate bones fit beneath his palm like a small, vibrant bird. “While we’ve been getting to know each other as friends, something else has been happening. Something deeper.”

  Her lips parted, revealing a glistening hint of ivory and welcoming pink softness. “I feel it, too.”

  Their drinks arrived. This sense of hovering on the brink was so precious that Quent wanted to relish it for hours.

  The orchestra segued into a sensuous Latin rhythm redolent of Brazilian beaches and tan, sunswept skin. Suddenly he could restrain himself no longer.

  “Would you like to dance?” he asked.<
br />
  “You bet.” Amy stood up, taking Quent’s arm. Her fresh scent drifted into his brain, intensifying his longing as they joined the other dancers on the floor.

  The tantalizing beat engulfed them. Lights skimmed across Amy, revealing the invitation in her eyes and allure of her movements. She became the dance, infused with its voluptuousness.

  The teasing quality to her smile lit fires inside Quent. His body shifted closer, until their hips and shoulders brushed.

  He knew where the dance was leading. And he wanted to go there so badly that if he held out much longer, he might burst into a column of flame.

  Chapter Seven

  Every time she and Quent touched, sparks of longing ignited inside Amy’s most private places. She wanted more of him, all of him. She’d never experienced this intensity of desire for a man before, and she could hardly wait to discover where it would lead.

  The other dancers barely registered in her mind. Like phantoms, they paled before her rising excitement.

  When the music shifted into a waltz, she and Quent flowed into each other’s arms. Her tilted head fitted comfortably inside the curve of his neck.

  Amy heard his breath catch as her cheek grazed his jaw. With delicious awareness, she sensed a tightening in his body. Always before when she got close to a man, she’d become awkward and self-conscious. Not tonight.

  She closed her eyes and let his scent of citrus and pure maleness simmer through her. Along his jawline, she detected a slight roughness, a reminder of untamed masculinity.

  Warmth flowed from the point where his hand pressed her waist, while his other hand cradled hers as if to keep it safe. For the first time in her life, she wanted to yield utterly.

  The music stopped. With one impulse, Amy and Quent wove through the crowd toward a glass door that opened onto the restaurant’s deck. Chill air raised bumps on her skin when they went out, but Quent’s nearness seared it away.

  Behind them, the door muffled the music. The deck lay empty, its round tables rain-washed. Shore lights glimmered against the smooth harbor and the fresh air carried the sea’s wild tang.

  The two of them sauntered down wooden steps to a quay just a few feet above the waterline. Hand-in-hand, they strolled away from the restaurant’s long windows along a row of darkened shops. In this quiet place away from the world, they could be alone with the night.

  As if they were still dancing, Amy turned and lifted her arms. Her foot slipped a little on the wet wood but Quent caught her and gathered her close.

  When he kissed her, she felt as if she were floating. Then his tongue touched hers and desire flashed through her.

  Amy gripped Quent’s shoulders while liquid heat poured from his mouth into hers. Her body took his measure from the brush of their knees to his arousal, up to the point where the hard nubs of her breasts met his chest.

  Quent drew his head back, his gaze questioning. Her fingers found the nape of his neck and urged him into another kiss.

  After a moment, his mouth trailed from her mouth to her ear. The whisper of a breath in its sensitive coils nearly made her cry out. The restraints, the doubts, the fears of a lifetime vanished before this intense need. Amy cared for this man and wanted to be part of him.

  “Let’s go somewhere,” she said.

  He nodded, and they both spoke at once. “Your place.”

  Amy laughed. Since they had to make a choice, she said, “It doesn’t matter. Surprise me,” and stepped back.

  She’d forgotten the slippery spot and her high heels. In one unguarded moment, her foot lost its traction and shot out from under her. Amy twisted backward, out of control.

  She expected to thump to the boards and that would be the end of it, a silly tumble followed by an embarrassed scramble to her feet. But it didn’t happen that way.

  Momentum and gravity carried her backward into the railing. With a sickening sense of disbelief, she heard the wood splinter and felt it give way. Off-balance, she teetered on the brink of plunging into the cold water.

  ALTHOUGH THE DISTANCE between Quent and Amy was slight, the milliseconds it took his brain to register the situation and his muscles to respond seemed like an eternity. Then, when he caught her arm, the impetus of her fall coupled with the unexpected failure of the railing made him misgauge the force needed, and he lost his grip.

  Fighting panic, Quent lunged forward and grabbed her more tightly. At the same time, Amy clamped one hand over a post supporting another section of rail. Between the two of them, they pulled her to safety.

  “That was close.” She leaned over like a spent athlete, gasping for breath.

  Quent’s throat clamped. It took a moment before he could rasp out, “Are you all right?”

  “My ankle’s sore.” Amy lifted it gingerly. “I don’t think it’s sprained, though.”

  He stood there stiffly, wanting to give her comfort and reassurance. But he couldn’t move.

  He’d almost lost Amy, and he hadn’t even seen the danger coming. If she’d fallen, could he have saved her? The harbor was deceptively calm, but as a doctor, Quent knew people sometimes disappeared into a lake or the ocean and for no apparent reason never surfaced again.

  It had nearly happened tonight. In a place where they’d felt perfectly safe, Amy could have been torn away.

  The shock of that night a year ago rushed back. The phone jolting him from sleep, the disembodied voice of his father, the disorientation when he learned that three people he loved had been wiped from the earth.

  Life could jerk the rug out from under you without warning. Until this moment, Quent hadn’t realized how deep the trauma ran. He’d thought he was ready for the next step in his relationship with Amy. Unfortunately, he wasn’t.

  “I’d better take you back to your aunt’s house,” he said.

  “My condo will be fine.” She managed a shaky smile. “I never did lay in any more beer or popcorn, but I did pick up some coffee. And my car’s there, remember?”

  Quent took her arm and walked her slowly back to the restaurant. “You’re shivering. I want your aunt to keep an eye on you. Someone can pick up your car in the morning.”

  “I’d rather you kept an eye on me,” she said.

  He didn’t know how to answer because his reaction didn’t make sense, even to him. Right now, it made him uneasy to be around Amy. As if he were cursed, as if what had happened tonight was his fault.

  Or maybe because his losses had opened a wound that, far from healing, had lain festering all these months. He knew only that he couldn’t bare his heart to Amy when it was still so raw.

  “I just want you to be safe,” he said, and took refuge in action. It was comforting to seize control of the situation by demanding to see the restaurant manager and telling the man in blunt terms what had happened.

  “I’m so sorry. Are you all right, ma’am?” the man said. After Amy assured him that she was, he went on, “The quay is city property. I’ll notify the authorities right away. They repaired part of the railing last summer but they must have missed some dry rot.”

  “I hate to think what would have happened if a child had tried to climb on it,” Quent said.

  “You’re absolutely right,” the man said. “I’ll ask the city to send someone immediately to post the area with a no trespassing sign.”

  “Thank you.” Amy tugged Quent’s arm in a let’sgo gesture.

  “Are you sure you don’t want to see a doctor?” the manager asked.

  “I am a doctor,” Quent said. “I’ll take care of her.”

  After collecting Amy’s coat, he escorted her to his SUV. “Did you mean that?” she said.

  He paused in the act of closing her door. “Did I mean what?”

  “About taking care of me?”

  He knew only that he had a strong urge to protect her, even from himself. “Do you think you need medical attention?”

  “Quent!”

  “What?”

  “Oh, get inside,” she said.

&n
bsp; He circled the vehicle and eased behind the wheel. “Where does your aunt live?”

  “I can’t believe you’re really taking me there.” Amy’s eyes caught a sheen from a nearby streetlight. “I realize our mood got interrupted, but we can recapture it.”

  With her natural resilience, no doubt that was true for her. Normally, Quent could have, too. But right now he hardly knew his own mind.

  He’d been raised to believe a man ought to be in control of himself. And he’d lost it out there, even if only for a moment. The results could have been fatal.

  “You might suffer from delayed shock,” he said, retreating into his intellect because it was easier than acknowledging his emotions. “That was a close call.”

  “You make it sound so clinical,” she said.

  He put the vehicle into gear and backed up. “You haven’t given me your aunt’s address yet.”

  “Don’t shut me out like this!” Amy said.

  “I can’t help it.” That was as much of an explanation as he could offer.

  She waited a moment to give him a chance to say more, but he didn’t. At last, she broke the silence. “Aunt Mary lives off Alsace Avenue.” She provided the address. “Do you know where that is?”

  “Yes.” He’d learned the geography of Serene Beach after he moved here by tacking up street maps in the bathroom. He’d used the same tactic to memorize anatomy charts in medical school.

  Quent turned east onto the highway and steered toward a large development of middle-class homes. He knew he ought to say more, but how could he explain what he didn’t fully understand?

  “I don’t get it,” Amy said. “All of a sudden you’re not even talking to me?”

  “I’m not usually like this, I know,” Quent admitted. “But there’s another side to me.”

  “Was one of your ancestors a clam?” she teased, trying to lighten the tone of their conversation. “Is that what you haven’t told me?”

  With an effort, he smiled. “I come from a long line of mollusks.”

  “Enough joking. You’re dodging the issue.” She folded her arms.

  “Okay, I admit it. I don’t want to talk about this tonight.” His chest ached. He must have strained a muscle when he lunged toward her on the quay. “Can we go back to being friends for a while? I’m afraid I pushed things too far too fast.”