One thing she did have was the world’s best burn ointment, and after an accident-prone childhood that included far too many excursions outside without sunscreen, David never left home without it.
He pulled the little pot out of his messenger bag and unscrewed the lid, unleashing the scent of mint and rosemary and something she would never divulge and he could never identify. All he knew was that it smelled like comfort. He smeared some on the back of his reddened hand and breathed a sigh when the pain dulled.
He rolled up his sleeve and checked his forearm. Once exposed to the cooler air, it felt tingly, but mostly unharmed. His shirt, however, was worse off than his blazer because it was white, not charcoal. He rolled up the other sleeve to more or less match. Not the perfect professional image he wanted to convey, but there wasn’t a lot he could do about it in the absence of a boatload of laundry supplies or a dry cleaner who made house calls.
The outside door opened, and he braced himself for another onslaught of not-so-veiled aggression, but this time the arrivals were much less alarming. A zaftig woman in a black dress so flattering it had to have cost a fortune, accessorized with a triple strand of freshwater pearls that hung halfway to her waist, was leading a little dark-haired boy, no more than five or six, who stared at David with wide brown eyes.
“Good afternoon. You must be Mrs. Tomlinson, and this is Benjamin.”
The kid ducked his head, pressing against his mother’s side, and peeked at David from the folds of her skirt. In his gray flannel shorts, white shirt, and red tie, he looked like a refugee from a high-end prep school, complete with a stylized red-and-gold crest on the breast pocket of his navy blazer.
Mrs. Tomlinson glanced around, a slight frown marring her patrician face. “Where is Vanessa? I hope nothing’s wrong with the baby.”
“Not a thing. She just opted for early maternity leave.”
Her face relaxed into a smile that would have charmed anybody within a two-mile radius. Why did she make him think of royalty? He couldn’t tell, other than that she held herself with the regal bearing of a Princess Diana who wasn’t as obsessed with her diet.
“Please have a seat. Dr. Kendrick will be with you shortly.”
She nodded and led her son to a chair next to the bare end table. Benjamin settled in docilely enough, poor kid. His little legs were too short for the seat depth and his feet stuck out in the air. He folded his hands in his lap, and his thin chest rose in an unmistakable sigh.
See? Exactly as David had suspected, the poor little guy was bored, bored, bored. This office totally needed a play niche, or at least a shelf of Dr. Seuss classics, to occupy kids who didn’t come equipped with their own amusements.
“Wait here, Benjamin,” his mother said, and glided to the door in her sensible heels. When she opened it, David spied two men outside, holding up the wall on the opposite side of the corridor with their massive shoulders. They were bigger than Dr. Kendrick and his brother, and that was saying a lot. Bodyguards? The royalty notion might not be so far-fetched, even if royalty these days was more likely related to money or corporate power.
He glanced at the boy and caught him staring. His big eyes got even wider, as if he thought he’d done something wrong. David grinned and displayed his one undeniable talent.
He wiggled his ears.
Benjamin giggled, then clapped his hands over his mouth with a scared glance at his mother. She was still conversing in a low tone with the bruisers in the hallway, though, and didn’t catch it, so David laid a finger across his lips.
And did it again.
This time Benjamin muffled his laughter behind his hands, but he looked way happier than he had when he’d walked in. My job here is done.
But when Dr. Kendrick opened his office door, default glower back in place, and strode into the lobby with Mr. Hoffenberg, the boy cowered in his chair again. Never mind. My job here is just beginning.
He frowned at his monitor, then cut a glance at Mrs. Tomlinson, who’d taken a seat next to her son but seemed oblivious to his distress. David, as an adult with an interest in health care, could make allowances for conditions that would distort Dr. Kendrick’s features so far off the norm. But to a little kid without that understanding? He’d look like the monster in the closet come out to munch on a random leg or two.
When he tore his attention away from the couple in the corner, he realized Mr. Hoffenberg was standing in front of his desk, staring at him with that same matching-tie-and-eye-fleck intensity.
“How’s your hand?” Hoffenberg’s voice matched his suit—a brown plaid voice if ever David had heard one. “You sustained no lasting injury, I trust.”
“No worries.” He held up his hand, where Aunt Cassie’s ointment had already worked most of its magic. “See? All better.”
“But your shirt. Your jacket.” Jeez, the guy could drill holes with that stare. “To make amends, allow me to take you for lunch.”
Seriously? Between Hoffenberg and Mal Kendrick, he’d gotten more action in a half day on the job than he’d gotten in a month of club nights. Yeah, most of those club hookups had started with a similar come-on, and every single one of them had imploded—sometimes before the end of the first drink.
“Jackson.” Dr. Kendrick’s voice was as hard-edged as a knife. “The gesture is appreciated, but David has a job to do. I’ll see you next time.”
Hoffenberg pointed a last creepy-ass stare at David and nodded once before he allowed Dr. Kendrick to walk him to the door. He did a visible double take at the sight of the two guys in the hallway, although the doctor didn’t seem surprised to see them.
Dr. Kendrick waited until the ding of the elevator marked Hoffenberg’s exit before he nodded at the bodyguards or bouncers or whatever the heck they were, and closed the door. He stalked across the lobby, circling behind the desk to loom over David’s chair.
“If he comes back, press this.” He pointed to a quarter-sized red button on the inside of the drawer pedestal. “Or this one.” A matching button was mounted inside the desk’s other wing. “Hit it with your knee, and it won’t be obvious.”
“Trust me, I know how to do discreet.”
The doctor’s mouth pinched in either displeasure or disbelief. “I’m sure. However, Jackson is fast. Use what advantage you can.”
David glanced at the boy. If Dr. Kendrick had patients—excuse me, clients—that were so dangerous, should he be treating little kids when their appointments overlapped this way? He remembered the incredible hulks outside the door. Hmmm. Guess this particular kid carries his own protection.
“Very well.” He looked up, past the cliff of the doctor’s chest, and met his glare. “Did Vanessa ever use the panic button?”
Dr. Kendrick’s scowl deepened, and his gaze veered to a spot over David’s left shoulder, in the vicinity of the paper clip holder. Aaannd wait for it—here comes the lie.
“Vanessa had her own methods of self-defense.”
“Really? What? I might want to invest in some training myself.”
The fierce gaze, more intense under the jut of the overhanging brow ridges, slid to the right. Uh-huh. Let’s hear it, Dr. Liar.
“Krav Maga.”
And I’m the love child of Princess Leia and Jabba the Hutt. “Interesting.”
Dr. Kendrick’s gaze flicked from the Tomlinsons back to David, but he didn’t retreat from behind the desk. This close to him, David could detect the wild fragrances of mint and lemon and almond, reminiscent of one of his aunt’s home-crafted body washes. God, if he closed his eyes and just smelled the man and listened to him when he wasn’t barking orders—which admittedly was infrequent to the point of nonexistent—Dr. Kendrick could be his dream lover.
“We have a problem.”
Oops. David’s eyes snapped open. Heat infused his neck and crept up his cheeks until he probably looked parboiled. He needed to control his little trips to fantasy land, because him and the doctor? Never gonna happen. Not when the man couldn’t look at him
without disgust twisting his features even further.
Since that expression hadn’t yet left his face, he probably never looked any happier. David had a sudden urge to pat the man on the arm or rub his back to see if he could release the tension in those broad shoulders.
“Ordinarily,” Dr. Kendrick said, “Vanessa entertains Benjamin for fifteen minutes while I speak with his mother alone, but—”
“No problem. I can handle it.”
The man snorted, heavy brows lowering further.
Okay. Maybe he didn’t feel sorry for the guy. It wasn’t as if he was trying to overcome his monster-of-the-week look with a kinder, gentler attitude. It was almost as if he embraced the beast persona, reveled in it. Or at least didn’t bother to counteract the impression.
But poor little Benjamin deserved better than to sit in the office while the doctor and his mother talked about him as if he weren’t there. David had had more than enough of that crap in foster care. Kids paid more attention than adults realized.
“Believe me, Dr. Kendrick, I can be very entertaining.” David kept his gaze fixed on the doctor, but he wiggled his ears, just once, and was rewarded with Benjamin’s muffled giggle.
“Doctor,” Mrs. Tomlinson said in perfectly round tones, “I’m sure this young man will be more than adequate. May we begin?”
Well, that high praise put Dr. Doubt in his place, now didn’t it? Mrs. Tomlinson progressed into the office with the doctor as her retinue. When David turned back after the door had closed, Benjamin was standing in front of him, his chin just clearing the top of the desk.
“Well, hello there. Escaped your chair, did you?”
He nodded. “You can wiggle your ears.”
“Yup.” David did it again, carding his fingers through his shaggy hair to reveal his ears in all their protuberant glory. Yeah, there was a reason he wore this style. Years of remarks about jug ears had seen to that, but Benjamin was at the right age to appreciate them for their raw entertainment value. “Can you?”
“Yes.” He screwed up his face and then raised his eyebrows to their limit, which succeeded in moving his scalp, but left his ears stationary.
“Excellent.” David pointed to the crest on Benjamin’s blazer. “What’s that on your jacket?”
He looked down, his chin bumping his chest. “Dragon.”
“Really? That’s awesome. My school mascot was the hornets.” The boy screwed up his face and stuck out his tongue. “I know. Lousy, right? Dragons are much cooler.”
“What’s those?” He pointed to the pastilles mounded in the candy dish.
“Candies. Would you like one?”
“I’m not allowed.”
“Not even one?” Seriously, what kid could resist sneaking a candy when the adults turned their backs? “You’re not diabetic, are you?”
His forehead wrinkled in thought. “I don’t think so.”
“Just in case, we’ll wait until we ask your mom.”
He sighed and nodded. “What’s those?” He pointed to the line of action figures under David’s monitor.
“These guys? This one’s Legolas. He’s an elf.”
Benjamin shot him a suspicious glare. “No, he’s not. He’s only little. Elves are tall.”
“Well, he’s a toy. A miniature that’s supposed to look like the big elf.”
“You mean a doll?” His voice dripped with little-boy scorn.
“Not a doll. An action figure. See?” David picked up Chewbacca and faced him off against Legolas on the desktop. “Grrr. Rawr.”
“Who’s that one?”
“Chewbacca? He’s a Wookiee.”
“No, he’s not.” From the disappointed downturn of Benjamin’s mouth, David had lost all of his ear-wiggling points. “Wookiees are baseball players what aren’t very good yet.”
David laughed. “Right. Well then, he’s a big furry guy who knows how to fly a spaceship and fight bad guys.”
Benjamin nodded solemnly. “Like Vanessa’s husband. He flies planes for the Naby. She told me.”
Vanessa was married to a Navy pilot, huh? David hoped her husband wasn’t stationed overseas while she was pregnant. He held out the little plastic Chewbacca. “Here. He’s yours.”
The little boy’s eyes widened, the overhead lights glinting in their depths, and his mouth puckered in a soft Oooh. He took the toy in both hands almost reverently.
“I don’t have no toys like this. I can keep him? Really?”
No candy and no toys? Maybe being the corporate equivalent of a little prince had its drawbacks. “Absolutely. In fact . . .” He scooted Legolas across the desk. “Would you like the elf too?”
Benjamin shook his head, cradling Chewbacca against his chest. “No. Only one.”
“You sure?” He wiggled Legolas back and forth. “They could have battles or go on adventures to hunt some orcs.”
Benjamin stepped back. “No. I don’t like elves. Only Dr. Alun.”
Why would Benjamin associate elves with Dr. Kendrick? Unless it was the orc reference. Oh well. Nobody did non sequiturs like six-year-olds. “All righty, then. I’ll bring a couple of different ones next time, okay?”
A grin split the boy’s face, and he nodded vigorously. “Next time.”
“You got it.”
Benjamin slid Chewbacca into the pocket of his blazer and retreated to his chair, his hand hovering over the pocket as if he were afraid to touch, yet didn’t quite believe the toy was there.
David wished it was as easy to make Dr. Kendrick happy.
A strange half-familiar tingle skated under Alun’s skin as he tried to focus his attention on Teresa Tomlinson. He couldn’t write it off as residual adrenaline from Jackson’s odd aggression against David—it didn’t have the unpleasant tang of danger. More an awareness. Potentiality, with a flavor of long-ago yearning. He almost had it, but when Teresa took a firm grip on her pearls and sat forward in the love seat, it vanished.
“I’m at the end of my tether, doctor. I’ve tried everything. Gold. Silver. Platinum. Gemstones of all colors. Every time, he gives them away.”
Alun kept his hands folded in his lap, in full view. With dragon shifters, you had to make it very clear that you had no designs on their possessions. “He’s still young.”
“When I was his age, I had a closet full of treasure.”
“But you’re female. Females mature sooner than males.”
“Yes, but still . . .” She stopped playing with her pearls and twisted one of her rings, a four-carat diamond, pulling it above the knuckle and pushing it back. Classic behavior—display the riches and test whether you’ll take advantage of an apparent opportunity. “I can’t have my son be the only dragon in the history of the race who doesn’t have a decent hoard when he comes of age.”
“Teresa, you know I’ll continue to see Benjamin as long as you wish, but I believe you’d be better served by waiting another year or two. The hoarding instinct may kick in naturally.”
She raised her worried gaze to his face, her eyes the color of opals. “I’m . . .” She sighed, shoulders slumping. “What if this is a symptom? He’s the first dragon shifter child born in over fifty years. Our council warns us constantly that our race is threatened, our evolution twisted by the loss of our traditional hunting grounds and the absence of tribute.”
Alun relaxed his features into what passed for a reassuring—or at least less threatening—expression. “I think every supe council has said the same thing for the past century. Yes, things are changing. Yes, we all need to adapt. But the world moves rapidly these days, and evolution isn’t swift.”
She smiled wanly. “Especially for dragons. I think we’re more hidebound than even the fae.” She jerked one hand to her mouth. “Oh. I’m sorry, Doctor. I didn’t mean—”
“No, it’s perfectly true. My race is notoriously resistant to progress.” Alun uncrossed his legs and leaned forward, his palms out and open to show he was hiding nothing, attempting to take nothing. “But I think y
ou need to give Benjamin more time.”
She nodded, sighing. “It’s been so long since we had a child among us, we’ve forgotten what it’s like. May we still come for our sessions? Even if you don’t treat Benjamin, I feel better after our talks.”
“Then by all means, we’ll continue. As often as you like.” Alun rose and gestured toward the door, knowing better than to offer to help her rise. She’d construe it as an attempt to relieve her of her jewels.
When he escorted her into the lobby, that skitter of nerves returned, like sparks under his skin. He scanned the room for threats. The clinic door was still closed tightly, but even with his diminished abilities, he sensed the presence of the two dragon shifter guards in the corridor. Good. Jackson hadn’t returned. He’d share a few sharp words with the Clackamas alpha if the unwarranted aggression didn’t abate.
David was sitting at his keyboard in his shirtsleeves. Benjamin was perched in his usual chair, although he was sporting a secretive smile new in Alun’s experience with the boy.
He glanced sharply at David, but the man simply hummed under his breath and continued typing. He paused when he noticed Teresa and smiled at her with that deadly human charm.
“Mrs. Tomlinson,” he said, his voice low enough not to carry across the room to the boy, “would you object if Benjamin had a pastille? One of my aunt’s friends makes them. I promise you, they’re very good, and excellent for the digestion. She owns a confectionery in the Hawthorne District, and these are a best seller.”
“Well . . .” She glanced at her son.
“Here.” He pushed the jewel-bright dish toward her. “Try one. Please.”
She selected one of the pastel candies with the same care that she’d use selecting a new emerald. When the pastille hit her tongue, her opalescent eyes widened and swirled with a dragon shifter’s avarice response. Alun glanced at David, but he didn’t seem to notice anything unusual. Perhaps the man wasn’t very observant or sensitive. He’d certainly not had the standard human response to Alun’s wreck of a face.
“It’s not overly sweet.” Teresa reached for another. “May I?” David nodded, and she picked a different color. “Mint and . . . is that . . .”
Cutie and the Beast Page 5
