Redeeming The Rebel Doc. Susan Carlisle
from hers. He wore a plain black T-shirt, worn jeans with a hole in one knee and black ankle-high boots. When he pulled his helmet off, dark hair fell around his broad shoulders. Rex was impressive in a wild sort of way. She almost regretted insisting his hair be cut. Somehow it made him more fascinating. Her opinion, though, didn’t matter. What mattered was his image in the eyes of the residents of this city if her plans were to succeed.
Her gaze met his.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
Had she been staring? She went on the defensive. “I expected you here thirty minutes ago. Maybe your patients understand you not showing up on time but I don’t.”
Climbing off his bike, tucking his helmet under his arm, he stepped into her personal space, claiming all the air around her. She could hardly breathe, let alone hear him quietly inform her, “Something came up at the last minute but I’m here now.”
Tiffani took two steps back and inhaled. “You could’ve at least texted me.”
“I didn’t have a chance. Sorry. My patient was having difficulty breathing. I didn’t have time to message you before I started operating, repairing her lung. Afterward I was too busy rushing here to text you.”
She’d firmly been put in her place. Somehow sorry didn’t cover it but she said it anyway.
“Now that I’m here, let’s get this over with.” With a grim look on his face he looked at the storefronts.
“The manager is waiting for us.” She led the way to the specialty men’s shop.
“I still don’t understand why all of this is necessary.” He followed close behind her.
Over her shoulder she replied, “That biker gang look might work just fine in your everyday life but in my world a more professional appearance is called for.”
“What if I want nothing to do with your world?” Stepping ahead of her, he opened the door.
His manners couldn’t be faulted. At least that area needed no work. As she passed him she retorted, “Right now, you have no choice.”
He said softly, “We’ll see about that.”
The middle-aged store manager greeted them and directed them to a row of suits.
“I’d rather not.” Rex shook his head. “If I must dress up, I’d prefer jackets and jeans.”
“You need a suit. I have a TV interview set up for next week.” The opportunity to show Rex as qualified and trustworthy was too good to pass up.
“No suit. It’s non-negotiable.” The firmness in his tone stated he meant every word.
“You don’t make the rules here.”
“I do about what I wear,” he shot back. “I won’t be dressed up and paraded around like a preening bird. Complain to Nelson if you like.”
She took a deep but discreet breath, counting to three before she said in her most soothing tone, “We’ll try it your way, but I get the final say. If I don’t like the look you choose then you may have to try on a suit.”
“Won’t happen.” He turned back to the manager and started pointing at jackets. “I’ll try that one, that one and that one.” Moving to a wall with cubby holes filled with stacked shirts, he pulled out several. “Here,” he said, piling them in her arms. Moving to a rack of pants, he sorted through them until he had chosen a handful. The manager took the pants from Rex, who all but growled, “Where’s the dressing room?”
“This way, sir,” the older man said, appearing perplexed.
“Just call me Rex.”
The man nodded and led the way to the back of the store.
Tiffani followed, feeling a little dazed. Rex had taken over. She needed to regain control but was unsure how to do it.
Rex dropped his helmet on top of the last display table before the dressing stall. Immediately he pulled his shirt over his head.
Tiffani was given a spectacular view of his back muscles shifting under bronzed skin. That expanse of pure masculinity tapered down to a trim waist.
Her step faltered.
Surely it was from the shock of him stripping so freely. Not from the delicious view she’d been given. She should want nothing to do with men, doctors in particular, but she wasn’t immune to a good-looking male. Rex Maxwell had a very fine body to go with his handsome face. If he affected her this acutely, surely other women would also be attracted to him. Smiling to herself, she nodded. Tiffani would use his raw virility to her advantage during the campaign.
“Hand me the shirts and pants first. I’ll try the jackets on last,” he said from behind a wooden door that stopped a couple of feet from the floor. She watched with a skip of a heartbeat as his jeans puddled around his feet.
The manager hurried to give him the pants. Rex opened the door far enough to take them. Seconds later he opened it again and stuck out a hand. “Shirts?”
The manager moved out of Tiffani’s way so she could hand him her armload of shirts. She did her best to keep her eyes off the almost naked man before her. When Rex chuckled softly, she instinctively met his gaze. The twinkle in his smoldering eyes made her discomfort intensify. He was playing with her. But she had endured enough cat-and-mouse games for a lifetime.
She quickly turned but not before her downward glance had registered his navy sport briefs barely concealing his manhood. Trying to hide her sexual attraction, she said in as flat a voice as she could muster, “Let me see you when you’re dressed.”
Minutes later he came out wearing a light blue shirt and navy pants. The manager held up a tan jacket. Rex slipped it on with a grace Tiffani couldn’t ignore. He’d been toying with her earlier. Had known he was embarrassing her. Yet here she was, ogling him again. Whatever was going on with her body had to stop. He was a client and one she was determined not to like or trust. All doctors were self-centered and so far Rex Maxwell hadn’t proved himself any different.
He put his arms out and slowly turned around. “What do you think? Will I do?”
She studied him intently, hoping to find a flaw. There wasn’t one. So she promptly ordered, “Let’s see the others.”
“No. You can choose what you like out of my selection. I’m done here.” He shrugged off the jacket.
She stepped in front of him, ignoring the garment he held out. “You need to try them all on. I want to make sure they create the right image.”
He took the stance of a man in a gunfight, letting the jacket sweep the floor when he lowered his arm. His stare was hard. “They’re all the same size, just different colors. Mix and match ’em. I’ve done all the fashion-show stuff I’m going to do. Period.”
Everything about him warned she shouldn’t push any further. So she looked down at his boots. “Okay. Now for shoes.”
Rex lifted a foot, moving it one way then another. “What? You don’t think these go with everything?”
Relieved his mood had mellowed, she retorted, “I think traditional footwear would be more appropriate. The boots work for your motorcycle but I don’t think they’re the best choice for TV interviews or social situations.”
“Social situations? What social situations am I going to be in?”
She could feel the appalled aura envelop him.
“The hospital is planning a small cocktail party and dinner for the accreditation committee. It’ll be a great opportunity for you to talk to influential members of the community, while impressing the committee. Let them get to know you.” She smiled, hoping to encourage him.
His jaw tensed. “I won’t be attending. That isn’t my thing.”
Time