Man of Fortune. Rochelle Alers
jacket, let it fall to the floor of the elevator car, and then sat down on it. If he was going to spend any more time confined to such a small space then he planned to relax.
Tamara stared at him as if he’d taken leave of his senses. “What do you think you’re doing?”
A pair of clear amber-colored eyes met a pair of coal-black ones. “What does it look like? I’m taking a load off my feet.” He offered his hand. “Come sit down. It’s not as hot down here.”
“That’s because hot air rises,” Tamara countered.
Again, he ignored her quip. “Sit down, Tamara.”
Resting her hands on her hips, she glared down at him. “Are you familiar with the word please?”
Duncan didn’t drop his hand. Baring his teeth, he flashed a facetious smile. “Please, Dr. Wolcott, won’t you sit down?”
She rolled her eyes. “I’m only Dr. Wolcott at the hospital. Otherwise it’s Tamara.”
Half rising, Duncan eased Tamara down to sit beside him on his jacket. He caught the scent of her perfume. They sat silently as the seconds ticked off to minutes. He checked his watch again. Another quarter of an hour had passed. If Genevieve Henderson hadn’t insisted he stay he would’ve been home by now. It took about half an hour to walk from Gramercy Park to where he lived in Chelsea.
A slight smile tilted the corners of his mouth when Tamara rested her head on his shoulder. “How are you holding up?” he asked after a prolonged silence.
“I’m okay.”
Tamara wanted to tell Duncan that she was more than okay. His tailored shirt concealed a lean, hard body. Soft hands, hard body, she mused, wondering what he did for a living. It was the first time in a very long time that she’d felt so comfortable with a man. After a rocky marriage and less-than-amicable divorce she’d sworn off men. She had dated but hadn’t slept with a man since her divorce, and at thirty-two she was more than content not to change her lifestyle or marital status.
Duncan shifted into a more comfortable position. “Why did you decide to become a doctor?”
“It’s a long story, Duncan.”
“We have nothing but time and you have a captive audience. Pardon the pun.”
Tamara laughed. The sultry sound filled the confined space, sending shivers up Duncan’s spine. He suspected the woman pressed to his side was unaware of how sexy her voice, laugh and curvy body were concealed under a man’s shirt and body-hugging jeans.
“I became a doctor to spite my mother.”
Chapter 2
Tamara couldn’t believe she’d just told Duncan something she’d never told another living soul—and that included the man whom she’d believed was the love of her life before he’d become the bane of her existence. It didn’t matter what she said to Duncan Gilmore because after they were rescued from the elevator the odds were she would never see him again.
“Spite her how?” Duncan asked.
How, she mused, had she not noticed the low, sensual timbre of the voice of the man pressed against her side? Physically he was perfect, and she felt an unexpected jolt of envy for the woman who claimed him for herself.
“I spent all of my childhood and the beginning of my adult life trying to get the approval of my overly critical mother. I’m the youngest of three girls and my sisters Renata and Tiffany are black Barbie dolls, and there wasn’t a day when my mother didn’t remind me that not only was I taller but I also weighed much more than they did.”
“How much do they weigh?”
“Tiffany claims she’s one-ten, while Renata admits to being one-thirteen.”
“How tall are they?”
“Both are five-eight.”
“Aren’t they anorexic?”
Tamara forced a smile. “I’d say they are. At thirty-six and thirty-eight they wear a size zero and a size two after having several children. But Mother says they’re perfect. They had debutante cotillions, but I was denied one because my mother claimed she didn’t want me looking like I was wearing a white tent.”
Duncan stared at Tamara’s hands, which were balled up in fists. He didn’t know whether she’d been an overweight teen, but she definitely wasn’t now. Her figure was full, rounded and undeniably womanly. Everything about Tamara Wolcott was feminine and as close to perfection as a woman could get.
“Were you overweight?”
“No. I was five-ten and weighed one forty-five. My pediatrician constantly told Mother I wasn’t overweight. But she has her own set of standards that were and are totally unrealistic. The Wolcotts have been educators for more than a century, so when I graduated from college it was expected that I go into teaching. I never told anyone that I wanted to be a doctor, so I took a lot of math and science courses pretending that I planned to teach science or math.
“My oldest sister was getting married and Mother was so focused on making certain Renata would have the wedding of the season that she didn’t have time to monitor my life. I took the GMAT and the MCAT, and got nearly perfect scores. Meanwhile I’d applied to medical schools.”
“Where did you go?”
“New York University. I’d been accepted at SUNY Stony Brook, but decided against it because that’s where my father is head of the sociology department.”
“Did you live on campus?”
Tilting her chin, Tamara stared at Duncan. “Not the first year. Getting up before dawn and commuting from Long Island into Manhattan five days a week left me with little or no time for studying. Once I was approved for campus housing my life changed and I swore never to live at home again.”
Resting his hand over her clasped ones, Duncan gave it a gentle squeeze. “Were you screaming, ‘Free at last?’”
“How did you know?”
“I knew a few people who had parents who refused to cut the umbilical cord.”
Tamara laid her head against his shoulder again as if it was something she’d done countless times. “Did it happen with you, Duncan?”
“No. I think it’s different with guys, because we’re expected to grow up and be men, while daddies think of their daughters as little girls even when they’re grown women.”
He recalled the in-depth conversation he’d had with Kalinda’s father who’d said he expected his daughter to be still a virgin when she married. What the older man hadn’t known was that Duncan wasn’t the first man who’d slept with her, but there was no way he was going to reveal that to his future father-in-law.
“Unfortunately the double standard is still alive and kicking,” Tamara drawled, adding an unladylike snort. “I hope you don’t make distinctions between your children whether they’re girls or boys.”
“If I had children, I doubt that I would consciously treat them differently. What I can say for certain is that if some guy decides he’s going to take advantage of my daughter, he’d better make funeral arrangements, because I’d definitely take him out.”
“But you are making a distinction, Duncan,” she argued softly.
“Do you have any children, Tamara?”
“No.”
“Since we’re both childless, then the topic is moot.”
“Because you say so,” she retorted.
Duncan groaned. “Tamara, Tamara, Tamara. Why are you so argumentative?”
Tamara pulled her hands away. “You think I am?”
“Yes.”