Locked Down With The Army Doc. Susan Carlisle
belly and gaping shirt approached her, beer sloshing from his glass. “Hello, gorgeous. Where are you going to?”
She didn’t miss a beat. “Away from you.” She didn’t even glance at the lanyard round his neck. She had no intention of finding out his name.
She’d always vowed never to go out with a fellow medic. Life experience had taught her it wasn’t a good idea.
She glanced around the room again. This was probably her worst-case scenario, wall-to-wall fellow medics, with copious amounts of alcohol flowing.
A few seconds later she met another charmer who refused to let her step around him. “We must stop meeting like this.” He grinned as his hand closed around her forearm and his eyes ran up and down her body.
She didn’t hesitate. She flipped his arm up and twisted it around his back, catching him completely by surprise and thrusting him in the other direction as the woman next to her laughed out loud. “Yes, we must,” she said sharply.
The main bar in the center of the room was currently three people deep. Her chances of getting a drink were slipping further and further away.
Her eyes homed in on another bar on the far side of the room and through a set of doors. It looked much more sedate. She could have a glass of wine, check out the list of bar snacks then head back to her room and enjoy the view.
She threaded her way through the rest of the crowd. There were a few people who obviously knew one another sitting around tables. Even from here she could recognize the medic talk.
Right now she couldn’t stomach that. So she headed directly over to the stools at the bar. There was a broad-shouldered guy already sitting there. He looked as if his whiskey was currently sending him into a trance.
Perfect. Too drunk to be a pest.
Or if he wasn’t? She could deal with that.
She smiled as she sat down, crossed her legs and leaned her head on one hand. He might be tired but he was handsome. Actually, he was more than handsome. He was good-looking with an edge of ruggedness. His dark hair was a little rumpled and his suit jacket had been flung carelessly onto the bar stool next to him. She couldn’t get a look at his eyes as his head was leaning forward toward the glass. But she could see the lean muscle definition beneath his pale blue shirt, the slight tan on his skin and the hint of bristle around his jawline. She smiled and just couldn’t help herself. “Well, aren’t you just the original party pooper?”
* * *
Jack Campbell blinked and blinked again. Nope. It had definitely happened. Or maybe he was just hallucinating. He stared into the bottom of his whiskey glass again and clinked the ice.
The warm spicy aroma emanating from the woman sitting next to him started to surround him, just as she crossed her long legs on the high stool, revealing the daring split in her floor-length black dress.
Even from here, he’d noticed her the second she’d appeared at the entrance to the ballroom. She was taller than most women, but wasn’t afraid to use her height, combining her black sheath dress with a pair of heels and piling her dark hair with pink tips on top of her head. He’d watched her survey the room, ignore a few admiring glances, give short retorts to two men who dared to try and approach her and, now, she’d just crossed those exceptionally long legs and given him a clear view of them. Her black heels had ornate straps and crisscrossed up her calves.
At least he thought he’d watched her. Maybe he was dreaming. Truth was, he was so tired the only reason he was still awake was that his body was craving food. Food he seemed to have been waiting an eternity for.
He gave himself a shake. Maybe he needed another whiskey. The first one was putting him in that strange state between fact and fiction. His stomach rumbled loudly, so he lifted his hand to grab some nuts from a bowl on the bar. Quick as lightning, someone gave his hand a light slap.
For a second he was momentarily stunned. Then he shook his head and gave a smile of disbelief as he turned in his chair.
She was staring straight at him with a pair of bright blue eyes. He couldn’t help himself. It was as if the fatigue coupled with a dash of whiskey had reduced all his usual politeness and social norms to a scattering of leaves beneath his feet. “Did you really just hit me? For trying to eat a peanut?”
She gave a shrug. “Yeah, sorry about that. Force of habit.”
He raised his eyebrows. “You don’t look too sorry.”
She pulled a face and waved her hand. “Actually, I’ve just saved you.”
Now he was amused. “Saved me from what?”
She shook her head and pushed the bowl away. “Probably some kind of horrible death. Best way to catch some kind of disease.” She shuddered. She actually shuddered. “If I sent those to a lab I could horrify you.”
He deliberately leaned over her, ignoring her orange-scented perfume, and plucked a nut from the bowl, holding it between his fingers. “One tiny little nut is going to fell me?”
She arched her eyebrows and blinked. There was black eyeliner flicked on her eyelid, enhanced by her thick extra-long lashes. With those blue eyes she really was a bit of a stunner.
“If I could put that in an evidence bag right now and send it to the lab I would.” She shrugged. “But, hey, it’s your poison. Your stomach.”
“This is how you meet people? You attack them at the bar and steal their food?”
For a second she looked momentarily offended, but then she threw back her head and laughed. She put her elbow on the bar and rested her head on it. “Actually, my ambition this evening is not to meet anyone—I just wanted to grab a drink, some food and get out of here.”
He gave a slow nod. “Ah, great minds think alike, then.”
She looked a little more conciliatory. “Maybe. Sorry about the slap. Bar snacks make me testy. It really is an automatic reaction.”
He laughed. “How many states have you been arrested in?”
She sighed. “More than you could ever know.”
He could see the way her careful eyes were watching him, obviously trying to size him up. He liked her quick answers and smart remarks. He mirrored her position, leaning his head on his hand for a second as a wave of tiredness swept over him.
And then she spoke. “I’m trying to work out if you’re drunk or just in a coma. I’m warning you—I’m off duty tonight.”
The corners of his lips headed upward. Maybe he was imagining all this? Maybe he was already dreaming? Or maybe the jet lag was making him see things. If this was a hallucination, those words were so not what he was expecting. He let out a laugh. “I could actually be a bit of both. Jet lag and drinking—” he held up the whiskey glass “—are probably not the best idea in the world. But do I care right now?” He shook his head as he downed the remains at the bottom of the glass. “Not really.”
Now she laughed as the bartender came over and set a coaster in front of her. “Well, the jet lag explains the accent. But not the complete disregard for your fellow man.”
The bartender caught her eye. “What can I get you?”
She looked at his glass. “I’ll have what Mr. Happy’s having.”
Jack raised his eyebrows at the bartender. “Better just put both on my tab.”
She drummed her fingernails on the bar next to him. “Who said I wanted you to buy my drink?” Her overall presentation was quite glamorous but her nails were short and clean. Curious. Most women these days tended to have glittery painted talons.
“Don’t drink it,” he said smartly. “I can easily drink both.”
She smiled. A genuine, wide smile. The pink tips of her hair matched the bright pink on her lips.
“You