“Doctor Man. Psst! Hey, Doctor Man.”
I pulled out my earbuds as Martina peeked around the doorjamb and rested my hand on the grant application I’d been filling out, the tinny sound of 2CELLOS’ cover of “Smooth Criminal” echoing out of the headphones.
“Der’s a pretty lady here. Says she needs a doctor.”
“Shit!” I launched out of my chair and hurried to the front door. I was supposed to meet the advertising executive at the dock and then got distracted by the paperwork. Doc Rodriguez’s warning that the clinic’s future was in jeopardy goaded me to look for other funding options. I’d become a bit obsessed. “Where is she, Martina?”
“Right behind you.”
The honeyed feminine voice was like a feather being trailed over my spine. I shivered at the unexpectedly sensual effect of her words. Good manners dictated I turn around. Two and a half years of celibacy insisted I wait to see if she’d say something else.
“Dr. Stanic?” All business.
I wheeled around and forgot what came next.
She was gorgeous. Long sangria-red hair framed a heart-shaped face. Wide light-green eyes, tilted up at the corners. Delicately arched brows a shade lighter than her hair. An expressive mouth, the lower lip lush and pouty. She had the fair complexion of a natural redhead, and a dainty gold ring pierced her left nostril. She wore navy walking shorts, a white sleeveless blouse, and white leather sandals. About five-six, she was slim. Plump, firm breasts—a C-cup or better—saved her figure from being boyish.
“Britt—” I couldn’t remember the rest of her name.
“Connolly.” Her eyes crinkled as the corner of her mouth tilted up. “Did I catch you at a bad time?”
“No. I…er…I…” Was that really me stammering? “I was in the middle of something and lost track of time. I’m sorry I wasn’t there to meet you at the dock.”
“The island isn’t that big. It wasn’t hard to find the clinic.” A note of derision in her voice cooled my libido.
“How was your trip?”
“Long. I’d like to get to the hotel…or wherever I’m staying.” She jutted a hip, planted a hand on it, and cocked her head. “Is it true you don’t have WiFi? That’s going to make it very difficult to do my job if there’s no internet here.”
I bristled at her patronizing attitude. “Grab your stuff, and I’ll show you to your thatched hut. We put up a new hammock just for you, and the women checked every inch of your mosquito netting to make sure there are no tears. We wouldn’t want you inconvenienced by something like a bug bite or no internet.”
She glared at me, and I glared back. I didn’t want to be the Care For All spokesman, and I didn’t want to deal with a spoiled city girl throwing a temper tantrum because she couldn’t check her social media. The commitment I’d made out of respect for Doc felt like rough rope binding my hands and feet and neck. It chaffed and burned and made it hard to breathe.
“Doctor Man not so good at da hospitality.” Martina popped out of the kitchen. She bustled down the hall and wedged herself between us.
Britt Connolly’s gaze dropped to read Martina’s T-shirt and then jumped to me, a pink blush tinting her cheeks.
Hah. I’d teased Martina about the slogan this morning.
Doctors Do It with Skill and Love
“You stay with Oz and Nina. They da owners of Sandcastle Bungalows. Nice place. Good food.” Martina shrugged. “Maybe technology.”
“Maybe?” Britt looked past Martina to me. She dipped her head.
“Our infrastructure is limited.” I regretted my own outburst. “A power plant built in the eighties provides enough electricity for fourteen hours of service each day. There’s no power before seven a.m. and or after nine p.m., although Oz has a generator he uses for paying guests. BrightStar Telecommunications provides satellite internet access to most of the islands in the Caribbean, but the signal isn’t reliable.”
“Thank you for explaining.” She lifted her backpack. “If you’ll give me directions to this bungalow place, I’ll check in.”
“Doctor Man, he show you da way.” Martina glowered at me, giving me no choice. She could make my life miserable if she wanted to.
It was easier to comply.
It would also give me a chance to clear the air with Miss Connolly. I resented being thrust into the role of spokesman. I disliked Big Pharma and distrusted Corporate America. Even nonprofits like Care For All made me leery. Too many rules and too many hoops meant people went without timely, affordable medical care.
Bureaucrats cared about money. I cared about people.
I’d agreed to work with CFA because Doc asked me to and because the islanders would suffer if I let pride get in the way. I could suck it up for two weeks. That fact that Britt Connolly was hot as hell might even make it fun.
I swooped down to grab the suitcase before she could add it to her load. The backpack looked like it carried bricks, the straps digging into her shoulders, pulling her blouse tight against her breasts. Tight enough reveal the lacy pattern of her bra.
Blood raced to my groin, my cock engorged in seconds. I flashed back to life in the States and the casual availability of sex. Young women at nightclubs in slinky dresses or on beaches with everything hanging out. Singers and performers whose careers exploded, not because of talent, but how well they bounced their tits and ass. The infamous Sports Illustrated swimsuit issue.
Don’t misunderstand. Totally not judging. I love eye candy just as much as the next guy.
There aren’t many eligible women my age on this or any of the nearby islands, so my visual sweet tooth has long gone unsatisfied. Catching sight of Britt’s bra was a tease, a tiny bit of deliciousness, like the corner broken off a chocolate bar and laid on your tongue to slowly melt.
“Are you hungry, Miss Connolly?” I led her out the front door, down the short walkway, and out to the street. “Because I am suddenly ravenous.”