How Much I Feel Page 2

  Now I’m in a fight with them, too.

  He returns his golden-eyed gaze to my face. “What happened to your jacket?”

  Okay, so he was looking at the stain the portfolio had left and not at my breasts. Try telling my breasts that. “Industrial accident.”

  His eyebrows come together in a stern expression that’s just as sexy as all his other expressions. “And why are you dancing around like you’ve got ants in your pants?”

  “Because.” I can’t believe I’m going to have to say these words to him of all people. “I have to pee, if you must know.”

  He glances at the toilet in the cell and then at me.

  “Not happening. Tell me you brought my purse so I can get out of here.”

  He points to the purse tucked under his arm, which I hadn’t noticed.

  A guard materializes and unlocks the cell door.

  I’m so anxious to get out there that I bolt forward and tilt awkwardly on my heel.

  Northrup reaches out to stop me from falling, and for a brief, terrifying moment, I nearly lose control of my bladder.

  “Please find me a bathroom with a door.”

  He takes me by the elbow and steers me through the corridors to a restroom in the lobby.

  I have to go so badly I don’t take the time to contemplate the wisdom of allowing him to touch me, but my body has plenty to say about it. Tingling, goose bumps, pebbling, moistening. And all he did was place his hand on my elbow. This is not good—and so, so bizarre. I’ve never in my life reacted to anyone the way I do him, and that makes me doubly mad. My late beloved husband deserves far more respect than what he’s been getting from me since Jason Northrup showed up.

  In the restroom, I manage to tear my hose in the urgent quest for relief. Afterward, at the sink, I catch only a brief glance in the mirror, but it’s enough to see wild, frizzy dark hair thanks to a convertible and the south Florida humidity.

  Resting my hands on the sink, I take a moment to gather myself, to summon the fortitude to resist the ridiculous attraction to Dr. Jason Northrup, who is so not my type it’s not even funny, and prepare to face my new coworkers after a brief stint in jail. Hell of a way to start a new job.

  My reaction to him has rattled me. It’s been years since I’ve experienced anything resembling desire. I’ve almost forgotten what it feels like.

  Tony has been gone for years, so long it feels like we happened in a dream. The memories of him and the time we had together are fading with the passage of time, as much as I wish that wasn’t the case. I’m terrified of forgetting him, and my reaction to Dr. Northup makes me feel disloyal to the man who loved me with his whole heart.

  I can’t be attracted to Jason Northrup. Not like that. He’s a professional colleague, and thus off limits.

  Besides, any guy who looks like him, drives a car like his and carries the title of “brain surgeon” has to be the romance equivalent of poison ivy. It would do me well to remember that and keep my focus on repairing the damage I’ve done to my fledgling career in one calamitous morning.

  I do what I can with my hair, which is basically nothing, and leave the room with a brisk, determined stride—barreling straight into the unyielding chest of Dr. Jason Northrup. Damn, of course he smells as good as his car. Better, if I’m being honest. Releasing a choppy sigh, I take comfort in the knowledge that this day has to end at some point.

  “Feel better?” That teasing grin sends shivers down my spine—and probably the spines of every red-blooded woman in the universe.

  I step back from him, forcing him to drop the hold he has on my arms. “Much better. Am I allowed to leave?”

  “You have to pay the ticket and sign some stuff.”

  “I’m getting a ticket?” My driving record is impeccable—or it had been until now.

  “’Fraid so. Driving without a license.”

  “But I have a license. I just didn’t have it with me.”

  “And therein lies the problem.” Nodding to the window where a stone-faced cop waits for me, he withdraws my purse from under his arm and hands it to me.

  “How did you, um, get here?”

  “Took an Uber.”

  “And your car?”

  “Impound lot. We’ll go there next.”

  I do some fast mental math and figure that after the recent apartment deposit and wardrobe spending spree, I have about four hundred dollars available on my credit card. Beyond that, I’m in deep trouble. “How much will it cost to get it out?”

  “No idea. I guess we’ll find out.”

  Swallowing hard, I take the purse from him and step up to the window, hoping Northrup isn’t zeroing in on the tear in my hose. Almost as if I’d given him the idea, I can feel the heat of his gaze on me and wonder if he is having the same puzzling reaction to me. Then I decide I do not want to know the answer to that question.

  “Sign here,” the cop says gruffly.

  My signature is as wobbly as the rest of me after my hour in jail.

  “That’s three hundred twenty dollars.”

  I gasp. “For driving without a license?”

  “And swerving out of your lane.”

  “But I swerved to avoid hitting another car that swerved into my lane!”

  The cop looks up at me, his mouth falling open. “Carmen?”

  My eyes dart to his name badge. Paulson. Oh dear God. He was Tony’s sergeant during his first year on the job.

  “What the heck are you doing here? Hey, you guys, it’s D’Alessandro’s wife.”

  A couple of other officers I don’t recognize come over to the window to say hello, each of them asking me how I am and what I’m doing here.

  Before I can respond to the barrage of questions, Paulson rips up the paperwork. “You should’ve said something. You’re free to go, sweetheart.”

  “Oh, um, thank you.” The gesture and the reason for it brings tears to my eyes that I can’t deal with right now. I force myself to hold it together, to not let the grief overtake me. Not when I have too many other things to contend with, such as the doctor standing behind me who turns me on just by breathing.

  “Your friend, Dr. Northrup, assured us it was all a big misunderstanding.”

  “Did he, now?”

  “I did,” Jason says from behind me. “She had permission to use my car.”

  “I can’t do anything for you at the impound lot, though,” the sergeant says.

  “That’s out of my hands.”

  “Not to worry,” Jason tells the kind sergeant. “We’ll take care of it. Come on, Carmen. Let’s get going.”

  “It’s real good to see you, Carmen. I think about you and… Well, I think of you often. I hope you’re doing all right.”

  “Thank you. I’m doing okay. Today being a notable exception.”

  “Glad to hear it.” The sergeant gives me a sympathetic smile. “Don’t be a stranger, you hear?”

  “Well, I hope I don’t see you again in this capacity.”

  Paulson laughs. “If you ever get arrested again, tell us who you are. We take care of our own.”

  “Good to know.” I’d been so freaked out by being arrested, it had never occurred to me to tell them who I am. Tony and I hadn’t been married long enough for me to get around to changing my name, which was why the intake officers hadn’t recognized me. “Thanks again.”

  “No problem. Impound lot is two blocks that way.” He points to the left.

  “We’ll find it.”

  Once again Jason takes hold of my elbow to guide me out of the police station.

  I tell myself to shake him off, to tell him off, to let him know I’m perfectly capable of walking without his assistance. But the minute I step out of the frigidly air conditioned station into the warm sunshine, I begin to tremble again as the reality of my time in jail sinks in.

  “You’re fine.”

  I latch on to his soothing tone despite my resolve to keep my distance from the temptation he represents. As he runs a comforting hand
over my back, I tell myself it’s of no consequence to me that he immediately tuned into my distress and says just what I need to hear.

  “It’s over. No big deal.”

  “Sure. No big deal. And when my mother calls tonight to see how my first day went, should I mention my stint in jail?”

  “You might want to leave that part out. You could tell her you drove a Porsche, though. That’s always exciting.”

  I scowl up at him and find him looking down at me with a warm, friendly expression and the potent grin that make me want to climb all over him. Our eyes meet and hold as a zing of awareness passes between us like an electrical current, confirming he feels it, too. Doubly fabulous and all the more reason to keep my distance.

  Over my body’s strenuous objections, I move away from him. “I can walk on my own.”

  “Suit yourself.”

  “Thank you, I will.”

  “Someday you’ll laugh about all this, you know.”

  “I highly doubt it. Giordinos don’t get arrested. They don’t get handcuffed and fingerprinted and photographed. They don’t get searched and tossed in a cell.”

  “They searched you?”

  I can’t bear to relive the humiliation of it. “Yes.”

  “Strip searched?”

  “Just about. They made me remove my outer garments to ensure I wasn’t concealing any weapons.” Single most humiliating moment of my life.

  “Huh.”

  “What does that mean? Huh?”

  “I’m getting a visual of you in sensible white cotton underwear, and it’s rather… appealing.”

  I whirl on him, prepared to punch him or at least smack the smug grin off of his face, but his grin isn’t smug. It’s not smug at all. It’s rather tortured, and when I venture a glance below the belt of his black dress pants, smug isn’t at all the word that comes to mind. Impressive is more like it. Very, very impressive, and very, very aroused. Over the thought of me in my underwear. Oh God.

  “I do not wear sensible white cotton underwear,” I spit at him, furious at myself for letting my eyes venture down there. For reasons I’ll ponder later when I’m far, far away from him, it’s important he know that my underwear is neither white nor cotton.

  “All the more interesting.” He runs a finger over my cheek, the caress sending a torrent of heat and light and energy to every corner of my body.

  Stunned and totally unnerved by my reaction to him, I take a step back. “I don’t know what kind of game you think you’re playing—”

  He drops his hand. “No game. The last thing I need right now is any kind of romantic entanglements.”

  “Good. We have that in common. So don’t touch me again.”

  “I apologize.”

  We walk the two blocks in uneasy silence that he breaks right before we reach the gates to the impound lot. “What was that about back there? Why did he tear up your ticket?”

  “I… um… I used to know someone with the department.” The most important someone in my life, someone I loved and lost in the worst way imaginable. A shudder of agony goes through me, transporting me right back to the darkest days of my life. Grief is funny that way. It can come at you out of nowhere, smacking you in the face with memories so painful they can still take your breath away five years later.

  “Are you all right?”

  I nod, because that’s all I can do.

  Inside, we learn they want six hundred bucks for the car. Before I can process that number, Jason hands over a black American Express card. I didn’t even know they made a black card and can only imagine what level of prestige comes with it. They probably pay him to carry their card.

  “I’ll pay you back.”

  Somehow.

  I should’ve called an Uber for Betty. My carefully calculated budget has no room for even incremental payments on a six-hundred-dollar debt. I’ll have to pick up some extra shifts at the restaurant to settle my debt with him as soon as possible. So much for thinking my waitressing career was over now that I had a big new job.

  “Don’t worry about it. I need to get back to the hospital, so can we please expedite this transaction?”

  “Fine,” I say through gritted teeth as he reminds me that my disaster is affecting his first day of work, too. I step back to give him room to sign the credit card slip. Sneaking a glance, I find his signature remarkably legible for a doctor and then berate myself for caring.

  After one of the workers delivers the Porsche to the parking lot outside the office, Jason takes a long measuring walk around it, checking every inch for damage.

  I twist my hands together and say two Hail Marys while I await the verdict. “Is it . . . Did they . . .”

  “She seems fine.”

  They probably hear my sigh of relief all the way up in Broward County.

  Jason opens the passenger door and gestures for me to get in.

  I let out a yelp when my ass connects with sizzling hot leather seats.

  “Watch out, the seat might be hot.”

  “Gee, thanks for the warning.”

  Needing to do something with my restless hands, I reach for the seatbelt and have it secured by the time he slides into the driver’s seat. Here I am sitting in the world’s sexiest car next to what could very well be the world’s sexiest man with a rat’s nest on my head, a seat burn on my bum, holes in my hose and a vinyl smear on the front of my pricey suit. This could really only happen to me.

  “I really will pay you back as soon as possible.” If I have to waitress every night for weeks, I will pay back every dime he’d spent to get me out of this mess.

  “You can pay me back in trade.”

  Chapter 3

  CARMEN

  I stare at him, my mouth hanging open in shock.

  “Close your mouth and get your mind out of the gutter.” His chuckle is sexy and galling. “As appealing as your idea might be, that’s not what I’m talking about.”

  I feel my face go hot and not from the bright sun beaming down on us. “You don’t know what I was thinking!”

  “Oh, please. Like your every thought doesn’t show on your face.”

  “It does not!”

  “Does, too.”

  “I never knew neurosurgeons could be so immature.”

  That draws another laugh from him. “Our childlike brilliance makes us so charming and lovable.”

  I roll my eyes. “Whatever.” I’m surprised there’s room left for me in the small car with all the space his overblown ego requires. Good thing the top is still down.

  “What I meant was I need your help.”

  “You need my help? With what, exactly?” I can’t wait to hear this.

  “My reputation has taken a rather serious hit, and I need to fix it—fast.”

  I’m intrigued by the agony I hear in his voice. I know what agony feels like, and despite my best intention to stay removed from him, I find myself shifting in the seat so I can better see him. And, oh my… He’s put on the Wayfarer sunglasses, has one hand casually looped over the wheel of the powerful car and the sleeve of his starched dress shirt is rolled up to reveal the golden hair and an expensive watch on his forearm. Yum.

  “Define ‘taken a hit.’”

  “When we get back to the office, do a search for my name. The whole thing is out there for the world—and the board at Miami-Dade General—to see.”

  I gasp. “You met with the board?”

  He releases a short laugh. “If you want to call it that.”

  “Oh God.” Is it possible to get thrown in jail and fired in the same day? I fear I’m about to find out. My stomach takes a sickening dive. Giordinos don’t get fired and they sure as hell don’t get arrested. When I think about the huge party my family held at the restaurant to celebrate my new job… I just can’t go back and tell them it all went to shit on the first day.

  “What?”

  “Mr. Augustino requested that I, um, keep you clear of the board meeting.”

  His hand tightens on t
he wheel. “Great,” he mutters. “You might’ve mentioned that to me.”

  “As if you gave me the opportunity!” Remembering him tossing me his keys and his gal pal has me scowling. “Why don’t you tell me what’s going on?”

  “Because I want you to see what I’m up against before you hear my side of it.”

  “Are we talking personal or professional?”

  “Personal. Extremely personal.”

  There’s something about the way he says that. . . I don’t want to be interested. I do not want to know what personal matter has left his reputation in tatters. Yeah, sure. I want to know all right. I want to know so badly I have to resist the urge to ask to borrow his phone so I can start searching right away.

  My mind spins with scenarios and possibilities, none of them pleasant. I’m almost afraid of what I might learn about him. For some odd reason, I don’t want to read anything that will force me to dislike him forever. I much prefer the kind, thoughtful man Betty described to the arrogant, entitled jerk I expected him to be.

  “Just remember,” he says, glancing at me, “you can’t believe everything you read. There’s always another side to the story.”

  His words send a nervous flutter though my abdomen.

  We arrive at the hospital, locate the staff lot and secure him a parking pass rather efficiently in light of how the rest of my day has gone. When we’re parked in his assigned space, he stops me from getting out of the car. “It was wrong of me to ask you to take care of Betty, but I want to thank you for your help.”

  “Even if it cost you more than six hundred dollars and got your car impounded?”

  “You’ll pay me back, and the car is fine.”

  “It might take me a while to pay you back, especially if I get fired.”

  “Why would you get fired?”

  “Hello? I failed to do the only thing my boss asked me to do and ended up in jail on my first day of work. If he doesn’t fire me, it’ll be a flipping miracle.”

  “He doesn’t know about the jail thing,” Jason assures me. “Mona promised me she wouldn’t tell anyone.”

  “Mona?”

  “The executive assistant who took your call from, um, jail. When she tracked me down and told me what’d happened, I asked for her discretion.”