Prognosis Bad Timing Read online

  ‘That’ll be for you,’ she said, watching as he ambled over with his long-legged stride.

  She couldn’t help herself – the man was watchable.

  Charlie picked up the offending item irritated to have been interrupted. He got the feeling Carrie didn’t really believe in herself a whole helluva lot and it was suddenly, for some reason, important to him that she started. ‘Hello, Valley Drop-In Centre, this is Charlie.’

  ‘Is there something wrong with using your full medical title? Really, Charles, the Wentworth name is something most doctors in Brisbane would kill to have.’

  Charlie gripped the receiver tighter as the familiar imperious voice. ‘Father.’

  ‘Have you looked at that application I emailed you? With my recommendation you’d get the position easily.’

  He sighed. ‘I’m not having this conversation again. I have a job. I’m not interested in a surgical position.’

  ‘Charles! Every Wentworth since —’

  ‘Since federation,” Charlie interrupted, “has risen to the level of consultant in his or her chosen specialty.’ Charlie was well used to the spiel by now.

  ‘You think this is amusing, Charles?’

  Fuck, no. His father was about as funny as a wet week. But, it was getting kind of ridiculous. ‘Mildly.’

  ‘I’m thinking of what’s best for you Charles.’

  ‘That’s crap. You’re thinking of the family reputation. Hell, Dad, the Wentworth’s aren’t the Mafia.’ Although it was beginning to feel like it. ‘Give it up.’

  ‘We’ll speak more about this at lunch on Sunday.’

  ‘Oh, goody,’ he said derisively.

  ‘Your mother is expecting you, Charles.’ And he hung up without a goodbye.

  Charlie replaced the receiver, his father’s reproachful tone ringing in his ears. He glanced at Carrie tapping away at her keyboard, looking for all the world like she wasn’t actually here and hadn’t heard a thing.

  He chuckled. ‘It’s OK, Carrie, it was kind of hard not to hear.’

  Carrie gave up the pretence. ‘You’re one of those Wentworths? The Wentworths? Medical royalty?’

  ‘Afraid so.’

  Okay...good. This was good, she told herself. Good that she’d found this out now because Charlie Wentworth was way out of her league.

  Had she been interested. Which she wasn’t.

  ‘So that makes you...’

  He nodded. ‘The black sheep.’

  She gave him a quelling look. ‘Ignatius Wentworth’s son? Sir Nelson Wentworth’s grandson?’

  ‘Guilty.’

  The smile he shot her was slow and lazy and her toes curled. Stop it! Charlie’s family had an entire national research facility named after them, for crying out loud. And she was most definitely a girl from the wrong side of the tracks. ‘How the hell did you wind up here?’

  Charlie was momentarily shocked at her bluntness. And he laughed as she clapped her hand over her mouth to stifle her quick horrified gasp at her unprofessional comment.

  ‘I’m sorry...that didn’t quite come out the way I’d planned.’

  He sobered. ‘It’s OK, and, if you must know, I’m here through choice.’

  ‘Choice? Wentworth’s don’t choose grungy drop-in centres.’

  ‘That would be why I’m the black sheep.’

  Carrie shook her head. ‘I don’t understand. You could be doing anything.’

  Charlie took in her expression of utter disbelief. Veronica had looked at him like that, too. Often. Had said the same words. Somehow he’d thought Carrie was different and the thought that she wasn’t was strangely depressing. He pulled up a chair and sank into it, taking a swig of his coffee.

  ‘There was an incident when I was a med student. I was on a ride-along shift with the ambulance and we got called to the valley to an overdose. When we arrived there was this girl, she was about my age. And it was cold, the middle of winter. So cold. We were all rugged up and she was wearing this tiny T-shirt and miniskirt.’

  He shook his head, still staring at his coffee.

  ‘No one knew her. I mean, there was this crowd of people around her, gawking at her like she was an exhibit in a museum, but no one knew her. She had tracks all up her arms. We tried to revive her but it was too late. We declared her deceased and everyone just drifted away. No one cared. She was just a faceless street kid all alone at the very end with no one to mourn the waste of her life.’

  Carrie shivered as she listened to Charlie recount the story. He was staring into the murky depths of his coffee, a far-away look in his cloudy grey gaze.

  ‘And it’s stuck with me ever since. I don’t know.’ He shrugged, looking up at her. ‘Maybe it was her age, maybe it was her dead-looking eyes, but all I could think was, there but for the grace of God...you know? And I just knew, right there at that moment, I knew I had to do something to help kids like that.’

  There was silence for a beat or two as they stared at each other. Beats where Carrie could see right into his soul. Everything was laid bare to her inspection. There was compassion and righteousness and belief.

  How would she feel if Dana went off the rails and ran away from home, got into drugs? She could only hope there would be a Charlie with a blanket somewhere, looking out for her.

  A few more moments ticked by. ‘So, your father’s not thrilled?’

  ‘You could say that.’ he said derisively, rising and heading for the sink.

  Carrie’s mobile phone rang and she almost cursed. Charlie’s story was compelling. Hell, Charlie was compelling. But it was the nanny. ‘I’m, sorry. I got to get this.’

  “Sure.” He stood, heading out of the room to give her some privacy. ‘See you later.’

  She nodded surprised to find she was looking forward to that – very, very much.

  At nine o’clock, satisfied enough with her progress, Carrie called it a day. She packed up her laptop, grabbed her bag and threw her jacket over her arm as she strode out of the staffroom.

  ‘I’m off.’ She leaned her shoulder into the framework of Charlie’s open door. They’d seen each other briefly throughout the evening but had mainly kept to their offices.

  He glanced up from his keyboard. ‘I’ll walk you out,’ he said, rising from his chair.

  Carrie shook her head. ‘Don’t be silly. I’ll be fine.’

  He shot her a stern look. ‘This is the valley. The dodgy end. Daytime, fine. Night time, no way.’

  She laughed to hide the hitch in her chest at his propriety. It might be old fashioned but she appreciated it nonetheless. ‘Thank you.’

  They walked side by side the short distance to the back alley where they both parked their cars. His beat-up old Mazda obscured her car temporarily, which was just as well given what confronted her when it did come into sight.

  Carrie dropped her briefcase in horror and gasped. ‘Oh, no.’ Her hire car had been stripped and vandalised. Her wheels were missing, the windows had been smashed and the seats slashed.

  ‘Goddamn it!’ Charlie stalked around the car, inspecting the damage. ‘This is why I don’t bring the Beamer,’ he muttered.

  ‘You have a BMW?’ Carrie asked, temporarily forgetting about her car.

  ‘A present from my parents,’ he dismissed.

  Of course. ‘How tragic for you.’

  Ignoring her sarcasm, he asked, ‘Were there any valuables in it?’

  She shook her head. ‘Because it was a rental there was nothing in there of ours. Oh, except -’ Carrie quickly looked through the back passenger window. Damn it. ‘Dana’s car seat.’

  Charlie grimaced as he also perused the back seat. ‘I’ll buy you another one.’

  Leaning her ass against the remnants of her car, Carrie tried not to think about the insurance excess she’d be facing. She earned good money but her mortgage was hefty and she always ran fairly close to the wire.

  ‘Come on.’ Charlie herded her away from the car. ‘Let’s go inside and call the police. You ca
n file a report and I’ll drive you home.’

  Carrie shook her head. ‘I can get an Uber.’

  ‘Maybe. But given your car was more than likely vandalised by some of my clients, it’s the least I can do.’

  Back in the clinic, Carrie sat in the lounge chair and accepted the cup of tea Charlie placed in her hands. The police came promptly due, no doubt, to Charlie’s close working relationship with them.

  ‘Did you say your address is Swenson Street?’

  Carrie nodded at the policeman, who looked like he’d just graduated from high school. She had to concentrate hard on his questions because Charlie was sitting casually on the fat, squishy arm of her chair, his leg swinging lazily in her peripheral vision.

  ‘We’ve just been there. Your burglar’s struck again.’

  ‘Your burglar?’ Charlie asked, sitting up straighter.

  She brushed away his concerns with a flutter of her hand. The police made it sound way more dramatic. There was hardly a master jewel thief at large in their neighbourhood. ‘We have a gnome-napper terrorising the street. Old Mrs Dennis’s gnomes are mysteriously disappearing.’

  For a moment he seemed perplexed, his brow furrowing, before it smoothed out. ‘Oh gnome,’ he said, a twinkle of mirth lighting his grey eyes, like the sun shining through rain clouds.

  Carrie laughed. “Hey, Gnome-nappers are serious business. Mrs Dennis wants to post a reward.”

  After the police left they argued over Charlie’s offer of a lift. The clinic was dark, with the lights turned off in preparation to leave, just the streetlights bathing the waiting lounge in a soft glow.

  ‘Don’t you trust me?’

  His voice was soft, a seductive caress reaching through the gloom to touch Carrie across the short distance that separated them. That was the crazy thing.

  She did trust him. She felt perfectly safe. But that frisson didn’t feel safe. That slight tremble to her hand and huskiness in her breath when she thought about sharing a car with him again. Something stirred inside that hadn’t been stirred in a long time.

  Something that had started five nights ago.

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous.’ She gave a half-laugh. ‘Of course I do.” And because it was Friday night in the city, she’d be crazy to knock it back. “Fine.” She conceded. “There’ll probably be surge charging at the moment anyway.’

  Carrie’s mobile rang as she did her seat belt up and she answered it while Charlie buckled up and turned the key in the ignition. He pulled out as Carrie was hanging up, his delicious male scent filling the confines of the car, filling Carrie with the insane urge to press her face against his neck and inhale.

  Bloody hell. What was happening to her? She was sitting in a car with a man she barely knew, getting high on pheromones.

  She just didn’t do stuff like this.

  Carrie grabbed hold of the first thing in her head to stop her actually sniffing his neck. ‘That was my sister.’ Pausing for a second, Carrie continued. ‘She was just ringing to remind me about my hair appointment tomorrow,’ she prattled. ‘She’s a hairdresser.’ More prattle.

  Charlie pulled out of the alley. ‘Yeah? Maybe I’ll drop by one day and get that sensible haircut my father keeps nagging me about.’

  ‘Oh, no,’ Carrie admonished immediately, and raised a hand to touch his hair. It was soft and fine and the glide of it through her fingers was a surprisingly sensual experience.

  Then she realised what she was doing and dropped her hand abruptly. ‘It suits you,’ she said briskly as heat flushed her cheeks. She wound the window down. “It’s warm in here, isn’t it?”

  ‘Yes,’ Charlie agreed, wishing for the luxury of aircon as he, too, wound down his window, his scalp tingling where she’d touched.

  There was a vibe between them that was hard to ignore, tonight. The rise and fall of her chest had quickened, the fabric of her shirt was pulling across her breasts, her glossy lips glistened in the passing glow of the streetlights. And in his mind’s eye he could see her pulling the clasp out of her hair and him hauling her over onto his lap, ripping open that sexy, silky shirt, the buttons popping everywhere.

  Charlie gripped the steering-wheel harder as he squashed the image. Jesus, dude, what the fuck?

  Do not think like that about the woman holding the hatchet over your head!

  Thankfully the trip to Carrie’s place was brief and she was content to stare out the window and not converse. He was excruciatingly conscious of her though - even without her chatter.

  He should have shut his mouth and let her get an Uber.

  Carrie unclipped her seat belt, a chorus of alarm bells ringing in her head as Charlie also unclipped his and opened his door. She placed a stilling hand on his arm. ‘You don’t have to see me in.’

  Charlie glanced at her hand. It burned like a brand through the fabric of his shirt and he wondered how hot it would feel on other areas of his body. ‘What about the burglar?’

  She gave a half-laugh. ‘The gnome-napper? You’re kidding, right?’

  “No.” Charlie looked at her place, at the lush tropical jungle that seemed to clump and loom from every available inch of dirt. Anyone could conceal themselves in the dense foliage. He climbed out of the car and away from her hot little hand.

  Carrie took a deep breath and also exited the vehicle. She was ultra-conscious of him behind her for the short trip from the street through the gardens to her front door. Ultra conscious of his gaze on her ass and the way her nipples had tightened.

  Ack! She couldn’t do that with this man.

  ‘Right, well, as you can see, no one lurking in the bushes.” She dug around her bag for her keys. “You can go now.’

  Charlie almost laughed out loud at her dismissal. Like she was a schoolteacher and he was a naughty pupil. He remembered how intimate it had felt the last time he’d been standing at her front door, holding Dana and wanted more of that.

  ‘What?” he teased. “You’re not going to invite me in for a nightcap?’

  Carrie stopped her search, staring at him. Was he mad? ‘No.’

  He chuckled. ‘A coffee?’

  Stark, raving, obviously. ‘Coffee keeps me awake,’ she said primly.

  Charlie almost laughed. Was she seriously going to be able to sleep with this hum happening between them? He was going to lie awake thinking of her straddled across him in his car, her blouse torn open.

  Goaded to tease her a bit more he said, ‘Then how about breakfast?’

  Carrie’s stomach lurched and heat flushed her face. She was thankful for the night’s dark shadows as a low-level buzz sensitised long-forgotten parts of her body. It had been many years since she’d felt so aware of a man.

  Still, this was not a conversation they should be having. ‘Thanks for the lift,” she said, pointedly ignoring his earlier innuendo, ‘but my bed is calling.’

  Charlie watched as realization dawned. She’d put her bed out there now. ‘Right.’ He swallowed trying to pull himself together. What the hell was he doing? This was insane. ‘I should go, too.’

  Carrie looked into his eyes and nodded, trying to forget her gaffe. Hell - why had she mentioned her bed?

  Her big, lonely, empty bed.

  ‘Yep,’ she agreed. Except neither of them moved. ‘Thanks again...for the...lift.’ His intense stare was making her stumble over her words.

  Put the key in the door, Carrie, and go inside.

  ‘My pleasure,’ he murmured, staring at her mouth. Beckoning him, bewitching him. How much pleasure could he find in those glistening, delectable lips?

  Turn around now, Charlie. Go back to the car.

  Carrie didn’t move a muscle. She couldn’t — even her diaphragm was having trouble performing its usual function. She was conscious only of his eyes and the way he was looking at her mouth. Her breath was uneven and her heart fluttered madly. He took a step closer to her and the flare of hunger she could see in his grey eyes stole the rest of her breath.

  Had anyone ever l
ooked at her with such naked need?

  She took a step back, her ass and shoulder blades bumping against the front door.

  An inner voice warned Charlie against the next step. But he was too far gone, too caught up in the pout of her mouth, her intoxicating aroma, the catch of her breath.

  ‘Tell me to leave.’ It was no more than a husky plea.

  ‘Leave,’ she whispered automatically even as her whole body tingled in anticipation, her gaze fixed on his mouth, wanting him more than she’d ever wanted another man. His eyes were hooded now as his tall, broad frame blocked out the ambient light.

  Charlie shook his head at her paltry, half-hearted response. ‘Mean it,’ he whispered back.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  THERE was a brief moment when meaning it was possible but it passed and Carrie knew she wasn’t strong enough to turn him away. The thought of his lips on hers, his hand on her body, his stubble grating erotically against her cheek was making a mockery of her self-control. His head was moving closer to hers and she was greedy for contact.

  Her eyes fluttered closed at the first touch of his lips on hers and then everything imploded. It was no gentle, explorative press of flesh. It was hot and hard and frantic. Bordering on desperate. Carrie felt the heat instantly.

  Everywhere.

  All the way through to her centre and back out again. He was everywhere. His breadth surrounded her, overwhelmed her, demanding and achieving entry into her most prized possession — her personal space. He pushed her harder and harder against the door, her back flattening against the wood as she pushed back, desperate to be nearer, inviting a deepening of the passion raging between them.

  She couldn’t be passive — his lips demanded her to be an active participant. To thrust her tongue against his, to moan, to clutch the front of his shirt, to breathe hard like she’d run a marathon, to grind her hips into his. There was no time for thought or reflection, there was just feeling.

  Like how good his mouth felt against hers, how her breasts ached to be touched, how hard he felt as he rocked his pelvis into her. And how long it had been since she’d done this. How ready she was.