Prima Donna (11 page)

Beggars couldn’t be choosers.

“Sorry, sweetheart, I haven’t got time for anything else.”

Han Solo,
The Empire Strikes Back

For the rest of the week, Regan ran from one appointment to another, with barely enough time to grab coffee in between. Maya thought she was crazy, but she didn’t care. Working at the clinic wasn’t going to earn her any more than what she made at the salon, which was fine, but if she had any hope of opening her own place again, she’d need to do everything she could to keep as many clients as possible.

It had taken most of Sunday morning, but she’d finally managed to rearrange the coming weeks until all appointments were rescheduled for early mornings, evenings, or weekends. She’d make herself available whenever they needed her, with the exception of Tuesday nights.

Nothing interfered with Girls’ Night.

She’d just hung up from her final call when a knock sounded on her door.

“It’s open!”

“Hey.” The grin, the eyes, the way he stood there rubbing his earlobe; it was enough to make even the rational side of her quiver a little as the girlie side scrambled to take the lead on this.

“Hi.” Her knee poked out of the rip in her jeans when she walked, her old gray T-shirt was covered in bleach stains, and her hair was piled up on top of her head in what was probably the ugliest knot she’d ever tied, but none of that mattered just then. All that mattered was trying to control the sudden onslaught of butterflies diving through her stomach.

What the hell?

She hadn’t talked to him since that day at the clinic, but she’d be lying if she said she hadn’t thought about him. Probably too much, actually. He was supposed to have been a
distraction;
he wasn’t supposed to be
distracting
. Regan shuffled to a stop a couple feet away, stuffed her hands deep in her pockets, and motioned toward the living room with her elbow.

“Come on in.”

He took a step inside, but didn’t come any closer. “I was thinking if you weren’t busy, we could take that ride.”

“Ride? On your bike?” The butterflies were back, and they brought friends. Lots of friends. She took a step back, bumped into the tub chair behind her, then grabbed it for support. “Oooh, I don’t know.”

“What’s to know?” Carter nodded toward the window where the afternoon sun hung high and bright. “Road’s dry, sky’s blue, and if what they’re saying is true, that’s all going to change tomorrow and then the bike’ll be put away again.”

“Yeah, but…um…”

“Come on, Red. You’re not gonna chicken out, are you?” Damn that grin.

Regan all but choked on the panic as she forced it back down her throat. It was just a motorcycle—okay, a huge loud motorcycle—but how scary could it be, really? Not everyone died in horrific bike crashes. Hell, the guy on
Hawaii Five-O
rode one without a helmet!

Helmet! That was her excuse.

“I don’t have a helmet.”

“I’ve got one for you.”

Crap!
Did he have to stare at her like that—like it was no big deal that he was asking her to climb on the back of a death trap with him? What had possessed her to even suggest such a thing in the first place? Oh, she knew damn well what: she’d been blinded by the way he’d stood there in her salon, so close, looking at her with those sexy freakin’ dark eyes of his, and rubbing his earlobe the way he did, all cute and everything.

Regan chewed her lip for a long time, then forced her throat to swallow. “Do you swear you won’t crash into anything?”

“I swear I’ll try not to.”

“Or anyone?”

“Or anyone,” he repeated. “I just can’t promise someone else won’t crash into us.”

“Oh God.” She started to back away, but Carter was rushing her, talking so fast she could hardly keep up.

“Where’s your coat? Mitts? D’you have boots?”

“I…what? Yeah. Oh God, gimme a second.”

She started for the bedroom, but Carter called her back, lifted his hand and released her hair from the knot.

“Oh.” Her sigh caught her by surprise, but it made his smile soften.

“You’ll never get the helmet on with it up like that.” He turned her around and gave her a gentle shove. “Coat. Boots. Jeans with no holes. Gloves. Go.”

He stood at the door waiting while Regan ran to change. Was she crazy? She didn’t do dangerous things and she sure as hell didn’t do things that scared her, but one look back at Carter, his mouth curled in a smile, was all it took to convince her.

“Got your keys?”

“It’s fine,” she muttered, tucking her ID in one pocket and her phone in the other. “Nobody locks their door in this building.”

She followed Carter outside to his bike where he nodded at the helmet hanging off the handlebars.

“That one’s yours.”

Regan glared hard at the helmet, then at him. “It’s pink.”

“What’s wrong with that?” He cocked a grin at her as he fastened his own black helmet on his head, and slipped on a pair of sunglasses. “Thought chicks liked pink.”

“I’m not a chick,” she muttered. “And it clashes with my hair.”

“It clashes—” Carter laughed so loud he scared the lady walking her dog across the street. “Oh my God, you’re a
total
chick. Come here.”

He adjusted the ugly pink helmet on her head, tapped the top, and frowned down at her. “Is that the best you have for gloves?”

Regan shrugged down at her black stretchy mini gloves. “They’ll be fine.”

He sighed, showed her where to put her feet, then climbed on in front of her and fired the bike up. A burst of hysteria shot out of Regan in a gasping laugh. She wrapped her arms around his waist and squealed through clenched teeth as he pulled away from the curb and eased the bike down the street.

They stopped for the red light, but as soon as it turned green, Carter gunned it north up the highway, his foot shifting gears, his hands working the accelerator and clutch, and Regan shrieking like a little girl.

Pressed against his back the way she was, it was almost impossible to keep her helmet from bashing against his, and when he tipped his head toward her and yelled at her to relax, she unintentionally cracked them together hard. The road whizzed by beneath them, the sun’s warmth smothered by icy wind that gnawed through her gloves and whipped tears from her eyes.

She’d driven the winding road to Whistler hundreds of times before, but it didn’t take long to realize it was a completely different trip on the back of Carter’s bike.

Thick marshmallowy snow draped the Tantalus Mountain Range as though it had been poured like topping on a sundae. Towering firs and lodgepole pines crowded both sides of the highway past Brohm Lake and down into the canyon, where they eventually gave way to huge red cedars and western hemlocks so deep and thick it was impossible to see through them.

And the air…had it ever felt so crisp, so clean?

A slow calm began to wash over her, a sense of freedom she’d never imagined, until she eventually loosened her grip on Carter. Not a lot, mind, but at least she could sit back enough to stop their helmets from crashing together.

What an idiot she’d been to worry. Riding a bike wasn’t so scary; it was actually kind of relax—

Whoa!

The bike swerved to the left and pulled into the passing lane as Carter accelerated past a long tandem fuel truck. Regan held on for all she was worth, squealing as they sped by all twenty-eight of the truck’s enormous spinning wheels, and praying they didn’t get sucked under.

By the time they pulled up to the front of the truck, she’d managed to contain her squealing to gasps of hysterical laughter, and even though she grinned up at the waving truck driver, she wasn’t about to do something stupid like let go of Carter so she could wave back.

The highway remained clear and dry the whole way, but by the time they reached Brandywine Falls, snow blanketed both sides of the road in thick sparkling drifts and the trees sagged under the extra weight.

She’d never seen anything so perfect.

While they waited for the light to change at Function Junction, Carter turned so she could hear him. “Food.”

He turned left, parked outside a corner diner, and helped Regan climb off the bike. She was gushing before her first foot hit the ground.

“Oh-my-God-that-
was-so-cool!”

She fumbled with the helmet until he brushed her clumsy hands away and unfastened it himself. His dark sunglasses made it impossible to see his eyes, but even before he pulled them off, she knew they’d be all crinkled at the edges.

They found a booth near the window and smiled their thanks to the waitress when she handed them menus and filled their coffee cups. The girl was so busy staring at Carter she overfilled Regan’s mug, sloshing coffee over the sides and across the fingers of Regan’s gloves.

“Oh,” the girl gasped. “I’m so sorry. Let me—”

“It’s okay,” Regan laughed quietly and helped her mop it up with a stack of napkins. The gloves would have been useless on the ride home anyway because she’d managed to poke four holes through them on the ride up; that’s what she got for holding on so tight and for buying the cheapest gloves in town.

After the mortified girl left, a wad of dripping napkins on her tray, Regan immediately wrapped both hands around the warm mug and let the heat soak in as she gave the one-sided menu a quick glance.

“Jeez.” Carter stretched upright, winking at her as he did. “I think you might’ve cracked a couple ribs.”

He could tease her all he liked, that ride was one of the best times she’d ever had. Who knew something could be so terrifying and so much fun all at the same time?

When the waitress returned, Carter ordered a burger but Regan just shook her head and handed the menu back. As soon as her hand was free, Carter pulled it into his, rubbing the circulation back into it. Regan made a halfhearted attempt to free it, but when he resisted, she let it be. After all, what was the harm in it? Sure, it made her insides swirl, and yeah, the feel of his hands on her brought back all kinds of visions from New Year’s Eve, but she could just force all that out of her mind, right?

Okay, maybe not. Damn it.

“Is it always like that when you ride?”

“On sunny days, sure,” he laughed. “But this time of year, the bike usually stays parked.”

“Have you ever wiped out?”

“Nope.” He never looked away from her, even as his thumb moved in long, slow strokes over hers, kneading the cold out and the warmth back in.

“A-a-and how long have you, um, had it?”
Good grief, get a grip
.

“Couple years.”

Regan arched her brow and smirked. “Little young for a midlife crisis, aren’t you?”

Carter shrugged slowly and stared down at their hands. “Life’s short; gotta have fun while you can, right?”

By the time the waitress brought his burger, Regan discovered Carter’s main mode of transportation was an old Fiat he’d inherited from his dad. There was no doubt the car would be fun to drive, too, but it couldn’t possibly compare to his bike.

She gratefully accepted a refill of her coffee, then sat and watched Carter eat. He swallowed the first bite of his burger, pointed to the mound of fries on the plate, and raised his brow in question.

“No thanks.” When he chuckled and rolled her eyes, Regan sat back against the booth and frowned. “Why is that funny?”

He swallowed what was in his mouth and grinned. “Chicks always say they’re not hungry, then steal half my fries anyway.”

Regan leaned closer and tipped her face up to his, grinning sweetly. “Maybe I didn’t mention it before, but I’m not a chick, and if I was hungry, I would have ordered something.”

He didn’t even try to look apologetic, just lifted the small dish of gravy and poured half of it over his fries. “I hear you’ve been busy this week.”

“It’s been a little crazy,” she chuckled. “But busy’s good. The busier the better.”

“Not today, though?”

“I had an appointment this morning, but I needed to reschedule all my weekday appointments, so I booked off this afternoon to get that done.” She lifted her mug to her mouth and peered over the top. “What about you? Save any lives this week, Dr. Scott?”

“A few.” He grinned over his burger. “Pulled a few shifts at St. Mark’s, got some things sorted out around the office, and we packed up the rest of the apartment.”

“Fun,” she scoffed. “When’s moving day?”

“Tomorrow. While you and Tracy get the office sorted out, we’ll be fighting with elevators and narrow stairwells.” He popped another fry into his mouth, then raised his brow back at her. “I’ll do the office if you do the stairwell.”

“Ha—not a chance. Why don’t you just stay with Nick and Jayne? She said they offered.”

Carter downed a swig of coffee and wiped the back of his hand across his mouth. “Staying there for a few days is one thing, but moving in? No thanks. The last thing they need is a third wheel around all the time.”

He swallowed a few more fries, then pointed to the leftovers on his plate. “Last chance.”

“No thanks, I’m good.”

“Then let’s get the hell out of here. Whistler closes in twenty minutes and I don’t want to get stuck behind all the skiers.”