One Kiss, Two Kiss, Red Kiss, Now You Kiss

  One Kiss, Two Kiss, Red Kiss, Now you Kiss

  by

  Linda Wisdom

  Joyride Books EDITION

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  PUBLISHED BY:

  Linda Wisdom on Joyride Books

  One Kiss, Two Kiss, Red Kiss, Now you Kiss

  Copyright © 2015 by Linda Wisdom

  Joyride Books Edition License Notes

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author’s work.

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  ONE KISS, TWO KISS, RED KISS, NOW YOU KISS

  CHAPTER ONE

  The airline terminal of an international airport shouldn’t be deserted and quiet, unless it was two o’clock in the morning and the last flight had just limped in well over an hour late. The returning passengers found the halls not as well lit as usual and the cleaning crews busy vacuuming carpets and emptying ashtrays for the coming day.

  The disembarking passengers resembled zombies with their glazed eyes and weary-looking bodies as they walked to the escalator leading to the baggage carousel. One woman, holding a soft leather carry-on and with a garment bag hanging over her shoulder, swept past the passengers milling about and left through the pneumatic doors with the ease of an experienced traveler. Even at that late hour a few of the men admired the classic beauty of her features and the slim body evident under the tan down coat, which flapped open to reveal a silk sweater the color of rich paprika and dark washed jeans. Her low, cuffed suede boots were meant more for comfort than style, and her tawny blond shoulder-length hair was swept back in a fishtail braid secured with a band of soft velvet. It was apparent that she wasn’t expecting to be met by anyone but determined to reach the final destination of her trip.

  The security guard at the door lifted a hand in greeting to the woman. “See you finally made it,” he commented with the familiarity of someone who knew a regular traveler.

  She nodded, smiling wryly. “Never suffer through a layover in Chicago, Frank, if you want to arrive home at a decent hour,” she replied, switching her bag to her other hand and looking around for a taxi. Luckily there were still a few hardy cabbies waiting in the hope of securing a fare into the city.

  “Hey, you feeling okay Ms. Blake?” the guard asked with concern, not missing her abnormally pale features.

  “Too much traveling in too short a time,” she explained, stepping forward to one of the waiting cabs.

  “Take it easy,” the guard called after her.

  Jill sank down onto the backseat and gave her address to the driver. She leaned her head back and closed her eyes, hoping her queasy stomach would soon settle. At the moment she wasn’t sure if it was due to the bumpy flight, the lemon sole she had eaten for dinner, or the beginning stages of the flu. Due to her hectic schedule the past month, she wouldn’t be surprised if her resistance was down. All she cared about now was getting home so she could take some aspirin, drink a large glass of orange juice and crawl into her comfortable bed. She only hoped her topsy-turvy stomach would hold off engaging in any energetic acrobatics until she reached the safety of her home.

  Jill couldn’t remember when she had ever felt so tired from a three-day trip. She grimaced at the knowledge that Greg would give her a lecture about her stubborn nature when he saw her in the morning. He had insisted that he should be the one to travel to Boston this time, but she had dug in her heels. After all, he had made the last two trips, so it was natural for her to take her turn. Of course, he hadn’t just returned from a skiing trip in Aspen or had a stomach virus six weeks before. As a result, her constantly weary state surfaced during a trip to London she hadn’t truly been physically prepared to make. Now she was exhausted and felt out of sorts. She pulled a pack of cigarettes and her lighter out of her purse, but when her stomach did another flip, decided not to chance it and put them away.

  A little over an hour later the taxi driver let Jill out in front of a large Victorian house situated close to Russian Hill, an area in San Francisco known for its old money and equally old names living in the large homes.

  Jill smothered a yawn as she unlocked the heavy door that boasted an old-fashioned stained glass window and entered the chilly house. She silently cursed the high staircase as she slowly climbed the carpeted treads to her apartment.

  Inside, her apartment was a step into another century, compared with the 1800s exterior of the two-story house. Jill’s living room was decorated with modern, pale wood furniture to complement the pale rose, ecru and turquoise color scheme, colors meant to soothe her after a harried day at the computer. She quickly passed through the living room to reach the sanctuary of her bedroom, dropping her bags inside the doorway; all she cared about was undressing and pulling on a soft flannel nightgown for its comforting warmth. Her body was rapidly warning her that she was best off huddled under the covers as soon as possible if she knew what was good for her. She cleaned her heated face with a damp washcloth and walked to the kitchen to pour herself a glass of ice water.

  Jill hadn’t taken more than two sips of water when her stomach revolted with alarming speed. With barely seconds to spare, she made it to the bathroom and almost collapsed on the tile floor. She groaned and lost track of time as the nausea overtook her again.

  Time passed slowly as she lay stretched out on the floor, praying the tile would cool her heated flesh. She couldn’t remember ever feeling as sick as she now did. Her stomach cramped again, and it felt as if her insides were trying to climb outside her body.

  It seemed like hours before she could drag herself back into the bedroom. The fire radiating from her abdomen was a warning that her illness was more than a simple case of the flu. She reached up to the telephone and punched out seven numbers. The line rang twelve times before it was picked up with a man’s mumbled, ” ‘Lo?”

  “Greg,” she sobbed, holding onto the phone as if it was a lifeline. “Please, come. Something’s really wrong.” The clatter of the phone on the other end, plus a woman’s murmured curse, was the only reply.

  Jill curled up in the fetal position, trying to ease the pain in her stomach. It wasn’t long before she heard sounds of heavy footsteps running up the stairs. She closed her eyes to hide the blur of the room swimming around her.

  “Hi, lady.” A cool hand on her heated forehead brought her back to the present.

  Jill opened her eyes and looked up at the man, whose rugged features were etched with worry. His black hair stuck up every which way, a mute testimony to his just having gotten out of bed, and his gray eyes were shadowed with concern.

  “You don’t have to look as if I’m going to die on you in the next five minutes.” The pain that speared her stomach just then made her cry out loud and claw at Greg’s arm for support.

  He didn’t waste any time asking questions. His first call was to Jill’s doctor and the second to an ambulance service. He picked Jill up off the floor as carefully as possible and deposited her on the bed.

  “How long have you been like this?” he asked her, sitting on the edge of the bed. He pushed a stray lock of damp hair away from her face, not liking the heat coming off her skin.

  “Too long. I guess Rita isn’t too happy that I interrupted her beauty sleep,” she croaked.

  “She’ll survive.” There was a grim cast to his face as he listened to her cries of pain. “Do you want me to call Cal?�
�� Greg asked quietly.

  Jill shook her head. “We broke up two weeks ago,” she explained, not caring to remember the scene that had precipitated the split with the man she had been seeing for the past few months. She sighed deeply. “I’m going to have to go to the hospital, aren’t I?” She gripped his hand tightly as another spasm of pain swept over her.

  Greg nodded. “I’m afraid so.”

  She moaned. “I hate hospitals! They’ll poke and prod and only make me feel worse!”

  He didn’t want to tell her that he feared the doctor would do a great deal more than poke and prod before he finished with Jill.

  “Greg.” A dark-haired woman stood in the bedroom doorway. “What’s going on?” Her frosty gaze swept over Jill as if she was convinced her illness was merely an illusion meant to spoil her sleep.

  “Hello, Rita,” she managed a weak greeting.

  “Jill’s very sick, love,” Greg explained, not taking his eyes off Jill’s flushed face. “I called her doctor, and an ambulance should be here any minute. Why don’t you just go on back to bed?”

  Jill was in pain, but she wasn’t sick enough not to wonder how the voluptuous Latin woman could look so sexy at four a.m. with her blue-black hair tousled about her shoulders and a lipstick red silk kimono covering her obviously nude body. She would have voiced her impertinent question aloud, but a splitting pain in her abdomen grabbed her attention with full force.

  By the time the ambulance arrived Jill was past caring about Greg’s current lover’s beauty secrets. She wasn’t even aware of Greg shouting orders to a sullen Rita as he followed the attendants downstairs and outside while pulling on a crewneck sweater.

  The next few hours were a pain-filled haze to Jill as she was indeed poked and prodded. The diagnosis of a hot appendix wasn’t what Jill wanted to hear, but she was alert enough to sign the authorization for surgery. She caught a glimpse of Greg’s drawn features before the prick of a needle brought her oblivion.

  Greg paced the length of the surgical waiting area, his arms crossed in front of him. His thick Irish knit sweater could have been thin cotton, judging from the chilled look about him. A sullen Rita, now dressed in red silk trousers and tunic, sat in a nearby chair, smoking a cigarette.

  “I realize she’s your partner, Greg, but couldn’t you just have the hospital call you when she’s out of surgery so we can return to the house?” she asked, crossing one shapely leg over the other. “After all, she isn’t a relative, so I don’t know why you’re so upset over this. It was bad enough that she woke us just after we had gotten to sleep.” Her dark eyes grew slumberous as she recalled the reason for their late night.

  “She’s someone I care about a great deal,” Greg informed her coldly.

  Rita snapped to attention and ground out her cigarette in the ashtray. “I should have realized the situation much sooner.” Frosty insolence replaced her sensual beauty. “Oh, I’ve had my suspicions during the past few months, but I knew whose bed you could be found in, so I wasn’t all that worried.”

  Greg shook his head, unable to decipher the meaning of her words. “What are you talking about?”

  She raised a hand to his cheek. “You’re a wonderful lover, Greg,” she said softly, with regret in her voice. “You’re a man any woman would want, but I don’t believe in acting as a substitute. Call me when and if you ever come to your senses.” She left him after a soul-searching kiss.

  Greg felt a twinge of regret as he watched Rita leave, but there was no empty feeling in his heart or sorrow over her defection; only curiosity regarding her cryptic words. A few moments later his attention was diverted by the appearance of a man wearing sweat-stained surgical scrubs.

  “She’s doing fine,” Dr. Simmons said immediately, easing Greg’s concern quickly. “I got it out before it burst, but it was a close call. I’m sure she’ll be running a low temperature for the next couple of days. Naturally we’ll have to keep a close eye on her to make sure she doesn’t run around for several weeks.”

  Greg’s smile warmed his stormy gray eyes. “I’ll believe it when I see it. No one has the energy level she does,” he said with faint good humor. “May I see her?”

  “She’s in post op right now, and you can go in as long as you realize she’ll be very groggy the rest of the day,” the doctor explained. He viewed Greg’s dark hair with amusement. “If anyone questions your right to be there, I’d advise you to tell the nurse you’re her husband and not her brother. Family resemblance is extremely minimal in your case.”

  Greg grinned. “Maybe I should ask for a note from my doctor,” he said.

  “Talk about being your doctor, it’s about time for your annual physical,” the man recalled. “Call Diane and make an appointment.”

  Greg nodded, knowing this wasn’t a suggestion from the crusty middle-aged man but an order. “Business must be bad if you have to solicit in the hospital,” he joked, walking with Simmons to the recovery room door.

  Once inside, Greg discovered that the recovery room was more intimidating than the movies portrayed. Jill looked tiny and defenseless among the white sheets, IVs and catheters hooked up to her body. A nurse wearing scrubs was just removing a plastic cap from Jill’s head and checking her vital signs. She smiled at Greg, the woman in her unable to resist his masculine appeal.

  “She’s coming around, but I wouldn’t expect her to be coherent yet,” she said quietly.

  Jill’s eyelids lifted slowly, as if with great effort. When they finally opened all the way, she looked glassy-eyed at her visitor.

  “Hi.” Her voice sounded rusty.

  “Hi, yourself.” Relief loosened the tension in his shoulder muscles as he realized she was going to be all right. Alarm tensed them again when Jill’s lids drifted closed. He looked at the nurse in alarm.

  “It will be awhile before she’s fully awake and aware of her surroundings,” she assured him. “She’ll be moved upstairs to her room soon, if you’d rather wait there.”

  Greg took some time to call Jill’s mother and his and Jill’s agent before going upstairs to her room, where he found she had already been moved in the interim.

  As he sat near her bed, he was gratified to see that she didn’t look as pale as before and that her sleep was deep but natural.

  During the next few hours Jill roused periodically, long enough to peer myopically at Greg or at the nurse as she asked Jill if she needed a pain shot or checked her IV.

  Late that afternoon the doctor ordered Greg home to take some much-needed rest. He refused to pry himself from the hospital room until he received the promise that he would be contacted if there were any changes in Jill’s condition.

  As he rode home in the back of a taxi, the picture of Jill looking so vulnerable in the hospital bed haunted his mind, even when he later collapsed onto his rumpled bed that still bore the opulent scent of Rita’s perfume.

  Jill’s memory of the twenty-four hours after her surgery was a vague recollection of a nurse coming in to check her IV, replace the empty one with a full bottle and give her a shot for the pain when necessary. Her mumbled words made no sense, although the nurse seemed to understand her slurred conversation.

  Jill didn’t return to the real world until the next morning. When she opened her eyes, her first sight was Greg slouched in the chair near her bed. Her smile looked a trifle lopsided.

  “I always hated that shirt,” she rasped

  Greg looked down at his shirt, a muted plum and pale green plaid. “What’s wrong with it?” he asked defensively, not revealing the great relief he experienced when he heard her speak.

  “It reminds me of a hawker standing in front of a strip joint.” Her eyes widened when she noticed the many floral arrangements brightening the room. “Did I die?” She sounded panicked.

  “Luckily no, but it seems a lot of people think a lot of you,” he said. “Maybe I should have my appendix out, so I can have all this attention.”

  Jill couldn’t hold back a yawn
. “You had yours out when you were in high school. They don’t grow back. You’re just out of luck, pal.”

  “Want some water?”

  Jill nodded, already having discovered she had trouble moving the arm that had the IV taped to it. As for her body, she was prepared to move around as little as possible.

  Greg filled the small plastic cup with ice water and held it to her lips. She drank thirstily before speaking again.

  “Give my apologies to Rita for upsetting your evening.” She lay back against her pillow, hoping Greg wouldn’t see that she really didn’t mean her apology. From the first time she had met Rita, the two women had made no attempt to ease the hostility they shared. The funny thing was, Jill wasn’t even entirely sure why she didn’t like Rita. The woman was certainly lovely, not conceited, and she seemed to think a lot of Greg, but Jill just couldn’t find it in her to like her.

  “She survived,” he said carelessly.

  Jill’s brain may have been muddled, but there was no mistaking Greg’s use of the past tense.

  “She dumped you, huh?” She found it difficult to feel too sorry for him. She had never felt that the steamy woman was right for Greg. She thought privately that a softer, more understanding woman was the type this warm-hearted man needed.

  “Thanks for the sympathy, Jill,” Greg said dryly, sitting back as the nurse came in and bestowed a warm smile on him.

  “Would you mind stepping outside for a few moments, Mr. Richmond?” she asked. “I have to examine Ms. Blake.”

  He nodded and rose to his feet. “I’ll go down to the waiting area,” he said, leaving with a smile at both women.

  The nurse couldn’t help watching Greg walk out, and she turned back to Jill with a slightly embarrassed smile before proceeding to change her bandage, then remove her IV and catheter, much to Jill’s pleasure.

  “I’ll let Mr. Richmond know he can come back in,” the nurse said with just a faint degree of eagerness.

  Jill laughed as she collapsed back against her pillow. She was beginning to think it was a shame they had never had a chance to see if they could make it as a couple. One reason they had always kept their relationship platonic was the idea that a love affair could screw up a perfectly good business partnership. Then, too, in the five years they had worked together, Jill and Greg had never seemed to be free at the same time.