Man of Fortune

“A feeder cable,” she repeated. “That means there’s no electricity.”

Duncan gestured to the overhead emergency light. “At least we’re not in the dark.”

Tamara reached into an oversized leather tote and took out her cell phone. “I hope I can get a signal in here.” She exhaled a breath. “Thank goodness.” Scrolling through her directory she pushed speed dial. “This is Dr. Wolcott,” she said identifying herself when a clerk answered the phone. “I’m scheduled to cover the six o’clock shift for Dr. Shelton, but right now I’m stuck in an elevator in a building on Park Avenue South. Tell Dr. Killeen I’ll be in once someone gets me out of here.”

“I’ll let—wait a minute, Dr. Wolcott, there’s a special news bulletin coming across the television. The power is out in most of Gramercy Park. Is that where you are?”

“Yes.”

“I’ll let Dr. Killeen know that you’ll be late.”

“Make certain you do.”

Tamara ended the call and looked at the man staring back at her with an amused expression. She didn’t know what was so funny. They were trapped in a space less than six feet wide that was getting hotter with each passing moment.

“What’s so funny?”

Duncan straightened. “Are you usually so brusque, Dr. Wolcott?”

She looked down at the toes of his polished shoes. “No, I’m not. Right now I’m a little stressed out. I’m sorry if I was rude to you, Mr….”

“Duncan.”

Her head came up. “Does Duncan have a last name?”

“It’s Gilmore.” He extended his hand. “Does Dr. Wolcott have a first name?”

She shook his hand, noting the palm was smooth to the touch. “It’s Tamara.”

“Tamara,” he repeated. “What does it mean?”

“It’s Hebrew for palm tree.”

“It’s very pretty.”

Tamara smiled for the first time. “Thank you.” She offered him her cell phone. “I was told that half the neighborhood is without electricity. You can use my phone if you need to make a call.”

“Thanks, but no thanks.”

Her eyebrows lifted slightly. “Isn’t there someone you would want to know where you are?”

“No.”

Tamara’s eyes narrowed. “Do you live in this building?”

“No,” Duncan repeated. “I was just leaving a client. Do you live here?”

“I wish. I live in an incredibly overpriced East Village walkup.”

“Living in Manhattan is practically prohibitive.”

“You can say that again,” she drawled. “Where do you live, Duncan?”

“Chelsea.” He smiled when Tamara whistled. “It’s not quite Park Avenue or Sutton Place, but it’s getting there.”

“Where in Chelsea do you live?”

“Twenty-First between Tenth and Eleventh.”

“Isn’t that near Chelsea Piers?” she asked.

Duncan nodded. “I can see it from my bedroom window. Have you ever been there?”

“Unfortunately, I haven’t,” Tamara said truthfully.

She’d worked double shifts for the past four years to pay off her student loans and recoup the monies she’d saved before her ex-husband had emptied their joint bank account with the intent of doubling the money at the blackjack table.

“My hectic schedule doesn’t allow for much socializing.”

Duncan glanced at his watch. They’d been in the elevator for ten minutes. He shrugged out of his suit jacket, let it fall to the floor of the elevator car, and then sat down on it. If he was going to spend any more time confined to such a small space then he planned to relax.

Tamara stared at him as if he’d taken leave of his senses. “What do you think you’re doing?”

A pair of clear amber-colored eyes met a pair of coal-black ones. “What does it look like? I’m taking a load off my feet.” He offered his hand. “Come sit down. It’s not as hot down here.”

“That’s because hot air rises,” Tamara countered.

Again, he ignored her quip. “Sit down, Tamara.”

Resting her hands on her hips, she glared down at him. “Are you familiar with the word please?”

Duncan didn’t drop his hand. Baring his teeth, he flashed a facetious smile. “Please, Dr. Wolcott, won’t you sit down?”

She rolled her eyes. “I’m only Dr. Wolcott at the hospital. Otherwise it’s Tamara.”

Half rising, Duncan eased Tamara down to sit beside him on his jacket. He caught the scent of her perfume. They sat silently as the seconds ticked off to minutes. He checked his watch again. Another quarter of an hour had passed. If Genevieve Henderson hadn’t insisted he stay he would’ve been home by now. It took about half an hour to walk from Gramercy Park to where he lived in Chelsea.

A slight smile tilted the corners of his mouth when Tamara rested her head on his shoulder. “How are you holding up?” he asked after a prolonged silence.

“I’m okay.”

Tamara wanted to tell Duncan that she was more than okay. His tailored shirt concealed a lean, hard body. Soft hands, hard body, she mused, wondering what he did for a living. It was the first time in a very long time that she’d felt so comfortable with a man. After a rocky marriage and less-than-amicable divorce she’d sworn off men. She had dated but hadn’t slept with a man since her divorce, and at thirty-two she was more than content not to change her lifestyle or marital status.

Duncan shifted into a more comfortable position. “Why did you decide to become a doctor?”

“It’s a long story, Duncan.”

“We have nothing but time and you have a captive audience. Pardon the pun.”