Read Online The Ghosts of Ravencrest (The Ravencrest Saga Book 1) by Tamara Thorne, Alistair Cross - Free Book Online
Authors: Tamara Thorne, Alistair Cross
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his blond hair, Sir Thomas bore an especially strong resemblance to Eric Manning. Or, Cordelia supposed, the other way around. Either way, male beauty of this caliber was rare.
“I know what you were up to last night, Thomas.” She wagged one manicured finger at him. “Naughty, naughty boy. I think you’d better try harder next time.”
She imagined Sir Thomas admiring her backside as she strutted from the gallery, the sharp sound of her clicking heels echoing off the walls.
The Physical
When they arrived at the Devilswood Medical Offices, Belinda was surprised that Walter Hardwicke locked up the limo and accompanied her inside. She was a little embarrassed, and wished he’d stayed in the car. Instead, he towered behind her as she checked in with a pretty receptionist, then sat next to her in the waiting room and began reading a dog-eared Entertainment Weekly .
Belinda was too nervous to read. Doctors made her anxious even though she’d had very little experience with them. It was silly, she knew, but her mother had fed her so many horror stories about the medical profession that she didn’t trust them. You know full well it’s Momma you shouldn’t trust. She was probably trying to save money by making sure you didn’t want to see a doctor, even when you had the flu. Why would doctors want to “experiment” on you? That’s ridiculous!
The waiting room was clean, sunny, and pleasant, with tweedy tan upholstered chairs, a thick carpet of rich brown, plants in beautiful blue pots and baskets hanging from the ceiling. Two sides of the room were lined with windows that showed off a bevy of colorful flowers in the beds just outside. Three other patients waited in chairs around the lobby.
There’s nothing to be nervous about.
Beside her, Walter rattled his magazine and snickered. “I can’t believe the lips on that actress. Lookit this.” He pushed the magazine toward her and she saw a fading actress with the worst set of fish lips imaginable. “I bet she could suck a tennis ball through an exhaust pipe.”
Belinda didn’t respond.
“I wonder why women do that to themselves. You think they’re real?”
“I don’t know.” Just stop trying to make conversation! Belinda shuddered as the hairy man’s smoky aftershave wafted toward her.
The door to the interior corridor opened and a sturdy-looking nurse with beauty parlor helmet hair under a stiff white cap appeared. She looked at a chart. “Belinda Moorland.”
Belinda stood up. “That’s me.” The nurse motioned her forward.
“Go get em, tiger.” Walter Hardwicke gave her a greasy grin and let his eyes travel down to settle on her rear end.
Belinda could feel his gaze, like a slimy eel, as she joined the nurse in the doorway.
They walked down a hall, past several rooms, stopping at a scale. “Empty your pockets,” said the nurse. “And remove your shoes.”
She kicked off her wedgies. “I don’t have anything in my pockets.”
“Fine. Step on.”
Belinda got on the scale. The nurse began sliding the small weights till they balanced out. “One hundred eighteen.” She wrote the information down on the chart.
I’ve gained a couple of pounds since graduation. She stepped into her shoes and the nurse led her to an exam room.
“Strip and set your clothes on the chair,” said the nurse as she pulled the door closed.
“Um, right now? In front of you?”
The nurse nodded.
“Is there a screen or something?”
The other woman looked amused. “Look honey, I’ve got the same parts as you and a schedule to keep. Now strip.”
Belinda, her cheeks warming, started to unbutton her white shirt. The nurse leaned into the corner, watching her.
Beneath the blouse, Belinda’s bra felt tight, constricting. She fumbled with the hook at the back.
The nurse looked at her watch.
The bra came off and Belinda made a vain attempt to cover her breasts.
“The pants, too.”
Belinda swallowed hard. She kicked off her shoes,
“I know what you were up to last night, Thomas.” She wagged one manicured finger at him. “Naughty, naughty boy. I think you’d better try harder next time.”
She imagined Sir Thomas admiring her backside as she strutted from the gallery, the sharp sound of her clicking heels echoing off the walls.
The Physical
When they arrived at the Devilswood Medical Offices, Belinda was surprised that Walter Hardwicke locked up the limo and accompanied her inside. She was a little embarrassed, and wished he’d stayed in the car. Instead, he towered behind her as she checked in with a pretty receptionist, then sat next to her in the waiting room and began reading a dog-eared Entertainment Weekly .
Belinda was too nervous to read. Doctors made her anxious even though she’d had very little experience with them. It was silly, she knew, but her mother had fed her so many horror stories about the medical profession that she didn’t trust them. You know full well it’s Momma you shouldn’t trust. She was probably trying to save money by making sure you didn’t want to see a doctor, even when you had the flu. Why would doctors want to “experiment” on you? That’s ridiculous!
The waiting room was clean, sunny, and pleasant, with tweedy tan upholstered chairs, a thick carpet of rich brown, plants in beautiful blue pots and baskets hanging from the ceiling. Two sides of the room were lined with windows that showed off a bevy of colorful flowers in the beds just outside. Three other patients waited in chairs around the lobby.
There’s nothing to be nervous about.
Beside her, Walter rattled his magazine and snickered. “I can’t believe the lips on that actress. Lookit this.” He pushed the magazine toward her and she saw a fading actress with the worst set of fish lips imaginable. “I bet she could suck a tennis ball through an exhaust pipe.”
Belinda didn’t respond.
“I wonder why women do that to themselves. You think they’re real?”
“I don’t know.” Just stop trying to make conversation! Belinda shuddered as the hairy man’s smoky aftershave wafted toward her.
The door to the interior corridor opened and a sturdy-looking nurse with beauty parlor helmet hair under a stiff white cap appeared. She looked at a chart. “Belinda Moorland.”
Belinda stood up. “That’s me.” The nurse motioned her forward.
“Go get em, tiger.” Walter Hardwicke gave her a greasy grin and let his eyes travel down to settle on her rear end.
Belinda could feel his gaze, like a slimy eel, as she joined the nurse in the doorway.
They walked down a hall, past several rooms, stopping at a scale. “Empty your pockets,” said the nurse. “And remove your shoes.”
She kicked off her wedgies. “I don’t have anything in my pockets.”
“Fine. Step on.”
Belinda got on the scale. The nurse began sliding the small weights till they balanced out. “One hundred eighteen.” She wrote the information down on the chart.
I’ve gained a couple of pounds since graduation. She stepped into her shoes and the nurse led her to an exam room.
“Strip and set your clothes on the chair,” said the nurse as she pulled the door closed.
“Um, right now? In front of you?”
The nurse nodded.
“Is there a screen or something?”
The other woman looked amused. “Look honey, I’ve got the same parts as you and a schedule to keep. Now strip.”
Belinda, her cheeks warming, started to unbutton her white shirt. The nurse leaned into the corner, watching her.
Beneath the blouse, Belinda’s bra felt tight, constricting. She fumbled with the hook at the back.
The nurse looked at her watch.
The bra came off and Belinda made a vain attempt to cover her breasts.
“The pants, too.”
Belinda swallowed hard. She kicked off her shoes,
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