Beating The Curse Of Lahaina
This is a long, slow moving romance. . . in six easily digestible parts.
I hope you enjoy it at your leisure. Please send feedback and vote at its conclusion. Thanks for your support. Part 1 In early 2003 I went to the medical center for a complete check-up, not having had one since I was in the service.
When I first saw Karina, a nurse in the doctor's office, I thought that I'd never seen a more attractive, desirable woman. Though she was dressed in a baggy green 'scrubs' uniform, which effectively hid everything but her smooth arms, gorgeous creamy complexion and long, nearly black hair to the middle of her back, I was convinced that I'd gotten my first glimpse of an exotic Pacific Island goddess.
Her black brows and very long lashes highlight dark brown almond eyes that indicate an Asian heritage. Yet her light pink lips and a flush in her creamy cheeks betray a Caucasian lineage as well. Her narrow, straight nose emphasizes that influence and blends the two ethnic lines in a stunningly feminine way.
At first glance, my breath caught in my throat as I watched her hold open the door for an elderly female patient to enter the examination area. She gave a dimpled smile and spoke softly with the woman as they disappeared behind the door and it closed slowly. I folded the magazine I'd been reading, exhaled, and tossed it onto the table at my side.
God! I hope she's my doctor's nurse, I muttered to myself. 'Christopher Commanday!' I heard, which snapped me out of my reverie. It was she – the gorgeous nurse – calling my name. I jumped up, almost to attention, and banged my knee on the magazine table.
. . very hard. 'Oooh,' she said, '.
. . are you all right?' 'Yeah, just a flesh wound,' I joked, lamely, yet she smiled radiantly – showing deep dimples – at my hokey attempt at humor. Her pearly white teeth spoke well of whomever had been her orthodontist.
Commanday, I'm Karina,' she purred in a soft, lilting soprano voice, losing her smooth hand in my paw as she shook it. 'Please come this way,' she said, and strode ahead of me to a small room with a scale and other equipment. As she walked, I noticed her hips twitch under her scrubs and their lively animation made my pulse race.
A fresh scent came off of her that didn't smell like perfume. 'Please remove your jacket and shoes. I need to weigh you,' she requested. 'Two hundred and ten pounds,' I said.
Must be something heavy in your pants!' she said, glancing up at me with glinting, yet non-committal, almond eyes. Her look seemed to bore through me, almost as if I were naked. I gazed down at her, nearly a foot-and-a-half below as I stood on the scale, and restrained an impulse to grab and ravage her, given what I considered to be a suggestive comment.
Should I acknowledge it? I wondered. No, dummy, I told myself. She's just showing you that she's adept at the give-and-take. 'Now, your height,' Karina said, as she raised the telescoping height bar to place it on my head.
'Six feet two,' I said, wanting to continue the game. 'You're right! Even with socks!' she beamed. 'Now, sit down here. .
for your blood pressure, please. ' While cuffing me, her warm hands caressed my upper arm and she asked, 'What sort of work do you do?' 'Architect,' I said, my heart beating soundly as she leaned forward to place a thermometer under my tongue. As I opened my mouth, she opened hers as well – automatically, as nurses and mothers do for some reason when taking one's temperature – and I beaded with perspiration as I saw her pink, satiny tongue, wet with saliva.
. . . .