Subculture Read Online Free PDF Page A

working all the time,’ she’d grinned, studying the rainbow-coloured travel guides. Reece wished he could invite her here to Singapore right this minute. It would be different once she was his wife. He’d have the right to take her on longer journeys then - his employer would pay her expenses. She could continue to learn about herbal medicine whilst he put some new corner of the globe to rights.
    He was the first to admit that he had a traditional streak so wanted her by his side, even though he was trying hard to be a new man. Okay, so he’d never yet bought the tampons, but he could toss a salad and made a reasonable spinach lasagne and dry a dish.
    He quite fancied the idea of tossing more than a salad right now, Reece looked thoughtfully down at his crotch, and it gave a little twitch of acknowledgment. He wasn’t really horny. It was just that there was so little to do here in Singapore late at night. The entire island seemed to be abed before twelve, which wasn’t much fun if you were the nocturnal kind.
    And there were so few books here, and the television ended at around midnight and he’d never been a drinker. Reece picked up the notepad by his bedside and uncapped his rolled gold pen. He’d write Lisa a really long letter. As they were saving up to buy a house together they’d agreed not to waste money by talking for hours on the phone.
    I miss you, Reece wrote, it’s dull here. He thought of the archery and riding that was available on Malta and added I hope that you’re having a more stimulating time.
Chapter Four
    Â 
    â€˜Spanked?’ Lisa echoed. She stared in shocked surprise at the virtually expressionless doctor. ‘Don’t you dare lay a finger on me.’ Far less a palm, she thought abstractedly.
    â€˜Oh, I won’t unless you agree to it,’ said the man.
    â€˜In that case you’ve got no chance,’ Lisa countered, fighting the urge to put her hands on her hips like some latter day cowgirl.
    â€˜I suspect that I’ve a very good chance given that I’m morally in the right,’ Dr Landers said.
    Don’t let him unnerve you, Lisa chided herself. She looked at the medical examination couch, at the long wooden desk, at the five leather chairs arranged in a rough semi-circle. After a slight hesitation she sat down on one of them to protect her shorts-clad backside.
    â€˜You consulted me complaining of general fatigue initially,’ she started, looking directly up into his assertive eyes. ‘I asked in depth about your lifestyle, your diet, your state of mind.’
    â€˜But not about whether I was taking drugs that might conflict with the herbal remedy you prescribed me,’ her new boss countered, his lips grim.
    â€˜That’s usually my next question,’ Lisa continued, thinking out loud. She pictured the scene. ‘As you probably recall, that particular afternoon was really hectic...’
    Michael Landers perched on the low examination couch then stared at her solemnly. ‘And life would be hectic for my staff and patients here in Malta if due to your negligence I had died.’
    He’d outlined a just-about-possible picture. Some herbal remedies were startlingly potent, mustn’t be used in conjunction with certain drugs. It was the herbalist’s job to ascertain her patients’ medical history and steer them through the clashing medical minefield - she’d failed in that. No way was she going over his lap, though. She had to find a verbal means of escape.
    â€˜I’m learning more about herbal practice all the time,’ she began in a rush. ‘Your giving me this job was like a vote of confidence, made me decide to give myself a hundred percent to alternative medicine.’ She sucked in her breath. ‘I decided that on my return to Scarborough I’d gradually give up the counselling service I’ve been offering and sit every level of Herbal Studies