M.D. Most Wanted

by Marie Ferrarella

She almost fell as she tried to steady herself.

  He caught her, wrapping his arms around her just as she was about to sink to the floor.

  London looked up at him. “Why wait?”

  He felt his heart throbbing in its newfound position: his throat. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea. But then, if he backed away, she would ask why. And see the reason no matter what excuse he tendered.

  This morning there was no surgery to claim his attention—barring anything that might be going on in the emergency room. And he had never been a coward. “Once around the corridor?”

  She brightened. “That’s my goal.”

  “Admirable.” He took her hand and slowly led her out the door.

  He caught the reflection of her smile in the windowpane as they passed and felt as if he’d been pierced by an arrow.

  Reese shut away the thought, refusing to explore it. He was going to have to make certain that he gave his mother a different topic to occupy her mind the next time he stopped over for breakfast.

  Chapter 6

  With no undue conceit Reese prided himself on being reasonably intelligent. Added to that he was a physician, a surgeon. He figured that meant he was capable of recognizing electricity when he came up against it. Whether it turned up at the end of a live wire or in the unexpected contact between two people, he knew electricity when he felt it.

  He felt it now.

  As London took another faltering step forward, she suddenly dipped beside him. He’d only had a light hold of her hand. Instantly his arm went around her waist, drawing her to him and steadying her before she had a chance to sink down completely.

  It was the second time in as many minutes that their bodies had touched.

  The current that traveled along his at the sudden contact was enough to light up one hotel in Las Vegas for an entire month. Possibly longer.

  This jolt was stronger than the one before.

  Startled, wondering if he was hallucinating, Reese looked at London in surprise as he gently raised her up. The look in her eyes told him he wasn’t the only one who had found himself standing in the middle of an open field during an electrical storm with a lightning rod in his hand. She was as surprised, as affected, as he was.

  Careful, Bendenetti, you don’t want to do anything dumb, he warned himself sternly. Allowing whatever the hell it was that was now racing through his veins to take even infinitesimal control of him would be dumber than dumb. It would also be asking for trouble with a capital TR.

  Reese took a better hold of London’s hand, offering her steadfast support as she struggled to stand up. Maybe his mother was right at that, he thought. Maybe he really needed to get out once in a while. He knew biology, knew that man did not live on work alone.

  The problem was he had no time for anything else. Not if he was going to continue to build up an excellent reputation. It was Reese’s avowed goal to become one of the top surgeons in the state, not because of any egotism or need for adulation on his part, but because he’d always believed that if you undertook something, you should do it to the very best of your ability.

  And along with an excellent reputation came the monetary compensation that would enable him to pay his mother back a small portion of what she’d sacrificed for him over the years. He knew no matter what he did, he could never fully repay her, but at least he could make a dent in his debt.

  Damn, London thought, but she hated feeling as if a strong wind could whisk her away with no trouble at all, and silently cursed her own weakness. It had been four days since the accident—wasn’t she supposed to be on her way to recovery by now?

  And what was this other thing that was going on? This tension, this static charge dancing between them? What was that all about?

  Taking a step, her fingers tightened around the doctor’s, as if she could somehow channel his strength into her legs. He had very strong hands, she thought, yet they weren’t large.

  Gentle hands. Like the hands of a lover.

  London bit her lower lip, exasperated, refocusing. “How long before I stop doing sudden imitations of a rag doll?”

  She sounded annoyed with her progress. He had a feeling she had no patience with weakness, her own especially. London’s impatience didn’t come as a surprise to him. Given her nature, he’d expected it.

  They took another step together toward the door.

  “Seems to me that you’re doing very well now. Better than expected.”

  She allowed herself to slant a glance in his direction before looking back at the floor and her feet. “In general…or better than expected of a pampered ambassador’s daughter?”

  There was a defensive edge to her question that surprised him. It made him wonder about the kind of life she’d led until now. He forced himself to concentrate on her steps and not on any extraneous thoughts he was having, or the fact that her nearness was affecting him in ways that had no place here.

  “In general,” he replied, keeping his voice mild. “Maybe I’m wrong, but I get the distinct impression that the pampering you’re being subjected to is being done against your will.”

  He was rewarded with a smile that flashed at him like diamonds. It lit up her eyes and made her even more beautiful.

  “Handsome, skillful and astute,” she noted approvingly. “Why hasn’t some woman snapped you up, Reese?”

  He’d forgotten she had access to the information her father had an investigator gather about him. That gave her an advantage he didn’t care for. All he knew about London was what was in her chart. He wasn’t obsessively private, but he didn’t particularly care to have his life an open book, either.

  “Maybe we’d get along better if you called me Dr. Bendenetti,” Reese suggested pointedly.

  Well, that put her in her place, London thought. “Ah, barriers, I can relate to that. All right, Dr. Bendenetti,” she said. “Why haven’t you become some lucky lady’s trophy?”

  They were almost at the door leading to the corridor. “Too busy.”

  Though it irked her, she paused for a moment to gather her strength. “Too busy to enjoy yourself, or too busy to be tied down?”

  His eyes met hers. She was sharp. And into nuances. “Both. And you’d do better to concentrate on your situation, not mine.”

  His hand against the door, Reese pushed it open. He found himself looking up at the bodyguard who was standing directly in front of the doorway.

  “I’ll take over from here, Doc.” The big man’s tone was friendly enough, but there was no room for argument. The bodyguard wasn’t making a suggestion, he was stating a fact.

  Not that Reese had any intention of opposing him. He had other patients to see, and besides, he had a feeling that it was safer all around if he just surrendered London into the man’s waiting arms.

  But if the two men were in agreement, London was not. She made no effort to take the arm he offered, but kept hers firmly through Reese’s.

  “That’s all right, Wallace. Dr. Bendenetti wants to make sure I’m not doing anything that might impede my progress.” She smiled as she added, “But you can watch if it’ll make you feel better about doing your job.” She turned her face toward Reese. “Ready, Dr. Bendenetti?”

  Reese noted that she deliberately emphasized his name and title every time she said it.

  The right thing to do, he knew, was to hand her off to the hulking bodyguard. Reese had no idea why he acquiesced to her wishes.

  Maybe it was because deep down they were his wishes, too. Which made even a stronger argument for his not spending any more time than he had to with this headstrong woman.

  But, he reasoned, there was absolutely no opportunity for anything remotely improper to occur. They were under the hawklike gaze of the bodyguard, who gave no indication of turning his attention to anything else, and there was a smattering of hospital personnel milling around. He was safe.

  From her and himself.

  So Reese inclined his head and gave in. “All right, just once up and down the hal
l,” he agreed.

  It was London’s natural tendency to balk at restrictions, and she particularly disliked being treated like an invalid. “Oh, but I can do more.”

  He had no doubt that she could. Much more. Some of it even involved walking. But he didn’t think he could afford to allow her to spread her wings beside him. Not while she was his patient. The lady was far too tempting. Reese had always had a very healthy sense of self-preservation. Doctors who became involved with their patients never went far, and deservedly so. He didn’t intend to have his name mentioned among the number.

  “No point in tiring you out.” His tone put an end to the debate. “Ready?”

  She nodded, her face turning toward the corridor. Determined. She let him win this round. “Ready.”

  They took baby steps that he could see irritated her even though she was the one who set the pace.

  Her frown deepened with each step she took until he finally asked, “What’s the matter?”

  She huffed impatiently. “I’m used to sprinting, not crawling.”

  At least, mercifully, she didn’t have to drag around her IV bottle with her anymore, London thought. But she’d expected, once that was a thing of the past, to be making greater strides. Instead she wasn’t striding at all.

  Reese was accustomed to exercising patience. She obviously was not, he thought. “You have to crawl before you sprint. And when you get discouraged, just think they could be saying words over you right now, sinking your casket into the ground.”

  Her eyes on the ground, monitoring her own small steps, London shook her head.

  “Not me.” She gritted her teeth together. Her ribs ached with every step she took, every movement she made. Wasn’t that supposed to be a thing of the past by now?

  Reese looked at her. “You’re never going to die?”

  “No.” It was getting harder now. She didn’t risk looking at him, only the floor. “Never going to be buried,” she clarified. “When I go, I want to be cremated. Have my ashes scattered to the wind from the highest point in the country.” She allowed herself an enigmatic smile. “That way I can live forever.”

  “Interesting thought.” He watched her put her feet down. She was slow, but she wasn’t walking on glass. Which meant that either she was getting better at tolerating pain or the pain was receding. “Which country?”

  “What?” Glancing at him, she’d thrown herself off and had to stop for a second. “Sorry,” she muttered.

  He waved a hand at her apology. She expected perfection from herself, he thought. He expected to find perfection in books, not in life. At least, not in his life.

  “From what I’ve gathered, you’ve traveled all around the world. I was just wondering which country you’d picked to scatter your ashes in.”

  London didn’t even have to pause to think. There was no hesitation.

  “This one.” She saw him glance at her, mild surprise on his face. “The other places are all right to visit, but this is home.” It always had been, in her mind. She was just an American girl, happiest when she was here. “My mother’s buried here. In San Clemente,” she added, then flushed. “Guess this a rather a morbid topic to be discussing in a hospital.”

  He made no comment. The hospital was like life. All about living. And dying.

  She was breathing harder and they had yet to reach the end of the corridor. “Want to stop?” he suggested, concerned.

  “No.” She turned her face toward him proudly before resuming the snail’s pace toward the end of the corridor. “I’m a very stubborn woman.”

  He stuck his tongue in his cheek. “Really? I hadn’t noticed.”

  Wise guy, she thought. Exhausted, she looked to see how much farther she had to go. Too far.

  “Another thing you might not have noticed, they’ve stretched out the hallway since yesterday.”

  He nodded, playing along. “It’s what happens when they steam clean the rugs. The carpet doesn’t keep its shape.” He looked at her, sympathy getting the best of him. Pushing herself was only good for so long, then it became damaging. “We can stop. I can get a wheelchair for you.” There was one down at the end of the hall. He indicated it.

  “No.” She squared her shoulders, though the movement cost her, telegraphing sharp pain through parts of her body. “You can use the wheelchair if you like. I did this yesterday, I’m doing it today. I’m not about to slide backward.”

  He couldn’t help but admire her.

  It gave him something else to think about rather than the electricity that insisted on humming between them like a haunting refrain.

  “Made it,” she sighed as they reached the end of the corridor.

  “Now we go back,” he told her, his voice deliberately light.

  She responded with something under her breath he didn’t quite catch. He thought it better that way.

  In the interest of getting through this, Reese kept her arm tucked through his, his hand wrapped around her fingers and his pace achingly slow. Eventually they made it back to Wallace, who had been intently watching their every step, like a chaperon out of an eighteenth-century novella.

  “She looks tired.” The comment was made to Reese. Wallace’s tone was accusatory.

  She’d never liked being fussed over. Now more than ever she felt as if it cut into her space.

  “There’s a reason for that.” London sighed and looked longingly toward the bed that was all the way over against the opposite wall in her suite. “I think I’ve had enough for now.” She didn’t want Reese to think of her as a weakling. “Maybe I’ll do more later.”

  “No maybe about it,” Reese informed London, escorting her back into the room. He could almost feel Wallace’s displeasure as the latter fidgeted a step behind them, then halted at the doorway, sensing that he wasn’t needed or wanted. “The more you walk, the faster you can get out of here.”

  She smiled, her relief growing with each step she took toward her bed. She spared a glance toward the doctor. “Anxious to get rid of me?”

  The tension shimmering between them didn’t abate. “You said you hated hospitals,” he reminded her.

  A few more steps. Just a few more steps, she cheered herself on. She could do this—even though the idea of turning to the doctor and asking him to carry her the rest of the way was not without appeal. With her luck he’d probably tell Wallace to take over for him. “You pay attention.”

  He saw her smile blooming and tried not to dwell on it. “It’s my job. I believe in the whole picture, not just a section.”

  Almost there.

  Her knees were beginning to feel as if they wanted to buckle again. She willed them not to. “So, I’m more to you than just taped-up ribs and a bruised liver?”

  Reese realized that he didn’t want her to be, but she was a damn sight more than that. And he had a feeling that she knew it.

  “Yes,” he answered simply. “If you treat the whole person, the whole person gets well faster.” He swept away the cover and gently lowered her onto the bed. She released an unguarded sigh as she made contact with the mattress. Without thinking, he removed her slippers and raised her legs onto the bed, then covered her.

  The look of gratitude she gave him went straight to his gut. He chastised himself for his reaction. It changed nothing.

  She’d never known that a bed could feel so wonderful. For a moment, London just allowed herself to enjoy the sensation. Then she looked toward Reese. “Admirable philosophy, Dr. Bendenetti.”

  He wondered if she was going to continue to emphasize his title, or if she would tire of the game. In either case he had to get going. Reese crossed to the doorway. “I’ll see you later.”

  London sighed, a touch of restlessness already setting in. “I’m not going anywhere.”

  But apparently he was.

  The moment Reese stepped out of the suite, Wallace took him by the arm, stopping him. Now what? “Something you want, Grant?”

  “Not me, the ambassador,” the bodyguard clarif
ied. “He’d like to have a few words with you.”

  This day was not shaping up well. Reese looked around, but the ambassador was nowhere to be seen. “Oh? Where is he?”

  Wallace was already leading the way to the tower elevators. He looked over his shoulder expectantly until Reese fell into step. “He’s waiting for you in Mr. Jenkins’s office.”

  He didn’t have time for this. “I’ve got patients to see.”

  But it was evident that he wasn’t going to be doing that immediately. Pressing the down button, Wallace turned and looked at him, towering over him. “He wants to see you now.”

  Reese sighed. “Now it is.”

  The statement gave every indication of being a royal summons. That might fly in England and in Spain, but it did very little to impress him, Reese thought. The ambassador might have Jenkins in his pocket, but he had no desire to reside in that small place himself.

  By the time he arrived on the first floor and was standing before the chief administrator’s door, Reese found that he was in a fairly foul mood.

  He was beginning to understand why London was the way she was.

  But when he walked into Jenkins’s office, which he found devoid of the chief administrator, Reese was treated to the sight of a smiling, genial man who had made his mark upon the world with his wit, his charm and his intelligence.

  The ambassador rose the moment he saw Reese and extended his hand to him, one professional man approaching another. “Dr. Bendenetti, I’m afraid we might have gotten off on the wrong foot.”

  That, Reese thought, undoubtedly displayed the ambassador’s gift for understatement.

  Still, he felt it only polite to demur. “That only counts when you’re dancing, or in a three-legged sack race at the county fair.”

  The ambassador laughed. Reese noted that the man’s eyes were smiling.

  “I’ve heard some excellent things about you. I believe in doing my homework,” the ambassador added.

  Reese inclined his head, taking the statement in stride and waiting for the bomb he felt sure was about to be dropped.

  “I won’t keep you long,” the ambassador promised, “but I thought that perhaps an explanation for my earlier abruptness might be in order.”