by Laura Iding
Okay. Danny settled down onto the bed, not seeming to have too much energy.
“Does your head still hurt?” Quinn asked.
Yes, the light makes it worse.
He tried to squelch his concern, knowing the nurses were keeping a close eye on Danny’s concussion. Still, he bent over to give Danny a big hug anyway, grateful that the sledding accident hadn’t been worse.
“I’ll be right back,” he promised.
Quinn paused in the hallway outside Danny’s room to tell Elizabeth he’d be gone for a while, before heading down to the OR locker rooms. All the physician staff were given access, scrubs were provided for everyone free of charge. The physician lounge, located in the center space between the male and female locker rooms, was empty.
Finding his size wasn’t easy, the scrubs seemed to be either too big or too small. Finally he found what he needed. Feeling much better in the loose-fitting garments, Quinn bundled up his clothes and headed back into the lounge, stopping short when he found Leila sitting on the small sofa with one leg crossed over the other, her face betraying her exhaustion as she gingerly massaged the sole of one bare foot.
“Quinn.” She looked surprised and maybe a little embarrassed to see him. “How’s Danny?”
“He’s fine.” Instantly, her scent filled his head. Damn, since when had he been so tuned in to one woman? Then his gaze dropped to her small, dainty foot. He knew the two trauma surgeons took turns being on call, he’d bet she’d been on her feet all weekend. “You need someone to do that for you,” he said, indicating the way she’d continued to massage her foot.
A wry smile tugged at her mouth. “You offering?”
He hadn’t meant to, but surprised himself by nodding. “Sure.” He set his clothes on a nearby chair and knelt beside her chair.
“No. Really. I was just teasing.” With her eyes widening in alarm, Leila dropped her foot and frantically searched for her discarded sock and running shoe.
Ignoring her protests, he brushed aside her hands and took her small, bare foot in his hand. Her skin was satiny soft, just like he’d imagined. And her jasmine scent was driving him crazy. “Those weren’t the shoes you were wearing earlier,” he noted as he gently began to massage the graceful curve of her arch.
“No.” She stared at him, her eyes wide as if she didn’t find his massage at all comforting. “You’d think I’d learn not to give in to vanity when those heels are hardly comfortable to wear for hours on end.”
“You’re beautiful no matter what you wear,” he murmured. She’d changed from her blouse, skirt and heels into scrubs. He preferred the heels, too, as they did great things for her legs. But not if they made her feet hurt.
He propped her foot on his thigh and smoothed his hand up the muscles of her calf, extending his massage and enjoying the freedom of touching her. She let out a tiny moan, a look of pure bliss etched on her face.
His body responded instantly, growing hard with desire as he thought of other ways, far more pleasurable ways, to use his hands and eventually his mouth to make her moan. Unable to tear his gaze from her face, he reached for her other foot, intent on providing the same treatment there.
Her foot on his thigh moved sideways against his groin and suddenly her eyes flew open, her foot jerking away after it came into contact with the undeniable evidence of his hard arousal.
“I’m fine. Really. Thanks so much for helping me to get rid of that foot cramp. I really hate it when that happens, don’t you?” Leila babbled as she avoided his gaze, almost frantic as she felt around for her shoes and socks.
“Leila.” He put his hands over hers, forcing her to stop what she was doing to look at him. “You’re a beautiful woman, and I reacted like any normal man. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”
She shook her head, but her breathing was erratic, her chest rising and falling rapidly, and her pupils were so dilated her eyes almost looked black. Her straight dark hair fell loosely around her shoulders and he wondered if the strands could possibly be as silky soft as her skin. She licked her lips, drawing his attention to her mouth. A mouth he was suddenly desperate to taste. Beneath her thin scrubs he could see her distended nipples.
She was aroused, too. This burning desire he felt was not at all one-sided.
The knowledge was like adding a stick of dynamite to his already smoldering libido.
CHAPTER FOUR
DEAR heaven, Quinn was going to kiss her. Leila read his intention in his dark gaze even before his head dipped toward her.
But she didn’t move, didn’t back away. Didn’t even try to stop him.
Because she wanted him to kiss her.
Eyes wide, she held her breath and watched him close the gap between them. He cupped the side of her face with one large brown hand, the rough calluses sending shivers of awareness dancing across her skin as he smoothly, oh, so smoothly covered her mouth with his.
There was no hesitancy, no gentle pressure in a let’s-get-to-know-each-other kind of way. Instead, his mouth was hot and demanding, overwhelming her with barely restrained desire. She was instantly swept away in a blaze of need, hanging on to his broad shoulders and kissing him back with a fierce urgency that was so foreign she didn’t recognize herself.
More, she wanted more. She tore at his scrubs, wishing the fabric would disintegrate so she could touch him. She wanted him. Dizzying sensations swirled through her body, clouding her brain in a red-hot haze of passion. Her thoughts were jumbled in her mind, and all she could think about was how much she craved this. Craved him. Within seconds he had her pressed back against the chair, one hand still cradling her head, the other tucked in the small of her back, urging her forward as his large body pressed intimately against her.
The kiss seemed to go on forever, and yet not nearly long enough. The juncture of her thighs was damp, aching with need. She’d never been so aroused by a mere kiss. When he released her mouth to explore the cleavage hidden in the deep V-neck of her scrubs, she stared at the ceiling above. The room slowly came into focus, reminding her of where they were.
What on earth was she doing?
What if someone came in and saw them? She was abruptly, painfully aware of how wanton she must look, with her legs spread wide to accommodate his body pressing against her. Good grief, their scrubs were so thin she could feel every hard inch of him. They were practically naked.
Weakly, she gave his chest a push. He froze, and then slowly lifted his head, his gaze boring into hers, his brows raised questioningly.
“Quinn, don’t. Ah, we can’t—we can’t do this.” She forced the words out, although she knew they sounded lame and not very convincing.
His mouth was too close, his musky male scent too intoxicating. If he didn’t move soon she was liable to pull him down again, losing herself in another of his spectacular kisses, and to heck with rational logic.
Finally he eased back, giving her a little breathing room, but still on his knees in front of her. His eyes blazed with desire and his voice was deep and husky when he finally spoke.
“Are you married?” he asked.
“What?” Appalled, she gaped at him. Where had that question come from? “No! Of course not. Do you really think this…” she helplessly waved a hand between them “…would have happened if I were married?”
A strained smile lifted the corner of his mouth and the transformation was enough to make her suck in a harsh breath. Lord have mercy, he was handsome. She didn’t even want to imagine how much more so he’d look with a full-blown, real smile on his face.
Italian. After that kiss, he had to be Italian.
“You’re not married and I’m not married but you still want me to stop?” One brow lifted arrogantly, as if he was smugly aware of how incapable she was of turning him down.
Thankfully, his arrogance restored her ability to think. And to act.
“I don’t jump into bed with every man who’s not married,” she said tartly, giving him another shove to put even mo
re distance between them. “Especially not with an unmarried man I don’t even like.”
He laughed. The arrogant jerk actually had the gall to laugh! White-hot fury simmered behind her eyeballs, helping her ignore his far-too-gorgeous-for-his-own-good looks.
“Quierda, if the heat of that kiss was an indication of how much you dislike me, then I can assure you I don’t mind.” His eyes—black devil eyes, damn him—practically danced with frank amusement. “You can hate me any time.”
That declaration was so ridiculous she wouldn’t demean herself by responding. Leila gave him another shove, almost kicking him with her haste to pull her legs together so she could jump to her feet. The more distance between them, the better. She grimaced, feeling absurd when she felt the cold tile beneath her one bare foot.
He’d called her darling in Spanish. He had to be from Spain. Italian men were generally not nearly as arrogant as Spaniards.
Gathering her poise and ignoring her one-shoe-off-and-one-shoe-on situation, she crossed her arms over her chest, watching as he slowly rose to his feet, towering over her petite frame by a good twelve to fourteen inches.
She swallowed hard, her gaze clinging to his broad shoulders. Maybe she should have stayed seated. She liked it better when he was on his knees before her.
Stop it. She mentally smacked some sense into her head. What was wrong with her? How could she have gotten herself into this situation? She needed to get rid of Quinn now.
“This interlude is over. I need to get back to work.” She pinned him with a haughty glare. “And I’m sure your son is wondering where you are.”
“Have dinner with me tomorrow.”
Oh, for heaven’s sake. Hadn’t the obtuse man heard a word she’d said?
“I’ll pick you up at seven.” He pressed her missing sock into her hand and then bent down to pick up his clothes before walking past her out of the physician lounge. She blinked, staring at the closed door in dismay.
Seven? She hadn’t agreed to go out with the conceited oaf.
Had she?
Leila rubbed her burning eyes. Her long weekend of work was over, but no matter how exhausted she was physically she couldn’t sleep.
It was all Quinn’s fault.
She’d avoided him since their kiss. Which hadn’t been difficult as she’d come home late and he was probably still at the hospital with his son. It was difficult to reconcile the man she’d thought him to be with the man she was learning he actually was. Since thinking of kissing Quinn made her heart beat fast and her chest ache with desire, she firmly pushed him from her mind.
She needed something else to think about. Something other than Quinn, because he made her think of sex, which wasn’t good. She normally wasn’t a sensual woman. She’d never been tempted to partake in a one-night stand, her work had always come first. Not that she’d lived the life of a nun. She’d been happily married to George, a professor at the local university, for two years before he’d died. Maybe their lovemaking hadn’t been filled with fiery passion, but it had been satisfying in a sweet, romantic way.
Lust wasn’t love. Those breathless moments with Quinn had certainly proved that. Good grief, she’d never thought she could be so tempted by mere lust.
She wasn’t having dinner with him. No way. After she got some decent sleep, she planned to call him and tell him not to bother picking her up. Hopefully he wouldn’t be able to find out where she lived, as her number wasn’t listed in the phone book.
He could probably get her phone number from the hospital, though. Okay, fine. When he called her to ask for her address, she’d let him know she wasn’t interested.
Liar.
Enough thinking about Quinn. Leila climbed out of bed, slipped on a robe and slippers and padded into her small office located in the second bedroom of her compact three-bedroom ranch-style home.
Searching for her birth mother and for key information about her heritage would help her to forget about Quinn. This was the reason she’d decided not to have children of her own. She couldn’t tell her child anything about a medical history. Or even an ethnic one.
After logging onto her computer, she went to her list of favorites and clicked on the first link. She checked the reunion Web site, where adopted children could try to link up with their birth parents, but there was no response to her query looking for the woman she sought by the name of Maylyn Aquino.
Her mother’s surname came from the Philippines, but that was about all she knew of the woman who’d given birth to her. A name and age. Maylyn had been nineteen when she’d given Leila up for adoption, and she knew nothing at all about her father.
Big blanks in her past that she’d hoped one day to fill with knowledge.
Leila had pored over pictures of Filipino women, looking for similarities matching her facial features, but while there were some resemblances, she’d decided that either her mother had been only part Filipino or her father had diluted the gene pool because she still looked different.
She sighed and pushed away from the computer. Her foster parents had discouraged her from seeking the truth about her heritage, explaining how she should be glad she looked unique.
Leila hadn’t been able to make them understand that it was more than just finding out about her heritage. It was about seeking a sense of identity. Of knowing more about her mother’s family, the people she’d descended from.
Aquino was a common last name, though, so it was nearly impossible to track down her mother’s family. Not without knowing more about Maylyn. When had she come to the U.S.? Or had she been born here? Were her maternal grandparents full-blooded Filipinos or had one of them been Caucasian?
So many questions with so few answers. George hadn’t understood her secret need to know about her past, and had discouraged her from seeking information in the same way her foster parents had.
Now George was gone and she’d found herself spending way too much time looking through reunion Web sites and tracing Filipino family histories.
No wonder she didn’t have a social life.
With a wide yawn, she realized the time was close to two in the morning. She really needed to get some sleep. After shutting down the computer, she headed back to bed.
She snuggled under the covers, her mind relaxing. Finally, she’d get some rest.
Before sleep could fully claim her, though, she wondered about Quinn’s ethnic background. She’d been second-guessing herself over and over again. Of course she could simply come straight out and ask him.
Unlike her, he likely knew his family roots.
Restless and edgy, Quinn woke early on Monday morning, his dreams far more X-rated than they had a right to be, considering his son was still sleeping off the effects of a concussion in a hospital bed just a few feet away.
He raked a hand over his face, blew out a long breath and debated if he had time for another cold shower. Although the one last night hadn’t worked so he wasn’t sure why he thought another one would.
Leila had gotten under his skin. Her scent was deeply embedded in his brain. He couldn’t stop thinking about her.
If this was the result of two years of dormant hormones, maybe he should have taken Delores’s advice and attempted to jump-start them a little sooner.
This reaction couldn’t be the result of Leila alone. Surely his mind was simply playing tricks on him. Even Celeste hadn’t gotten him so hard so fast.
A knock on Danny’s door had him glancing up in surprise. Not Leila, of course, she was probably at home sleeping in after her weekend on call, but Dr. Andrew Tobin, Danny’s pediatrician, the same one that Kylie Germaine used for Ben, came into the room.
“He’s still sleeping?” Andrew asked with a slight frown.
“He’s been up periodically through the night,” Quinn responded. “According to the nurses, his neuro checks have remained stable.”
“Hmm.” Andrew Tobin approached Danny’s bed, gently shaking his shoulder to wake him up. “Danny? It’s Dr. Tobin. Ca
n you open your eyes for me?”
His son was used to the routine by now, after having his pupils checked all night. Quinn approached the bed to help with interpreting Danny’s sign language.
“Before we send him home, we want to do one more CT scan of his head,” Dr. Tobin said, after completing his exam.
“Sounds good.” Danny had been in quite a bit of pain from his broken leg through the night as well and they’d been a little cautious about giving pain medication. “If he’s clear, does that mean he can have higher doses of pain medication?”
“Sure,” Andrew said with a nod.
Satisfied that everything was going well, Quinn accompanied Danny to Radiology and mentally began to plan for his date with Leila. He wanted to take her somewhere elegant yet private. He half expected her to try to call and get out of it, but he wasn’t going to accept no for an answer. The sexual chemistry between them was volatile, there was no way they could simply ignore it and hope it would go away.
Going to Chicago would have been smarter, but the thought of leaving Danny for a weekend didn’t appeal. He knew he didn’t deserve a relationship, but what if he could find someone who would settle for what he could offer? Sex with no strings attached? Unfortunately, the only woman he could even imagine being with right now was Leila.
What they shared was too strong, too powerful to ignore. He wanted to spend more time with her and if he did, he thought it was likely they’d both give in to what they wanted.
Yet the last thing he wanted to do was to hurt her. Better to make the expectations clear up front, to avoid messy entanglements later.
Once they were back in Danny’s room, his cell phone rang. His stomach clenched, but when he glanced at the display, he noted the caller was Delores, who must still be in Chicago.
“Quinn? Where on earth are you and Danny?” she demanded.
He winced a little, realizing that he’d forgotten to call her, even after Danny had reminded him. “Sorry, Delores, but we’re at the hospital. Nothing serious,” he added quickly when she gasped loudly. “Danny broke his leg in a sledding accident. He also had a mild concussion. He spent the night here, but we just did another CT scan of his head and if it’s clear, I’ll be bringing him home.”
