“Good Lord!” Nancy, laughing, started pulling ribbons every which way. Each box held a dozen roses, each a different color. Red, white, coral, yellow, pink… “I hope to heavens you have a ton of vases, and I can’t imagine how he got these delivered on a Sunday morning,” Nancy said breathlessly. “Carroll, where did you find this extravagant man? These cost a fortune! I’ve never even seen that coral color in a rose…”
Neither had Carroll, but it was a single white rose she lifted from the first box. A glisten of moisture shimmered on one soft petal, enhancing the most subtle of fragrances, the delicate scent of the bud.
Her heart was suddenly beating tick-tock-tick like a clock. In one world, she chattered to Nancy as the two combed the apartment for vases, glasses, any containers that could hold water. In the other world, she never let go of the white rose, and her heart kept beating, and for some ridiculous reason her hands felt trembly. Alan did this? Alan?
She suddenly couldn’t remember a single reason why she had to be sensible, or rational, or logical, or practical. So she’d been that way all her life. So she’d thought they had a strictly common-sense relationship, based solely on shared values and common goals and not at all on whimsical gestures, not on…romance. So the sudden change in Alan had raised a few uneasy worries at the back of her mind…
The man was entitled to change.
Nothing and no one was going to make her give up the white rose.
On Thursday at four, when Alan was supposed to pick her up for the medical banquet, June Goodman called Carroll from his office.
“Crisis time,” the nurse said flatly. “I know the man hasn’t called you, nor has he had a minute to look at his speech. Mind you, I didn’t schedule a single appointment after two, but it’s been one of those afternoons. Two sets of stitches, a little tyke with an asthma attack, and I’ve still got two in the waiting room. It’s going to take a bomb to get him out of here, and even that may not work.”
Carroll chuckled. She’d met June months earlier. They hadn’t formed an instant friendship so much as a natural conspiracy. June was a born conspirator. “All right,” she said lightly. “I’ll pick him up there to save time, no problem.”
Within a half hour, Carroll had zoomed to town, purchased a man’s shirt from a department store, driven to Alan’s office and was striding inside. Some women might be irritated to be neither called nor picked up for a date, particularly if they had spent money on a new mauve silk dress, dangling earrings and eyeshadow. Carroll had accepted the pitfalls of dating a pediatrician from the beginning.
Actually, however strange the situation might be, her step was lighter than it had been all week. Yes, she’d adored the roses. For that matter, she could easily become addicted to caviar, and she’d loved dancing until dawn…but the roses and sportscar and beard and champagne all together had been just a little overwhelming. Walking on air was wonderful, but the chance to put her feet on the ground again wasn’t so bad. It wasn’t typical of Alan to be inconsiderate, but it was typical of him to be so involved in his work that he forgot to eat. That was the Alan she’d always known.
June looked up with a cheerful smile when she walked in. “I have to warn you, he’s still got that beard.”
“Hmm.” Carroll noted one more patient in the waiting room, a little girl curled up in her mother’s lap. She glanced at her watch. “He’ll still get to the banquet in time for his speech if we can hustle him out of here within an hour.”
“Make that you, not we.”
“Has he been a bear today?” Carroll asked sympathetically, but she didn’t stop to talk. Alan’s office was just behind the reception area. She whisked through the door, slipped off her coat and removed the new shirt from the shopping bag. Plain blue—Alan had always liked plain blue. Not that he needed a new shirt, but he wouldn’t have time to go home and change at this late hour. Once she had hung up the shirt and shaken out the creases, she wandered to his desk. His speech had to be buried somewhere in the chaos of papers.
“Beautiful dress,” June complimented from the doorway.
“Thank you.” Carroll cocked her head with a smile. “A little risqué, I’m afraid…particularly for a medical convention. I don’t know what got into me.” Except the roses. If Alan thought she merited five dozen roses, just once she’d wanted a dress to fit the image. The bodice was wrapped into a V at the throat and held together by a single button at the side of her waist. The skirt flowed when she walked, occasionally revealing more of her legs than the future wife of a pediatrician probably should. The future wife of a pediatrician also probably shouldn’t have sprayed cologne between her breasts or left her bra at home, but there it was. The roses had done something to her judgment, and she looked at June with sudden uncertainty.
“You’ll knock his socks off,” June said placidly. “Exactly what that boy needs. For two weeks now, he’s been in the strangest mood…”
Carroll knew; however, it wasn’t the new Alan who strode out of the examining room with a toddler in his arms but the old one. Tired lines were creased around his eyes; his white jacket was wrinkled and dotted with cartoon stickers. Holding the four-year-old on one arm, he was clearly trying to transform a Transformer with the other, talking to the little boy all the while. “I give up,” he admitted to the tyke.
“You can’t help it if you aren’t as smart as me.”
“True,” Alan said gravely. “But we’ve got a deal, don’t we? You stay in bed all day tomorrow, and your mom gets you another Transformer.”
“You really wrote that on the pres’tion pad?” the boy asked suspiciously.
“Of course I did. See?” Alan read from a small white prescription form. “One Transformer that turns into a dinosaur.”
“Swoop,” the little boy helpfully supplied the name of the Transformer.
“Ah.” Alan handed him back his toy, grabbed a pen and added “Swoop” to his prescription. Minutes later, Alan handed the little one to his mother and caught sight of Carroll in the doorway. His face showed a transparent array of emotions—mostly guilt. “Hell, Carroll, I did call you to tell you I’d be late, didn’t I?”
“Just take care of your last patient,” she told him.
Fifteen minutes later, everyone was gone but the two of them, and Alan was behind the open door of his bathroom. A hand appeared holding his doctor’s white jacket. Carroll took it. Then his old shirt, well wrinkled, and she took that, too. When he strode out buttoning his new shirt, he was scowling. “The last thing I feel like is going to a medical convention. Much less giving a speech I haven’t even had time to prepare.”
“Yes.” She handed him his tie.
“Nor do I want to drag you to this thing. You know darn well it’ll be boring.”
“Yes.”
“And the food will be terrible.”
“Yes.”
“The whole thing is a ridiculous waste of time.”
“Of course it is.” This was just so very much Alan, who hadn’t noticed her dress yet, who hadn’t the least interest in being a keynote speaker for anything, and who was cranky as a bear when he forgot to eat lunch—and she knew darn well he’d forgotten to eat lunch. The tiny invisible worries that had been nagging her all week abruptly disappeared. Her heart swelled, loving him. This was a man she knew she could live her life with.
She took his speech—he would have forgotten it—and flicked out the last light, because he would have forgotten that, too. At the door, he suddenly turned, dropped a surprise kiss on her mouth, and said worriedly, “Did I bring this shirt to work this morning?”
She hid a chuckle, and briskly ordered him out the door before they were late.
How silly…to worry for even a minute that he’d seriously changed from the man she’d loved and trusted.
Chapter 4
Alan took one appalled look at the crowded hall and promptly muttered, “Good Lord. There must be a private corner someplace.”
Just as promptly, he was surrounded b
y his colleagues. Amused—why Alan persisted in believing he couldn’t handle a crowd was beyond her—Carroll found the punch bowl and wandered at a lingering pace from one conversational group to another. Coping with strangers had never bothered her; she liked meeting people. A few doctors were wearing smiles as starched as their shirts, but most of them were friendly, caring people. Wives drew together to air their complaints about being married to doctors, and the doctors’ talk was primarily about medicine, with a little golf thrown in.
The type of gathering was familiar; Carroll had attended medical conferences with Alan before. Most of the people were strangers, but strangers never stayed that way for long when coaxed to talk about themselves.
This dinner was a fundraiser—not Alan’s cup of tea, but its purpose was to bring together medical personnel from Indiana and three of the surrounding states to share resources and ideas for a new children’s facility. Alan cared about the subject; so did Carroll. The roast beef was almost tasteless, but generally she enjoyed herself.
Just before his speech, the thinnest bead of nervous perspiration formed on Alan’s brow. When his name was announced, Carroll was left alone to watch him make his way to the dais. She knew he was nervous; it didn’t show. He stood tall, for a man who wasn’t overly tall. His beard was beginning to look less scruffy; his suit fit his broad shoulders perfectly; and his voice resonated with the passionate commitment he had made to children… Really, she was hopelessly proud of him.
The applause afterward demonstrated the respect he’d earned from his colleagues. Carroll could see he was oblivious to it; he hurried back to her side and seated himself, murmuring an irritable, “Thank God that’s over. We should be able to escape here in another hour.”
Carroll wasn’t in a hurry to leave. All week long, she’d lapped up the attentions Alan had showered on her, like a hedonist basking in the sun on an island paradise. At core, though, she wasn’t such a hedonist, just a woman who needed to know she was more than a convenient fixture for the man in her life.
She was more than a fixture, and she had no permanent craving for caviar. Outings like this gave Alan a chance to share professional problems and interests, and she didn’t want him rushing away because of her. She saw proof of his commitment in the way Alan reacted when a tall, white-haired man paused at their table.
“Dr. Whinaker!” Alan said with pleasure.
The men exchanged handshakes, and then Carroll found her palm enclosed in the older man’s warm grasp. She gathered quickly that Alan knew the man from his medical school days in Chicago, and that the doctor’s regard was important to him. Her spine straightened imperceptibly.
“…was hoping to catch you and mention that staff position to you again, Alan. A few years back, you were sure you’d be happy with a small private practice…”
“Not so small anymore, actually.”
Though Dr. Whinaker used the conversation to sneak in hints of an available staff position for Alan, the dialogue that flew back and forth was more than that. Carroll thought with amusement that most old friends meeting again would want to do some catching up on their personal lives, but these two men appeared eager to share details of every difficult case they’d had in the intervening years. A welter of medical terms zipped back and forth. Alan tested the older man’s judgment just as thoroughly as the older doctor probed Alan’s.
Smiling and content, Carroll finished her coffee and enjoyed watching them. That they liked and respected each other was obvious—which made it all the more startling when Alan’s hand suddenly locked on her wrist.
He stood up, drawing Carroll with him, ignoring her startled look. “I wish I had more time to talk with you, Dr. Whinaker. Maybe we can get together soon?”
Alan couldn’t escape without a few more words, and then there were greetings and goodbyes to be fielded before he could successfully maneuver the two of them to the door. He handled the exchanges with efficient, methodical precision, and only wished he’d handled the rest of the evening as well.
Guilt had hit him during the roast beef course. Irritation with himself had accelerated from there. He’d completely blown it earlier. He’d meant to tell Carroll she looked stunning, not to be preoccupied with the dozen patients he’d seen that day. He’d meant to ask her about her work and really listen, not to be forced to review his damn speech in the car. He’d never intended to ignore her in the crowd; he’d forgotten to mention her dress… Oh, hell, he’d done everything wrong. He’d meant to be completely unlike himself, to surprise her, entice her, romance her…
“Alan?” Carroll, bewildered by the breathless rush through the crowd, could barely catch her breath. Alan whisked her past the coat racks, through an all but deserted hall. “What happened? Is something wrong?”
“Just bear with me, would you? This is important.”
His voice was terse; a quick frown of both concern and surprise marred her brow, but she immediately matched his long stride. As if the devil were after them, he urged her up a flight of stairs.
The faculty rooms were upstairs, all closed up and locked; the hallway lights were on half power, and their footsteps echoed up and down the deserted corridor like lonely ghosts. At the first totally dark doorway, he ducked inside and pulled her with him.
He released the tight grip on her hand, and suddenly smiled, a slow, lazy smile. “Hi,” he murmured.
“Hi?”
She wasn’t expecting Hi. Or that sudden winsome smile of his. Or to be pinned against a wall in a deserted hallway. Still trying to catch her breath, she felt the oddest sudden nervousness, and was vaguely aware that her fingers were trying to fuss with her collar. Only her dress didn’t have a collar, and Alan gave her hands something else to do when he lifted her arms to his neck and dropped his mouth on hers.
He had to start with short, swift kisses because she was still out of breath. The rush of color in her cheeks delighted him. She was flustered, off guard. He’d very rarely caught Carroll flustered, and never off guard until recently.
“Alan, that doctor down there was seriously trying to offer you a job…”
“Mmm-hmm.” He nuzzled the lobe of her ear. So sweet.
“There were people down there, expecting to talk to you…”
“Yes.” Her lashes were golden-tipped, fluttering around her cheeks. Her perfume suddenly surrounded him, faint and alluring, and his palm slipped to her bare throat at the V of her dress. Her heartbeat jumped under his hand.
“Alan, this is crazy. I don’t know what you’re doing.”
“Sure you do,” he murmured. “I’m necking.” He added gently, “With you.”
He soared down for some serious kiss-type ravishment. Leaning back against the wall for balance, he let his hands roam the silky material of her dress. Molding her closer to him, he felt her lips gradually yield under his, as soft and fragile as the petals of a rose. Now, don’t be too methodical, for God’s sake, warned a small voice in his head.
But he just couldn’t change all at once. His tongue methodically, thoroughly explored the inside of her mouth, not wanting to miss any possible cache of sweetness. She was sweet. And her skin reminded him of spring mornings; it was that fresh, that clear and soft. He’d wanted to tell her that for so long, but the words never seemed to leave his lips. With his touch, he tried to communicate what he’d failed to tell her in so many words.
Confusion rocked through Carroll. Earlier, in Alan’s office and at the start of the conference, she’d been at ease, comfortable. Alan was just…Alan. She always knew where she stood with him. Now she wasn’t absolutely certain she was standing at all. Around her was a silent corridor, a dim light, the smell of books and the muted sound of laughter and conversation in the distance. Anyone could come up here. And those who did so would find some very harsh breathing, a woman not fighting a seduction very hard and a man whose tongue was making delicious little snipes on the shell of her ear.
Shivers whispered through her. This just wasn’t possible,
not in the middle of a medical convention. Sex was a serious business, involving commitment and intimacy and worry that it would go well and that he wouldn’t make fun of the dimple on her fanny. It wasn’t the passionate abandonment she’d discovered in herself in a barn on a Saturday morning. And it certainly wasn’t…well…just fun for its own sake.
Strange, but she seemed to be having an incredible amount of fun. Of course, maybe she had an instant case of flu that was making her nipples perky and all the heat in her body settle in that one tiny spot. Or maybe she was going crazy, because Alan’s hand had just discovered that her skirt parted like the Red Sea and she was searching for his lips like a wanton hussy who couldn’t get enough. She heard his throaty chuckle of approval, loved it.
Naughty was nice, a delicious discovery. Carroll suddenly wanted to go home. There had been a lot of good reasons why she’d postponed their sexual relationship, the main one being her unwillingness to lead Alan on, since she wasn’t sure she wanted marriage. At the moment, she didn’t care about leading him on, she didn’t care about marriage, she didn’t care about relationships. For the first time, she was absolutely sure everything was going to be right, and all she wanted was for him to take her home to bed.
Alan had wanted little more than to take Carroll to bed for months. His body calmly informed him that if he waited much longer, he’d be better off signing up for a class in torture. Inviting more torture, he slid his hands to her bottom, urging her lower body to rub where he was hurting most. His head dropped to her shoulder. He planned to regain control any minute now. The warmth of her cuddled against him, the softness of her hair, and the sound of that sweet, sweet hoarseness coming from her throat weren’t helping.
“Alan…”
“Hmm?” She tried to move back; he wouldn’t let her. So he liked torture. So? He’d never guessed she could be like this, so responsive, so vulnerable, so …sensual. Or that, as a man, he could have made her feel that way.
No More Mr. Nice Guy Page 5
