by Debra Dixon
Finally and without looking around, Mercy said, “One minute you’re telling me that Nick’s already interested—not that I care—and the next you’re telling me that I need to make an effort if I want him! Sophie, if I was going to make an effort, it would be to scare Nick Devereaux off.”
“Oh, dear! He doesn’t look like the type who scares easily”—Sophie paused dramatically—“unless he’s one of those men who only likes the chase and then doesn’t know what to do once he’s caught a woman. Do you think he’s one of those?”
The quick denial died on Mercy’s lips as she remembered that despite two golden opportunities, Nick hadn’t kissed her. She’d been willing, and he hadn’t kissed her. He sat on the edge of her bed this morning and didn’t try anything. What made him hold back unless he was all bark and no bite?
On the porch this morning, he might have backed off because of Sophie, but what about last night in the kitchen? It was just the two of them, no witnesses. He’d made a flip excuse about fixing the pipe and turned away at the last second. Mercy stared out the window, wondering if Sophie was right. Wondering if her own initial impression of Nick had been wrong.
“It’s so hard to tell about men,” Sophie lamented from behind her. “Just to be on the safe side, don’t wear your television outfits around him until he’s more comfortable with you. I’m not criticizing, you understand, but some of those outfits could give a man performance anxiety. And there’s always the fear that he may think you’re too racy for a doctor to date. I’m sure he has his reputation at the hospital to consider.”
Mercy smiled as she put her coffee cup in the sink. Performance anxiety. If Sophie was right, wouldn’t that wipe the smile off the doctor’s face? Wouldn’t it be nice to have the upper hand for once? She wondered which outfit would do the trick. “He did say something about a reputation,” she said.
If Mercy had turned away from the window a moment sooner, she might have seen Sophie’s satisfied expression, but by the time she looked at Sophie, her friend’s brow was creased with concern. Sophie got up to leave. “You remember what I said now. None of those sexy outfits that are liable to give a man nightmares. Especially don’t wear that practically indecent black shirt of yours.”
Mercy Hospital looked like a huge, ugly, brick paperweight designed to keep the deteriorating neighborhood from blowing away in a breeze. A metal overhang covered the wide concrete stoop that fanned out from the front of the building. As Mercy walked through the glass doors she readjusted the thin shoulder strap of her black purse and smiled. She was actually looking forward to seeing Nick’s face when he saw Midnight Mercy in person in all her glory.
Once she was inside the large foyer, memories assailed her. The hushed quiet of the common area was as familiar as the dying ficus tree beside the information center. Of course, the small tree couldn’t possibly be the one she remembered, but the resemblance was uncanny. As she quickstepped past the information desk Mercy shot a question toward the woman’s back. “Is the cafeteria still downstairs?”
Without looking up from her computer screen, the woman pointed and said, “Unless they moved since this morning. Take the elevator down one floor and follow the main corridor. I wouldn’t order the meat loaf.”
Stifling a grin, Mercy said, “Thanks for the tip.”
“You’re welcome.” The woman shoved a pencil behind her ear and grabbed the phone as it rang.
“Some things never change,” Mercy murmured as she maneuvered around a yellow triangle inscribed with bright red words: CAUTION—WET FLOOR. Not trusting the traction of the soles of her high heels, she shifted her weight to the balls of her feet and hurried toward the bank of elevators.
She punched the arrow with the knuckle of her index finger as an elevator going down slid open. As the people emptied the elevator several of them did a double take with varying degrees of recognition in their faces. Mercy felt a moment’s guilt over slipping quickly into the elevator without giving them a chance to pull out pens and ask the inevitable, “Say—aren’t you …?” But she rationalized her behavior with the excuse that she was late already. Twenty minutes late. The door finally whisked closed, and Mercy relaxed, blowing out a puff of breath.
“If you’re gonna dress like that, chère, you gotta expect to sign a few autographs.”
Mercy jumped and whirled away from the button panel to find Nick leaning nonchalantly in the corner of the wide elevator. Her first thought was that he looked tired and rumpled in his hospital scrubs, but her second thought was that he also looked dangerously sexy and could use a little tender loving care. When she caught her breath, she said, “Good God! I thought this elevator was empty. Stop sneaking up on me!”
“I do not sneak,” he answered as the elevator came to a stop and the doors opened.
“Oh, and what do you call that little scene in my bedroom?”
“Charming?” Nick asked much too innocently, and walked past her into the hallway.
As she turned to follow, Mercy choked back her response and replaced it with, “Why, Sister Agatha! How … how nice to see you again.”
“It has been a while, hasn’t it? You’re looking … well.” The tall silver-haired woman held out her hand to keep the elevator door from closing. In her pale blue linen suit, the nun appeared cool, well pressed, and completely in control. She looked every inch the authority figure Mercy remembered as she instructed, “But don’t waste time greeting me, Mercy. Please continue your discussion. The five other people waiting for the elevator and myself are vastly curious about the little scene in your bedroom. If it wasn’t charming, then what was it?”
“Nothing. It was nothing,” Mercy assured her as she gingerly stepped out of the elevator. Suddenly the three-inch spike heels, her indecent blouse, and the Ultrasuede miniskirt no longer seemed like such a good idea. “Nick was inspecting my house for … for …”
“For trouble. I agreed to help with the remodeling of that old dinosaur she lives in,” Nick supplied smoothly. “And we got into a heated discussion about old doorknobs and locks after I said I’d help.”
“Really,” the sister commented as she ushered the group of hospital workers into the elevator with nothing more than a nod of her head. Sister calmly followed them in, but before she let the door slide shut, she said, “Mercy, I guess you’re lucky to have Nick’s help since he seems to know so much about bedroom doors and locks.”
“Lucky, that’s me,” Mercy echoed with a wan smile, waiting for the door to close. When it finally did, she shook her head in disbelief. Rather than lucky, stupid seemed like a more appropriate description. She’d been so focused on scaring off the good doctor that she’d totally forgotten she’d probably have to face Sister Agatha in these clothes.
Knowing better than to laugh, Nick enjoyed the view while Mercy collected herself. He took his time, starting from the floor up. Heels did wonderful things for her legs. As a doctor, his opinion of high heels was pretty low. They were terrible for a woman’s feet and back, but as a man, he appreciated the magic of flexed muscles and feminine curves. The soft fabric of her straight, rump-hugging skirt had one of those little open pleats in the back, and the see-through black blouse bared everything not covered by the skimpy black chemise she wore beneath it. He had no idea why she was barely dressed, but he liked her style.
Mercy caught him staring as she turned around. Fortunately, she remembered her game plan before she uttered one word about rudeness. That would have blown everything. If she wanted to convince Nick that pursuing her was a bad idea, first she had to convince him that she’d been ogled by better men than he and enjoyed it! She had to persuade him he’d bitten off more than he could chew. Midnight Mercy had to give Dr. Devereaux a case of performance anxiety so severe that he’d settle down and behave himself for the duration of their work on fund-raising.
Squaring her shoulders and trusting Sophie’s instincts, she let a smile turn up the corners of her mouth. When she took a deep, slow breath and released it, Ni
ck’s eyes fell right where they were supposed to fall. They widened the tiniest fraction of an inch, and Mercy began to enjoy herself.
“I hope I didn’t keep you waiting?” she asked, warming to her role and entwining her arm with his as they walked toward the cafeteria. Nick gave her a wary look, but said nothing as she continued, “I had an appointment at the station that ran late.”
“I wasn’t waiting,” Nick confessed. He felt the firm round swell of her breast press into his arm as she swayed against him while they walked. Her blouse and chemise were so thin that the contact felt like flesh on flesh. “I got tied up with a patient.”
“Ooh, tied up! That sounds like my kind of fun,” Mercy purred, elated when she felt the muscles beneath her fingers tense. Encouraged by his instant reaction, she pressed on, “Whom do I call to get an appointment?”
Nick restrained the impulse to pull out his penlight and check her eyes for signs of substance abuse. Nothing else explained the transformation from reluctant girl-next-door to blatant seductress. The Mercy he’d met last weekend might not sweet-talk, but this one had just handed him an erotic image on a silver platter. If this woman had answered Mercy’s door, Nick knew he’d have kissed her without hesitation. Kissed her and probably more.
“Midnight Mercy doesn’t need an appointment,” he assured her, wondering how far she intended to push this conversation. “All you have to do is say the word. I’ve memorized the Boy Scout book of knots, but I should warn you, Mercy. All my affairs are strictly BYOSS.”
“Hmm. Affair. I like the sound of that.” Disengaging her arm, Mercy entered the cafeteria and reached for a green plastic food tray. “Now what is BYOSS?”
“Bring your own silk stockings.”
The tray almost slipped out of Mercy’s fingers, but she managed to slide it onto the metal support. And Sophie was worried about shocking Nick? Worried about shocking a man who seemed perfectly comfortable standing in the middle of the hospital cafeteria, having a conversation about tying up his lovers with silk stockings? Although she was beginning to doubt her game plan, Mercy let her voice drop a bit and gave him her best provocative look. “Got a favorite color?”
“Darlin’, if I have a choice, I prefer black, but I’ve got no objections to any color stockings you put on … as long as I get to peel ’em off. Real slow.”
Mercy couldn’t shake the picture forming in her mind. As clearly as if she were recalling an actual event, Mercy could feel his hands as they slipped beneath her skirt to toy with the edge of her stocking. She could feel his fingers as they grasped the garter and he released the clasp with one flip of his thumb.
The thought made her weak in the knees and heated her cheeks. This brilliant idea of hers was backfiring. Forcing herself to keep moving, she tossed her hair over her shoulder and stretched to reach the buckets of silverware behind the trays.
Nick knew he’d won their little sexual skirmish by the way she flushed and got busy. The idea of stripping Mercy had his own blood rushing around, too, but while Mercy’s blood had gone to her cheeks, his had traveled south. Watching her skirt rise several inches as she reached for utensils didn’t help Nick’s state of arousal. He couldn’t remember being this hard for a woman he’d never kissed.
Every moment in her company added to his conviction that Mercy kept an incredibly sensual nature under lock and key. He began to wonder if she was afraid to give in to lust unless she was acting a part, a part like Midnight Mercy. She could vamp to her heart’s content and never have to deliver, since most men would be shaking in their boots at the thought of making love to an experienced woman who might expect them to tie her up.
Stunned, Nick slid his own tray onto the cafeteria counter and realized why Mercy had called and asked for a lunch date. She actually thought she could scare him off with this sex-hungry act of hers! As far as he was concerned, she could try all she wanted. It wasn’t gonna happen. “So, chère, are we on for Saturday night?”
To give her hands something to do besides shake, Mercy reached for a bowl of strawberries and peaches in a rich red sauce. “Why don’t I check my schedule and get back to you?”
The late-lunch crowd began to line up behind them, so Nick simply said, “Why don’t you check your supply of stockings, and I’ll get back to you?”
“Whatever.” Mercy shrugged as though she didn’t care, although she was edgy as hell on the inside. Damnation! Sophie had made intimidating men sound so easy. Nick didn’t look the least bit scared. In fact, the plan was backfiring so badly that she was the one with performance anxiety. Trying to shake the feeling that she was in over her head, Mercy concentrated on filling her tray.
Nick followed Mercy to a corner booth. “Good choice. A quiet spot for a cozy chat is just what I had in mind.”
Before Mercy could reply, a mountainous orderly approached her, shyly asking her to sign a crumpled Dodgers baseball hat that he pulled out of his back pocket. Mercy smiled to put the big man at ease and chatted briefly about the team’s pennant chances before she signed the autograph. When the orderly had gone, she echoed Nick’s comment from the elevator. “I think you can forget your cozy chat. When I’m dressed like this, you gotta expect me to sign a few autographs.”
“I don’t mind. I like watching you smile at people. But it also makes me wonder if you like being a celebrity.”
“Who wouldn’t?” she asked, implying his ridiculous question didn’t deserve an answer. “So many men. So little time.”
“Oh, I don’t know who wouldn’t like being a celebrity.” Nick flipped a napkin across his lap and added, “Unless it was maybe someone who lives in a small sleepy town an hour’s drive from Louisville?”
“Don’t tell me you haven’t already figured out why I bought a hundred-year-old house in Haunt, Kentucky?” Mercy’s blue eyes twinkled at him, reminding him that beneath the sexy-bombshell routine, she was still a very real woman who didn’t take herself too seriously. Even when she was trying to scare a man off.
“I’m sure you want everyone to think it’s for publicity.”
“Of course it’s a colossal public-relations ploy! One of the people at the station suggested it a couple of years ago when I said I was ready to take the plunge and become a home owner. I’m only at the station a couple of days a week, so what could be more perfect for a horror-show queen than a spooky house in Haunt, Kentucky?”
“Then how come nobody knows that’s where you live?”
“I like it that way,” Mercy answered honestly, and poked a piece of fried okra with her fork. “When I got to know the people, I decided I didn’t want the place turned into a zoo every Halloween by the publicity people.”
With sudden certainty, Nick knew that the little town with the catchy name had become Mercy’s haven. The need for privacy was a concept that he understood all too well. He also knew the trap privacy could become. Little by little he had forgotten how much he needed people until the silence in his life began keeping him up at night, forcing him to get away from Louisiana and away from the memories of the family he’d lost.
As they ate he thought about Mercy’s privacy and wondered who she was trying to keep away. Couldn’t be the fans. She wasn’t the least upset with the orderly for interrupting their lunch. And it couldn’t be her neighbors. Sophie and Joan obviously didn’t feel any need to keep their distance. That left family and men. Neither was a subject on which Mercy had volunteered any details.
“I believe you like your privacy so much you’re hidin’ out in Haunt,” he said finally. “Can’t be that many eligible men living there, and my guess is that your parents don’t get down too often. I didn’t realize you were a coward, chère.”
Mercy’s mouth fell open. “I am not hiding out! And why are we dissecting my life again? I thought we’d already done that once.”
“And it was such fun, I thought I’d do it again.”
“Let’s not.”
“Coward,” Nick accused as he speared a piece of roast beef.
Sitting back, Mercy realized that she’d totally abandoned the sexy I-can-handle-anything posture. Nick did that to her. He made her forget to “act” and made her react to him instead. Being called a coward stung her more than she wanted to admit. Maybe because in the past she had accused herself of being an emotional coward whenever she stepped away from relationships that showed promise. After growing up in the war zone of her parents’ lives, she just couldn’t bring herself to believe in forever.
They ate in silence for a few minutes until Mercy finally asked, “Do you dissect all the women you meet? I mean, does this charming routine of yours actually work on women?”
“It’s worked on you. You called me for lunch.”
“I called about the fund-raiser,” she snapped. “Not just to see you. I wanted to tour the emergency room and get a feel for what you need to do here!”
“You got my permission to feel anything you want,” he offered as he pushed his plate away and hooked an arm over the top of the booth. His eyes dropped to the shadow of cleavage exposed by the sheer material and the low-cut piece of lingerie beneath it. “You always dress this way for charity work?”
“I thought this was why you wanted me!”
“That’s exactly why I want you.”
“I meant for the fund-raiser!”
“I did too.”
“You did not!” Mercy’s frustration showed in her voice and the way she wadded up her napkin.
“There you go again, darlin’. Mistaking everything I say.”
“The only mistake I made was in thinking you had enough sense to back off like all the other insecure men Sophie’s tried to fix me up with!”
“Mercy, I don’t back down from a challenge, especially when it’s obvious my opponent is running a bluff.” He reached across the table and dragged his thumb across her bottom lip, rubbing away the red stain of strawberry sauce. Deliberately, Nick paused to suck the pad of his thumb and then said, “I was born with a deck of cards in one hand and a pair of dice in the other. I’m a Cajun, chère. Gamblin’ is a way of life. I could shuffle a deck and play cutthroat bourré before I could read and write.”
