by Laurie Paige
Michael shook his head. “No crowds for six months. That’s an order,” he added when she looked mutinous. “No shopping. No movies. No lunches at the country club.”
“You’ve got to be kidding.”
“If you do really well, maybe you can go to lunch after three months. You can’t take a chance on infection,” he told her seriously. “Your immune system is down.”
She sighed. “I know. I take ninety pills a day to keep it that way.”
He couldn’t resist when she pursed her delectable lips. He bent toward her. He had to touch her, even if it was through a gauze mask.
Emotion flickered in her eyes, then she looked away and lowered her head. He stopped and studied her.
“I really think I’ll be able to do normal things soon. I can already tell a difference in how I feel. The shortness of breath and the chest pain are gone. Maybe I’ll start looking for my dream man.”
Although her tone was teasing, something hot and furious flashed through Michael. With rigid control, he suppressed it. He knew about the dangers inherent in a doctor-patient relationship, the dependency syndrome and all that. It worked both ways. Doctors, in caring for someone through a dangerous situation, could also fall for their patients.
“I’m really grateful for all you’ve done,” she continued, her eyes and smile filled with such total trust it squeezed his insides like a vise.
Patients had been known to think they were in love with their doctors when what they felt was gratitude. Had she realized that was what she felt?
With her streak of independence and stubborn nature, he’d trusted his instincts on this one. Had he been wrong?
“I merely did my job,” he told her, ignoring the questions that speared through him. After checking her chart, he went to the gym and worked until he was exhausted enough to sleep.
His dreams were restless, though, all mixed up with the Mafia trying to steal Susan’s heart while he tried desperately to get her to a safe place.
Nine
“I’m excited,” Susan admitted, peering out the window of Michael’s car, a dark-blue sedan he kept in Houston. “Everything looks so new and different.”
“One’s view of the world does change after a close-call experience,” he agreed.
She stole a glance at him. During her days in the hospital, there had been times when he’d looked at her with passion in his eyes, but mostly he’d been very professional in his manner.
That was just as well. She’d decided a doctor-patient relationship was all they shared. The night of passion had been a mistake, a weakness on her part. And his.
Her family thought he walked on water. He’d been kind and unfailingly polite to them, answering all their questions patiently and completely. He’d been the same with her. Reassuring. Encouraging. Wonderful.
The perfect physician.
Her watch pulsed against her wrist. “Pill time,” she muttered, reaching for the pill container and water bottle in her purse. “I’m really tired of pills.” She swallowed them down.
His smile was sympathetic, albeit somewhat distant. He seemed focused on other things this morning.
Pressing a hand to her chest, she realized the ache there was from a different cause than it had been two weeks ago when she’d been taken to the hospital in Mission Creek, then transferred to Houston.
After the surgery, with hours and hours of nothing to do but contemplate the future, she’d done research on the Net, using her laptop. Her chances of leading a normal life, as in having a home and raising a family, were slender.
Getting through the next five years would be a miracle, it appeared. With the multiple pill-taking and a constant wariness of infection, she would be a burden to anyone who shared her life. So she’d come to a decision.
If she was going to be a semi-invalid the rest of her life, however long that was, she wouldn’t impose her frailties on anyone else, especially the man beside her, who had already gotten her through surgery and gently talked her through the days of pain and nights of doubt that followed.
Never, she vowed, would she cling to Michael’s strength like a leech. He was a wonderful person and he deserved more from his mate.
If she ever married, it wouldn’t be out of need and fear, but as an equal. That was her decision. Now she had to put it into action.
“Home,” he said, interrupting the restless workings of her mind.
Home was her mother’s condo. She wasn’t allowed to be alone for a second. If all went well for the next two weeks, she could perhaps return to her one-bedroom apartment.
She longed for solitude and the relief of not having to constantly guard her feelings so her family wouldn’t worry.
“The grass looks so incredibly green after yesterday’s rain,” she murmured, concentrating on the cool expanse of lawn and lovely flower beds at the condos lining a man-made lake on the outskirts of Houston.
“The temperature has cooled, too. October is a great month for convalescing, warm enough for outdoor walks, cool enough to be comfortable,” he said, parking and turning off the engine.
She thought of walks with him, of dinner on a terrace overlooking downtown and of nights filled with delight.
The idea sent her new heart into overdrive, but now it wasn’t alarming. It merely felt normal. She wondered how long it would be before she was a whole human being again, how long before she could make love.
“Other than staying away from crowds and getting plenty of rest, are there, uh, any other restrictions on my activities?” she asked, then wondered if he could read her thoughts when he flicked a perceptive glance her way.
“Not really. You can do anything you feel up to.”
She felt his withdrawal as a tangible thing. Since the surgery, he’d become very circumspect, other than a few light touches of his lips, usually through a mask.
“And if I feel like going to your place?” she said with a flirty coyness she detested in other women. She realized it was a defensive ploy. By treating the situation lightly, as a flirtation, she could pretend the answer didn’t matter.
“I think your mother is expecting you.”
Which didn’t tell her a thing. Maybe he didn’t see her as a woman now that he’d performed the surgery. She was just another patient. Remembering her vow not to be a burden on anyone, she reaffirmed that resolve.
“True.” She hooked a tendril of hair behind her ear. “I need a haircut. Okay if I go to the beauty salon if it’s after hours, with only the stylist there?”
“Let’s see how you do first,” he suggested. “Two more weeks without complications, then you can have more freedom to come and go, up to a point.”
He carried her small piece of luggage and a plastic bag filled with a washbasin, soap, powder, lotion and a box of tissues from the hospital, which the nurse had insisted she take home.
“Susan! Michael!” her mother exclaimed, opening the door before they rang the bell, her manner cheerful, her eyes anxious. “Come in. Are you hungry? Or do you need to rest first? I made a pan of brownies with pecans.”
Susan managed a smile. “I’m not tired at all. Brownies would be great.”
“Put the luggage there,” Kate told Michael, indicating the foyer floor. “Let’s go out to the terrace. Is that okay? Can Susan go outside?”
“It’s fine. In fact, she should walk every day, weather permitting,” Michael explained. “Let her be the judge of what she feels like doing, as long as she doesn’t overdo. Remind her to wear a mask outside.”
“Of course. Would you like a cup of coffee?” Kate asked. “Or tea?”
“I’d prefer iced tea,” Michael replied.
“Same here.” Knowing her mother needed to feel useful, Susan let herself be led to a chair and pampered with her favorite foods. The need to be alone increased. When her mother left the room, she wished Michael would go, too.
As if sensing her thoughts, Michael took a chair beside her and said, “Depression is normal after major surgery. Y
ou’ll want to withdraw from everyone. The syndrome feeds upon itself, so try not to give in to it.”
“Don’t you have a pill for that?” She didn’t hide the sting of sarcasm.
He grinned. “Yes. You’re getting a mild one in your daily mix. But you’ll still be a grouch.”
She managed a laugh. “I won’t throw any more barbs at you if you won’t throw any more at me.”
“I only tell the truth. Ah, Kate. I was just telling your daughter that she’ll be hard to live with for a while. It’s normal, but watch out for her sharp tongue.”
Kate glanced at him, then Susan. “I’ll wear armor.” She served the tea and a plate of brownies.
Susan had a feeling her mother knew of the attraction that had existed between her and the handsome surgeon and was delighted at the idea. It would be convenient to have a doctor in the family, she decided on a cynical note, in case she collapsed again.
Shaking her head slightly, she wondered why she felt so negative. The doldrums, as Michael had warned?
She admitted the possibility. It seemed she’d had to give up everything—her career, any thoughts of a future, the passion they had shared—and for what? A heart that her body might or might not accept.
Involvement with anyone was out of the question until she was certain she could stand on her own and not be a spineless, clinging vine. When would that time come?
On Friday of the second week after going to stay with her mother, Susan looked expectantly at Michael in the exam room of his Houston offices. Lightly tanned from her daily walks, she felt truly rested for the first time in months. She could now stroll an hour at a time, not as fast as she once would have, but still, she was making progress. Her family was delighted.
“You’re a miracle,” he said, flashing a smile her way when he looked up from the test results. “You did great on the stress test. The liver enzymes are good. There’re no signs of rejection.”
“Can I stop taking the pills?” she asked.
“No, but you can cut back to eighty a day.”
She groaned in exasperation, then perked up. “Since I’m doing so well, I think I’ll go to the ballet tonight. It’s a benefit for the new children’s wing of the hospital.”
“No crowds,” he told her sharply.
“I’ll be in a box by myself. The director arranged it. I’ll slip in after the house lights are dimmed. No one will know I’m there.”
“Who will be with you?”
“No one.”
He gave her an irritated frown and shook his head. “You can’t be running all over town by yourself. How will you get to the theater?”
“Taxi.”
He frowned at her in open exasperation. “No. You don’t know who has been in them or what kind of germs are in those cars. Where’s your mother?”
“She left for Mission Creek after lunch today to visit with Gran at the nursing home.”
“What time shall I pick you up?”
Her hackles rose at his tone. “I don’t need anyone to baby-sit me. I’ll arrange for a limo.”
“That’s no better than a cab. I’ll be by at seven. The ballet usually starts at eight, doesn’t it?” He narrowed his eyes in a menacing fashion. “How the hell did you get here?”
“It really isn’t your concern.”
He cursed under his breath. “You came in a taxi,” he concluded. “I’ll be finished here in another thirty minutes. Wait in my office. I’ll take you home, then to the ballet.”
She argued, but the doctor had made up his mind. She was ushered into his office, the door firmly closed after her. She stood by the window and looked at the small park where mothers watched their children and chatted.
One toddler kept heading out on his own toward the street. His mother finally set him firmly in the sandbox and stood guard to make sure he stayed.
A heaviness settled on her spirits as she watched. Home and hearth seemed much more important to her now. Her family had been wonderfully thoughtful during her recovery, sending her gifts to cheer her—funny e-mails, baskets of flowers, books, videos, anything to ease the boredom of her days.
Not that she’d felt like doing a lot. After having her breastbone cracked down the middle and propped open, she’d expected to be sore, but being run over by a truck didn’t begin to describe the initial pain. The daily walks had been a struggle of mind over body the first week.
Today was Friday. Monday would mark four weeks since her collapse from chasing after Maria. At times during the past month, she’d found it very hard to fight the dark feelings that would roll over her suddenly and for no good reason. Underlying those was sadness, a knowledge that her fate would never be hers to command as it once had.
She felt an intense longing that had nothing to do with her health and everything to do with her heart—with the emotional part of it and with the part of herself that wanted desperately to feel like a woman again.
Hearing Michael’s deep voice in the hall outside the door caused that organ to beat fiercely. He was the center of that longing.
Closing her eyes tightly, she refused to give in to either the longing or the darkness. She would get past this on her own. She would. She must.
The office door opened. “Ready?” he asked.
A smile was almost more than she could manage, but she did. Picking up her purse, she followed him down a corridor and into a private elevator at the back of the building.
“Luckily, I drove this morning since I had an early call from the hospital,” he said, taking her arm and leading the way to the blue sedan in a numbered parking space.
“You work too hard,” she began, then stopped. His working hours were not her business.
“It’s been busy of late,” he admitted. “I haven’t taken Friday afternoon off in a month or so.”
Because of her and others like her who needed him to make them well, she acknowledged. But she was well now. She could take care of herself.
He drove straight to her mother’s condo and whisked her inside. The mantel clock chimed six when they entered. The sound echoed through the empty rooms. Susan suddenly missed her mother’s cheerful chatter.
After putting her purse on the foyer table, she lingered with her back to him. “I’ve changed my mind about the ballet. It’s probably better that I don’t go.”
He removed his suit jacket and tie, then tossed both on a chair back. “No, it’ll be good for you. You’re too active to play the invalid for long. I should have realized that. Let’s order in. Chinese, pizza, deli?”
“Deli. Corned beef on rye with sauerkraut and hot mustard. Other than an occasional brownie, Mother has kept me on mashed bananas and mush in the belief that regular food would be too much of a strain on my heart.”
He chuckled at her wry remark. “Deli it is. I’ll call. I know a great place that delivers.”
When she offered him a glass of wine, he accepted, then suggested she join him on the patio. They left the door open in order to hear the doorbell.
Susan sighed as she took a seat. Michael stretched his long legs straight out, the wineglass propped on his flat abdomen as he settled next to her and observed the land around them. She used the time to study him.
He was as handsome as ever with his dark hair and eyes as blue as a summer day. When he lifted the glass, she stared at his hands and the long fingers that could perform the most intricate surgery…or the most delicate of caresses.
Magic. Delight. Breathless passion.
She’d known all those with him. She wanted them again. Trembling as new waves of longing rushed over her, she held tight to her resolution to need no one.
Invalid. While she didn’t feel like one, she knew she would forever be tied to pills and tests. She knew she would never perform onstage again.
Without her mother knowing, she’d tried some very gentle stretching exercises, then a few pliés and jetés yesterday. After fifteen minutes, she’d been trembling from head to foot from the effort. She thought it would b
e a long, long time before she could dance, run, make love…
“If you keep looking at me like that, I’ll be forced to kiss you,” Michael announced in a casual manner.
His statement startled her. She tore her gaze from his. “Germs,” she reminded him, feeling shaky with longing.
“I scrubbed before leaving the office. I don’t have a cold. You’re doing well. It should be safe enough.”
Before she could frame a reply, he had acted on the thought. With easy strength, he lifted her into his arms and placed her in his lap. Then his mouth sought hers.
For about a tenth of a second, she thought of refusing. The ridiculous idea dissolved in a frothy mist of delight as his lips closed over hers. Crystal shards of joy spiraled outward from that point of contact to every part of her.
“I’ve wanted to do that for days, weeks,” he murmured against her mouth.
“You stayed away,” she reminded him. “You rarely came over, not even when my mother called and invited you to dinner.” She’d hated herself for listening for his step and the ringing of the doorbell announcing his presence, for the yearning that choked her when she thought of him.
“You needed the time to recover without complications. I don’t think I could have resisted you otherwise.”
“But you don’t have to now?”
“No. I’m not your doctor anymore. Now we’re a man and a woman with only this between us.”
He kissed her again. One hand cupped her shoulder while the other made magic along her back, leaving a trail of sparkles down her spine, up her side and finally over on her breast. The tip beaded as he caressed lightly.
She wondered how far he intended to go. And if she should let him.
Before she could find an answer in the whirling mist, the doorbell rang. With a deeply inhaled breath, he gently placed her in the chair, then went to answer. In a few minutes, he was back, carrying two covered containers that emitted a spicy aroma. She realized she was hungry for food as well as caresses. And that she was going to have to be the one to break off this senseless passion between them.
