The Doctor Takes a Princess

by Leanne Banks

  “So? She doesn’t look it. She’s got a fresh look about her and she’s sweet. Got a real nice laugh,” Marshall said.

  “I’m not liking what I’m hearing,” Ryder said, stepping between Marshall and the television. “So far, Suzanne is the perfect nanny. I don’t want you messing with her. The boys and I need her.”

  “She’s an adult. She can decide if she wants me to mess with her,” he said with a shrug.

  “Marshall,” he said in a dead-serious voice. “She’s not like your dime-a-dozen girls running fast and loose. She’s not used to a guy like you who’ll get her in the sack and leave her like yesterday’s garbage.”

  Marshall winced. “No need to insult me. I’ve had a few long-term relationships.”

  “Name them,” Ryder challenged.

  “Well, there was that redhead, Wendy. She and I saw each other for at least a couple of years.”

  “She lived out of town, didn’t she?” Ryder asked. “How many other women were you seeing at the same time?”

  Marshall scowled. “Okay, what about Sharona? We lived together.”

  “For how long?”

  “Seven weeks, but—”

  “Enough said. Keep your paws off Suzanne.”

  Marshall slugged down the rest of the wine and stood. “You know, I’m not a rotten guy.”

  “Never said you were.”

  “I just haven’t ever found the right girl,” Marshall said.

  “As long as you and I understand that Suzanne is not the right girl for you, everything will be fine.”

  Three days later, Bridget returned from her trip to Chicago. She hadn’t snagged any doctors, but she’d persuaded one of the specialists she’d met to visit Chantaine and offer lectures and demonstrations. She was getting closer to her goal. She could feel it. Even though what she really wanted to do tonight was soak in a tub and watch television, she was committed to attend a charity event for Alzheimer’s with the governor’s son, who was actually quite a bit older than she was. Part of the job, she told herself as she got ready. She thought about calling Ryder, but every time she thought about him, she felt a jumpiness in her stomach. Bridget wasn’t sure how far she wanted to go with him because she knew she would be leaving Dallas as soon as she accomplished her mission.

  There was something about the combination of his strength and passion that did things to her. It was exciting. And perplexing.

  Preferring to have her own chauffeur, Bridget met Robert Goodwin, the governor’s son, in the lobby of her hotel. He was a distinguished-looking man in his mid-forties who reminded her of one of her uncles. She decided that was how she would treat him.

  Her bodyguard Raoul, who occasionally played double duty in making introductions, stepped forward. “Your Highness, Robert Goodwin.”

  She nodded and extended her hand. “Lovely to meet you, Mr. Goodwin. Thank you for escorting me to an event that will raise awareness for such an important cause.”

  “My pleasure, Your Highness,” he said, surprising her when he brought her hand to his mouth. “Please call me Robert. May I say that you look breathtaking?”

  “Thank you very much, Robert. Shall we go?”

  By the time they arrived at the historical hall, Bridget concluded that Mr. Goodwin’s intentions were not at all uncle-like and she prepared herself for a sticky evening. Cameras flashed as they exited the limo and Mr. Goodwin appeared to want to linger for every possible photo as he bragged about her title to the reporters.

  “Everyone is excited to have a real princess at the event tonight. People paid big bucks to sit at our table.”

  “I’m delighted I could help the cause.” Sometimes it amazed her that a single spermatozoa had determined her status. And that spermatozoa had originated from a cheating jerk of a man who had never gotten her first name right. Her father.

  “Would you join me in a dance?” Robert said, his gaze dipping to her cleavage.

  “Thank you, but I need to powder my nose,” she said. “Can you tell me where the ladies’ room is?”

  Robert blinked. “I believe it’s down the hall to the left.”

  “Excuse me,” she said and headed for the restroom, fully aware that Raoul was watching. She wondered if she could plead illness. After stalling for several moments, she left and slowly walked toward her table. Halfway there, Ryder stepped in front of her.

  “Busy as ever,” he said.

  Her heart raced at the sight of him. “So true. I arrived back in town this afternoon and had to turn right around to get ready for this event.”

  “With the governor’s son,” Ryder said, clearly displeased.

  “He could be my uncle,” she said.

  “Bet that’s not what he’s thinking,” Ryder countered.

  She grimaced and shrugged. “It’s not the first time I’ve had to manage unwelcome interest, and if my appearance generates additional income for this good cause…”

  “True,” he said, his eyes holding a misery that grabbed at her.

  “What brings you here?”

  “Dr. Walters. He has had an impact on hundreds of doctors, but now he can’t recognize himself in the mirror.”

  “I’m so sorry,” she said, her heart hurting at the expression on his face. “Seeing you, hearing you, makes me glad I came. I’m ashamed to confess that I was tempted to cancel because I was so tired after returning from Chicago.”

  His gaze held hers for a long emotional moment. “I’m glad you didn’t give in to your weariness this time.”

  “Even though I have to face Mr. Anything-but-Good Robert Goodwin,” she said.

  “Give me a sign and I’ll have your back,” he said.

  She took a deep breath. “That’s good to know. I can usually handle things. This isn’t the first time.”

  His gaze swept over her from head to toe and back again. “That’s no surprise.”

  Her stomach dipped and she cleared her throat. “I should get back to my table. I’m told people paid to sit with me. I’m sure it has nothing to do with my title.”

  His lips twitched. “Not if they really knew you,” he said.

  “You flatter me,” she said.

  “Not because you’re a princess,” he said.

  “Call me tomorrow.”

  “I will,” he said.

  Bridget returned to her table and tried to be her most charming self and at the same time not encouraging Robert Goodwin. It was challenging, but she was determined.

  After the meal had been served, he turned to her. “I’m determined to dance with you.”

  “I’m not that good of a dancer,” she assured him.

  He laughed, his gaze dipping over her cleavage again. “I’m a good leader,” he said and rose, extending his hand to her. “Let me surprise you.”

  Or not, she thought wishing with all her heart that he wouldn’t surprise her. She didn’t want to embarrass the man. She lifted her lips in a careful smile. “One dance,” she said and stood.

  They danced to a waltz, but he somehow managed to rub against her. She tried to back away, but he wrapped his hands around her waist like a vise, drawing him against her. Suddenly, she saw Ryder behind Robert Goodwin, his hand on his shoulder. Robert appeared surprised.

  “Can I cut in?” Ryder asked.

  Robert frowned. “I’m not—”

  “Yes,” Bridget said. “It’s only proper.”

  Robert reluctantly released her and Ryder swept her into his arms.

  “Thank goodness,” she murmured.

  He wrapped his arms around her and it felt entirely different than it had with Robert. She stared into his eyes and felt a shockwave roll through her. “When did you learn to dance?”

  “A generous woman taught me during medical school,” he said, drawing her closer, yet not too close.

  Bridget felt a spike of envy but forced it aside. “She did an excellent job.”

  He chuckled. “It was all preparation,” he said. “Everything we do is preparation for what wa
its for us in the future.”

  “I would have to be quite arrogant to think your preparation was for me,” she said, feeling light-headed.

  “You look beautiful tonight,” he said, clearly changing the subject. “I hate having to share you with anyone else.”

  Her stomach dipped. “It’s part of who I was born to be. Duty calls,” she said.

  “But what does Bridget want?” he challenged. “Meet me in the foyer in fifteen minutes.”

  “How?” she asked.

  “You’ll figure it out,” he said.

  Chapter Five

  She would figure it out, Bridget thought as she surreptitiously glanced at the diamond-encrusted watch that had belonged to her grandmother. Two minutes to go and she was supposed to be introduced to the crowd within the next moment.

  “As we continue to introduce our honored guests, we’d like to present Her Highness, Princess Bridget Devereaux of the country of Chantaine.”

  Bridget stood and smiled and waved to the applauding crowd. She hadn’t known she was a table head, but it wasn’t unusual for event organizers to put her in the spotlight given the chance. Because of her title, she was a source of curiosity and interest.

  Spotting Ryder leaning against the back wall as he pointed to his watch, she quickly squeezed her hand together and flashed her five fingers, indicating she needed more time. Then she sank into her seat.

  Robert leaned toward her. “I was cheated out of my dance. We need to hit the floor again.”

  “I wish I could, but my ankle is hurting,” she said.

  Robert scowled. “Maybe because of the man who cut in on our dance.”

  She lifted her shoulders. “Perhaps it’s the long day catching up with me.”

  “You’re too generous. We could try a slow dance,” he said in a low voice.

  “Oh no, I couldn’t hurt your feet that way,” she said. “But I would like to freshen up. Please excuse me,” she said and rose, wondering why she was going to such extremes to meet Ryder when she was supposed to be concentrating on making an appearance.

  Her heart was slamming against her rib cage as she tried to take a sideways route through the tables along the perimeter of the room. With every step, part of her chanted This is crazy—this is crazy. But she kept on walking, so she must indeed be crazy. She stepped into the foyer and glanced around the area.

  Something snagged her hand. She glanced over her shoulder and spotted Ryder as he pulled her with him down a hallway. “Where are we—”

  “Trust me,” he said and pulled her toward the first door they came upon. It was an empty dark room with a stack of chairs pushed against a wall.

  “What are we doing?” she asked, breathlessly clinging to him.

  “Hell if I know,” he said, sliding his hands through her hair and tilting her head toward his. “I feel like a car with no brakes headed straight for you.”

  “So, we’re both crazy,” she said.

  “Looks that way,” he said and lowered his mouth to hers.

  Her knees turned to water and she clung to him. His strength made her feel alive despite how tired she felt from her long day of travel. Shocked at his effect on her, she loved the sensation of his hard chest against her breasts. She wanted to feel his naked skin against hers. She growled, unable to get close enough.

  He swore under his breath as his hands roamed over her waist and up to the sides of her breasts. “I can’t get enough of you,” he muttered and took her mouth in a deep kiss again.

  She felt dizzy with a want and need she denied on a regular basis. It was as if she was suffering from a more delicious version of altitude sickness. His mouth against hers made her hotter with every stroke of his tongue. More than anything, she wanted to feel him against her.

  “Ryder,” she whispered, tugging at his tie and dropping her mouth to his neck.

  He gave a groan of arousal. “Come home with me. Now,” he said, squeezing her derriere with one hand and clasping her breast with the other.

  Too tempted for words, she felt the tug and pull of duty and courtesy over her own needs. Bloody hell, why couldn’t she just this once be selfish, irresponsible and rude? A sound of complete frustration bubbled from her throat. Because she just couldn’t. She was in the States on official business from Chantaine and she’d been assigned to represent a cause important to her and her people.

  “I can’t,” she finally managed. “It would just be wrong and rude and it’s not just about me. I’m sorry,” she whispered.

  “I don’t know what it is about you, but you make me want to be more reckless than I’ve ever been in my life. More reckless than flying down Deadman’s Hill on my bicycle with no hands when I was ten.”

  Bridget felt the same way, but she was holding on by the barest thread of self-restraint. Suddenly the door whooshed open and closed, sending her heart into her throat. Her head cleared enough to realize this situation could provide the press with an opportunity to paint her family in a bad light.

  She held her breath, waiting for a voice, but none sounded.

  “It’s okay,” he said as if he understood without her saying a word. “Whoever opened the door must have glanced inside and not spotted us. I’ll leave first, then you wait a minute or two before you leave. I’ll warn you if it looks like there’s a crowd waiting for you.”

  She paused, then nodded slowly.

  Ryder gave her shoulders a reassuring squeeze and kissed her quickly, then walked toward the door. Bridget stood frozen to the floor for several breaths and gave herself a quick shake. She moved to the door and listened, but the door was too thick. She couldn’t hear anything. Counting to a hundred, she cracked open the door and peeked outside. No crowd. No photogs. Relief coursed through her and she stepped outside.

  “Your Highness, I was worried about you,” Robert said from behind her.

  Her stomach muscles tightened and she quickly turned. “Robert, how kind of you.”

  “What were you doing in there?” he asked.

  “My sense of direction is dismal,” she said. “I went right when I should have turned left. Thank you for coming to my rescue. Now I can return to our table.”

  He slid his hand behind her waist and she automatically stiffened, but he seemed to ignore her response. “We can leave, if you like. I could take you to my condo….”

  “Again, you’re being kind, but we’re here for an important cause.”

  “Afterward—”

  “It’s been a full day for me flying from Chicago. I appreciate your understanding that I’ll be desperate to finally retire,” she said. One of her advisers had instructed her that one should speak to another person as if they possessed good qualities…even if they didn’t.

  “Another time, then,” Robert said, clearly disappointed.

  Bridget gave a noncommittal smile, careful not to offer any false hope.

  When Bridget didn’t hear from Ryder for three days, she began to get peeved. Actually, she was peeved after day one. He’d behaved like he was starving for her and couldn’t wait another moment, then didn’t call. She considered calling him at least a dozen times, but her busy schedule aided her in her restraint.

  On Tuesday, however, she was scheduled to meet with a preventative adult health specialist in preparation for a video she would be filming with the doctor as a public service announcement for Chantaine.

  Afterward, she meandered down the hall past his office. She noticed Ryder wasn’t there, but his assistant was. Bridget gave in to temptation and stepped into the office. “Hello. I was wondering if Dr. McCall is in today.”

  The assistant sighed. “Dr. McCall is making rounds and seeing interns, but he may need to leave early for family reasons. May I take a message?”

  “Not necessary,” she demurred, but wondered what those family reasons were. “Are the twins okay?” she couldn’t help asking.

  The assistant nodded. “I think so. It’s the nanny—” The phone rang. “Excuse me.”

  The nan
ny! The nanny she’d selected for Ryder and the boys had been as perfect as humanly possible. Perhaps more perfect. What could have possibly happened? Resisting the urge to grill the assistant about her, she forced herself to walk away. Her fingers itched to call him, but she didn’t. It would be rude to interrupt his appointments with patients or the residents.

  Bothered, bothered, bothered, she stalked through the hallway. The pediatric department head saw her and stopped in front of her, smiling. “Your Highness, what a pleasure to see you.”

  “Thank you, Doctor. How are you?” she said more than asked.

  “Great. Would you like to get together for dinner?” he asked.

  “I would, but I must confess my immediate schedule is quite demanding. Perhaps some other time,” she said.

  “I’ll keep asking,” he said and gave her a charming smile that didn’t move her one iota.

  Brooding, she walked down the hall and out of the hospital to the limo that awaited her. A text would be less intrusive, she decided, and sent a message. Two minutes later, she received a response. Nanny had emergency appendectomy. Juggling with backup.

  WHY DIDN’T YOU CALL ME? she texted in return.

  Her phone rang one moment later and she answered. “Hello.”

  “It’s been crazy. I’ve even had to ask Marshall for help.”

  “Why didn’t you ask me?” she demanded.

  “You told me your schedule was picking up. I figured you wouldn’t have time,” he said.

  True, she thought, but she was still bothered. “You still should have called me.”

  “You’re a busy princess. What could you have done?” he asked.

  Good question. She closed her eyes. “I could have rearranged my schedule so I could help you.”

  Silence followed. “You would do that?”

  She bit her lip. “Yes.”

  “I didn’t think of that.”

  “Clearly,” she said.

  He chuckled. “In that case, can you come over tomorrow afternoon? My part-time nanny needs a break.”

  “I’ll confirm by five o’clock tonight,” she said. “I have to make a few calls.”