She stalked to her door, stopping to pick up her mail and the newspaper. Flynn admired the line of her back. She really was a very attractive woman. If she'd just show some signs of humanity, he'd be able to resist the urge to live down to her opinion of him. He allowed himself a mental sigh of regret as she opened her door. Oh well, a dedicated doctor probably wasn't his style, anyway.
Right now the only female he had to worry about was about three feet tall and made a deadly cup of coffee.
Ann was aware of Flynn McCallister's eyes following her every move. Hands that were solid as a rock holding a needle suddenly felt remarkably quivery gathering up her mail. He didn't say anything more, but he didn't have to. Just his presence was enough to unnerve her.
She fumbled with the key before getting it in the lock. The door opened and she stepped into the haven of her home. She resisted the urge to slam the door. She wouldn't give him the satisfaction of knowing he disturbed her. The door closed with a quiet snick, enclosing her in the safety of her apartment and shutting him out.
"Ridiculous. You're acting like a child." Only there was nothing childlike about the feelings Flynn McCallister stirred.
The muttered reprimand didn't make her feel any less relieved, but it did bring her housemate running. She saw him coming across the living room and quickly droppedher mail and the paper on the hall table, emptying her arms. She was just in time. Three feet away, he launched himself into the air. Ann braced herself against the impact as seventeen pounds of gray fur landed in her arms.
It was Oscar's preferred method of greeting. It had been cute when he was a kitten. If he got any bigger,
it was going to become life threatening, but Ann didn't have the heart to discourage him. It was nice to have someone excited about seeing her at the end of the day. She carried the huge tomcat into the kitchen and set him on the floor. He jumped up on a stool and sat down to watch her make a snack. It was a ritual they carried out every afternoon. Oscar never begged for scraps, but if Ann happened to be fixing something he particularly liked, he was not above an occasional moan of hunger. He was judicious in his use of this technique. But roast beef was well worth the effort.
"Moocher." Ann chose a pink slice of beef and cut it into Oscar-size bites. He waited politely until she'd set the saucer on the floor before launching himself toward the treat. The meat was gone before Ann had finished making her sandwich, and Oscar returned to his stool to keep her company while she ate.
She set the plate down and then poured herself a glass of milk. Before she sat down to enjoy her snack, she slipped off her jacket and unbuttoned the first three buttons of her blouse. Her shoes had been abandoned on the way to the kitchen. She sat down but didn't reach for the sandwich. For just a moment she savored the stillness of the apartment. It wasn't that the hospital was noisy, but it was filled with such self-conscious quiet that there were times when she would have welcomed some healthy noise.
"I saw McCallister in the hall. He looked like he'd been up all night. Again. It's a good thing he doesn't try to hold down a job. It might interfere with his love life."
Oscar looked up from the paw he was washing and murmured sympathetically. He was familiar with the problem of McCallister. Ann smiled at the car and took a healthy bite of her sandwich. Oscar was a great audience. He always agreed with her.
She chewed slowly, her eyes focused on nothing in particular. What was it about Flynn McCallister that never failed to irritate her? When she'd first moved in, she'd been prepared to be a cordial neighbor. Her father had pointed out that the McCallister family was wealthy and old power. Ann wasn't terribly interested in her neighbor's antecedents as long as he was quiet and didn't expect to borrow a cup of sugar at two-thirty in the morning.
At least that's what she thought before she'd met Flynn McCallister. He seemed to fit her simple criteria for neighborly behavior. He didn't throw wild parties. He was always polite. He'd never asked to borrow a cup of sugar at any time of day or night. In fact, they didn't run into each other very often. Sometimes it was a week or more between sightings.
Considering how little she saw of him, he took up an inordinate amount of room in her thoughts. Most of it hostile. It was the way he looked at her. Every time they met, those electric blue eyes seemed to strip her naked. And it wasn't just her clothes he was seeing through. It was as if he could see right through to her soul. Not that she had anything to hide, Ann told herself. It was just that she didn't like feeling naked in front of a total stranger.
And it didn't help at all to know that it was deliberate. He knew exactly what he was doing. He enjoyed flustering her. It annoyed Ann that he could read her so easily, and it annoyed her even more that she couldn't control her reaction to him. She was a doctor. People's lives rested in her hands every day. Control was essential in her work, and it carried over into her private life. With nothing but a look and a quirk of an eyebrow, Flynn McCallister managed to weaken that control, and she resented it.
It was resentment that made her feel so flushed and breathless when he looked at her. It was simple curiosity that made her wonder what it would feel like when he kissed someone. Not her, of course. She had no desire to kiss a man who couldn't even hold a job. It was just that he'd probably kissed a lot of women and she'd never been kissed by an expert. It was natural that she was curious.
"But we know where curiosity gets you, don't we, Oscar? Look what happened to the cat." Oscar blinked at her and then hopped down off the stool and trotted into the living room. "Oh dear. Maybe I shouldn't have mentioned it."
His tail disappeared around the corner with an indignant flip and Ann giggled. It was a girlish sound that would have surprised a lot of people who thought they knew her. Her colleagues at work had never heard Dr. Perry giggle. It was rare for her to bestow so much as a smile on anyone but a patient.
Despite the fiery warmth of her hair, she had a reputation for being icy cold. She did her work with a slightly feverish dedication that earned her respect, but she kept too much distance between herself and her colleagues to earn anything more than respect.
When Ann took time to think about it, she told herself she preferred it that way. She didn't really have time for all the foolish machinations that seemed to go along with friendships. Her work was too important to her. It filled her life quite nicely. If there were times when she saw two nurses laughing together and felt a little wistful, it was only when she was tired.
The phone rang, startling her out of her thoughts, and she jumped. It rang again, but she didn't move immediately. It would be her father. He would want a progress report. How did she tell him that a medical career wasn't like being a corporate executive where every day she could report some deal closed, some new advance toward a vice presidency? The triumphs of helping a patient didn't interest him in the least. He wanted to know where her career was going. He thought she was progressing too slowly.
The phone rang again, and she got to her feet. If she didn't answer it now, he would only call again later. Besides, it was wonderful that he was so interested in her career. It showed that he loved her.
Twenty minutes later she put down the phone, feeling more drained than when she'd left the hospital. Why couldn't she make him understand that medicine was usually a day-to-day grind with occasional advances? You didn't start out as a medical student and work your way to head of staff in ten days or less. Why couldn't he be proud of what she had accomplished instead of demanding to know why she hadn't done more? She suppressed the question before it had a chance to take root. He was proud of her. He just didn't know how to show it. He wasn't a demonstrative man, that's all.
She wandered back to the kitchen table and picked up her half-eaten sandwich. The food didn't look as good as it had a few minutes ago. She wrapped the sandwich in plastic wrap and rinsed out her milk glass. She was just tired. That's why her father's call was upsetting. That's why Flynn McCallister had seemed particularly dangerous.
She'd planned to go out and d
o some shopping, but maybe it would be a good idea to take a long hot bath and spend the evening with a book. She could use the time to unwind. She had the next two days off, and a relaxing evening at home would be a nice way to start her small vacation.
She left the kitchen and headed toward her bedroom, but she was sidetracked by Oscar who was sprawled flat on his back in the middle of the living-room floor. She stopped to scratch his ample tummy, and he took it as an invitation to play, wrapping his paws around her arm and chewing on her hand. His teeth sank gently into her fingers, careful not to bite too hard, and Ann responded by twisting her hand back and forth.
The sudden pounding on the door interrupted the playful wrestling match. Ann jumped, jerking her hand away from the cat so suddenly that she inflicted a scratch on her arm when his claws sprang out in automatic reaction to the sudden noise. Oscar rolled to his feet and streaked for the safety of the bedroom.
Ann stood up, staring at the door warily. No one had rung up from the lobby. Her father had just called her from the other side of town, and he was the only person she'd given the elevator code to. Of course, there was no telling how many people McCallister had handed out the code to. Maybe it was a friend of his who was too drunk to realize he had the wrong door. The pounding started again. She would direct whoever it was to the correct apartment and then she'd make it a point to complain to the management company. McCallister couldn't just go around giving out security codes.
She grasped the doorknob, full of righteous indignation. This time he'd gone too far. It was one thing for him to be out at all hours of the day and night, and it was none of her business how many bimbos he brought home with him, but this was a matter of her own personal safety. She couldn't have him giving privileged information to all and sundry.
She yanked the door open, ready to give whoever it was her iciest look—the one that had been known to cow junior nurses at a glance. She'd make it clear that she didn't approve of his intrusion on her time. Her lips parted to deliver a scathing put-down, but not a word emerged. Instead of the inebriated sot she'd expected to see, she was nose to nose with a masculine chest. Broad, muscled and matted with hair. She knew it was matted with hair because it was bared to her gaze. In fact, there was not a stitch of clothing in sight. Her eyes dropped automatically to find that the only apparel her visitor was wearing was a towel—a rather small one—knotted carelessly around his hips. Her eyes jerked upward, and she took an automatic step backward.
The last thing she'd expected to find on her doorstep was Flynn McCallister, clad in nothing but a towel and a panicked expression.
Chapter 3
She was so disconcerted by this unexpected apparition that it took her several seconds to make any sense out of his words. Despite her best efforts, her eyes kept falling to his chest. There was something about that expanse of masculine skin that put a catch in her breathing and made her feel flushed.
She blinked, forcing her mind to function again. He was saying something. She dragged her eyes from his chest and looked at his face. Something was wrong. What was he saying?
" .. .in the shower and she fell. There's blood all over. I don't think a Band-Aid is going to do it. Maybe she needs stitches. You've got to come and take a look at her."
The doctor in her took over at the mention of blood. "I'll be right there. Keep her quiet and apply firm pressure to the wound. I'll get my bag."
Flynn disappeared in a flurry of blue towel and Ann hurried back into the living room. She grabbed up her bag, her mind working a mile a minute. The doctor in her was speculating on what the medical situation might be, wondering if it would be necessary to call for an ambulance. The woman, shoved well to the back, was speculating on other things, like whether or not her neighbor lifted weights. That would explain those sleek muscles that had rolled so easily under his skin.
In the shower and she fell. Flynn's half-heard explanation popped into her head, and her lips tightened in disapproval. Obviously, he had been cavorting in the shower with a woman, and she'd fallen. Probably hit her head, which would explain all the blood. There was a small, nasty part of Ann that muttered that she probably deserved it.
None of these frantic thoughts slowed her pace as she hurried out of her apartment and across the carpeted hall. She entered his apartment through the open door. She didn't have to look far for her patient. Flynn was kneeling on the floor next taone of the sofas, his naked back blocking Ann's view.
"She's a doctor and she'll know just what to do," His voice was soothing and full of confidence. A good bedside manner, she noted absently.
"But you said that a dragon lived next door." The voice was definitely feminine and just as definitely under ten years of age.
Ann tripped on the steps that had almost been Flynn's downfall the night before. Her recovery was not as graceful as his had been, but she didn't have the advantage of eight hours of steady drinking under her belt.
Flynn glanced over his shoulder, his face expressing his relief at her presence in the moment before he turned back to his companion. "I was kidding about that. She's really very nice." He didn't sound in the least embarrassed at having it revealed that he'd called her a dragon. Ann filed the words away to examine at some other time. Right now, what mattered was her patient.
Stepping around Flynn, she knelt by the sofa. Other than being female, the child bore no resemblance to her hasty image of a woman who'd been cavorting in Flynn's shower. She was small-boned and fragile with a mop of badly cut sandy hair that was matted with blood on one side. Her gray eyes were swimming with tears and an occasional sob shook her thin frame. She examined Ann solemnly without releasing her hold on Flynn's left hand. His right hand held a kitchen towel to the side of her head.
The scenario was not quite what Ann had been expecting, but the injury was exactly what she'd expected. Head wounds were always frightening, but they had a tendency to bleed out of all proportion to their seriousness.
"Becky, this is Ann. She's going to take care of your head for you."
Ann smiled at the little girl, unaware of the way her face lit and softened with the smile. "Hi, Becky. It looks like you smacked your head pretty good." She eased the towel away and was relieved to see that the actual wound itself was not too bad. A small cut at the end of Becky's eyebrow still oozed blood sullenly, but it wasn't enough to warrant stitches.
"Are you going to stick a needle in me?" Becky's lip quivered at the thought.
"I don't think we need to do that. A bandage should take care of this."
"I was in the shower and I heard her fall. I don't know what happened. She was looking at magazines when I went into the bathroom." Flynn's voice was tight with concern.
"I was just trying to get a closer look at that picture on the wall, Mr. Flynn. I stood up on the sofa, but I slipped on a book and hit my head on the table." Ann glanced over her shoulder at the coffee table. It was a massive affair of glass and wood. Becky was probably lucky the damage was as minor as it was.
"Is she going to be all right?" Flynn hadn't moved from his position beside Becky, but he managed to give off an aura of hovering that made Ann want to swat him like an obnoxious fly.
"She's going to be fine. Why don't you go boil some water?"
He seemed relieved to have something to do, and he hurried off to the kitchen. Ann watched him leave, trying to convince herself that he looked ridiculous in the barely decent towel. It didn't work. In fact, he looked distressingly sexy. She dragged her mind and her eyes back to her small patient.
Becky's eyes met hers solemnly, more than a trace of uncertainty in their depths. Ann smiled and the look faded a bit, but it wasn't replaced by trust. Ann had a feeling that this was not a child who trusted easily.
"What's the water for?"
"Nothing. He was making me nervous."
The little girl's eyes widened. "You mean you don't really need any water?"
"Nope. I don't need it at all. Men aren't very good at coping with things like thi
s. They get all upset. I thought it would be a good idea if we got him out of our hair."
"Won't Mr. Flynn be mad?"
"I don't think so." Ann set the bloodstained towel on the glass-topped coffee table. Becky winced when
Tell Me a Story
Ann tried to cleanse the wound, and Ann gave her a reassuring smile. "This may sting a little bit, but it won't hurt much, I promise."
"Mama always says that but it hurts a lot." "Well, maybe your mother doesn't have the right stuff so it hurts more than she thinks it will. But I'm a doctor and this is a special cleanser that doesn't hurt a lot. Okay?"
The gray eyes studied Ann for a long moment, weighing and considering in a very adult manner. Ann didn't try to rush the decision, letting Becky take her time. It was much easier to work with children if they felt they had some control over what was happening to them. Becky finally nodded, apparently making up her mind that she'd trust Ann this time.
She dabbed the cotton against the cut, feeling the tension in Becky's frame. "Is Flynn a friend of your mom and dad's?" The question had two purposes. One was to distract Becky. If she had something else to think about, she wouldn't have as much time to worry about what Ann might be doing. The other purpose was to find out what Flynn McCallister was doing with a little girl in his apartment. Over the past two years, she'd seen him with a number of women, but none of them looked the type to be mothers.
"I don't have a dad. Me and Mom do just fine without him."
"I'm sure you do. Then Flynn must be a friend of your mom's?" What kind of woman would leave her child in the care of a playboy like McCallister? "Nope."
Ann's hand stilled a moment. "Well, then, how do you know him?"
"I found him last night."
"You found him!"
"Yup."
"How did you find him?" Ann's hand continued to move automatically.
"He sat on me."
Tell Me a Story Page 3
