He gave her his signature lopsided grin. “I’ll owe you one.”
“I’ll add it to your tab.”
Eli slipped into his office and quickly changed into navy slacks and a moss green polo shirt. Ever since the day he’d once had to show up for a date in scrubs, he kept a fresh change of clothes at the hospital.
A few minutes later, he hopped onto the crowded elevator.
Two orderlies were debating a controversial call from last night’s pre-season Saints game. Eli had been able to catch a few quarters between deliveries. Just as he was about to add his two cents on the bogus penalty flag that had caused the Saints the game, the elevator came to a halt on the second floor. The doors opened and Eli was momentarily loss as he stared at the most heavenly creature ever created.
She was beauty personified. A sweet caramel confection with soft brown eyes and lips like an angel. She was petite and slender, with rich brown hair stopping at her delicately shaped shoulders.
“Excuse me,” she said.
Her voice was hushed. Sensual. A sexy melody floating through the air.
Eli backed up a step to give her room and the goddess wedged between him and one of the orderlies.
“Sorry. Someone spilled cleaning fluid at the entrance to the stairs,” she explained. “Otherwise, I would have taken them.”
Eli opened his mouth to reply, but the elevator dinged, indicating they’d arrived at the ground floor. The doors opened and Pretty Eyes walked out.
She turned left. He was going right.
Big dilemma.
Should he turn right and miss out on getting her number, or turn left and face his mother’s wrath?
He’d dealt with Hurricane Margo before. He could take whatever she dished out. Besides, with his mother, an apology and a kiss on the cheek would put him on the road to forgiveness.
But could he deal with disappointing Jasmine?
Just the thought of a hint of sadness on his niece’s face sealed Eli’s faith. He turned right.
He still arrived forty minutes late due to traffic on I-10 being backed up nearly to the Mississippi River. Eli slid into the seat next to his older brother and whispered, “What did I miss?”
“The classical dance,” Alexander answered.
“Did she notice?”
“Yep. Be prepared to buy half the stock at Toys-R-Us to make up for it.”
The Hip-Hop song Eli had heard every time he went to his brother’s house for the last five weeks blared out of the speakers. Ten little girls, dressed in denim overalls with one strap hooked and the other dangling to the floor, stood in the middle of the stage. They started the routine Jasmine had demanded he sit through at least a dozen times. A huge grin spread across Eli’s face.
“Look at my girl go,” Alex said with pride.
“You’d just better make sure she’s behind the camera directing videos instead of dressed in hoochie mama clothes dancing in them.”
“Man, don’t even talk that way. This is about as far as I’m letting it go. She’s switching to piano lessons after this recital.”
“Make sure her Uncle Tobias knows that,” Eli said, speaking of their younger brother, the ex-basketball pro turned aspiring music mogul.
The number ended and the dance school’s instructor came from behind the curtain, a microphone in her hand.
“Yo, Alex,” Eli nudged him with his shoulder and nodded toward the instructor. “She’s not that bad. You ever think about hooking up with her when you bring Jazzy in for her lessons?”
“No.” His brother shifted in his seat. “Anyway, she’s married.”
“Find out if she’s got a sister who’s single.”
“Not interested.”
What else was new?
His older brother seriously needed some play. Eli knew it had been over two years since Alex had seen a naked woman--other than on Pay Per View. He probably didn’t take advantage of that either.
And it’s not as if the guy was hard on the eyes. The Holmes brothers were known for their looks. People in the old neighborhood used to say they could open up a modeling agency and be their own clients.
Eli could not understand how Alex did it. If he went more than a couple of months without getting some, his eyesight went blurry.
“You need to get back on the dating scene, man. The way you live isn’t healthy.”
“Because I don’t have a different woman in my bed every night like you?”
“Because you don’t have any woman in your bed. And it’s not a different one every night. The one I got now is going on three weeks.”
“Three whole weeks?” He could hear the sarcasm in Alex’s voice. “Does she get a trophy?”
“Nah, that’s not until the one month mark.”
“Would the two of you be quiet,” Margo Holmes hissed from where she sat on the other side of Alex. “It’s bad enough you walked in an hour late.” She shot the evil eye Eli’s way. “You don’t need another mark against you.”
Eli cursed under his breath. He could see Alex’s shoulders shaking as his brother tried to stifle his laughter.
“You didn’t think she’d let you get by with coming here late, did you?” Alex whispered.
Their mother leaned slightly forward and looked at them again. Eli decided to hold his comment.
After the recital ended, Jasmine came rushing from behind the stage, her Shirley Temple curls bouncing around her face. She plowed into him, wrapping her skinny arms around Eli’s leg.
“What’s up, Water Lily,” Elijah said, ruffling her curls.
She stepped back. “My name is Jasmine,” his niece informed him, a sassy hand on her hip. It was a game they’d played since the minute she learned to talk. Eli called her every type of flower except the one for which she’d been named.
“Did you seen me dancing?” Jasmine asked.
“See. Did I see you dancing?” He’d warned Alex about letting this girl watch so much television. “And, yes, I did. You were the best dancer up there.”
“I telled you I was good.”
He didn’t worry about correcting her grammar again. There weren’t enough hours in the day.
“I know you have a good excuse for being late, Elijah Marcus.”
Eli turned to find his mother standing next to Alex. His brother dwarfed her, yet it was painfully obvious who held the power.
Eli shrugged. “I sent a memo that no babies were to be born today, but apparently, three expectant mothers forgot to read it.”
She pointed to her cheek, and Eli obediently obliged, placing a gentle peck on the smooth skin. “You’re lucky you have a career where I’m forced to accept your excuses.”
“Number one reason I chose it.” He grinned.
“Are you coming to dinner?” Alex asked. He stooped and picked up his daughter. Jasmine wrapped her arms around her daddy’s thick neck and held on as he swung her from side to side.
Eli shook his head. He knew the dinner invitation would be extended—the Holmeses never missed a chance to indulge in good food—but he’d already concocted a stellar excuse. He just hoped his brother didn’t see straight through it.
“No can do. I’m giving a lecture tomorrow for the incoming medical students and it needs a little tweaking.”
Of course, his contribution was only five minutes long and he’d written his short spiel last week, but did Alex and Mama really need to know that? Nah.
His mother crossed her arms over her chest. “You will be there on Sunday.” It was not a question. Unless there was bloodshed involved, Sunday dinner was not to be missed.
“Of course.” Eli bent slightly to plant another kiss, this one on her forehead. “You need me to bring anything?”
“Just you will be fine. But be on time. And it wouldn’t hurt to see you in church, either.”
He was getting out of here before this lecture even started. The When was the last time you went to church? speech could give Slessinger’s Hello talk a run for its money.
“Bye, Uncle Eli,” Jasmine called out.
“See ya later, Chrysanthemum.” He winked and headed for his car.
When Eli pulled into the driveway of the two-story Tudor he’d bought in the posh Old Metairie neighbor a few years ago, he found a sleek white BMW idling in his normal parking spot. Thankfully, his home had sustained minimal damage from the storm and he’d been able to move back in months ago. Eli parked his Range Rover behind the BMW and the doors to the two vehicles opened simultaneously.
A long, toned, honey-colored leg stepped out onto the brick-laid driveway. An equally luscious body followed.
Alicia Taylor could stop traffic.
Slim, statuesque and drop-dead gorgeous, a dozen men would be all too eager to give her all she desired. Eli wasn’t to that point yet, but he was close—especially if it meant a repeat of what she’d surprised him with last Saturday night.
Whoever invented the phrase “Men are Dogs” knew what they were talking about. Alicia had had him howling like a bloodhound. He had been sure he’d hear from the neighbors the next morning.
Too bad her tenure was coming to an end. He’d miss her creativity in the bedroom, but when she started leaving messages on his work phone, cell phone, and home voice mail, Eli knew it was time to cut her loose.
Alicia leaned against the driver’s side door, her back to him. She put one hand on her hip and the other on top of the car.
Elijah pressed the button on his key ring, activating the Rover’s alarm system. He walked up to her Beamer, stopping a scant foot behind her. He leaned over and placed his mouth next to her ear.
“Have you been waiting long?” Eli asked, his voice low.
“As a matter of fact, I have,” she answered, not turning around. “You know I hate to be kept waiting.”
The makings of a grin tipped the corners of Eli’s mouth. “I guess you’ll just have to punish me.”
She relinquished her pose and reached inside the car, retrieving a tiny clutch. Eli heard her unsnap the closure on the small beaded purse. She pulled out a pair of chrome handcuffs and held them up.
“I guess I will.”
Still facing away from him, Alicia reached back with her free hand and tugged the hem of Eli’s shirt. She used it to pull him toward the front door, then turned and penned him against it, plunging her tongue down his throat. Eli fumbled with the key and after three tries finally unlocked the door.
The never made it passed the foyer.
Chapter Three
The blaring police sirens were giving her a headache.
Monica slumped her head against the steering wheel and tried not to scream.
In true fashion of her unbelievably bad luck, she would get in a fender bender this morning, making her late her first day on the job. It didn’t help that the granny she rear-ended appeared to be a pro at traffic accidents. The woman had the police on speed dial. Of course, the call to her lawyer had taken precedence over the authorities.
Great. Her insurance would go through the roof.
Monica really, really wanted to scream.
The officer, who apparently graduated from the police academy ten minutes before responding to the accident, strolled up to her window.
“Are we done here?” Monica asked, not giving him a chance to speak.
“You’re free to go, Miss Gardner, but you’ll need to make yourself available. I have a feeling you’ll be hearing from Mrs. Gauthier’s lawyer sometime today.”
Wonderful.
“You people do realize this is a minor accident, right? Her car doesn’t have a scratch on it.”
“She says she’s having chest pains from the sudden jolt she received when you rear-ended her.”
“Chest pains, my ass,” Monica muttered under her breath. She didn’t have time for this. “Look, I need to get to work. Tell her lawyer to call away.”
She put her car in drive and took off down Jefferson-Davis Parkway. A flutter of excitement lifted Monica’s stomach as the deep brown bricks of Methodist Memorial Hospital came into view.
Moving to New Orleans was the smartest thing she’d done in a long time. She’d already fallen in love with this place. Despite the trauma the city had sustained from last year’s storm, evidence of its rich, colorful history poured out of every crevice, from the antebellum mansion she’d visited over the weekend when she’d gone exploring up the Mississippi River, to Jackson Square, only a few blocks from her new French Quarter apartment.
Monica had learned that The Quarter, as the locals referred to it, was one of the city’s highest points, so the flooding that had devastated most of New Orleans didn’t reach it. Monica was grateful it had been spared. She adored the neighborhood’s quaintness; she couldn’t imagine living anywhere else in the city.
For the past two nights, the sweet music wafting from the funky little jazz club across the street had lulled her to sleep, leaving her with dreams of a tall, dark trumpet player ready to light her world on fire.
That’s about the only place men showed up these days—in her dreams.
Not that Monica was complaining. Lord knows the one man she’d allowed herself to get close to had ripped her heart out and stomped on it like an Indian rain dance.
If she wanted to be honest, Monica could admit that Patrick’s departure hadn’t come totally out of left field. Although they were together for six years, they had never shared the all-consuming, heart-stopping love Monica had witnessed between other couples in love. But Patrick had been a good social match. The son of a prominent business man, he had the breeding and pedigree that floated her mother’s boat. The fact that he didn’t provide Monica with the happiness she deserved didn’t really matter.
Despite their unfulfilling relationship, Monica still missed him.
Stop that, she chided herself. She did not miss him.
Patrick Dangerfield was a thousand miles away, living with his perfect new wife and perfect new baby in a perfect house in St. Louis. She did not leave Missouri to bring thoughts of him to Louisiana.
Monica pulled into her parking space. The rectangular sign still read Reserved for Dr. Millgram, the ER attending she had replaced. According to Dr. Slessinger, Charles Millgram had evacuated with his family to Houston, and like a lot of other people who left for Katrina, had decided to stay. Dr. Millgram’s choice to remain in Texas had been Monica’s saving grace. When her best friend, Nia, told her about an opening she’d found on an Internet job board for an emergency room doctor at a New Orleans hospital, Monica couldn’t get to the phone fast enough.
Monica set the car alarm and started across the covered parking lot. She stepped out of the rows of cars and had to jump back when a black Range Rover turned the curve going at least ten times faster than it should have been in a place where there was constant foot traffic.
If there was one thing about New Orleans that didn’t impress her, it was the driving. Everybody on the road should have had their licenses revoked a long time ago.
The ER’s automatic glass doors opened and Monica headed toward the large square station in the middle of the emergency room.
“Good Morning, Dr. Gardner.” The nurse Dr. Slessinger had introduced as Patty on their tour of the hospital greeted her.
“Good Morning, Patty. Sorry I’m late. I had a small fender bender on the way in.”
“Are you okay?”
Monica waved off the nurse’s alarm. “It was hardly anything. But don’t tell that to the sweet little grandmother I hit. I wouldn’t be surprised if she came rolling through those doors claiming I gave her a heart attack.”
Patty grimaced. “One of those, huh?”
Monica nodded. She turned to the large dry erase board hanging above the nurses’ station. “I’ll take the laceration in room three.”
By midday, Monica had seen half a dozen patients. It was a good thing she’d been prepared for a full workload. Unf
ortunately, nothing could have prepared her for the eight-year-old with stomach flu, thus, the spanking new pair of peach scrubs the charge nurse had so graciously loaned her. Someone had run upstairs to get a pair of green scrubs—the color delineated for doctors—but Monica didn’t have time to wait. She could hear the wailing of the ambulance signaling the arrival of yet another patient.
Monica left the room she’d ducked into to change clothes and met the EMS team at the ambulance bay.
“What do we have?” she asked the driver as he came around the side of the rig. The other paramedic pulled the double doors open and they lifted a gurney and placed it on the ground. A very pregnant woman lay upon the flat surface.
“Call came through about twelve minutes ago. Thirty-two weeks. Complains of severe abdominal pain. She has a good bit of swelling in her lower extremities.”
Monica helped guide the gurney into the first available examination room, while the EMT listed the woman’s vitals.
“Any meds?”
“Only your normal prenatals.”
“Good job,” Monica said with a nod, releasing the medics of their duty. “Get a monitor on the heart going and dip her urine,” she called out. Monica quickly scrubbed at the large basin. A nurse slipped gloves over her hands, then Monica went around to the panting woman’s side.
“I know it hurts,” she crooned softly. “What’s your name?”
“Sharon. Please, help my baby,” the woman pleaded.
“Don’t worry, Sharon,” she reassured her. “Do you know the sex?” Monica asked, trying to gear the frightened woman’s mind to more pleasant thoughts.
She nodded. “A boy. We’re naming...him Andrew...Andrew Michael.”
“Oh, I like that,” Monica smiled as she tested the patient’s vitals. She’d turned to check the fetal monitor when a series of beeps sounded throughout the room.
“Doctor, her BP just shot up to 220 over 118.”
“Sharon?” Monica positioned the stethoscope earpieces in her ears and made quick work of pressing the flat end to the woman’s chest and stomach.
“Rapid heartbeat,” Monica said. “Sharon, can you hear me?” She performed a deep pain test by rubbing her knuckles at a point on the woman’s sternum. She responded with a jerk. “Sharon, is there ringing in your ears, or do you feel nauseated at all?”
Deliver Me Page 2
