Red Hot Lovers: 18 Contemporary Romance Books of Love, Passion, and Sexy Heroes by Your Favorite Top-Selling Authors

by Milly Taiden

  With Cynthia at the hospital, I was fine doing extra rounds, extra work, extra everything. My supervising doctor in pediatrics felt I would easily complete my pediatric hours inside a year if I chose to go that direction.

  I could only hope Cynthia would be in remission well before then.

  “I think it’s a good course. It will lend credibility to your papers on the adult second-onset work. Maybe you’ll find the treatments that prevent it.”

  It was a good goal for someone else. Right now I felt in the thick of battle, and thinking about my own future was for later.

  “But that’s not what you’re here for, is it?” he said. “Do you need someone to supervise this alternate track? I could contact Dr. Libson. He’s done work in that field.”

  “No. It’s not that.” Here was the moment. After all that overblown talk about changing medical history, I couldn’t figure out a way to bring up saving the job of the girl I’d felt up in a dark surgical suite.

  But this wasn’t about her. It was about Cynthia.

  “St. Anthony’s has taken some bizarre stance on social workers and has fired several. One of them was making a huge difference with my patients.”

  My father’s face was impassive and blank, a forced expression I knew well. He braced his elbows on his desk, his hands folded in front of a face that looked remarkably like mine, albeit with a hairline I was sure I could expect in twenty years.

  His voice barely held back his disdain. “And you’re bringing this little staffing matter to me.”

  “The director has a stick up his ass.”

  “John Duffrey is a highly respected hospital director. I expect to see him on this board inside of five years.”

  “He’s being shortsighted.”

  “On social workers?” My father leaned back in his chair. “Leave that to HR.”

  “The directive comes from him. He should be corrected.”

  His eyebrows shot up. “Why are you taking on Duffrey over this?”

  Time to break out the second salvo. “A woman.”

  This brought out a smile. “Ah. Is the mighty bachelor finally settling down?”

  “Not if she moves six states away.” Nice touch.

  “Is she just a social worker?” He tried and failed to remove the disapproval from his voice.

  Hell, I didn’t know what she was. “A therapist, actually.”

  He touched his telephone, then pulled back. “She should be protected, then.”

  Crap. I was talking out my ass. “Well, she’s more of a layman. The art therapy program.”

  I realized my mistake immediately when his face darkened with disgust.

  “I see you’re still hung up on your little drawings.”

  We were back to that. He had swooped back into my life when I applied to art schools instead of going premed after high school.

  “I went to medical school. I have two subspecialties. Let it rest.”

  He held up his hands. “I’ll let it rest.”

  But he wouldn’t. He knew my love of art came from my mother, and that the years he was gone meant that his family legacy of physicians was salvaged only by his monetary bullying.

  “This art therapist got let go?”

  I tried to salvage my argument. “Yes. Since it’s systemic and not just her, I thought it might need looking into.”

  Now came the expression I knew well. Condemnation. “You realize you’re getting involved in something very serious over something very small.”

  “Not small to me.” I managed to keep my voice straight and even, something he’d taught me well, but inside I knew I had lost.

  “You’re not going to get very far in your career if you take every woman problem straight to the top. If you want this therapist to stay around, then get her to stand by your side.”

  “Right, just like you did for Mom.”

  My words rang off the walls as he stared at me. “I’m not getting into this old argument.”

  “Right, because you know damn well you did the wrong thing. I’m trying to do the right one here.”

  He picked up a pen and began flipping through a calendar, signaling that the conversation was over.

  I wanted to smash my hands on his desk. Make him listen. One phone call from him to Duffrey would get Tina back. We both knew this.

  I hadn’t played it right.

  “It would mean a lot to me personally if Tina Schwartz were reinstated to her position. I’ll go to Duffrey myself if I have to.”

  My father stared at me, impassive, but his eyes flashed in warning. “You’d jeopardize your relationship with a very powerful player at your hospital over this girl?”

  “I would.”

  “Then I haven’t taught you a goddamned thing.” He picked up his phone and began dialing.

  Obviously we were done here. I stood up. “Nice seeing you, Father,” I said.

  He waved me away, looking out the window as he pressed the phone against his ear.

  Disappointment in me was nothing new to him.

  The feeling was definitely mutual.

  ***

  Chapter Thirteen: Tina

  By the time Corabelle made it over, Jenny and I were halfway through my box of wine and not making much sense.

  “Drunk by midafternoon?” she said, dropping her backpack by the door. She looked at Jenny. “Don’t you have class?”

  Then she noticed the big pink sofa. “What in the world is this?”

  “My newest acquisition,” Jenny said. Her voice might have been slurred. I wasn’t sure if I was an accurate judge at this point.

  “Frankie buying you things again?” Corabelle asked. She sat delicately on the furry cushions, as if the sofa might drag her into its pink clutches.

  “He won’t stop,” Jenny said. She was sitting on the floor now, her glass of wine sloshing precariously.

  Corabelle leaned down and took the glass. “And it’s in Tina’s apartment because…”

  “I ran out of room!” Jenny slapped the floor. She’d ditched her shiny black jacket and tied the flowing pink mane into a ponytail.

  I wasn’t nearly as drunk as her. Probably. I couldn’t tell for sure. I sat at the kitchen table a few feet away.

  Corabelle got up and came over. “So, they fired you?”

  “Not qualified,” I said. “No certification.” I might have added an extra syllable in there.

  She picked up my wine glass as well and placed them both in the sink. “Are you going to go back to Massachusetts?”

  I laid my head on my forearms. Damn, I was tired suddenly. “I’ll probably marry the doctor instead.”

  Corabelle whipped around. “What?”

  Jenny’s voice had a singsong quality. “Tina and the doctor sitting in a tree…” she trailed off.

  Corabelle sat opposite me. “I’m guessing things progressed.”

  “Yep. Right there on the gurney in Surgical Suite B.” Even though I was talking flip about it, I couldn’t get the feel of his hands on me out of my head. One-and-done. I needed the one-and-done.

  Why had I said something about marrying him?

  No more wine.

  “You had sex with him at the hospital?”

  I lifted my head. Corabelle’s face was bright red.

  “No, no,” I said. “Just, oh, I don’t know. Stuff.”

  Jenny stumbled to her feet. “No orifices were penetrated. I already checked.” She went into the kitchen and retrieved her wine glass. “I mean, I didn’t CHECK check. But I asked.”

  Jenny paused in front of the Pink Monster. “I promise not to puke on the new sofa. You should take it since Tina doesn’t want it,” she said.

  Corabelle shook her head. “I don’t think it’s Gavin’s style.”

  “Little Manny will love it,” Jenny said. “He’ll think it’s a giant stuffed animal.” She paused. “What’s big and pink and furry?”

  “Your brain with Frankie,” I said, and we both laughed so hard I almost fell out of the
chair.

  My cell phone buzzed, but I had no idea where it was.

  “I don’t think you should get that,” Corabelle said.

  I struggled to my feet. “But it could be the good doctor,” I said, although there was no way that was true. I’d refused to give him my number. Said I’d contact him. Silly me.

  The phone was out on the coffee table. “It says St. Anthony’s Hospital,” I told them. “Maybe they’re hiring me back.” I fumbled and hit the talk button.

  “Give me that!” Corabelle hissed and took the phone. “This is Corabelle, assistant to Tina Schwartz.” She flashed me a horrible look, but this just made me giggle. I plunked down on the sofa.

  “No, she isn’t here at the moment,” Corabelle said. “Can I take a message for her?” She looked around for a piece of paper, saw none, and snatched up a pen to write on her palm. “Okay, got it. Yes. That’s great. I’ll let her know.”

  “Well, good news.” She set the phone back down. “The director of the hospital wants to see you first thing in the morning about enrolling in some program. Sounds like you may have your job back.”

  No way. Things never went right for me. Somebody had pulled a string. A big one.

  I had underestimated the doctor.

  ***

  Chapter Fourteen: Dr. Darion

  Cynthia wasn’t in her hospital bed when I checked on her that afternoon. A quick glance at the empty bathroom told me no one was there. Panic threatened to consume me as I jerked my phone from my pocket to call Nurse Angela. Cynthia’s ANC was under one hundred. She had no immune system to help her fight off contagion right now. None. Anything could happen.

  Staph infection.

  Fungus.

  Bacteria.

  God, even the common cold could kill her right now.

  I paced the small room as I rang Angela. She was a nurse. And smart. She would make sure Cynthia was double masked. They were probably outside in the courtyard getting some air. That was safe enough as long as they watched what they touched, who they talked to.

  Angela answered within two rings. “I’m going to have to call the alert code,” she said without any greeting. “I assume you’re in her room?”

  “Yes.” I strode straight out the door. “How long has she been missing?”

  “Ten minutes. Should I call the code?”

  A missing child was a Code Amber to alert the staff. Cynthia was willful and prone to wandering since she knew I was near, so I asked Angela to hold the code unless we had to call it.

  “You checked the art room?” I asked.

  “First thing. It was empty.”

  Nurses looked at me curiously as I passed. I was probably radiating fear. “Where are you now?” I asked.

  “Heading to the cafeteria. She talked about ice cream earlier. Maybe she thought she could sweet-talk someone into some.”

  I didn’t bother to ask how Cynthia got away. The girl was sly. If Angela went to the bathroom, or even nodded off for a few minutes, my sister would find a way to escape her room.

  Particularly to find Tina.

  I snapped the phone shut. I had to bring myself down. I couldn’t seem overly alarmed for a doctor asking after a patient. But my heart was practically beating outside my chest. Why did Cynthia do this? Maybe we would need to put an IV back in her just to keep her tied down.

  I blew past the art room, then slowed down and turned around. How carefully had Angela looked in there?

  I headed for the door. Tina was gone, so it was surely unused. My stomach turned over again just thinking about her holding that box of possessions.

  It opened easily. Like Angela said, the room was silent and forlorn. The walls were blank, and the string to hold drying artwork cut across the room with nothing but clips on it.

  I stepped inside. I could picture Tina standing by the cabinet, clutching a box of paints, so mad at me she could almost spit fire. The grief of the loss of her added to my upset. These past few days simply could not have gone any worse.

  I turned around to head out when I heard the smallest noise, like a sniffle. I paused, listening. Yes, someone was in here.

  I couldn’t see where. The room was open, with shelving on the walls and a table in the center.

  But then a little curtain rippled. The bottom section of one of the shelves was covered with fabric to hide the contents.

  And I could see a small nubby sock sticking out.

  Everything began to settle as I moved slowly toward the shelf. I didn’t want to startle her. “Cynthia, I can see your foot.”

  The fuzzy toes shifted back under the curtain.

  I sat on the floor next to the shelf. “Will you come out?”

  Her voice was small and tearful. “Not until Tina comes back.”

  I exhaled slowly. “What makes you think she’s gone?”

  “The nurse said no class. And when I came here, her Happy Face Man was gone.” Another sniffle.

  “Her what?”

  “Happy Face Man. The one she looks at when she’s sad. She let me hold him whenever I wanted to. He’s soft and fluffy and yellow, like sunshine.”

  I tugged the curtain back. Cynthia sat curled up in a ball, bending down to fit beneath the shelf, her back against a tall stack of construction paper.

  “Will you come out?” I asked.

  She shook her head. “Not without Tina.”

  “I don’t know that I can get her back. But she did tell me she would try to visit you.”

  Cynthia looked up. “Really? When?”

  “As soon as she could.”

  “Why did she leave?” Her cheeks were streaked with tears.

  “She didn’t want to.”

  Cynthia dropped her face against her bony knees. She was so thin. My heart hurt. This was more than anyone should have to bear.

  “I’ll find her,” I said. “Maybe she can work with you by herself. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

  She nodded against her legs.

  “Will you come out now?”

  Her back made a long, hard shudder. “Why does everybody always go away?”

  “I’m here, Cyn-Cyn.”

  “But what if you die like Mommy?”

  God, I hated this world. I hated T53 genes. I hated cancer.

  “I am not going to die,” I said.

  “Everybody dies. I am going to die.”

  I slid my arm beneath her knees and the other at her back. “Not for a very long time. Not until all my hair falls out.” I slid her out from under the shelf to pull her onto my lap.

  “When you have chemo?” she asked. Her brown eyes looked up into mine, lashless and dark like an infant’s.

  “Nope, when it all falls out because I’m very very old.”

  “You’re already very very old,” she said, and cracked her first smile.

  “I am indeed.”

  I couldn’t carry her through the halls. That would look inappropriate for a doctor and patient. So, I sent Angela a text to come fetch her, and we sat there for a while, on the floor of Tina’s room, both of us wishing for the same thing.

  That she was back.

  ***

  Chapter Fifteen: Tina

  Dang it, I was early.

  I had never met the director of the hospital, John Duffrey. Rumors about him weren’t good, and Sabrina had confirmed that when she escorted me out. He was old, mean, and determined to power-play his way to the top, wherever that was. I didn’t keep track of this stuff. I didn’t even know what power a doctor or administrator could wield.

  But my nerves meant I got up at the crack of dawn. Dressed conservatively, a bra this time, and a jacket. And no pigtails. I hesitated with the striped stockings. I rarely went without, especially in winter. They were my connection to Peanut, my good luck.

  In the end I wore them, but put on the longest skirt I owned so only the ankles showed above a pair of black flats.

  I wandered through the gift shop, killing time. I was tempted to go see what was happ
ening in my room, if anything had been moved or changed. But it had only been one day. I’m sure it was all the same.

  The doctor worked fast. He was bound to be the reason I got my job back.

  I glanced over the shelves of Bibles and rosary beads and little plaques with expressions about faith, hope, and healing. My mother would eat this stuff up.

  Then I saw him. Dr. Darion. He was speed-walking down the hall. He’d pass right by the windowed wall of the gift shop in a second. I hid behind the shelves of stuffed animals and toys.

  Maybe he had a sixth sense about me, though, because when he got close enough, he spotted me through the glass.

  And halted.

  I gave a little wave. He looked to the right and left, as if considering whether he should be seen with me. Then he turned and came into the shop.

  “You’re here?” He seemed shocked.

  “I assumed you would know.”

  He glanced over at the volunteer behind the counter. “Why are you in here?”

  “I meet with the director in half an hour.”

  The shop lady looked up at us. Darion pinched his lips together. “Come with me.”

  At least he wasn’t dragging me this time. I followed him past the main elevators down a long corridor to a set of stairs. We went up a floor, then onto the hall I recognized from yesterday. The surgical suites.

  Back there again.

  He buzzed us through. My heart was pounding before we even got into the room. Something about getting fired yesterday, his desperation over it, and I’m guessing knowing he had done something to get me back lit a flame that licked through me.

  But I was a one-and-done. I couldn’t do this with him. Couldn’t do anything.

  In fact, why were we here? Was he expecting it? Did he really think I’d bang him for getting me my job back?

  Now indignation drowned out my interest. What an asshole twit!

  He locked the door this time, but before he could even turn around, I was on him like a wasp. “You looking for payment for services rendered?” I spat out.