Sexy Ms. Takes

by Jo Leigh

  The nurse looked up in surprise. “Dr. Bradshaw? I thought you were going skiing in Vermont.”

  He shook his head. “Just put my name down as the responsible party.”

  The nurse, whom he didn’t know well, raised her eyebrows, then went back to the paperwork. He didn’t dare look at Ms. Hill.

  His new patient didn’t acknowledge the exchange at all. Her hands gripped the arms of the wheelchair tightly and her cheeks flushed. No way she would forgive him, and why should she? He’d been so looking forward to his ski trip that everything else had disappeared. It felt as if he hadn’t had a vacation in years, and God knew he needed one. But first, he’d take care of Willow Hill, which meant his plans would change. He’d been on his way to the ski shop to get a new jacket and goggles, plenty of time to catch his six o’clock flight. He’d planned on ringing in the New Year at a lodge filled with young carefree revelers looking for a good time.

  “Dr. Bradshaw?”

  He brought his attention back to Ms. Hill. “Yes?”

  “You don’t have to stay with me,” she said, her icy voice chilling him quite nicely. “Really. Leaving your credit card will be just fine.”

  He looked at the nurse. “Where can I take her?”

  “Seven’s open.”

  “Thank you.” He turned the wheelchair and headed down the corridor, past the waiting room, which was, as always, filled to bursting. Tomorrow, he knew, would be even worse. New Year’s meant lots of accidents, lots of alcohol poisoning and, for some reason, a lot of babies being born ahead of schedule.

  Ms. Hill wasn’t any more conciliatory once they were in Exam Seven. He had no idea what would soothe her, and hoped like hell she wasn’t thinking lawsuit. For now, all he could do was give her the best the hospital had to offer, including his services.

  He helped her up and out of her big down coat, revealing a very slinky black dress covering a very beautiful body. Willow had more curves than he’d assumed. He didn’t know many dancers personally, but he treated a lot of them for foot, ankle and knee injuries. They were all ridiculously thin. In Willow’s case, she had a small waist, nicely flared hips and a hell of a rack.

  After getting her situated on the exam table, he tackled the problem of her boot. “It’s going to have to come off,” he said.

  “Will I need something to bite down on?”

  “I’ll do my best not to hurt you.” He put his own jacket on an empty chair. “Are the boots expensive?”

  “Massively. I got them at Tiffany’s.”

  “Oh, that’s a shame.” He got out the scissors, the big ones they used to cut off clothing, including jackets and shoes.

  Her eyes widened at the sight. “I didn’t think you were serious. You have to cut them?”

  “It’s that or risk more damage to your ankle.”

  A heavy sigh told him she was resigned to her fate. “Do your worst.”

  Working carefully, he managed to keep his promise. Willow grimaced, but only squealed a couple of times. Her hands clenched tightly at the edges of the table, and she’d closed her eyes. Flynn only glanced at her when he’d put the ruined boot aside. He wasn’t sure how to proceed. She’d worn thick tights and he didn’t want to destroy those unless he had to.

  Pausing for a moment, he looked at her leg, propped up by the tongue of the exam table. Her calves had muscles, but they didn’t bulge. He thought she must do yoga or Pilates to get those lean, strong legs.

  Her ankle, on the other hand, bulged quite a bit. Even through the material of her tights, he could see she was starting to bruise. “You want to try and take off the tights or should I cut them?”

  She winced as she looked at the damage. “Is it broken?”

  “We won’t know until the X-ray. The ankle is tricky. It could be a sprain, or a torn ligament or tendon. Or it could be broken.”

  Another sigh. “You’ll pay for a new pair of tights?”

  He smiled. “Yes.”

  “I got these at Tiffany’s, too.”

  “I had no idea Tiffany’s had such eclectic offerings.”

  “You have to look in the back room.”

  “Ah,” he said, gently tugging at the tights before he made the first slice.

  She hissed through her teeth as he carefully peeled the foot of the tights away.

  “We’ll get you to radiology in a moment.” He put the scissors down.

  “When do we get to the painkillers?”

  “It aches, huh?”

  “Like a son of a bitch.”

  “We’ll make sure you feel no pain. But don’t count on anything too heavy-duty.”

  “You mean I won’t get any of the good drugs.”

  He shook his head although he didn’t stop his visual examination. “Probably not. I need to touch a few things first.”

  “Why?”

  “Despite the miracle of X-rays, there are still things doctors need to do by hand.”

  “Well, be quick about it. I can’t believe you did this and you’re not even gonna give me good drugs. Some doctor you are.”

  Flynn caught her eye for a moment and she let him know with a look that she was kidding. Satisfied, he resumed his exam. “So you’re an actress?”

  “Dancer.”

  “Been in any shows I might have seen?”

  “Lion King, maybe. Rent. Mostly off Broadway and in reviews.”

  “It must be exciting.”

  She hissed again. “I know you’re trying to distract me, but maybe we could talk about something other than my now nonexistent career?”

  It was his turn to wince. Usually he had a good bedside manner, at least that’s what he’d been told. “Right. You a native?”

  “Nope. Californian.”

  “What part?”

  “Bakersfield.”

  “I don’t know it.”

  “You’re not missing much. What about you?”

  “Born and raised in Manhattan.”

  “You don’t sound like it.”

  He put her foot down, got her chart and made some notes. There was a possible fracture in the lateral malleolus, but even if it wasn’t broken she was going to be off her feet for a while. “I can talk New York when I need to. Mostly, it was frowned upon.”

  “By your parents?”

  “Yes. Now come on. Let’s get you to X-ray. Put your arm around my neck and I’ll take your weight.”

  As she let him help her, her breast pushed against his side and he had to focus on the fact that she was a patient and that he had no business thinking of anything but her ankle. She didn’t make it easy, though. Just putting his arm around her waist was an unusual distraction. Maybe because he was already in vacation mode. Whatever, it was inappropriate at the moment.

  Finally, she was in the chair looking small and vulnerable. Crap. “Ms. Hill? Willow?”

  She looked up at him. Tears again filled her eyes. She blinked and looked away.

  Damn. He thought he was immune. Patients cried all the time. “Do you have someone?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “To take care of you.”

  She seemed surprised by the question. “Not really. Why? Am I going to need help?”

  He wheeled her out the door as he compiled a mental list of who he’d need to call to change his plans. He’d really been looking forward to celebrating tonight. No obligations, no rushing to the hospital in the middle of the night. He would have been free to ski, but more importantly to find a like-minded lady who wanted to party. Instead, he’d have to make sure his new patient was settled and taken care of, which meant he couldn’t fly out until tomorrow morning.

  “Doc?”

  Oh, yeah. The patient. “Yes, I think you will need help. But don’t worry. I’ve got you.”

  2

  FOUR AND A HALF HOURS after the fall, Willow was still trying to digest the fact that while she hadn’t broken her ankle, it was still screwed up badly. Very badly. A second-degree sprain. Recovery from four to six weeks. No dancing.
No working out. No auditions. To add insult to injury, even then she might require surgery if the ligaments didn’t heal properly.

  Once more in a taxi, Dr. Bradshaw beside her, they pulled up to her apartment, just a few blocks from Mary-mount Manhattan College. Thinking about using the crutches to climb the stairs made her feel sick, not that she would admit it. Dammit. She wasn’t going to cry again. That’s all she’d done since he’d given her the bad news.He’d tried to make things right. He’d never left her for a minute. He’d not only taken X-rays but also an MRI. Gotten her a coffee and a treat from the nurses’ lounge. Put a pillow behind her back. Touched her, rather a lot. Then there was the big one—taking care of the medical costs. But she was grateful to be home. She hated feeling weak. Vulnerable. She’d never liked being fussed over, especially not by the man who’d gotten her into this pitiful position.

  “All right.” Dr. Bradshaw had gotten out of the cab and held out his arm. “Ready?”

  She frowned. “You’re not going inside with me. I’ll be fine. I can still hobble.”

  He frowned back. “But you shouldn’t. At least not for a few days. You’ve got injured ligaments and tendons, and you should be lying down.”

  “I will. I promise.”

  After a brief shake of his head, which sent a lock of his hair falling across his forehead, he got out of the cab, but not before he told the driver to wait.

  “You don’t have to stay,” she said. “I told you—”

  “I’m going to get you inside, and there’s not a damn thing you can do about it.”

  She stared up at him, angry and frustrated. “I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself. You’ve done more than enough.”

  “Please don’t argue. I’m tired, and you must be, too.”

  Okay, he was right about that. She was exhausted. She let him help her out, avoiding the slush at the curb, then slung her arm around his neck. It was already a familiar position. After he’d put her tote over his shoulder, the two of them made it to the stoop, looking as if they were in the world’s lamest three-legged race. The ice pack stayed on well as he practically carried her up the two steps and into the small lobby.

  Still holding on to her, he swiveled his head to look all around the room. “No elevator?” he finally asked.

  “Nope. It’s student housing. And ancient.”

  “What floor are you on?”

  She didn’t want to tell him. Knowing him, though, he’d follow her up, so there was no use lying. “Sixth.”

  “What?”

  “Sixth. It’s the one right above the fifth.”

  He looked at her as if she’d moved there on purpose. “There’s no way you’re climbing up six flights of stairs.”

  “Yes,” she said, “there is. That’s where I live. All my things are up there.”

  He shook his head. “This isn’t going to work. Don’t you have someone who could take you in? Someone who lives on the first floor?”

  “Well, excuse me for not having the right friends. I’m not from here, remember? And all the people I know are starving dancers, like me.”

  “Well, we’ll just have to take first things first.” Without giving her even a hint of a warning, he swept her up in his arms.

  She almost dropped her crutches, and her dress moved up to the top of her thighs. “Hey!”

  “Shush.” He went to the staircase and began to climb.

  Willow couldn’t reach her dress unless she dropped the crutches. It was some comfort that she had panties on under her tights, but she still felt terribly exposed. “You can’t carry me the whole way.”

  “Why not?”

  “I thought you said you weren’t a superhero.”

  “I’m not. But you don’t weigh much and I work out.”

  “Tell me that again when we reach the sixth floor.”

  He slowed a bit as he met her gaze. “You really don’t think I can do it?”

  “I think you’ll be the one who needs to lie down.”

  “How big’s your couch?”

  She snorted in a very unladylike way. “What couch? I’m sharing a shoebox with three other women. I’m lucky to have a twin bed.”

  He grinned at her, but he was concentrating on the stairs, not her sparkling wit. There wasn’t much else she could do but scope him out. It was impossible to miss how good-looking he was. But on closer inspection she saw there was a ruggedness about him that surprised her. His light brown hair, longish, thick and with a tendency to lick over his forehead, lured her into thinking he might be too pretty. Then she’d seen the small crescent scar at his right temple and the one on his chin. The capper was his crooked nose. Attractive crooked. Manly crooked. He could have been a street fighter in his younger days. She knew better.

  In his attempt to distract her from the end of her life, he’d babbled about his credentials. Yale and med school at Cornell. Smart. Handsome. He must have a wife or a girlfriend. Absolutely no way he was single. Nope, he was taken. For sure.

  He turned at the third-floor landing and didn’t even hesitate on his way to the fourth.

  “You getting tired?”

  “Nope.”

  “Your face says you’re lying.”

  “My face has said nothing at all.”

  Right. His breathing had changed and while she had to admit he was in wonderful shape, carrying her hundred and four pounds up this many flights would have been hard for anyone. Well, maybe not a fireman, but for the above-average doctor? Oh, yeah.

  His steps slowed as they reached the halfway turn on the fourth floor.

  “Dr. Bradshaw. Put me down. Please.”

  He stopped. “What’s wrong?”

  “I’ve got a cramp. I’d like to stand up for a minute.”

  He lowered her feet to the ground, letting her lean against the door and her crutches instead of him. “Where’s the cramp?”

  “It’s nothing,” she said, massaging her thigh even though she felt fine. “It’s weird being carried. I think I stressed out a little, that’s all.”

  “No problem.” He wiped his forehead with the sleeve of his coat.

  “You know, you could take that off and let me carry it.”

  He didn’t hesitate. “Good idea. It’s warm in here.”

  “Guess you don’t have to go to the gym today.” She took his jacket, then remembered. “Your ski trip.”

  “What about it?”

  “You’re missing it.”

  He shook his head. “Another time.”

  “What?” She put her bad foot down and winced. “It’s off? Because of me?”

  “Because of my own stupidity.”

  “No, no. Not gonna happen. Can you still make your flight?”

  “It’s all right. Maybe I can still catch a plane tomorrow.”

  “Dr. Bradshaw—”

  “Flynn.”

  “Fine. Flynn. Are you insane? It’s New Year’s Eve. What about your wife? Or your girlfriend? Someone’s going to be pissed. Even the nurse knew you had reservations. I appreciate all you’ve done, especially the medical costs because I’m broke and that would have been really tricky, but seriously. It’s enough. I’m strong. I’m a dancer. Injuries are part of the game. You go on, get out of here.”

  He stared at her for a long moment. She’d thought his eyes were hazel, but now she saw they were green.

  “Your cramp better?”

  It took her a second to nod.

  “Good. Then let’s get you upstairs.”

  “You’re not going to leave, are you?” she said flatly.

  He moved closer to her. Definitely green eyes. And he smelled good even though she knew he’d been sweating. He put her arm around his neck and up she went into the cradle of his arms. Against that nice, solid chest. She wouldn’t press him further until he’d gotten her inside, but then she was going to insist he leave.

  As he continued up the never-ending staircase, she thought about the party she was going to miss tonight. It was at Tommy and J
enny’s loft, and they always threw a hell of a bash.

  She’d better come up with some reason she’d missed the audition and was going to skip the party. She couldn’t tell her friends the truth, especially not Tommy and Jenny. If they knew she’d been hurt pure guilt would have them dropping everything to take care of her, which would have been unbearable. They were great, good buds, but man, longer than an hour with the two of them made her break out in hives. It sure would have been nice to have a boyfriend about now. A real one who stayed longer than a weekend. Someone who’d fetch and carry and worry, but not smother her. She’d have to settle for her roommates’ help, even though they were never home.

  She rested her head against Flynn’s neck as he trudged up the final flight of stairs. God, he smelled good.

  FLYNN PUT WILLOW DOWN, letting her balance on her crutches before he inserted her key into the door. Thank goodness it was only six floors. A couple more might have seriously dented his ego. He pushed open the door and froze at what he beheld. The small room was as overstuffed as his Aunt Theresa’s ancient couch.

  Two big chairs, a twin bed, a television, a stereo and three different coffee tables, each piled higher than the last, left only tiny paths between furniture. Every surface was covered in books and/or clothes, cups and plates. Something furry shifted on one of the chairs, either a big cat or small dog.“I know,” Willow said, her voice still stuffy from all the crying at the hospital. “So stereotypical. But no one’s ever here, so it’s not quite as disgusting as you’d think.”

  He turned to her, forcing himself not to shake his head as his father would have. It was a gesture that could make people crazy and he needed her compliant. “This is a problem.”

  “What is?”

  “There’s not enough space for you and the crutches.”

  “I don’t stay in this room much. I have a room in the back.”

  “That’s good, but do you also have a kitchen and bathroom in the back?”

  “Not exactly.”

  “Then it’s a problem.”