by Jo Leigh
“So, orthopedics. That’s because of the broken leg, too?”
He hesitated. “Sort of.”
“Hey, if you don’t want to talk, that’s okay.”
“It’s not that…”
Okay, now he’d gotten her curious. “Well?”
“My father is a heart surgeon. A famous one.”
“Ah, I see. Hard to follow in his footsteps.”
“That’s the last thing I want to do.” He slid her an exasperated look. “Brilliant surgeon. Lousy husband, lousier father.
“Now, how about you? Did you always want to be a dancer?”
She wanted to keep asking him questions, but she could take a hint. “It’s what I’ve done my whole life. I started dancing school when I was five. Never stopped.”
“Because it was what you wanted? Or was there something else going on?”
Okay, interesting. His tone had changed with that last question. He meant did she have a stage mother, but there was more to it than that. There was a subtle urgency in his voice, almost an anger. Was this about his father again? “My mother,” she said, “was always proud of me, but she wasn’t insistent. She wanted me and my sister to have options. We played sports, swam, joined Girl Scouts, learned musical instruments. Dancing was the one that stuck for me. My sister liked science. She’s going to be a biochemist.”
“Older or younger?”
“She’s older. By one year. She goes to UCLA.”
“You miss her?”
“A lot. She helped me with all my math homework.”
“Good thing you don’t have to worry about that now.”
Willow smiled, missing Skye. “She helped with other things, too. Hey, you said you had a sister?”
“I do. She’s the mother of two great boys. Married to a doctor, which isn’t a shock. She lives in Connecticut with her husband and my mother.”
“So I take it your parents are divorced.”
“Separated. Going on ten years.”
“Well, no use making a hasty decision.”
He chuckled. “It’s more like why air dirty laundry when everyone can go on pretending we have the perfect family.”
“I’m sorry.”
He shrugged. “I’ve made peace with it. I just refuse to be like him. All he cared about was his practice and his mistresses. Not necessarily in that order. He had two separate penthouse apartments where he kept them. Nicely, I might add. Chauffeurs, maids, wardrobes, cosmetic surgery. God forbid one of his babes looked older than twenty.”
Yeah, there was still some anger there. “So,” she said, blatantly changing the subject, “you’re, like, loaded.”
He laughed. “Yeah, I suppose we are. Maybe not as loaded as we used to be, but my great-great-grandfather made some fortuitous choices.”
“And all this furniture came from his house, I assume?”
He looked at her crossly. “Quit hating on my furniture. It’s not that bad.”
She gave him a look right back. “If you’re ninety.”
“Okay, okay. I know. And when I finish my fellowship, I promise I’ll buy all new things. Cross my heart.”
She loved that he actually did it. Crossed his heart. “Okay, I’ll shut up. Personally, I’m very grateful that you’re rich. I don’t have to feel quite so guilty for accepting your money.”
“I’m grateful, too. That I can help mitigate some of the damage.”
She didn’t want to tread over that territory again, so she finished off her now not-so-hot soup, and leaned back a bit to watch TV. She didn’t turn up the sound, though.
AS HE WATCHED HOUSE limp around the hospital, Flynn felt pretty damn good. The conversation had gone surprisingly well. He rarely talked about his family, his father in particular. But with Willow, he’d felt at ease. Probably because she seemed to be the least judgmental person he’d ever met. Even though he’d told her what an egotistical philandering prick his father was, how he’d indiscriminately slept with nurses and patients, she hadn’t batted an eye.
He wanted to know more about her in return. His gaze strayed to the jut of her breasts, covered by the sheet. But he’d already seen enough to make him hard, make him want what he was ethically bound not to take.This was stupid and dangerous. Him being here in this room. She wasn’t just a guest, she was his patient. He had a moral responsibility to treat her as such. Lying here beside her made it too easy to forget. Had he learned nothing from his father?
He abruptly straightened. “Ready for dessert?”
“Not really. I’m kind of stuffed.”
“You’ll change your mind by the time I get back.”
“But—”
Ignoring her startled look, he quickly gathered the trays and went back to the kitchen. It only took a minute to put the dishes in the dishwasher. Then he filled the champagne bucket with ice and put four chocolate éclairs on a plate. He stared at the pastries for a second and then removed two. Couldn’t he keep his head straight for a lousy five minutes? Spending any more time with her tonight would be insane. He wouldn’t be rude. He’d have a glass of champagne with her, then leave her the two éclairs and excuse himself.
He quickly added a bunch of strawberries to the middle of the plate when it occurred to him that last year when he’d spent this holiday with that woman he’d met at Zabars, they’d eaten takeout Chinese and toasted beer bottles. Now he was arranging fruit.
One glass of champagne, and get the hell out.
IT HADN’T BEEN EASY, but Willow had made it into the bathroom and back to bed before Flynn showed up at the door. Freshly brushed teeth and hair made it feel a little less weird that she was entertaining from her bed. Technically his bed, but still, she was in her red see-through nightie.
He set the tray down on the dresser, then walked out, only to return a moment later carrying a champagne bucket and something she couldn’t identify.The mystery was solved as he put up yet another tray, this one a floor-standing model, next to the bed, upon which he placed their after-dinner treats.
“Strawberries and champagne,” she said, all fluttery inside, and not because she liked the berries. “Very Pretty Woman.”
“Huh?”
She laughed. “Chick-flick reference. It looks wonderful.”
“I figure if we play it well, you should be both stuffed and smashed by the time the ball drops.”
“A perfect ending to a relatively good year.”
“It wasn’t your best one, huh?” He pulled the bottle of bubbly from the bucket and faced the tray to pop the cork. Evidently, he’d done it once or twice before. As if by magic, his free hand swept up both flutes at once and he barely lost a drop before the glasses were filled.
“Wow. If you ever decide to leave medicine you’d make a hell of a sommelier.”
He nodded. “Trained at my parents’ dinner parties.”
“They taught you to open champagne?”
He frowned, and she had this weird feeling that something was wrong. Since he’d come back with the tray, he’d barely looked at her.
“At the ripe old age of ten. Maybe nine, I’m not sure. I also learned how to make the best dry martini on the East Coast. Seriously. I think my father was as proud of that as he was my becoming a doctor.”
She leaned over to take her glass from him. “Somehow I doubt that’s the complete truth.”
He went on to get her set up with her dessert while she thought about how much she really liked Flynn. He’d made the fruit and éclairs look nice for her, and the champagne tasted better than any champagne she’d ever had. But she couldn’t get rid of the feeling that something bad was just around the corner.
8
FLYNN SETTLED BACK ON his pillow and sipped his drink. She was squared away for the evening, and he’d be out of here before midnight. He tried to figure out which episode of House was playing, but since his attention was mostly on the woman in the bed, it was tough going. Out of the corner of his eye, he had seen Willow pick up the chocolate éclair and lif
t it slowly to her mouth. He was helpless to do anything but blatantly stare as the pastry neared her lips.
From the look in her eyes, she couldn’t have cared less. There was nothing in the world but Willow and her…He jerked his gaze to the TV. He’d never really thought about the phallic shape of an éclair. But yep. It was phallic, all right. And she was really excited about it.
“Oh, God.” The words were muffled, but the ecstasy was extremely clear. He’d been around women and chocolate before, so her vehemence wasn’t completely unexpected. But either he was reading a lot into it, or she hadn’t had an éclair in way too long.
He dared another look and found her chewing contentedly, her eyes half-closed and her lips curved in a smile. A bit of chocolate ganache rested on her plump lower lip, right at the corner of her mouth. Willow didn’t realize, or didn’t care.
He, being human, being male, thought about licking off that little piece of chocolate, but he wouldn’t. Oh, no. He wouldn’t do a thing except stop thinking about sex.
Before he could figure out a way to leave without making it seem as though he was running for his life, the tip of her tongue delicately licked up the chocolate in a neat swipe. Damn.
As a distraction, Flynn took a bite of his own pastry, and now her bliss made complete sense. As he chewed, she smiled at him before she took her next bite. He couldn’t help grinning back, following her bite with his own. It was as if they were dancing a strange tango. Choreographed eating, now with extra sexual tension!
When they finished, she laughed. A great sound. “That was fun,” she said. “If I didn’t think it would do me in, I’d have another.”
“Do you in? Are you joking? You’re tougher than that.”
“You go ahead. Seriously, I think one per night is my limit. Although that doesn’t eliminate the possibility of having one for breakfast.”
He sipped his drink, knowing she would taste of chocolate. “How about strawberries?”
“I’ll try one later. Promise. Great bakery, by the way.”
“I had no idea about the goodies. I’ve only bought bread from them. I hope it doesn’t lead to trouble.”
She nodded somberly. “Pastries inevitably lead to trouble. It’s part of their allure.”
Even though she’d lobbed the witty banter into his court, he didn’t continue the play. Allure? He wouldn’t be able to look at an éclair again without his dick getting hard. Man, he was in a bad way. A fresh wave of lust hit him low and hard and the idea of her tasting like chocolate wasn’t so much cute as erotic as hell. With one gulp, he finished his drink, then stood up. “Hey, you know, I should get going. You need your rest and I’m pretty tired myself. So, uh, I’ll just put the champagne on your side and then I’ll be out of your hair.”
“What?” Her eyes got wide and her forehead furrowed in a look of pure disappointment. Followed quickly by confusion. “Oh, okay,” she said. “That’s fine.”
It wasn’t. He’d blundered, but only in delivery, not intent. “I can take the ice pack off, but you still need to keep your ankle elevated.” Flynn had picked up the tray, but he had to stop and think where he could put it so that she could reach the champagne, but still get her crutches if she needed to go to the bathroom.
“You know what? I’ll just fill your glass now.” He put down the tray and turned to get the bottle, mostly to hide his utter stupidity. Just because he couldn’t control himself didn’t mean he had to treat her as if she had the plague. It was New Year’s. They’d been having a good time. God only knew what she thought he was doing.
He couldn’t keep hovering over the ice bucket. He picked up the bottle and headed around the bed. “It’s nice and chilled.” Inane and ridiculous, but it filled the awkward silence. “The strawberries go really well. It’s actually a famous combination—”
She turned her head away.
There was no possibility he could have handled this any more poorly. His inner seventeen-year-old had taken over and turned him into a bumbling idiot. He sighed, put the champagne down on the nightstand and sat at the edge of the bed right next to Willow. “Hey.”
He watched her lips press together, her hair hiding too much of her pretty face. When she turned to him, her eyes were full of questions and, much more troubling, doubts.
“I’m sorry. I haven’t handled myself very well. It’s partly the situation. I mean, I don’t usually cause people injury, and I’ve never offered my guest room to a stranger. But that’s not even the real issue.”
“No?” Her voice was soft, a little scared. Her hand rested on the covers. Delicate, curved and pale.
He touched her there. Not grasping, just laying his hand on hers. “I’m really attracted to you.” Now that he’d decided on honesty, he wasn’t at all sure how far to go. He hoped like crazy she’d give him a clue.
“You are?” Her question didn’t help, but the blush that stole over her cheeks did. It made things worse.
“Yes,” he said. “Very. But this is all wrong. You’re my patient. It’s completely unethical for me to even think of—”
She held up her other hand, stopping him. “Your patient?”
“Yes.”
“Flynn, I am no such thing. Is that what’s been making you act so weird? Because that’s just nuts.”
“You’re not only here because of me, but I’m the one who’s treating you.”
“If all you think I am is a patient, then I’m leaving right now. Seriously.”
“What else am I supposed to think?”
She closed her eyes for a moment. When she looked at him again, she shook her head. “I’ll tell you what I think. I think you’re a pretty decent human being. More than decent. There was an accident. You not only took responsibility, but you went way beyond the extra mile. I appreciate that, incredibly.”
She hesitated then continued. “I’d also like to think that maybe you like me a little. I know, I’m being presumptuous, but the truth is, I like you. And I figured, hey, if you were just feeling guilty, you’d have put me in the hospital while I recovered. Especially knowing you could afford that. At the very least you could have hired a nurse for me and gone off to Vermont. But you asked me here. You’re taking care of me even though you didn’t have to. That’s not a doctor/patient thing, Flynn. Even you have to admit that.”
WILLOW WATCHED FLYNN’S face, and she could tell he didn’t quite believe her. That was confirmed with the slow shake of his head and the sadness of his smile. “I do like you. Believe that. But you’re hurt. And mostly helpless. You’re right, I don’t want you leaving, not even with a nurse, because I am responsible for you getting better and not going broke during the process. It’s going to take some time, and the potential for awkwardness is high. If we made love and you hated it…”
“You think I might hate it?”He stuffed his hands in his pockets, looking as if he wanted to scuff his toe in the sand. “You could.”
“Does that happen a lot with you?”
“No!”
“I thought maybe there was something, you know, wrong? With your—”
“It’s fine. It’s great. Never better.”
She grinned. Sometimes men were so easy and the poor guy was trying to be so noble it just made her ache. “I’m teasing. I get your concerns. Honestly. They’re valid. They make all the sense in the world.”
“Okay, then.” He picked up the champagne bottle again and topped off her drink. After handing her the glass, he went to the tray and got her some strawberries on a plate. “Do you want me to go grab an éclair just in case?”
She shook her head, trying to think of a reason to ask him to ignore his sensible position. He was right. She couldn’t counter even one of his arguments. The whole situation could get creepy and weird in a heartbeat. But something told her it wouldn’t.
Unfortunately, she doubted he’d be persuaded by her gut feeling. Not with him being so logical and smart, and besides, the whole guilt issue was probably behind his rationale, which was som
ething she couldn’t dismiss. Just because she wouldn’t hate it after, didn’t mean he wouldn’t.
He came back to her and put the plate on the side table. “You’re all set, then?”
“Sure. I’m fine.”
“Good. Okay. Well, if you need me—uh, you have a cell phone, right? I can leave that here and you could call—”
“Flynn?”
“Yeah?”
She reached over and grasped his hand. “Don’t go.”
He inhaled again. His fingers squeezed hers, gently, tentatively. “I’d like to stay…”
“It’s just, I was having a really good time. We don’t have to…you know. I can turn up the sound. We can watch whatever you like. There’s all that champagne and you were telling me about the strawberries, and I’m not even a little bit sleepy. It’s still so early.”
“Willow…” The tone of that one word carried his no.
“Please? I won’t attack you or anything. I’m incapable for one thing, but I wouldn’t. How about just until I get sleepy?”
His expression changed and she knew she’d hit his guilt button, which wasn’t what she’d intended. She wasn’t sure why she wanted him to stay. Why she’d begged. God, he must think she was incredibly needy. “You know what?” She withdrew her hand. “It’s okay. I’m being a baby, and it’s fine.”
“You’re not. There’s no reason not to watch some TV together. And you’re right. You’re never gonna finish off that champagne by yourself.”
She exhaled, her relief instant, although puzzling. She wanted him here. She wanted to ring in the New Year with him on her bed, if not in it.
He took the ice bucket back and filled his glass to the rim. Then the bed dipped with his weight and Willow relaxed. While it thrilled her that he was attracted to her, it was much more important that he liked her. Now, if she could get them back to the talking part, everything would be perfect.
9
IT WASN’T WORKING. The level of wanting Willow was inversely proportionate to the forcefulness of the reasons why he shouldn’t want her at all. The third glass of champagne had not helped. Neither did the sound from the television, his determination or his visualization of all the muscles, tendons and ligaments in the leg.
