by Tina Beckett
Clearing his throat, he met her gaze, noting the pink tinge from earlier was back in her cheeks. The color contrasted with her hair, the deep mahogany locks still fairly short, even after a year’s regrowth. He liked the choppy style she’d adopted. It matched her personality. “I thought you’d left a while ago.” He motioned toward the desk. “What’s all this?”
“I figured you wouldn’t stop to eat before going to the hospital, so I ordered takeout. Manicotti.”
Huh. So his nose hadn’t been too far off the mark. “I don’t pay you to babysit me.”
Her teeth came down on her lip, making him regret the words almost as soon as they’d left his mouth.
“I was trying to help. You work too hard.”
One shoulder went up in irritation. “I think we’ve already covered this territory. I’m not married. No kids. So I don’t think it’s anyone’s business how many hours I put in.”
“Your patients count on you.” Her voice was soft. Hesitant. And he had no idea what she meant. His patients were what motivated him to work so hard. Along with his sister’s faith in him.
“I’m trying to make sure they have reason to.”
She took a step closer. “No, I don’t mean they need you to work harder. They count on you staying healthy enough to make good decisions.”
Good decisions. A thread of anger unfurled inside his chest. He didn’t need this today. Especially after Mrs. Brookstone. “I didn’t hear you complaining when I treated you.”
“No. But I didn’t know what your office hours looked like back then.” Her gaze went to the desk, and she picked her handbag up from a nearby chair and hitched it on her shoulder. “I didn’t stay to argue with you. I just wanted to make sure you had a decent meal for once. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Wait.” He put a hand on her arm, the shirt just as soft and silky as it appeared. He let go once she looked up at him. She’d said she was trying to help, and all he’d done was gripe and complain. “At least stay and eat with me. It’ll be good to have a conversation that doesn’t revolve around malignancies and treatment options.”
She shook her head. “I don’t think…There’s only one plate.”
“Then we’ll improvise.” Why was he insisting? Because her thoughtfulness had touched him? Because the perks of not having anyone waiting for him at home came with a hefty—and lonely—price tag?
He had no idea, but he knew he wanted some company. He didn’t want to sit here by himself and dwell on his patients. What he’d said was true. There were times he craved conversation that had nothing to do with his job or his struggles—something his sister had intuitively known. But she wasn’t here to make him smile anymore.
“Okay. Wait here.”
The ease at which she’d given in surprised him almost as much as it had earlier. He smiled. He noticed she hadn’t once said his name again, though.
She would before the meal was through. He’d see to it.
Punching the buzzer that unlocked the back area, she dragged a chair over to the door and propped it open, then disappeared for a few minutes. When she came back, she was holding a pink emesis basin.
“You’re kidding.”
She shrugged. “It’s clean. I’ve eaten chili out one of these more than once.”
Greg’s lip curled half in disgust, half in amusement. “Have you ever thought of bringing in a package of paper plates and stashing them somewhere?”
“Yep, but I never got around to it. You said to improvise.” Her head tilted, a quick smile forming. “This is me, improvising.”
Okay, she had him there.
“And silverware? Are we supposed to share?” The thought made something heat in his chest.
She pulled a clear plastic package out from behind the desk. “Nope, the girls always keep their leftover plastic ware in case of an emergency.”
What kind of emergency, other than eating, required sets of plastic knives and forks? He didn’t think he wanted to know. “I guess we’re all set, then.”
Greg helped her dish out the food, noting she took the emesis basin for herself and gave him the plate and silverware provided by the restaurant. Besides the manicotti, there were two kinds of sauce, white and red, as well as a Caesar salad and garlic rolls. She’d expected him to eat all this himself?
“I see I owe you some money.”
She shook her head, spooning white sauce over her own portion. “I took money out of the petty-cash drawer.”
His brows went up. “We keep that much in there?”
“Fifty bucks.” She dropped the spoon back into the container. “But this pretty much cleaned it out.”
He couldn’t remember the last time he’d spent that much money on a meal for himself. The warmth in his chest grew, bringing with it the uncomfortable awareness that he was in a deserted medical building with a woman he couldn’t begin to understand. One he found dangerously attractive.
She was also one of his employees. Asking her to stay and eat with him had been a big mistake. Huge!
But he couldn’t very well ask her to leave now.
So he sat on one of the brown leatherette chairs in the waiting room next to her, balancing a flimsy plate across his knees.
Hannah, on the other hand, looked perfectly at home, cutting into her manicotti with a plastic fork and popping a piece into her mouth. “Mmm.” Her lids came down for a brief second as she seemed to savor the food.
He swallowed, despite the fact that he had nothing in his mouth other than the lump that was currently stuck in his throat.
Incredibly long lashes swept back up, and green eyes regarded him. “Aren’t you going to taste it?”
The only thing he wanted to taste were her lips.
Ah, hell.
He forked up a big bite and shoved it past his teeth, dumping the food onto his tongue before he could do or say anything stupid. He chewed. Swallowed. His stomach gave another fierce rumble.
Okay, so she’d been right. He was hungry. And evidently that fact was going to trump any other urges for the moment. He relaxed into his seat, figuring he could eat and then get the hell out of there before his belly figured out it was full and let his other instincts out of their cage. “It’s good.”
“I know. It’s my go-to place for takeout. I order from there at least once a week.”
He didn’t like to think of Hannah at home alone, eating from disposable metal containers. But it wasn’t much better than what he did day in and day out. He was content with it, so why would he assume someone else wouldn’t be?
Greg just couldn’t imagine her having weekends free, figuring she’d be out making up for the year she’d lost. There was something inside her that burned brightly. That glow could have been snuffed out in an instant. Not something he wanted to think about right now.
He covered by saying, “I normally just grab something from the hospital cafeteria.”
“I know.”
She did?
Before he could ask, she added, “I used to see you walking down the corridor with a sandwich container in your hand.”
“When…?”
“When I was getting my chemo infusions. I saw you sometimes.” Her hand went to her collarbone area and fingered the pale scar where her port had once been. Greg was so used to seeing those that he hadn’t even noticed it.
He also hadn’t realized she’d been in that treatment room. Had seen him. How many other patients had he walked by without noticing? Another brick of guilt settled into place. “I’m sorry. I’m normally so busy, I don’t stop in there all the time.”
Putting her fork into her bowl, she reached out and touched his hand. “I wasn’t trying to make you feel bad. I’ve just learned how important it is to eat a balanced meal.”
She was right. Again. He often preached to his patients that they needed to strengthen their bodies as much as possible to help during the chemo treatments as well as to aid in the fight of their disease. That meant making healthy choices when it cam
e to food. And yet, just like a pulmonologist who indulged in the occasional cigarette, Greg was unwilling to abide by his own advice.
“I don’t have cancer, but I also don’t cook.”
She picked up her fork again, avoiding his eyes this time. “That’s why there are places like Piazza Toscana.” The comment, unlike her lighthearted ones from a few moments ago, was tight, as if…
I don’t have cancer.
How damned insensitive could he be? She’d spent a year undergoing chemotherapy. Hadn’t known for sure if she’d live or die.
Maybe she was right. He worked so hard that he no longer paid attention to social conventions or cared how his words might affect someone else.
No, that wasn’t right. He did care.
Setting his plate onto the chair next to him, he shifted sideways to face her. “Hey.” He waited until she looked at him before continuing. “I’m sorry for saying that. There’s no good reason, other than I’m tired and not thinking straight.”
She blinked, and he wasn’t sure whether the light was playing tricks on him or if there’d been a trace of moisture rimming her lower lids. But when he looked closer, it was gone.
“How long will you be at the hospital tonight?” she asked.
“About an hour.”
Glancing at her watch, she set her own plate to the side and went over to the low sofa and picked up one of the leather pillows. Coming back, she lowered herself to the padded loop carpet at his feet.
His mouth went dry as she set the pillow down and patted the area next to her. “It’s only seven. Why don’t you stretch out for a while? Take a quick nap. I promise I won’t let you sleep longer than an hour.”
Was she crazy? After the thoughts that had just gone spinning through his head? There was no way he was going to lie down on the floor and—
Even as the words slid through his mind, a wave of exhaustion washed over him, staggering him with its force.
It was the food. The heavy meal was making him sleepy.
What would it hurt? If his eyes were shut, he could block out her face. No more trying to make small talk. No more worrying about how he was looking at her. About what her kneeling on the floor with that pillow had made him imagine.
Before he was fully aware of what he was doing, he’d done as she’d suggested and stretched out on his back, his head on the pillow she’d laid next to her hip. Every muscle in his body seemed to go boneless, and he glanced up to see her leaning over him with a smile. Her fingers brushed across his forehead, the touch light. Comforting.
He pulled in a deep breath. Let it out.
“Close your eyes, Greg. I promise I’ll be right here.”
Even as his lids seemed to obey her every command, a tired sense of triumph went through him.
He’d been right. She’d said his name. Again.
CHAPTER THREE
THE trill of Hannah’s watch alarm registered in her ears, but it took her brain a little more time to place the sound.
Opening her eyes, she punched a button before noticing Greg’s dark, mussed hair, his even darker eyes regarding her with a slight smile. He was upside down. No, wait. She was. Hadn’t she been sitting up while he’d slept? Why were they now reversed?
Ack. Because she’d fallen asleep, too. Had evidently just keeled over sideways and was lying on the floor, looking pretty much like she’d looked sitting up. Bent at the hips, legs straight out.
Greg’s lips curved higher. “Looks like I wasn’t the only one who was tired.”
Only he didn’t seem tired. Not anymore. His eyes glittered with life, and the dark circles beneath them had eased. He also looked much more relaxed. Or was that still due to the topsy-turvy world she’d awoken into? Maybe his smile was really a frown.
“Did you sleep well?” She cleared her throat when her voice came out as a hoarse squawk.
“Like a rock. Good thing you set that alarm.”
He could say that again. She’d only set it so she wouldn’t be tempted to wake him with the proverbial kiss. Like a reverse Sleeping Beauty. That analogy fit her current mixed-up thought processes to a T. “Sorry. I had no idea I was that tired.”
“I should be the one saying sorry. I don’t expect you to keep the same hours I do.”
Her eyes narrowed slightly, and somewhere in the back of her mind, she realized she should be moving. “Don’t you think I’m capable of it?”
He gave a soft laugh. “Oh, I know you are. I just don’t want you to run you off before I’ve…”
His words trailed away.
“Before you’ve what?”
“Before I’ve proven I can take better care of myself.”
That made her smile. But when she did try to sit up, the awkward angle at which she’d been lying made her back muscles give a warning twinge. She eased back down, licking her lips as she waited for the spasm to pass.
He frowned. “What is it?”
“Nothing.” Lord, what was she going to do? She couldn’t very well wave him off and send him on his way while pretzeled on the floor. What if she couldn’t get up after he left and he returned in the morning to find her still here? Still folded like a crazed contortionist? “I’ll be fine in a minute. My…er, foot’s asleep.”
He angled away, his gaze sweeping down her pants’ legs. He reached down and plucked off one of her white leather slip-ons and then the other. “Which one?”
“No, don’t touch it!”
Okay, that screech hadn’t been exactly the calm tone she’d been going for. But her feet were seriously ticklish—one wrong move and she’d wrench her back even further.
“Shh. I won’t.” He propped himself on one elbow as he continued to regard her. “Your foot might keep you from walking but it wouldn’t keep you from sitting up. Why didn’t you at least get a pillow for yourself?”
Because I didn’t expect to crash to the floor like a felled tree. Was so busy watching each breath you took that…
No, that wasn’t right. She’d been merely biding her time, letting him get some much-needed rest.
“I just closed my eyes for a second or two.”
“Or more.” He paused, still watching her face. “Do you want me to help you up?”
Her body tensed, her back already sending up a frantic mayday. “No.” She even managed to smile, although she could only imagine what it looked like to him. She’d better come clean before he did something that made the situation worse. “My back is a little…sore. From lying in this position.”
“I thought it was your foot?”
“I lied.” The admission came with a real smile this time.
“Hannah, Hannah, what am I going to do with you?” The soft murmur trailed across her senses, making her back tighten further.
She pulled in a careful breath. “How about leaving me to die in peace?”
His face stilled. “Don’t say that.”
“Don’t say…?” It hit her. Mrs. Brookstone’s turn for the worse. How hard he’d worked to keep that from happening to any of his patients. “Sorry.”
“It’s okay.” He stood up and carefully lifted the chair behind her out of the way. Then the two on either side of it.
“What are you doing?”
“I’m going to help you sit up.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
When he knelt on the floor behind her and put his hands on the muscles on her right side, a quick flicker of fear went through her. But he didn’t try to jerk her upright. Instead his fingers played over the different areas of her back before muttering something under his breath. Then he said, “I can’t feel anything through your shirt. I need bare skin.”
Her heart went into overdrive, threatening to hammer its way out of her chest. “Wh-what?”
“Sorry. I meant your muscles.” He paused. “Where does it hurt?”
“Below my right shoulderblade.”
His fingers shifted, testing. “Can you roll onto your stomach?”
�
�I don’t know.” She tried, inching to the right, his palms taking some of the work off her back muscles. Then she was there, legs stretched straight behind her, feet bare, all the while a group of muscles sizzled with fire. Even drawing too deep a breath caused it to tighten further. A tiny whimper made its way out before she could stop it.
His fingers began exploring her back again until he reached the ball of agony around which her world currently swirled.
“Oh, God, don’t. Please.” She was horrified at the hoarse plea in her voice.
He swore softly.
“Stay here. I’m going to get a muscle relaxant and a heating pad. I’ll be right back.”
As he walked away, Hannah heard him talking softly to someone, giving them his cell number and asking whoever it was to call him if there was an emergency. The hospital? His answering service?
She hadn’t wanted to interfere with his work. She’d just wanted to leave some food for him and be on her way.
He could have just left her, like she’d suggested…
But he wasn’t that kind of man.
She heard him come back. “I don’t want you to take the pill lying down like that, so we’ll see if we can loosen you up a little first.”
Despite the pain, she giggled. It sounded more like he was trying to get her drunk than help her get back on her feet.
“You find this funny?”
“No. It’s just…Never mind.”
A second later he draped something across the sore part of her back and the sound of a switch clicking hit her ears. Soft vibrations made their way through her back, not hard enough to hurt but enough that she knew it was there.
“It’ll warm up in a minute or two.”
“I’m sorry. I don’t normally have back spasms.” The last time had been after her biopsy, when lying in one position for a prolonged period of time had left her muscles stiff and sore. She’d moved too quickly and driven home in quiet agony, too embarrassed to tell anyone at the hospital what was going on. It had taken two days for the pain to ease—she hadn’t even been able to lift her arm to brush her hair. And it had been in the same muscle group as now.
What if she were laid up for two days again? No. If she could just get up, she’d be fine.
