“You can?”
“Yes.”
She started to go, paused and then decided to press her luck. “Does that mean you forgive me? For turning your life upside down, I mean?”
“There’s nothing to forgive, so let’s forget that whole conversation. I didn’t mean that, anyway. You know I didn’t mean it.” He hesitated. “You’ve done a great job with him.”
The compliment was the last thing she’d expected to hear, especially from this stern taskmaster, and it messed with her brain, as did his absolution and how much it meant to her. She shrugged, trying to minimize both her accomplishments and her discomfort. Why did this man have such a gift for making her unravel?
“I haven’t—”
“Yes.” Unsmiling, he held her gaze. “You have.”
The air did that slow sizzle around them, making her skin tingle and her blood heat. Since the last thing she needed was another awkward moment spent lusting after Dr. Sexy, she busied herself with one of the umpteen crises they had on hand. “Well. We didn’t even get to the donor issue with Jalen. I guess that’s a conversation for another day, huh?”
“Why can’t we tell him tonight?”
“Tonight?”
“When I come for dinner.”
“Oh.” When he stared at her like that, with such utter focus, as though her face held all the secrets to the universe, she had a tough time stringing syllables together into a functional sentence. “You’re not going to let me off the hook on that, are you?”
A smile worked at one corner of his mouth. “No. But I can bring Chinese or pizza or something. I don’t expect you to cook for me.”
Though she’d walk naked through a fire-ant mound before admitting it, she wanted to cook for him. She looked forward to showing off her skills a little. She loved to cook and bake and did it whenever she could manage, mostly because it helped her unwind and because cooking was one tiny thing she could do for Jalen that made his life seem more normal.
“Oh, don’t bother,” she said grudgingly. “I’ll throw something together.”
“Thanks,” he said, his eyes bright with something that looked suspiciously like amusement. “Seven o’clock?”
“Fine. Don’t be late.”
“Oh, I won’t.”
There was a new note in his voice now, something husky, and it was way past time for her to go. Hurrying to the door, she put her hand on the knob and was milliseconds from a clean escape when he stopped her.
“Lia.”
Cowardice took over, preventing her from glancing over her shoulder at him. The best she could do was stare at the door and wait. This, naturally, wasn’t good enough for him.
“Look at me.”
Giving herself a mental shake to get rid of these shivering nerves, she turned, and he came closer, and suddenly there wasn’t nearly enough space between them. It was another beat or so before she could force herself to look up into his face.
That brown gaze of his had intensified and was now white hot. “Are you feeling this?”
Lia wanted to tell him not to look at her like that. Maybe they both needed a reminder of what she was—and what she wasn’t. Her identity was tied up in being a widow, FBI analyst and, most importantly, single mother to a desperately ill child. Period. She wasn’t a woman; she was a mom. There was no room in her life for an intriguing man who stopped her breath in its tracks, even if he was her son’s father.
That being the case, she did the only logical thing: she lied.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Thomas shuttered those amazing eyes and nodded as though he completely got it. He was barking up the wrong tree. Message received. No problemo.
Lia’s breath eased with relief, even if she did feel a fleeting stab of disappointment in the region of her heart. Thank God he wasn’t pressing the issue.
Without warning, Thomas reached out and grabbed her. She’d never been grabbed before; Alan had been way too respectful for that. Thomas wasn’t, or maybe it was just that his urgency made him impatient.
Whatever.
The next thing she knew, he’d planted his hands on her intimate curves where waist met hips and was pulling her inside the hard, warm, thrilling circle of his arms, ignoring her sharp gasp of surprise. And then he was speaking low in her ear, and the electric brush of his lips against her sensitive skin was an excruciating pleasure that nearly sent her through the ceiling.
“This,” he murmured. “The way I think about you when you’re not here. The way I see your face. The way I want to put my hands all over you and swallow you whole. Are you feeling any of that for me? Are you feeling this?”
This was no time for lies. Not when he was whispering hot words to her and holding her as though he’d already had her. Not when her body was waking up after years in an unresponsive coma. Not when she wanted to ease him between her thighs and keep him there.
“Yes,” she admitted. “Yes.”
Against her cheek, she felt the shudder of his relieved breath.
“What are we going to do about it, Lia?”
Do? Was he for real? And had she lost her shaky grip on sanity to even be thinking of a way to get something started between them?
Pulling free of his possessive arms, she reached out and embraced her life partner: anger.
Anger because her kid was sick and her life was hard. Anger because she’d just given this man a tool to use against her in his relentless quest for sex, which was what all men wanted and the only thing most of them wanted. Anger, most of all, because he scared her to death and she hated being scared, and she hated him for showing her this glimmer of a passion that she could never indulge.
“Don’t we have enough on our plates right now?” she demanded. “I’m focused on being the best mother I can to my sick son. I don’t have room in my life for anything else. Not one more thing.”
Thomas tensed and turned his head, refusing to meet her gaze while a vivid flush climbed his cheeks and a muscle ticked in his jaw. Frustration radiated off him in waves.
His silence did not make her feel better.
Still humming with anger and adrenaline, she stalked out, slamming the door behind her.
Okay, Thomas thought, rounding the corner of the E.R. nurse’s station late that afternoon. He needed to do one last consult, take a quick shower and then head to Lia’s. If he had no more interruptions, he’d have time to pick up a bottle of wine to thank her for having him to dinner. Or would flowers be better? All women liked flowers, but maybe she’d prefer the wine. On the other hand, did she even drink? He checked his watch, anticipation spiking in his blood. The main thing was not to be late, not that there was any real chance of that given how anxious he was to see both of them again. So…wine or flowers? Maybe chocolates would be good. There was a Godiva store—
“Earth to Thomas,” said an amused voice. “Come in, Thomas. This is Tower, do you read me?”
Another voice chimed in, making that garbled static noise people used when they pretended to talk on a CB radio. “We’re having some problems with reception, Tower. We seem to have lost all communication with Thomas. Requesting permission to change course and intercept.”
“Permission granted. Shoot that bastard down if you need to. We don’t want to endanger the civilian population.”
Ah, damn, Thomas thought. Just the distraction he didn’t need if he wanted to get out of here on time.
He glanced over his shoulder without breaking stride, hoping to look busy enough that they’d leave him alone, and found himself face-to-face with Lucien and Jerome, whose cupped, static-making hand partially hid a wicked grin.
“Don’t you two clowns have any lives to save this afternoon?” Thomas muttered as they fell in step on either side of him.
“Nope,” Jerome said cheerfully. “Saved them all this morning.”
Lucien, meanwhile, waved a dismissive hand. “I’m sick of saving lives. I think I’ll do something more meaningful for a whi
le. Maybe go to business school.”
Even Thomas had to snort back a laugh at that unlikely image. “So? What’s cooking down here? Anything interesting? Ebola? West Nile? Maybe an outbreak of syphilis? Talk to me.”
“I got nothing,” Lucien said.
“Guess who’s hooking up with our intrepid chief of staff in the second-floor staff lounge?” Jerome asked.
Not more Germaine Dudley gossip again, Thomas thought, faking a loud and disinterested yawn. That man did more hooking up than a class of horny college freshmen. “We don’t need to hear anything else about your mother’s exploits, Jay.”
“Wrong,” Jerome said. “Not my mother. Kayla Tsang.”
Thomas and Lucien stopped dead to stare at him. Lucien recovered first. “Kayla Tsang. ‘Miss Thang.’ Head nurse and a woman so cold that there’s a layer of permafrost on her skin. No freaking way.”
“Way,” Jerome assured him. “I saw it with my own two eyes.”
“And you weren’t instantly blinded?” Thomas wondered, shuddering.
“Apparently not. Just thought you fellas would like to know that your boss is not quite as squeaky-clean as you might have thought. Oh, and there’s no Santa Claus, either. Sorry to burst your bubbles.”
Lucien stared at Thomas. “There’s no Santa, man. What will we believe in now?”
Thomas clapped a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “There’s always the Easter Bunny.”
“True,” Lucien said.
Jerome chuckled, pulled his buzzing phone out of his pocket and checked the display. “Oops. Patient’s waking up down the hall. Gotta go,” he said, speeding off around the corner.
“Me, too,” Thomas told Lucien. “I’ll check you later.”
Lucien frowned and glanced at his watch. “Where’re you going?”
“Well, if it was any of your business, I’d tell you that I’m leaving because I have a life.”
“No, you don’t.”
“I do now,” Thomas said before he could think to stop himself.
Lucien’s eagle eyes sharpened, honing in on his face. “What’s this? What’s her name?”
Thomas thought of Lia and felt the slow burn in his cheeks. Then he thought of his son and felt the swell of emotion in his chest. But he wasn’t ready to talk about either of them, not even with Lucien. Not yet. Everything was still too raw, too new.
“Again,” he said, deciding to steer the conversation back onto a safer track, “none of your business. How do you like Dudley hooking up with Tsang after he gave you so much shit when you and Jasmine first got together?”
Lucien had fallen in love with his fiancée back when he was chief resident and she was his intern, thereby running afoul of the hospital’s strict but unrealistic no-fraternization policy. Now he scowled. “I don’t like it. It’s a stupid rule, and that brother is the biggest hypocrite we’ve got going. And I’ll tell you something else.”
“I can hardly wait,” Thomas said, checking his watch again with rising impatience. Now was not the time to tap into the flourishing hospital grapevine. Not when Lia and Jalen were expecting him soon.
“A couple of the other interns are playing footsie, or soon will be—Victor Aguilar and Tamara St. John.”
Thomas gave in to a passing curiosity. “Those two? They fight like cats in a bag.”
Lucien gave him a significant look. “You heard it here first.”
Thomas had to grin as he broke away and headed off down the hall. “I feel sorry for you, my brother. I thought you had a life now. Thought you were too busy to be all up in everyone else’s business. Jasmine must not be doing her job.”
Lucien grinned and flushed like the lovesick idiot he was. “Oh, I have a life. Don’t you worry none. Where’re you going, though? That’s what I want to know.”
The answer was right on the tip of Thomas’s tongue, so jarring and unexpected that he felt like he’d looked at the ends of his arms and discovered flippers instead of hands:
I also have a life outside the hospital, and I can’t get to it fast enough.
Chapter 6
“He’s here!” Jalen thundered down the stairs and slid through the foyer to the door, his voice echoing like a sonic boom in surround sound. Going to work on the dead bolt, he kept up his narrative commentary, as though there was some small chance that she hadn’t heard him the first hundred and fifty times he screamed that Thomas had arrived. “He’s here! Mom! He’s here!”
She tried to smile, but wound up straining a cheek muscle with the effort. “I get it,” she muttered, drinking deep from her second glass of Chianti and wondering when the wine would do its job and take the edge off her overwrought nerves. “He’s here.”
She’d seen Thomas arrive, of course, because she’d been peering out the kitchen window looking for him, all but holding her breath with anticipation. This, after dashing home from work, showering, carefully reapplying her minimal makeup and saying a fervent prayer of thanks that she knew what to do with a pork roast and a pressure cooker.
Then she’d made a salad, mashed some potatoes and cracked open a bottle of wine thinking she’d let it breathe. Usually, she didn’t drink much, but some sort of self-medication seemed indicated if she wanted even a hope of relaxing and acting normally in Thomas’s presence.
Half a bottle later, the wine was still breathing, and she was still hopped up on nerves thanks to Dr. McSexy and his sleek black BMW sedan, both of which were pulling into her driveway and parking behind her seven-year-old Camry this very second.
Standing behind the kitchen counter, where it felt safer, she watched as Jalen flung open the door and started yakking a mile a minute before poor Thomas could even make it over the threshold.
“Hi. You’re right on time. Well, one minute late. I checked my watch. It’s digital. See? Because I don’t know how to read the ones with the face very well yet. We’re having pork roast. With mashed potatoes. You’re not a vegetarian, are you? Because you’ll be hungry if you are, but Mom could probably fix you a PB&J so you can get some protein. Mom? He’s here!”
“Hey, buddy.” Thomas, grinning broadly and carrying a large shopping bag, came inside. “Thanks for having me.”
He’d changed out of his doctor’s uniform and now wore a black linen tunic, dark jeans and loafers that probably cost more than her monthly mortgage payment. The casual clothes, in theory, should have made him seem less overwhelming than when he’d sported the all-powerful scrubs-and-lab-coat combination, but no. If anything, his outfit emphasized another, equally dangerous aspect of him: his sexy, boyish side.
Oh, damn.
Lia drank again, draining her goblet dry and wishing she could gulp directly from the bottle for the rest of the evening. Might be easier.
“Thanks for coming,” said Jalen, ever the gracious host. “What’s in the bag?”
“Well, it’s— Oh, shit! What’s that?” Thomas cried, stumbling across the floor.
Bones, who liked to sleep in front of the French doors to the patio, the better to catch the afternoon sun, had woken, stretched, hopped over to inspect their new visitor and was now sniffing around Thomas’s dancing feet. Having never been told that he was not, in fact, a German shepherd, he’d appointed himself the family’s guardian and took this job very seriously. He was not fond of other males besides Jalen, and liked to show newcomers who the alpha rabbit was around there.
Which was probably why he bit a hole in the toe of Thomas’s right shoe.
“Hey,” Thomas cried, trying to shake free without kicking the bunny. “What the hell?”
“Oh, no,” said Lia, already in motion.
Jalen got there first, scooping the animal up into a football hold. “This is Bones. Bones McCoy. And you should probably stop swearing because you’re being a bad influence on me.”
Thomas, looking beleaguered and bewildered, looked across to Lia, who shrugged. “You wanted to come to dinner,” she reminded him.
“Yeah, well, I didn’t know I needed to s
ign a release first. A floppy-eared bunny? What’s wrong with a goldfish?”
“A goldfish couldn’t wear a pet-cam,” Jalen supplied helpfully, pointing out Bones’s collar. “Look.”
Thomas leaned in closer for a better look, making sure to stay out of biting range. “Pet-cam. Cool. You get any good stuff with that?”
“Yeah. I’ll get Mom’s laptop and show you. BRB! That stands for be right back!”
He dashed off.
Thomas and Lia exchanged a bemused glance.
“I thought he was sick,” Thomas said.
“He’s still a kid. And he’s excited that you’re here.”
“Hmm.” Thomas made a show of looking all around the floor and under the coffee table. “Are there any other—”
“Mammals on the loose? No.”
“So, it’s safe for me to…”
She had to laugh. “Feel free to come closer.”
Interest flared in his eyes. “How close?”
Laughing again, she shook her head and hoped her face wasn’t as Day-Glo bright as it felt. “Not that close.”
“Oh.” Crossing to the counter, he set the bag on it and eyeballed her empty glass. “What’re you drinking? Doesn’t matter. I’ll have a double.”
“Sure thing,” she said, reaching for a fresh goblet. What’ve you got there? Do you travel with your own dinner, or what?”
“No. I, ah, brought you something. To thank you for inviting me.”
“I didn’t invite you,” she reminded him.
“Well, I’m polite.”
Against all odds, Lia found herself loosening up, just a little, as though she might actually enjoy herself tonight without jumping out of her skin. Was that progress? Or the road to disaster? As she smiled into his smiling face, it didn’t seem to matter so much. Not right now, anyway.
“So, what did you bring me?” she asked, pouring wine into both glasses.
“Nothing much. Just, you know—” he rummaged in the bag and pulled out a bottle “—some wine.”
She took it; it was a nice pinot noir. “Wonderful. Thanks!”
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