Stacy fisted her husband in the arm. “Mind your business.” At least she seemed nonjudgmental, but who knew? These doctors were a tough crowd, aggressive and competitive. It made her wonder how compassionate they’d be to sick people.
“Meg and I reconnected recently,” Ben said, his gaze cool under pressure as he stared Jax straight in the eyes.
Recently, yes. Like, two hours ago. Meg forced a smile. This was not looking good.
“When you know it’s right, it’s right,” Ben said matter-of-factly.
“You mean to tell us, Ben,” Dr. Donaldson asked, “you’ve been dating this lovely woman for less than a month?”
“Look, Dr. Donaldson,” Ben said. “Whether it’s a week, a year, or a lifetime, I would hope that whichever of us gets this job, it’s because we’re dedicated to the community and have the leadership skills to do it right.”
“True, Ben,” Dr. Donaldson said, “but we’re a small hospital and a tight-knit community. We want to do our best to find someone who fits in well with our town, who will establish themselves here and stay here for a long time. Anyone who’s single is at high risk for leaving, in our opinion.”
A muscle in Ben’s jaw twitched. “Finding someone who’s committed to the community and to the job shouldn’t depend on marital status.”
Mrs. Donaldson chimed in. “We’ve always known that an unhappy wife means an unhappy life.” She looked at Paul. “Or husband, as the case may be. “
Meg cringed at the sexist comment, but if the others were bothered, no one showed it. She was proud of Ben for speaking his mind.
Dr. Donaldson nodded. “The last doctor we hired left after less than a year. His wife wasn’t cut out for small-town life. We’re trying to be smarter this time.”
“Besides,” Mrs. Donaldson added, “we want someone with outstanding moral character. Someone mature and God-fearing.”
Mercifully, the dinner was served. Ben kept an amicable expression on his face but the tension was evident in the stiffness of his posture and the set of his jaw. He was an honest, driven man who detested playing games but these people were all nuts. She wished she could say something to lighten the mood.
“Oh, look. There’s a band,” Meg said, eager for distraction. A man sat behind a shiny black piano, and a bass player and drummer took their places next to the parquet dance floor and began to play. A female vocalist in a long red dress held a microphone.
Stacy sighed. “I love to dance. Too bad I have no balance now.”
Jax massaged her back. “Soon, baby.”
“We’ve been taking dancing lessons, haven’t we, Meg?” Ben asked out of absolutely nowhere.
Dancing. The one thing she never, ever did in public. She wasn’t going there. She would take this topic off the table right now.
“You must show us,” Mrs. Donaldson said.
“I-I really don’t have the proper shoes on,” Meg said, taking another big gulp of wine. She would have to hold her ground, just as she’d done with the seafood. Flat-out refuse if necessary. Anything to save the embarrassment—for her and Ben’s sakes—of other people seeing how abominably she danced.
Ben stood and pulled out her chair just as she was setting down her wine. “C’mon. Let’s dance.”
“But I feel—” She never got to finish the sentence, because he’d whisked her out of her chair before she could concoct a decent ailment like a headache, dizziness, or nausea that would cause him to leave her the hell alone.
As soon as they were out of earshot of the table, he spoke. “I just wanted to get away from that table for a few minutes.”
He had no idea what he’d just done. “Ben,” she said quietly.
“Can you believe all that nonsense? Happy wife, happy life. It’s like marriage is the number one quality they care about and to hell with being a good doctor.”
“Ben,” she said a little louder.
“Oh, and I appreciate what you said about town. You’re so involved with everything, that will be one thing in my favor.” He finally looked at her. “What is it?”
She stopped walking and grabbed him by both arms.
“You look a little pale,” he said. “Are you all right?”
“I can’t dance,” she blurted. It was a trauma from her teenage years, when her prom date had gone so far as to mock her, saying dancing was an indication of how sexual a person was and she was clearly frigid. After that slap down, she’d never set a toe out on any dance floor ever again.
“Everyone can dance.” Ben said it as easily as if he’d said everyone eats or everyone farts. “It’s terrific stress relief. Just fake it.” How far did she have to go to spell this out? She planted her feet and stood her ground. “You don’t understand. I was a wallflower in high school. I never danced. I only dance at home under the most private of circumstances.” And even then her cats tended to hide under the bed. “I’m completely missing the dancing gene. I suck. A klutz. I’ll totally embarrass—”
He laughed.
She almost stomped a foot, for lack of any other way to get him to listen. “Did you hear what I just said?”
Before she could finish her sentence, he grabbed her by the hand and strode out to the dance floor with her in tow.
“I don’t expect this night could get any worse than it is now. Just follow me.”
Before she could protest, he wrapped his arms around her waist and held her securely. Under any other circumstance, she would have thought she’d died and gone to heaven. But as it was, her hell was only just beginning.
“What possessed you to tell them we’re taking ballroom dance lessons?”
He spun her around and caught her expertly. As if she weren’t dizzy enough from his nearness, his hot body, and dammit, his amazing dance moves. She managed to calm down enough to look him in the eye.
He was still smiling. Not just any old smile, either. One that was big and wide and reached all the way to his eyes. It was a tragedy. Because it said, with every bit of its radiance, that beyond a doubt, Ben Rushford loved to dance. Little crinkles surrounded the corners of his eyes, giving him a mature, sexy look that made Meg want to settle her hands on his cheeks and pull him closer and kiss those lines and every other blessed part of his too-handsome face.
“Stop worrying so much,” he said, boogying down to the beat. “Do you realize what you’ve done?”
“No, but I know what I’m about to do. Embarrass us both on this dance floor.”
He shook her gently. She loved the feel of his hands on her, firm and sure. Hands that knew exactly what they were doing. And she wanted them roaming over every other part of her body right now.
“Meggie, you saved my ass. You reassured Donaldson. You showed you love our town. In other words, you made me look good and I’m so grateful to you for that.”
She scanned his eyes. They held honesty and sincerity in their chocolate-colored depths. And something more. A desire to make her feel better, to take away her discomfort. That unabashedly touched her more than any compliment he could give her. Before she could process all that, the music tempo changed to a hot Havana beat.
“Okay, baby, here we go. Hold on tight!” Ben’s face lit up with clear glee as he spun and twirled, tipped and swayed, keeping a hard and fast grip on her at all times.
He put his hands on her hips and had her mimic his own movements.
Terror threatened to freeze her limbs but she couldn’t not do . . . something. Maybe it was the fact that she felt responsible for doing whatever she could to help him get this job. But maybe it was the look of pure joy on Ben’s face that mesmerized her, made her feel giddy and . . . happy. Yes, happy in a way that made her throw herself into the dancing with reckless abandon for the first time in her life. She shook, she shimmied, she did wild and crazy things like swung and swayed and twisted. The disastrous evening seemed far away, and she was enveloped in Ben’s smile, his confident touch, and his cocky swagger as he clearly loved every move.
He drew her ne
ar and said into her ear, “Hang on for the finale, sweetheart.” Before she could respond, he pushed her until she flew away from him, then when their arms were fully outstretched and they were holding on only by their fingertips, he reeled her slowly back in until their bodies were touching, hips swaying together in a rhythm fueled by the erotic beat of the music.
As he flung her out one final time, she lost balance a little and cast out an arm to compensate. She stumbled, clutching at him to avoid falling. That was when she heard the rip.
The first sensation was relief—she could finally breathe. But that was followed quickly by terror as she realized the entire seam along the backside of her dress had ripped wide open, and the entire restaurant was about to catch a full and unobstructed view of her ass.
She spun and backed up against Ben’s body, plastering herself flat against him.
“Wow, Meggie,” Ben said as she ground into his crotch. “I never realized dancing got you so hot.”
She twisted her neck around far enough to send him the stink eye. Then she clutched at him for dear life.
“Do not move away from me,” she managed.
“Sure, no problem. Are you . . . flirting with me? Because if you are, I’m all in.” As she pushed against him, he wrapped his hands around her upper arms, a move which normally would have caused goose bumps to course up and down their lengths.
She scootched up against his chest and put her mouth near his ear. “Listen to me carefully. I’m only going to say this once. I am not flirting with you. My dress tore and . . .”
He stilled suddenly. “And what?” he asked.
“And I always wear undies. I never go anywhere without them. Except maybe for today.”
He tried pushing her away, no doubt to see the spectacle for himself, but she clung to him with the suction of an octopus.
“I didn’t think you were that kind of gal, Meggie.” His voice sounded choked.
“Panty lines are embarrassing. I had no choice.”
“Nice.”
“Just help me!”
“How do you propose I do that?”
“You’re used to dealing with crises, aren’t you? Think of something!”
“Keep smiling,” he said calmly. “And wave to all the nice people who are staring at us.”
Somehow, she managed to hold it together while he slowly backed them both off the dance floor, steering them to an opening to the kitchen.
“Hey, can we have a napkin?” he asked one of the kitchen staff. “My girlfriend just split her dress. Ouch!” He glared at Meg while holding his ribs, which she’d just elbowed. “What’d you do that for?”
“I’m flattered if you think a napkin is going to cover my ass but I need something bigger!”
“Can I change that to a tablecloth, please?” he asked as he fended off another poke. Then he turned to her. “Your ass isn’t that big, honey,” he said, biting the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing. A move which accentuated his damn dimples. Then he shrugged off his suit coat and handed it to her. “Try this.”
Eyes narrowed in her most practiced Darth Vader glare, she took the coat and tied it around her waist. “Thanks,” she managed.
“I can say you don’t feel well and take you to your room,” he offered.
And leave him surrounded by piranhas? She suddenly felt like they were comrades in this fight, and she wanted to see it through to the end. “I can make it through dessert.” She wasn’t a quitter. Head up, she walked back to the table, making sure the arms of his jacket were tied in a snug knot.
“Those were some moves, Ms. Halloran,” Dr. Donaldson remarked.
“Yes, you two have quite the raw sexual chemistry,” Cynthia said, a glint of evil in her eyes.
“I think they have amazing dance chemistry,” Stacy said, giving Meg another reason to like her. For the first time that night, Meg rejoiced in one positive thought. Unrestrained from the confines of the dress, she could finally eat her dinner in peace. As her hungry eyes roved about the table, she realized all the plates had been cleared.
At least there would be dessert, and after all she’d been through, she was totally ordering some.
“Anyone for dessert and coffee?” Dr. Donaldson offered.
“I’m stuffed,” Jax said, patting his stomach.
“Me, too,” Stacy chimed in.
“I never eat dessert,” Paul said.
“I’m vegan and I’d rather keep my arteries clean,” Cynthia said.
Ben looked at Meg strangely. She’d tried to hide her disappointment, or rather her ravenous hunger, but maybe she hadn’t been as successful as she thought. “Would you like dessert?” he asked her.
“No, thanks.” She smiled, wanting him to know she was grateful for his concern. At least skipping dessert would get them out of here quicker, which couldn’t happen fast enough.
“Well, it was a pleasure getting to know you all better,” Dr. Donaldson said. “Don’t forget we have our little weekend with the diabetic children coming up at Camp Mohican.”
“Diabetes camp?” Meg asked with a false lilt to her voice. She reminded herself that tonight was a one-time thing. She hadn’t signed on for anything else. Besides, they probably just needed doctors at the camp, right? Not non-outdoorsy, hate-all-bugs types of people like her.
“The ER physicians staff the camp every summer,” Mrs. Donaldson said. “It’s jam-packed full of activities and friendly competitions for the staff and kids. A perfect time for bonding and confidence building.”
“We’ll be there,” Ben said, reaching over and squeezing Meg’s hand.
Right. And I’d gladly sign on for another night of hell like this one.
As they said their good-byes, Meg watched Ben thank the Donaldsons graciously and bid farewell to his colleagues, his hand lightly on her back. It was so, so easy to pretend his smile was real, that his touch was a prelude to real touches and caresses that real couples shared. But even as Meg smiled and nodded and pretended, she reminded herself that nothing about tonight was real. She’d stood up for Ben when his buddy Jax had just called him out on that other woman from a few weeks ago, but in real life, that was who Ben was. He didn’t want to settle down, didn’t want to date only one woman, and he certainly didn’t want to date her—Nice Meg who helped everyone and said yes to everything whether she liked it or not.
In the past several hours, she’d survived Priscilla’s panic attack, a near-poisoning, dancing in public, and a split skirt. And the most perilous thing of all, the proximity of Ben Rushford’s company. She’d done her part. She knew her limits. There was no way in hell she was spending an entire weekend in his company, diabetic kids or no.
CHAPTER 6
Ben stared at the half-naked woman in front of him and swallowed hard. Meg’s hair was dripping wet, her creamy skin flushed pink, and miles of toned legs peeked out from underneath a fluffy white robe ending in a grand finale of toenails the color of pink Laffy Taffy.
They’d parted ways after dinner, but he’d been restless. So he’d walked the few blocks from the hotel to Mirror Lake’s downtown, past the rows of quaint shops to her apartment, one of a handful located in the same hundred-year-old warehouse building that housed her bridal shop. Yet the shock of seeing her looking so . . . spontaneously unguarded, so not-put-together . . . made him forget why he was standing in the hall with his jaw dropped open, his hand suspended in air from knocking on her door.
“You look hot,” he blurted. Shit. Why had he said that? Meg turned red as a strawberry, pulled her robe tighter around her neck, and tugged the belt tight.
“Warm,” he rushed to say. “You know, flushed—like, from your bath.” For someone who was usually Mr. Rico Suave, he was really bumbling everything.
He swept his gaze up and down her magnificent body. “I’m just sad your ass is covered.” Fuck, what was he doing? He tripped over his words to cover. “I mean, glad. Really glad. After the rip and everything.” Sweat rolled down his back. Maybe he neede
d to take his own temp. Because he really wasn’t acting like himself.
His stupid comment put her on the offense, her eyes narrowing down like a crocodile’s ready to snap its prey in half. “Why are you here, anyway? Please don’t tell me you’ve come to bring me more bad news.” She paused. “No, wait. Don’t tell me. We’ll be competing in a survival contest at camp, and the candidate who comes out alive wins the job.”
He threw back his head and laughed. Couldn’t help himself. The fact that her sense of humor was still intact put him more at ease. “I would never throw you to the wolves, Katniss.” Impulsively, he reached out and tugged on a wet lock of her hair. “Dinner wasn’t that bad, was it?”
Another wrong move, because she immediately swatted his hand away. “Have you no boundaries?” He grinned in response. Most women would melt into his arms after that, but not her.
“I wanted to thank you for what you did for me at dinner,” he said. “You were terrific.” More than terrific. Bringing her tonight was brilliant. A stroke of genius.
Not that he was getting all sappy as far as she was concerned. No, siree. Because he was here on business. He had to secure her for next weekend. That was his primary objective, and he’d better not lose his focus.
Meg adjusted her hot librarian glasses, the ones she always wore when she wasn’t wearing her contacts, and eyed him suspiciously. Her eyes looked bigger and greener than usual behind the dark-framed lenses. She was this tantalizing mix of sexy and sweet that drove him wild.
She sniffed the air. “I smell something. Something delicious and greasy, like a double cheeseburger from PITS.” She craned her neck to see behind him, but he stepped away, still holding the bags behind his back.
“I don’t smell anything.” Actually, he smelled her. And she smelled like grapefruit and lemons and it was seriously turning him on.
This Love of Mine Page 6
