Brad, busy with his salad, hadn’t noticed the error, nor had he taken the time to introduce her to everyone at the table.
“I’m not sure we’ve been properly introduced, Mr. Townsend. My name is Nancy Miller. But please call me Nan.”
“Miller? Like the beer?”
Nan frowned. “Exactly.”
“You say you’re related to the brewing family? Met them in Europe a few years back.” Townsend’s aged, Rip Van Winkle countenance brightened at the prospect.
Nan stifled a groaned. The man needed to up his hearing aide. “No, no relation.”
“Really Talbert.” A woman Nan assumed to be Townsend’s wife patted his hand. “Were she a relation of the Miller’s, she wouldn’t be a nurse in Labor and Delivery.”
Her tone indicated the position would be well beneath anyone of financial prominence. Twenty years her husband’s junior, she looked like an overblown Marilyn Monroe who’d stuffed her ample dimensions into a skintight sequined dress. She wore so many large diamonds that it was a wonder the weight of them hadn’t snatched her nose out of the air.
“Well, whatever her relations, she does work for us.” Townsend narrowed his brow in irritation at his wife then leveled his look back at Nan. “Tell me how you like working for Memorial Hospital, dear?”
The benevolent smile Townsend settled on his thin lips clearly indicated he expected her to sing praises of her wonderful employment experience at Memorial Medical Center. Trouble was she couldn’t. The entire purpose of the Nurses Trouble Shooting Committee was to address the issues of under-staffing, heavy patient workloads, and problems with antiquated procedures. But none of those topics were appropriate dinner conversation. Nan cleared her throat. “I’ve found employment with Memorial very educational and worthwhile. Being on the Trouble Shooting Committee, I’m—”
“Nan loves it.” Brad cut in. “She’s dedicated to her job. Did I tell you about my research with Dr. Von Heller in Europe, Mr. Townsend?”
“No. I’d like to hear about it, boy.” Townsend said.
Nan blinked. She’d been about to tell Townsend that she looked forward to the special Trouble Shooting Committee meeting the board would be attending next month. Her words stuck on the lump of surprise in her throat. What was wrong with Brad? He’d deliberately cut her off.
“Had the unique opportunity to study with Von Heller on the feasibility of expanding neurosurgical procedures beyond the peripheral to the spinal,” Brad said.
Nan stepped on his toe with her heel. He looked at her in surprise. She smiled. “I seemed to have dropped my napkin. Can you reach it?”
“Of course.” He slid his chair back and leaned down to retrieve the napkin she’d thrown on the floor.
“It’s over there.” Nan leaned down as well. “What do you think you’re doing, cutting me off in mid sentence,” she whispered.
“Trying to help. I heard today that you were heading up the meeting next month about the hospital’s staffing problems,” he whispered back. He cut his gaze back and forth from her to the tabletop. “Bringing up the issue now will only damage your cause.”
“I wasn’t going to. I feel twice as strong about being censored mid-sentence.”
Bella Barracuda peeked under the table. “Everything all right?”
“Just fine,” Nan said through gritted teeth.
Brad popped back upright and Nan followed. The circle of disapproving eyebrows rose several notches higher. Nan decided that for the sake of the evening, she’d let Brad’s interruption go. Mr. Perfect was turning out to be not so perfect for her after all.
Bella Barracuda spoke first. “I do remember the summer you worked with Von Heller, Brad. You were brilliant.” She sent Brad a lingering half-shuttered look. “Dr. Von Heller still comments on the progress you two made.”
Brad nodded then went into a long diatribe about the experiments they’d conducted and their hopes of major nerve regeneration for the future. Nan swallowed, but couldn’t ease the tightness in her throat. Her appetite dwindled and the evening went down hill from there. She smiled, showed appropriate interest, and made an intelligent comment or two on related medical topics, but on the whole the evening was a big disappointment. Most of the conversation centered on travel in Europe. She’d never been.
A stuffy hour later, she walked with Brad from the banquet room to the Magnolia Ballroom. Jackson’s band played a popular song, and Jackson sang it better than the original artist had. His smoother-than-Irish-Cream voice slid like hot silk over her senses. Really not good, and the evening was just getting started.
CHAPTER FOUR
“Would you like to dance?” Brad asked, holding out his hand.
She put her hand in his. He had capable hands, hands that wrought miracles in people’s lives. She should be thrilled to be with him. Instead, all she could think was that Brad’s hands didn’t have the feel to them that Jackson’s callused one’s did. Nan gritted her teeth and wanted to smack herself upside the head. Or smack Jackson.
The evening thus far had been a complete disaster in regards to her dress and her hopes of making a good impression on several of the hospital’s board members, but that didn’t mean she and Brad couldn’t salvage something from it. And it was up to her to do it. She needed to focus on Brad and all of those twenty-five traits that made up Mr. Right. She followed him onto the dance floor and adjusted herself in his arms. “There’s a silver lining to this rainy evening,” she told him smiling. “We'll just have to find it.”
Nan forced herself to relax in Brad’s arms as he led her in a slow dance. Their bodies moved well enough together to the beat of the music, but Nan couldn’t seem to shut her eyes and lose herself in the magic of the song. She kept peeking at Jackson.
“You're an optimist,” Brad said. “That’s an admirable quality to have.” He sent a thousand-watt smile her way. “I recently read a book about the habits of successful people and optimism was the one area I lacked.”
Brad listed the traits, expounding on their benefits. Many of the traits were the very same ones she’d put on her Mr. Perfect list. Yet, as Brad’s voice droned on, Nan’s mind wandered.
Jackson leaned against a high stool with one knee bent to cradle the curve of his guitar and his other leg stretched out in a relaxed stance that oozed a sex appeal sure to melt any female in the room.
She was looking right at him when his gaze singled her out of the crowd. Nan automatically tightened her hold on Brad’s shoulders and inched herself closer to him, looking for any sort of a lifeline to save her from the nebulous sea she fell into whenever Jackson was around.
Brad didn’t seem to notice. He stayed on beat like a metronome and told her about a speech he planned on giving at a medical convention the next week. Nan nodded her head and tried to focus on what he was saying.
“The day I was born, my parents declared me a genius. From that point on, every moment of my life was planned out for me to be the best at everything. I think doctors should apply this philosophy in their treatment of patients. To achieve optimum healthcare, a patient needs to make a plan for it when they are young and adhere to it everyday of their life. Anything that doesn’t fall into the plan’s guidelines should be discarded.”
Nan blinked. She was a planner, but…surely she didn’t sound as fanatical about plans as Brad did. “Isn’t that extreme? Didn’t you do fun things as a kid like make mud pies or watch a silly movie?”
“Mud pies? Not hardly, I excelled in golf and chess. When my family traveled abroad, I had my own tutor and became proficient in the native language of the country we stayed in. Time doesn’t stand still for anyone. If you’re not learning or achieving, you’re being left behind. If you aren’t constantly choosing healthy then your body will suffer. I plan on raising my children that way from birth.”
Nan drew a deep breath. She’d grown up with practically nothing, but she wouldn’t trade the lazy afternoons she’d spent daydreaming under the ancient oak tree near her family�
�s trailer for what Brad described. Did he ever enjoy ice cream treats and chocolates? Have pretend tea parties in a mud hole, or go on cloud watching picnics with messy hot dogs?
The beat of the music changed. The drummer tapped out a fast tempo as the band launched into Johnny B. Goode. Brad stopped dancing and pulled her off to the side of the dance floor.”
“I don’t do fast,” he said and Nan nodded.
She felt so off key with Brad. What was wrong with her? Maybe she was coming down with a virus. She felt a little dizzy. “I could use a drink,” she said over the music.
“Me, too. I’ll be right back.”
Brad left for the cash bar before she had the chance to tell him what she wanted to drink. Then she relaxed, remembering he was on call. He’d bring back a Coke or something, she told herself as she watched him. He didn’t saunter and he didn’t march, his determined stride fell somewhere between and never wavered. He cut an impressive and confident figure in a room full of people.
So why was her gaze turning back to see Jackson rather than watching Brad?
Jackson finished one song and then eased into the sensual sway of a song she hadn’t heard in years. “Baby I’m-a Want You” by David Gates echoed seductively throughout the ballroom.
He’d climbed off the stage to the dance floor and walked among the swaying couples as he sang. Gasps and sighs escaped the lips of the women as he caressed one woman’s cheek then ran a finger through another woman’s hair.
Nan’s heart pounded, her breath rasped, and her body tingled as Jackson walked her way. She told herself that she should turn and run after Brad. But she didn’t, she stood her ground as he walked right up to her.
He was so close, she could feel the heat of his body, smell his arousing scent, and see the want in his eyes as he sang, changing the words of the song.
“Lady, I want you. Lady, I need you. You’re the only one I care enough to dream about.”
His blue eyes, full of fire, lit on hers and he seemed to slide right into her soul. It was only for an instant then he moved on, singing the original words to the song.
Nan stood still, not breathing, not thinking. Not doing anything but vibrating from the impact. For a moment, Jackson had reached out and connected with her soul, where no man had gone before.
She had to get out of there fast.
She dashed to Brad just as he left the bar with their drinks. “Come on,” she said, grabbing his arm. “I need some fresh air.”
Brad handed her a goblet and followed.
The air in the ornate hallway felt a hundred degrees cooler than the ballroom. Nan took a big gulp of her drink to give herself some recovery time before she had to speak to Brad. The white wine tingled all the way down. She gasped, nearly choking.
Brad pounded her back. “You okay?”
“Fine,” Nan wheezed out.
“Hey, Swanson.” A man who looked as if he bought his clothes on daily trips to Italy walked up. “I was on my way to find you. A few of us on the board are putting together a little weekend yachting trip. You interested?”
Brad shook the man’s hand. “Steve, meet Nancy Miller. Nancy, Dr. Steve Dennison, plastic surgeon and long time friend.”
Nan met Steve’s handshake with a firm grip, liking his tanned sea captain smile. He was young and attractive.
He turned to Brad. “I won’t take no for an answer.”
Brad shook his head. “I really don’t think I can. I’m head speaker at a medical convention in New York later this week. When I get back, I’ll be swamped.”
“It won’t be until the next weekend, so you’ll have plenty of time to recover.” Steve held up his hand to stave off any more excuses. “Even a machine needs some down time. At least plan on coming to the party in the harbor that Friday night. We won’t set sail until Saturday, but bring a change of clothes in case you decide to stay. I’m hoping to set up some challenging chess matches.”
Brad’s face brightened with the first enthusiasm she’d seen out of him all evening. “Chess?”
“Official timer and all.” Dennison slapped Brad on the back. “I knew you had a weakness somewhere. Bring Nancy along with you,” he added, nodding at her.
Brad turned to her. “Interested in a yachting trip, Nan?”
“Well I. . .” She blinked, momentarily surprised. Yachting for a weekend with several of the hospital’s board members? That sounded like the cherry on top of the sundae of life. Surely over a weekend’s time she could repair some of the damage tonight’s dinner had done. Her chance at the scholarship and her image as the spokesperson for the Trouble Shooting Committee just might be salvageable. “I’ll have to check my work schedule, but—”
“I’ll smooth the way with your supervisor,” Brad interjected. “We’ll come Friday night, but I won’t make any promises beyond that.”
“Excellent. I’ll see you both then.” Steve started to leave then turned back. “Can you believe Weldon up there on that stage.”
“Yeah, I’ve seen him play before.”
“Who’d have thought he had it in him back in Chicago.”
Brad frowned. “Did you ever hear why he quit?”
“No, never did. See you Friday night.”
Jackson quit what? Apparently Brad and Jackson knew each other. This came as a surprise to Nan. She planned on asking Brad as soon as she found some fresh air. She was still feeling a bit faint and her headache had worsened. She shouldn't have had that gulp of wine, and ditched what was left on a tray before they exited the building.
Drawing a deep breath, she leaned against the white portico pillar. The rain had stopped, but thunder still rolled across the night sky. Even the usual salty, night- cool breeze from the Atlantic bowed low, subservient to the storm. The air was steamy and still.
“Nan,” Brad said, leaning close enough to surprise her. “I’m going to kiss you.” He looked as if he was waiting for her approval and she nodded, feeling more that just a little off.
He pulled her into his arms and pressed his mouth to hers, passionately and she moved closer to him, looking for a spark, even a glimmer of desire to light. Brad was the perfect man, intelligent, successful, and driven. Fireworks should be bursting inside her.
He leaned her back over his arm, a southern man about to devour a southern lady. Nan waited for the kiss to deepen; sure her body would catch on to what her brain was hinting.
His cell phone blared and Brad jerked upright as if hit by lightning. He shifted to grab his phone, setting them off balance and Nan barely avoided landing on her lacy decorated derrière. No thanks to Brad, he was already talking on the phone then hung up.
“That was Dr. Barra,” he explained. “There’s an emergency at the hospital and she wants me to consult with her.”
"I understand,” Nan said between gritted teeth. As Brad escorted her back inside the Yacht club, she puzzled over her irritation. She above all people understood dedication. If someone had called her about a patient, she would go without question. It took her a few minutes to pinpoint her problem. Brad had made all the right motions, acted like he was consumed with passion, but the slightest buzz from his cell and it was as if he’d never been kissing her. And he hadn't really. Jackson would have finished the kiss before answering the phone.
Bella Barracuda met them inside.
“I’m sorry about this, Nan” Brad said.
“It’s not a problem.” Nan nodded to Bella Barracuda, then smiled at Brad.
Brad nodded as if he expected no other answer, then started to turn away but swung back. “Oh, Nan. There’s something I want you to see. Can I pick you up about six on Monday?”
“Monday?” Nan, repeated, searching through her feelings. She wasn’t sure she was ready for a second date with Mr. Perfect so soon.
“Perfect,” Brad said smiling. He then offered a stiff arm to Bella Barracuda. The woman snuggled against Brad and shot Nan a he’s-all-mine look. Apparently Dr. Barra wanted more from Brad than consulting on an emerg
ency case at the hospital.
Walking toward the ballroom, Nan felt the room swirl and she turned to the ladies room, deciding to rest.
“Where are you off to, sexy?” X-ray Eyes from dinner stood before her. His fleshy smile, shiny head, and ample belly invaded her personal space.
“Personal business and my name is Ms. Miller.” Colleague of Brad’s or not, she didn’t like the man and wouldn’t pretend otherwise. She stepped back and he grabbed her arm, brushing her breast in a pretense of helping her catch her balance.
Shocked, Nan angled away from the man’s grip, but he held on. An uneasy panic swelled inside her.
“Wait. You look pale,” the doctor said.
The conversational voices surrounding her receded, as if coming at her from a long distance. The lights dimmed and her skin turned cold, almost numb. She desperately looked for the ladies room.
“Nan! I’ve been looking for you everywhere.”
Nan whipped toward Alexi’s voice, seeking the familiar in a world abruptly foreign. She saw Alexi coming toward her, registered that Jackson was there, too. She lunged from the man’s grasp, stepped back, and the world went black.
CHAPTER FIVE
Jackson scooped Nan up into his arms before her head hit the floor. Pulling her close, he glowered at the man she obviously had been trying to escape. “What in the hell is going on?”
The man held up both hands innocently. “Dr. Knapp, head of radiology. The lady stumbled and seems to have fainted.”
Jackson didn’t think it had been so simple. He’d seen panic on Nan’s face before she fainted.
“Come with me,” Alexi said, her pregnant body cutting a wide path through the crowd.
Jackson sent Dr. Knapp a look that said the man would be taking his life in his hands if he followed. The seconds it took him to get to a private room ticked too slowly. While common sense told him Nan had fainted, he couldn’t help but remember another time and his failure.
Smooth Irish (Book 2 of the Weldon Series) Page 5
