by Sykes, V. K.
“And may I call you Nate?” she asked politely.
He almost groaned. Smooth, Nate. Real smooth.
“Absolutely,” he said, and then couldn’t think of anything else to say. Come on, Carter. Get your brain in gear or she’ll think you’re a bumbling idiot.
“Say, what’s up with the Nurse Sunshine back there? She looked like she wanted to quarantine me or something.”
Okay, it wasn’t much but at least it was a start. Fortunately, Holly gave a lady-like little snort, glancing over her shoulder toward the nursing station.
“I understand what you mean. I don’t know much about her yet, but I certainly get the impression she doesn’t much like celebrities. Or maybe it’s just athletes.”
Ah. He’d run into that type of person more than once. “We’re not all spoiled brats,” he said in a low voice.
She shot him a startled look. “Of course not. Anyway, I hope they’ve got Morgan back in her room by now. She was taken downstairs for some tests earlier this morning, but they should be finished by now.”
Nate frowned. Holly suddenly seemed uncomfortable, and he couldn’t figure out why.
“It’s no problem if we have to wait,” he said. “I don’t have to be at the ballpark until three.”
She nodded, not meeting his eye, and pushed open the door to Morgan’s room. “Hi, Morgan, look who’s back to see you.”
Holly moved around to the far side of the bed, almost as if she wanted to put distance between them. He definitely didn’t like that, but his first and most important order of business was Morgan. He’d deal with the good doctor’s nerves later.
“Hi, Princess,” he said, moving to the other side of her bed. “You’re looking even prettier today than you did yesterday.”
Morgan’s bright face reminded him of a ray of golden sunshine piercing through clouds.
“Nate!” she trilled. “You came back!”
“I promised, didn’t I? And this time I brought my camera.” He pushed the strap off his shoulder and handed the Nikon to Holly. “Oh, and I think I have something else in here, too.”
He set his sports bag on the chair beside the bed and rummaged around in it, pulling out tissue paper and other stuffing. “Gosh, where is that thing? I can’t seem to find it. Just a minute. Let me keep looking. I could have sworn there was something in here.”
By now Morgan was practically jumping out of the bed.
With a flourish, he reached in again and pulled out the American Girl doll he’d picked up yesterday after he left the hospital. It was the Felicity model, decked out in an old-time, lilac and white striped dress. A white bonnet covered most of the doll’s hair, but a half-inch strip of auburn peeked out between the bonnet and her forehead. As he handed the doll to Morgan, the little girl’s mouth dropped open and her big, dark eyes started to glisten. She clutched the doll tightly to her chest.
“She’s so pretty,” she whispered. Morgan sniffled a bit, like she was holding back tears. He felt the sharp, bittersweet ache that was always so close to the surface when he interacted with children as sick as her.
Nate leaned over and gently pushed the hair off her forehead. “I’m glad you like her, kiddo. She’s almost as pretty as you are.”
“Morgan, what do you say to Mr. Carter?” Holly prompted in a soft voice.
“Thank you.” Morgan smiled through her tears. “I love her!”
“You’re welcome, sweetheart. I figured I’d better bring a girl something nice when she’s letting me get in on a picture with her.”
He glanced over at Holly. Her nerves seemed to have subsided, and a warm, luminous smile curved her beautiful mouth. God, he couldn’t wait to taste all that warmth for himself.
Jerking his thoughts back from a lascivious downward spiral, he turned to Morgan. “Okay, then. Let’s get this party on. How about I sit on the bed here, and you squeeze right up against me?”
Nate sat beside Morgan, who scrunched up against him, her frail arms wrapped tight around the doll. He reached his arm around her and hunkered down so his face was closer to her level.
“I think we’re ready any time you are, Dr. Bell.”
Holly focused the camera, taking a step backward. “Sorry, I have to move back a bit to get your whole head in the picture, Mr. Carter.”
“Hey, Morgan, I think she’s calling me a fathead,” he said, pretending outrage.
Morgan giggled and started poking him in the side. “Nate’s a fathead, Nate’s a fathead!” she sang.
“Oh, for goodness sake. Calm down, you two,” Holly scolded, her sweet Southern drawl growing more pronounced with her mock exasperation. “How am I supposed to take your picture when you’re bumping up and down like that? Sit still and say cheese.”
“Cheese!” Morgan and Nate cried out simultaneously as the flash went off.
Holly peered at the image on the camera’s LCD. “Oh, this is definitely good,” she said, glancing up at Nate. “Mr. Carter, you’ll give me a print, won’t you?”
Their gazes locked for a long moment and she blushed again, but this time she didn’t look away.
“You bet,” he replied softly. “I’ll deliver it personally.”
“What about me?” Morgan piped up, breaking the tension.
Nate turned his focus back to the little girl. “Don’t worry, Princess. I’ll have one for you, too. A very special one.”
“When?”
“Well, I have to play a ball game tonight. Would tomorrow be soon enough?”
“You’ll come back again tomorrow?” Morgan squeaked, her big brown eyes shining with excitement.
Nate smiled and gave her a kiss on top of her head. “I wouldn’t miss it for anything. But I really should be going soon, honey, and I’d like a few minutes to talk to Dr. Bell before I have to leave. Do you have a minute for me, Doctor?”
She hesitated and glanced at her watch. “I think I can manage that.” The nerves were suddenly back in her voice.
“Good.” He got up from the bed. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Princess.”
Morgan giggled. “Bye, fathead! I mean, Nate!”
He groaned. “Why didn’t I keep my big mouth shut?” Then he gave her a big grin. “Bye, Morgan.”
“Bye, Nate. Bye, Dr. Holly.”
Nate followed the doctor out. A few feet down the hallway, she stopped and turned toward him, waiting for him to speak. Her gaze darted past him to the elevators.
Yeah, definitely nervous. “Is the coffee in the cafeteria drinkable?” he asked.
Her face went momentarily blank. “I’m afraid I couldn’t tell you first hand. I’m a tea drinker myself. But I haven’t heard of anyone dying from the stuff.”
“Well, then, if you have a few minutes, Doctor, could I buy you a cup of tea? I’ll understand if you’re too busy, though.”
She gave him a cautious smile. “Actually, I’d love a tea right about now. But it’ll have to be a quick one. I have a meeting with my residents in twenty minutes.”
“We’ll drink fast,” Nate said, lightly grasping her arm above the elbow.
He steered her into a crowded elevator and ended up standing right behind her, the front of his body pressing against her back. She startled at the contact and wriggled her hips, trying unsuccessfully to put distance between them. That little wriggle felt damn good, but he excused himself and jostled the man behind him, maneuvering more space both for himself and for her.
It was all he could do not to bury his face in her fragrant hair and crush his groin against her curvy bottom. As it was, he had to content himself with a gentle hand lightly resting on her back as he stood behind her protectively.
But there was something arcing between them—something as hot and unstable and dangerous as lightning. He could read it in the heightened awareness of her carefully upright posture, and in the short, sharp breaths that raised her shoulders and rippled along her spine. By the time they got off and headed toward the cafeteria, Nate was convinced there was some serious
dynamite hidden away inside Dr. Holly Bell. Luckily, he’d always been good with matches, and he couldn’t wait to find her fuse.
CHAPTER SEVEN
“What is it with this green tea thing, anyway?” Nate asked. He briefly glanced up as a group of chattering residents squeezed by their tiny round table in a corner of the busy hospital cafeteria. Then that dark, faintly mocking gaze returned to Holly’s face.
“You’ve got green tea lattes, chai green tea, green tea mints, and God only knows what else,” he said. “What the heck is wrong with regular old tea?”
He cut Holly a lazy grin as he wrapped a big hand around a paper cup of steaming black coffee. She did her best to ignore the nervous fluttering in her stomach, carefully pulling the tea bag out of her cup after the requisite four minutes of steeping. Maybe it would be best to ignore his teasing, too, since she wasn’t very adept at casual banter. Then again, maybe he was genuinely curious. It could be a mistake to assume he wasn’t.
Damn. She could hold a child’s beating heart in her hand and never flinch, but this guy was turning her into a nervous mess.
To buy time, she blew softly on the hot tea before replying. When his gaze moved to her mouth and lingered there, the butterflies in her stomach started flapping like a flight of scared geese.
“It’s because green tea is full of antioxidants,” she said, pleased that at least her voice wasn’t fluttering. “For the last few years, everybody’s gone bonkers over anything with antioxidant properties. Green team, blueberries, cranberries, goji and acai berries, pomegranates. There are new claims for so-called superfoods and superfruits coming out all the time. But I’ve always loved green tea just for the way it tastes.” She ventured a small sip of the steaming liquid. “And it’s also very alkaline, so it helps give you a better acid to alkaline balance.”
Nate raised his eyebrows.
Oh, God. She was doing it already. Boring the hell out of him.
Then he gave her what seemed to be a genuine and charming grin. “Sounds almost as complicated as the so-called performance-enhancing drugs,” he drawled.
Startled, Holly couldn’t hold back a frown.
Seeing her reaction, Nate raised a hand in defense. “Don’t get me wrong, Doctor. I wouldn’t touch that stuff with a barge pole. Trust me on that.”
She let out a small sigh of relief. “Good. I’m always amazed when I read about athletes doing that stuff. It’s so stupid to wreck their careers and put their bodies at such risk.”
He leaned forward, elbows on the table, the set of his features serious and intense. “A few guys still figure the edge they get from steroids is worth the risk, but they’re morons. The way I look at it, my arm is a gift from God. The last thing I need is to waste that gift by messing up my body with chemicals.”
The religious reference was surprising, but Nate sounded totally sincere. “It sounds like you’ve got your act together,” she said, meaning it.
His mouth curled in another one of those sensual smiles. A powerful buzz zinged through her body and flushed her with warmth. As she silently ordered her nervous system to calm down, Holly found it easy to imagine a woman doing just about anything to be on the receiving end of all that potent masculine heat.
She took refuge in sipping her tea, praying that she hadn’t been staring at him like a star-struck fangirl. Mercy, she barely knew the man, and they had so little in common they might as well have beamed in from different planets. But after one smoky look from Nate Carter, she had visions of the two of them naked and entwined in the sheets of the closest empty hospital bed. She couldn’t even begin to count the ways that was so not her.
“Earth to Dr. Holly,” Nate called gently, waving his hand in front of her face.
“Sorry,” she said, wincing with embarrassment. “A strange thought just rushed into my head. You know how that happens sometimes in the middle of a conversation?”
He tossed off the last of his coffee. “Strange thoughts are always rushing into my head. Like how I can’t believe I’m sitting here with the hottest doctor in the city. Maybe the whole damn country.”
This time she did stare at him, but she probably looked dumbfounded rather than awestruck. Could he be any more direct? Part of her wanted to be offended by the blatant come-on, but that negative instinct was swamped by her clamoring hormones.
“Are you always this blunt?” she said with a disbelieving laugh. “I’ve only known you for a few minutes, and you’re rating me like I’m in some medical beauty pageant.”
“Sorry,” he apologized, not looking sorry at all. “I always say what’s on my mind. Gets me in trouble now and then.” His bad boy charm seemed thoroughly practiced, but that didn’t make it any less effective. “I didn’t upset you, did I?”
Holly tried to affect a casual shrug. “I should say yes, since it was a vaguely sexist remark. You caught me by surprise, but I have to admit to being flattered.” She dropped her eyes toward the table top. “Even though you’re obviously exaggerating for effect.”
He flexed his long, powerful fingers to crush the empty coffee cup. “The hell I am. But, look, I know you’ve got to rush off in a few minutes, and I need to ask you something before we’re out of time.”
Now what? She didn’t think she could take any more surprises. “Sure,” she said cautiously.
“Okay, here’s what I need to know. Do you play golf?”
She gaped at him. When he started to look amused, she shook free of her mental paralysis.
“Do I play golf?” she echoed. She’d thought he was going to ask her out to lunch, maybe even dinner. After all, he’d just called her the hottest doctor in the country. But maybe he just tossed off that kind of sex-laden line the way he’d tossed back his coffee.
His jaw muscle twitched. “It’s not a trick question.”
“No, I’ve never tried golf. I run, but I don’t play any sports, I’m afraid. I’ve never had much time for them, and I’m a little challenged when it comes to coordination.” Yes, she looked athletic, with her tall, rangy body. But when it came to hitting, throwing, or kicking a ball, her limbs usually refused to do what her brain so readily envisioned.
On the other hand, put a scalpel or a scope in her hand and her coordination was perfect.
Nate gave her a slow, thorough appraisal that had her shifting in her seat.
“That’s no problem at all. Look, I’ll tell you why I’m asking. This hospital and the Philadelphia Post co-sponsor a golf tournament every year. It raises a lot of money for kids’ programs at the hospital. For the past three years, I’ve been helping with the organizing committee.”
Holly felt an irrational stab of dismay. He was obviously going to hit her up for a donation, nothing more. What else did she expect?
“It’s a great tournament,” he continued. “All kinds of people come—athletes, businessmen, politicians, doctors, lawyers. I thought that if you were a golfer, you might like to enter. We play the Belfield. It’s a pretty good course, up near Paoli.”
For the first time in her life, she actually wished her father had taken the time to teach her how to golf. But there was no use pretending. “It sounds like a great event, and of course it’s a wonderful cause,” she said in a resigned voice. “I’d be happy to make a donation.”
Nate leaned his elbows on the scratched Formica tabletop, bringing his body only inches from hers. She forced herself not to react.
“I’m not trying to put the hook in you for a donation, Holly,” he said with a chuckle. “Even though you don’t golf, I’d like you to come, anyway. To wrap up the day, the tournament committee holds a banquet at the club in the evening. That’s where some of the fundraising takes place. They have silent auctions and that sort of thing. I always sponsor a table for eight, and there’s a chair with your name on it.”
A banquet? Was he asking her on a date? Or was he just plumping the charity event? She had to struggle to mask her confusion and…disappointment.
Then she remembered som
ething her mother used to say. Holly, dear. State the obvious when you’re not sure what to say. That way you won’t appear quite so dense.
“You’re inviting me to be part of your dinner group?”
Nate nodded. “Absolutely. You’ll love it. Jake Miller will be there. You must have heard of him, right? Jake Miller, the Patriots’ very own future Hall-of-Famer?”
She gave him a hesitant nod. That name was vaguely familiar, but pro sports just weren’t her thing. Clearly, she was striking out on all counts. Maybe going to the banquet wasn’t a good idea.
Nate watched her with disconcerting intensity. She opened her mouth to politely decline, but he cut her off.
“Jake and his wife, Maddie Leclair, will be at my table. So will Martha Winston. Maddie and Martha are both sportswriters with the Post. Martha will bring along a date, another guy from the paper. And then there’ll be Dr. Fredericks and his wife. I’m sure you’ve heard of him,” he said.
Holly practically fell out of the chair. “Dr. James Fredericks? Our Dr. James Fredericks?”
“The very one.”
Dr. Fredericks, a vice-president of PCH, was one of the top neurosurgeons in the world. Holly had studied and admired his pioneering work. For a few years in med school, she had almost chosen neurosurgery as her specialty, mainly because of Fredericks. Any doubts she had about the wisdom of accepting Nate’s offer instantly evaporated.
“Well,” she said, hoping she didn’t sound too eager, “that is certainly an enticing prospect. When is the tournament?”
“Monday,” Nate answered with a smile. He seemed pleased that she was on the verge of saying yes. “I realize this is short notice, but...”
She jumped in. “That’s no problem. Unless there’s an emergency, of course. Otherwise, I’ll be glad to go. Thank you for inviting me, Nate.”
