“That’s not what your eyes are saying.” There was a bruised look on her face and he wanted to erase it. “Talk to me, Hope.”
“Just so you know, I don’t make a habit of this.”
“Neither do I.”
Sleeping with a coworker could be the quickest route to career suicide. This was the first time he’d ever done this. But wanting her the way he had made it impossible to remember why he was driven to succeed. Now those reasons came flooding back with a vengeance. He wasn’t sure there was enough career success or money in the world to silence the hungry, homeless kid who still lived inside him. The black, empty, helpless feeling grew, reminding him that he couldn’t get complacent.
Not ever.
Without another word, she slid out of bed, then disappeared in the shadows of the room. He could hear her rustling around and figured she was picking up clothes and wouldn’t appreciate him grilling her about what the hell had her panties in a twist. When she disappeared into the bathroom, he got up and dressed in a pair of jeans, then yanked on a shirt that he didn’t bother to button. She still hadn’t emerged, so he went to the media room to wait.
Finally she joined him there and announced, “I have to go.”
“Not so fast.” He moved in front of her. “Talk to me, Hope.”
She turned away and started pacing. “I was married—”
Married? That was a line he didn’t cross. He’d been so sure she was single. Then her words sank in. “Was? That means you’re not married now?”
“No. Now I’m a widow.” She stopped moving and looked up at him. “My husband died two years ago.”
“I’m sorry.”
That’s not what he’d expected to hear, but the words came automatically. Early in his training he’d memorized how to say the correct words to a grieving family. Although everything possible was done for your friend, brother, sister, wife, husband, or child, the damage was too severe and we were unable to save his/her life. I’m sorry for your loss.
She was young and odds were that her husband hadn’t been very old. He couldn’t help wondering. Illness? Accident? “What happened?”
An expression that looked a lot like guilt made the gold in her hazel eyes darker, more brown than green. “That’s not really the issue. I just needed you to know that I had a husband. He died. And you’re the first man I’ve slept with—”
Information he wished he’d had a little while ago. He’d have been… What? More tender? Gentler? At least she wasn’t a virgin. But in a way she was. Her first experience after a trauma was a different kind of pressure. Had he known…would he have backed off? Maybe. But probably not. He’d wanted her too badly. Now he could be tender and gentle as he reassured her that it was okay for her to move on.
“It’s all right, Hope.”
“No, it’s not.” Her mouth tightened with anger. “I don’t blame you. I don’t blame anyone.”
“Then what’s the problem?”
“It—” Her cheeks flushed and her gaze dropped. “What we did, it just feels wrong.”
“Not to me,” he said.
Her gaze lifted to meet his. “How nice for you. I wish it were that easy for me, but it’s not. It feels like cheating.”
Close, he thought. But not exactly. Not for her.
“Life goes on,” he said as gently as possible. “You’re a single woman. You have needs and you’re allowed to—”
“You asked what was wrong,” she interrupted. “I’m sorry I can’t explain it any better, but—”
The phone in the kitchen rang and they both jumped. He didn’t move, just glanced at it, then looked back at her as it sounded again.
“Aren’t you going to pick up?” she asked.
He shook his head. “If it was an emergency they’d have called the pager or cell. Whoever that is can leave a message. Now, you were saying?”
“Actually I was finished. Now I’m leaving. It would be best.”
“Best for who?” He dragged his fingers through his hair. “Just seems to me like you’re running.”
His voice on the machine came on and curtly ordered, “Leave a message.”
A familiar female voice said, “Hi, baby, it’s Blair. Europe was fabulous. My aunt is in from New York and is dying to meet my boyfriend. That would be you, in case you were wondering. Mother and Daddy are looking forward to seeing you for dinner Sunday. Can’t wait to tell you all about my trip. Call me back.”
Color drained from Hope’s cheeks. A series of emotions kaleidoscoped across her expressive face before she whispered, “You have a girlfriend?”
Chapter Five
“It’s not what you think,” Jake said.
“It never is,” Hope countered.
Sleeping with Jake made her a slimy cheater. Her husband was gone, but she didn’t feel single. Death hadn’t ended her feelings for him. Kevin was the first, last and only man she would ever let into her heart.
Now that she knew Jake was seeing someone, that made him a slimy cheater, too, not even in the same league with the husband she’d lost. Rampant gossip said Jake was a playboy, and by definition that meant many women and that alone made her choice bad. Stupid, actually, although in all the talk about him, there hadn’t been a single hint of a girlfriend or even steadily dating anyone. But there was a woman out there who thought he was her boyfriend. He’d never said squat about that to Hope when there was a chance of not sleeping with him. And that was the definition of low.
Hope stared at him and knew she was going to hell for sure when desire simmered through her again. So which one of them was the lowest of the low?
Damn him for standing there in worn jeans that hugged his hips and legs like a sexy second skin and a shirt he hadn’t bothered to button. Double damn him for showing off the hair-dusted masculine chest she badly wanted to explore again.
Jake rested his hands on those lean hips. “Look, how about I fix us a drink? We can take a breath and have a civilized conversation—”
“No.”
“Which one?” He folded his arms over his chest. “Drink? Or talk?”
“Both.”
“You owe me a chance to explain.”
“That’s a joke, right?” She stared at his expression, not making the mistake of letting her gaze go lower. “You didn’t really just say that I’m obliged to give you the opportunity to justify what just happened because you’re a guy.”
His eyes narrowed dangerously. “I am a guy. And I won’t apologize for the fact that I want you.”
Not past tense, she noted. That meant presently he still wanted her. For the life of her she couldn’t figure out why that was so seductive, but it was. The spurt of desire dancing through her was proof. The only weapon she had to fight against it was anger.
She glared at him. “Maybe you should apologize for not telling me you’re involved with someone.”
“Blair and I are dating,” he confirmed. “But there’s never been a conversation about being exclusive.”
“Actions speak louder than words,” she pointed out. “Show, don’t tell. The term dating implies some sort of relationship and is information worthy of sharing, don’t you think?”
“You want information? Here’s some. We’re friends. Our paths crossed frequently because her father is Congressman Havens—”
“The president of the hospital’s board of directors Congressman Havens?”
“Yes.”
Hope felt her eyes widen. “The same man who gave you a career-making contract?”
“Yes, but it’s not how it looks,” he said again.
“You’re right. This time it’s actually worse, because it looks to me like you used her and you’re cheating on her.”
With me, Hope thought. That made her a cheater times two. The anger coursing through her was invigorating, sort of satisfying as guilt and grief fused, sparked and exploded, blotting out everything else.
“There’s no possible way to put a positive spin on that,” she added.
<
br /> “For the record,” he said, “before I asked her out, I ran it by her father, because I’d already declared an interest in the position. He assured me that his decision would be based on ability and experience.”
“And showing his daughter a good time sure didn’t hurt your chances of getting the contract, did it?”
“I’m not a liar, Hope. I’ve always been up front with Blair. She knows my career comes first and is okay with that.”
“How wonderful for you. Such an understanding woman is so rare.” She tried to mean that sincerely. Made a valiant attempt to strain the sarcasm from her voice. On both fronts she failed completely and just couldn’t be sorry.
“Blair is a politician’s daughter. She likes being seen with ambitious, up-and-coming men.”
“And isn’t that special? What are the odds of finding your female equivalent?” Hope asked. “Wow, a match made in heaven. You both have an agenda.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“What did you mean?” she asked.
“We have a good time together. There’s been no discussion of taking things to the next level.”
Hope resisted the longing to believe him. Giving in to that was the last thing she wanted because it would slick the way for her to slide right into caring. Not going there, she thought.
“Again, I say, show don’t tell. If you’re ‘dating’—” Her tone added air quotes to the word. “There’s every reason for her to expect loyalty from you.”
“I am loyal,” he defended. “And so is she. Companionship and respect for each other’s goals has defined our friendship.” He paused briefly, then added, “Until now.”
She barely resisted the urge to ask what had changed now. It was a slippery slope and she didn’t want to go back where she’d just been, a place where she might be tempted to think about a future. That was very dangerous. She was living proof that plans had a way of being blown to bits. With the luxury of hindsight she’d learned that it was best not to have expectations.
“Are you saying that all of a sudden you’re not getting what you want from Blair? Or that you already got what you wanted and your goals have changed?”
“Neither. And that’s a lot like a ‘have you stopped beating your wife?’ question.” He looked frustrated and angry as a muscle in his lean jaw bunched and contracted. “I’m not a player, Hope.”
She laughed, but there was no humor in it. The sound was brittle and harsh. “That’s not what hospital gossip says about your trauma group’s token bachelor.”
“Since I’m the only single doctor in the group, that makes me the bachelor. And hospital gossip is notoriously unreliable. Do you believe everything you hear?”
“Depends on who’s saying it. You have a short memory, Doctor. Push the flashing red button on the answering machine. The message confirms the rumor that I heard about you being the last playboy standing.”
“For what it’s worth, I plan to tell Blair what happened between you and me.”
“Good for you. Straighten out that halo. Maybe if you come clean she won’t mind. But I do. Being the other woman isn’t a role that I want to play.”
His eyes flashed with irritation and he blew out a long breath. “Does picking a fight with me really help?”
“I’m not picking a fight. Just clearing the air.”
“Then why is your pulse elevated? Respiration rapid and shallow?”
“Because I’m mad, that’s why.”
“And being deliberately unreasonable. Guilt does that to a person.”
“What are you talking about?” she demanded.
“You’re painting me with the bastard brush because it makes you feel better.”
The jab hit too close to the mark. She lifted her chin slightly and said, “When you have this bare-your-soul conversation with Blair, be sure not to leave out the part about you being a fried Twinkie.”
His eyes narrowed. “What are you talking about?”
“You know.” She stepped around him and walked to the front door. After opening it she turned to find him right behind her. “A fried Twinkie—fluffy extravagance. It’s okay once in a while, but a steady diet is bad for the heart.”
She walked out and slammed the door before he could answer. The chilly air cooled her hot cheeks, but the shivering had nothing to do with weather. Hurrying to her car, she got in and drove away as fast as she could. In case he tried to stop her.
It would only take a single touch.
She wasn’t proud of that. She’d loved her husband with all her heart and it shamed her to think about how easily she’d succumbed to Jake’s charm.
The “fried Twinkie” warning was just as relevant for her as it was for him. She’d had her taste, her indulgence. Guilty pleasure.
It was only sex; it was out of her system. Now she was going on a diet.
Jake sat across the table from Blair in a steakhouse on the second floor of the Suncoast Hotel in Summerlin. They were next to the drapery-framed windows that overlooked the glittering lights of the Las Vegas Valley. This place was one of his favorites. Good food. Great service. Although price wasn’t an issue anymore, the cost was reasonable. The woman staring over the spotless white tablecloth, candles and flowers didn’t feel the same way. Blair was into pricey, exclusive places where she could be seen and photographed with the rich and famous. It was a world where perception was everything.
So his choice of venue should have been a big clue that this dinner wasn’t about impressing her.
Last night Hope had all but accused him of using Blair to get the hospital appointment. Years ago when he was nearly finished with college and applying to med school, someone else had accused him of using the woman he loved to buy his way into the big time. It wasn’t true then, but he’d lost her anyway. There was just a little truth in what Hope had said, enough that he didn’t like himself. It was a feeling he was too familiar with. He was here to make things right with Blair.
She was a beautiful, long-legged, blue-eyed brunette. In her lavender cashmere sweater and body-hugging black slacks, she was a stunner who turned men’s heads every time she entered a room. He’d been one of those men, once upon a time. Tall women were his type. Until recently. If he were being honest with himself, it had changed when he met Hope. Somehow her compact, curvy little body had snagged his attention and wouldn’t let go.
“You’re preoccupied.” Blair’s foot slid up and down his calf as she sipped her white wine. “Is it work?”
If only. That would be less complicated. “No. Work is going fine. Couldn’t be better.”
“Is there a reason why you brought me to your favorite restaurant?”
He was a little surprised she remembered how much he liked this place. “Yes.”
She looked around at the dark wood walls and crystal chandeliers overhead. Fresh flowers topped the snow-white tablecloths on every table. “I suppose it’s romantic.” Smiling, she reached across the table and touched his hand. “Is there something you want to ask me?”
“We need to talk.”
“That’s a chick line. Are you getting in touch with your feminine side, Jake?”
“It’s more under the heading that confession is good for the soul.”
A slight frown puckered the skin of her forehead. “Oh? That sounds ominous.”
“I’ve met someone. A woman,” he clarified.
A small smile curved her full lips. “If you’d confessed to meeting a man that would be seriously surprising.”
“Actually it’s more than that. I slept with her, Blair. Last night.” He didn’t mean to be quite so blunt, or add details, but there was no point in dragging this out either. He lifted the longneck bottle of beer to his mouth and took a drink, letting the information sink in.
“I see.”
Then she was leaps and bounds ahead of him because he didn’t see at all. “It wasn’t planned. It just happened.”
Jake was watching her face, the lack of immediate reaction, knowi
ng what was coming. Wait for it. Wait. And there it was. A slight pursing of the mouth. The head tilt and hair toss followed by the pretty, practiced pout.
“Although we never officially committed to an exclusive arrangement, I have to admit that’s not what I expected,” she said.
Neither had he. Hope was a predicament he could never have foreseen. “I’m sorry.”
“I suppose this is the night for it.” She sighed. “I have to confess, too.”
“Oh?”
“While I was in Monte Carlo, there was a man. Paolo. But it was just a fling. A very European thing.” She reached over and covered his hand with hers. “I hope you’re not upset, baby.”
He wondered whether she would have confessed on her own if he hadn’t. Or quite possibly it was a lie to keep the playing field level. And that was the thing. It never would be level if you compared their backgrounds side by side. She was way out of his league. She’d grown up in a gated estate in Las Vegas and a luxury home in Washington with private schools and tours of Europe. He’d been homeless and hungry. Scholarships and student loans paid for his education.
Whether she’d actually had a fling or was lying to make him jealous, it didn’t matter. Unlike the last time he fell for someone out of his league, his heart wasn’t damaged. He wasn’t the least bit peeved. They’d been over for a while, but neither had taken the steps to officially end the relationship.
“I’m okay with it,” he said.
“Really?”
“Really.” He met her gaze. “Are you upset?”
“You’re a man. I was gone a long time.” She shrugged as if that made complete sense. Maybe it did in her world.
The waiter showed up to take their orders—filet mignon medium rare for both of them. Salads with oil and vinegar. Garlic mashed potatoes. He didn’t plan on kissing her goodnight. And it was as if the “aha” light went on inside him. Cuisine compatibility wasn’t enough on which to base a deeper connection. Not that he wanted a deep connection, but there was no point in dragging on the little they had.
The Surgeon's Favorite Nurse Page 6
