Dr. Desirable

Now why did that sound so darned intimate? “Yes, I guess you’re right.”

He pointed at her chest. “Do you need any help with that?”

“Beg pardon?”

“Your computer.”

She glanced down. Like a fool, she’d forgotten she had the thing in a choke hold. “I can manage.”

Michelle pushed away from the wall, shoved the case’s strap over her shoulder and thumbed the elevator’s down button. She turned to find him standing not more than a foot away. Really, really close. So close she could run her hand along the ridge of his strong jaw, trace the outline of his lips, the cleft in his chin…

Thankfully the elevator doors sighed open, providing her with a much-needed escape. She backed into the car while Nick Kempner just stood there with hands hidden in the pockets of his starched lab coat, an insolent lock of dark hair falling over his forehead, the V-neck of his blue scrubs revealing a pleasant glimpse of dark chest hair.

He tipped an imaginary hat. “You have a good day now, Ms. Lewis.”

Shifting the strap to the other shoulder, she punched the Open Door button. “Don’t you want to go down with me?”

His grin made another appearance, slow as sunrise, and just as bright. “Oh, yeah, that sounds real tempting. But I’m needed up on the med-surg floor for a consult. Maybe later?”

Michelle presumed her face resembled a hothouse tomato. And she’d mistakenly thought her foot was too big to fit in her mouth. Her hand dropped from the button, the doors slowly closed and her last image of Nick Kempner branded her brain—his hand raised in a wave, his smile full of mischief, his dark eyes drilling holes in her well-honed reserve.

Of all the seductive, sexy surgeons, Dr. Nick Kempner was now at the top of Michelle’s list. And a small list it was.

The hot August sun beat a large swath across the backyard barbecue, indicating the extreme Texas summer was far from over. A trickle of sweat streamed down Michelle’s chest, pooling where the bathing suit top ended below her breasts. She swiped a hand over her forehead, pushing away the damp, rebellious hairs that wouldn’t fit into her ponytail. Idiot fringe, her mother called them. Fitting, considering what an idiot she’d been to let Nick Kempner get to her. He was still getting to her, even after two days. Still invading her thoughts, and sometimes her dreams.

She scanned the crowd of partygoers positioned in random groups spread across Jared and Brooke’s manicured lawn. Nick wasn’t here, as far as she could tell, although she’d been told he was invited. Maybe he was engaged in immoral combat in the pool house with a gullible nurse. That thought annoyingly irritated Michelle.

She sank back in the padded lawn chair and considered returning to the pool. But the pool was now crowded with a stew of kids too thick to stir. Nope, she’d just sit here sipping her lemonade and think about work.

She thought about Nick Kempner instead. Someone should bring her the discarded baseball bat so she could pound him out of her brain. Plenty of docs around to save her from a subdural hematoma.

Her brother-in-law moved forward from one block of people, clutching her sister’s hand. Michelle tamped down the wistful feelings when she noted the way Jared looked at Brooke, as if she were goddess of the universe. Brooke used to look at Michelle that way, with sibling adoration, as though big sister Michelle had scattered the stars. Not anymore.

But what could she expect? Brooke had her own life with Jared. Michelle’s job and seeing to her parents’ needs didn’t allow her much time to spend with Brooke. They were both adults now, living adult lives, not giggling kids practically attached at the hip. Brooke didn’t really need Michelle as much anymore. As it should be.

Then why did Michelle suddenly feel like a fallen hero?

Jared strolled to the redwood picnic table, hopped onto the bottom bench and let go a loud whistle. “Listen up, folks. We have an announcement to make.”

Michelle rose from her seat, securing the beach towel around her waist as she moved forward with the rest of the crowd. Jared sent Brooke another adoring look before turning back to the curious audience.

“As you all know,” he began, “I’ve been on leave since my accident. With the help of my beautiful and talented physical therapist wife, I’m finally ready to go back to surgery.”

Applause rang out. Michelle sought Brooke’s gaze and gave her a thumbs-up. Brooke responded with a radiant grin before giving her smile back to Jared.

Jared reached behind him and tapped his beer bottle on the table to garner the murmuring masses’ attention. “Although that’s good news, I’ve got even better news. During the course of my wife’s expert therapy, something else happened.”

Holding out his hand to Brooke, Jared helped her up to join him on the bench. They wrapped their arms around each other’s waists, forming a cocoon of contentment. Michelle sighed.

“Do you want to tell them, babe?” he asked Brooke.

Brooke nodded, looking more than a little misty. She had a certain glow about her, something Michelle had failed to notice until now. She could almost guess what was about to come, but the thought was unfathomable. Brooke would have told her something so important. Something so life altering.

“We’re going to have a baby,” Brooke said with a laugh.

Michelle stood stunned as Jared drew Brooke into a lingering kiss. Hurt shot straight through her heart, keen as a butcher knife, twice as painful. Why hadn’t Brooke told her first? Why had her sister—the closest person in her life—waited until now to make an announcement that should have been made in private to her family first?

Deep down, Michelle recognized she should be happy for Brooke and Jared. She should be doing back handsprings across the yard and cheering with the rest of the folk, including her mother who was hugging Brooke and crying, and her dad now doling out pats on Jared’s back. But she couldn’t.

Her fear and hurt wouldn’t let her. Hurt because Brooke hadn’t told her the news first. Fear for her sister’s health: the asthma that had plagued Brooke for so many years couldn’t be good for a pregnancy.

Michelle teetered on the brink of losing it. She hated crying. Hated that she even felt a need to cry. How much more selfish could she be?

She had to get away while she still could. Escape before all that hurt and self-admonishment came out on a rush of bitter tears. Turning on her bare feet, she slipped past the milling crowd and into the double patio doors, thankful she was alone. Thankful, for once, that her mother was occupied with Brooke and not playing chief cook and bottle washer.

Inside the ample kitchen a current of emotion swamped Michelle like a swollen river. So did the tears.

She allowed them only a moment before she started cleaning away the remnants of lunch like a mad maid on a ticking time clock. Like her mother. She scraped the paper plates clean into the disposal then threw them in the trash bin. She dumped liquid from myriad cups before tossing them into the overflowing sink. She picked up a plastic fork that had slipped from her hands and hurled it like a missile across the room where it landed near the dinette.

Slowly she walked to the table, grasped the back of one chair and knelt to pick up the utensil. She paused to swipe at her face damp with tears of frustration.

A pair of sandaled feet came into view. Two bare, tanned legs dusted by dark masculine hair shot upward from the feet, thighs slightly exposed before being covered by blue swim trunks. Two equally well-defined, bronzed arms dangled at the sides of the trunks, attached to an all-male torso covered by a white tank top. As Michelle visually progressed past the strong column of his throat and on up to his brown eyes, she knew she was truly in dire straits.

It was him.

Of all the people to join her pity party, Nick Kempner would have been the last to receive an invitation.

She stood with the fork clutched in one palm, the other hand still braced on the chair. His trademark grin faltered when he met her gaze, and Michelle wished she could just dissolve into the puddles of pool water on the floor.

She was an emotional wreck, and he had the nerve to look sympathetic. Why, oh, why, hadn’t she left an hour ago? What had she done to deserve Nick Kempner’s compassion? And how in the heck was she going to explain?

Michelle didn’t need to explain why she’d been crying, but Nick shored up for an explanation, anyway.

“You’re here,” she said, shattering his expectations.

“Yep, I’m here.” He tugged a napkin from the stack set out on the end of the dining room table and handed it to her.

She hesitantly took it and dabbed at her eyes. “You probably think I’ve totally lost it.”

No, but she was obviously distressed, and he wanted to know why. “Care to talk about it?”

She flipped the napkin clutched in her hand. “It’s nothing, really. Just the usual hormones. I’m feeling a little testy at the moment.”

He pointed to the towel slung low on her hips. “Do you have a weapon tucked away in there?”

At least that earned him a smile from her. “No, just this.” She held up the plastic fork she’d been retrieving from the floor when he’d walked into the room.

He grinned. “I guess I should be grateful.”