Won't You Be My Husband?

“Oh, I went places, all right—beginning with boot camp and ending up in Germany. Six countries in seven years.”

“Must have been exciting,” Lauren murmured, nudging him to close the gap in the line again.

Nick moved obediently. “Turned my life around. Taught me discipline. Gave me pride, goals. Enlisting was the best decision I ever made.”

“An architect…” Lauren shook her head, still not quite believing it. “So are you happily married now, with two-point-five children?”

“Not me.” He glanced at her left hand, obviously looking for a wedding band. His eyes widened in surprise. “You’re single, too?”

“Yes, and probably always will be unless you know a saint who wouldn’t mind his wife delivering everyone’s babies but her own…”

“Hey, Bud! Do you want a dog or not?”

Thus alerted that he was holding up the line again, Nick said, “Don’t run off,” then turned his back on her.

Lauren noted that he was just two people from the counter now. Guessing he’d face forward until served, she made the most of the opportunity to examine this view of him. Not bad, she thought, relishing how his sweater accentuated his broad shoulders and how his jeans hugged his backside and long legs. Clearly he hadn’t let his desk job get the best of his physique. No, a man had to stay active to maintain a body like that.

“Lauren? Dr. Lauren West?”

For the second time that afternoon a man called her name. This time, however, Lauren recognized the voice. She cringed.

“It is you!” Frank Montgomery, friend of Lauren’s brother-in-law, exclaimed as he angled up from nowhere and turned her around to face him. “And looking h-o-t as ever. How’ve you been, babe?”

“Fine,” Lauren replied, unsuccessfully ducking the wet kiss he planted right on her mouth. That kiss brought back vivid memories of their one and only date in Houston last month—a disaster from the get-go, thanks to his inflated ego, ever-ready lips and busy, busy hands.

Frank, who stood maybe an inch over her own five-feet-eight, lay a heavy arm across her shoulders, holding her so that her back was to the food counter and the scoop neck of her sweater in his direct line of vision.

“Would you believe I was going to call you after the game today? I’m in town until Wednesday. Thought we could get together and take up—” he gave her arm a promising squeeze “—where we left off.”

Though tempted to slap the man senseless, Lauren kept her cool. Frank Montgomery was, after all, head of the surgery department at the hospital where Diana’s physician husband, Stephen, hoped to earn operating room privileges. Diana would kill Lauren if she did anything to jeopardize his chances.

“I really can’t—” Lauren murmured, trying to ease free of his embrace without giving him a peek at her breasts.

“Playing hard to get?” His beer-scented whisper fanned the tendrils of hair framing Lauren’s face. His lips loomed inches from her own.

“I’m not playing at all…”

“Lauren, honey, do you want mustard or ketchup on your—er, sorry, didn’t mean to interrupt.” It was Nick, and looking as dangerous as 007 ever did.

Oh so grateful he’d saved Frank from bodily harm, Lauren wrenched herself free and followed his inspired lead. “Don’t be absurd,” she murmured, pulling her sweater back up on her bare shoulder. “This is just Frank Montgomery, whom I met through Stephen a few weeks ago. Frank, this is Nicolas Gatewood, my—”

“Fiancé,” Nick interjected, extending his right hand, which a visibly flustered—or was he angry?—Frank took, shook and quickly released.

“S-Stephen is going to be on the surgical staff at Houston Regional just as soon as his appointment is approved,” Lauren stammered, still trying to adjust to Nick’s sudden conversion from friend to fiancé. “Frank, here, is head of the department.” Anxiously, Lauren searched Nick’s expression for any sign that he understood her unspoken message: be nice to this jerk.

Nick’s quick wink, which could not have been seen by their companion, told her that he did. “Houston Regional’s gain.”

“Uh, yes, of course,” Frank murmured. “Stephen is a fine surgeon.” Lauren noted that his gaze dropped to her left hand just as Nick’s had earlier. He frowned ever so slightly. “How long have you two been engaged?”

“Not long at all,” Nick replied when words failed Lauren.

“We, um, haven’t even had a chance to shop for a diamond,” she added, trying to assuage the doubt she read in Frank’s expression.

“I…see. Well, congratulations and best of luck.” He began to edge away.

“Thanks,” Nick replied, standing by Lauren’s side until the man slithered off into the crowd. At that point he glanced back toward the counter. “Rescuing damsels in distress is not without its price.”

“What…?” Lauren, still in a bit of a daze, frowned after Frank.

“I lost my place in line, and not even for bratwurst on a roll will I go to the back and start over.”

A quick glance toward the head of the line confirmed it. “Oh, gosh, I’m sorry. Are you very hungry?”

“My stomach is gnawing my backbone.”

“I have a chocolate bar in my purse.”

“Give it to me, oh bride-to-be,” Nick told her, holding out his hand, palm upwards and grinning like the Cheshire Cat.

Abruptly Lauren grabbed. Nick’s hand and as good as dragged him away from the crowded concession area to the edge of the walkway. “I can’t believe you told Frank that we’re engaged.”

“Got rid of him, didn’t it?”

“Yes, but…”

“And probably for good.”

“Probably, but…”

“Then how about a little appreciation?”

Lauren sighed and gave him the credit he surely deserved. “Thanks, Nick. I owe you.”

“One good turn does deserve another,” Nick agreed, leaning against a concrete support, arms crossed over his chest. “You can pay your bill October twelfth at my boss’s house.”

“Excuse me?”

“I have a dinner party to go to a week from Wednesday. I want you to go, too, and play fiancée the way I just did.”

“You can’t be serious.”

“Never more.”

“But why?”

“So a certain someone will keep her hands to herself.”

Lauren laughed in utter disbelief. “Can’t you just tell her to cool it?”