Crossing the Line

And in the bedrooms of sorority houses.

According to Mark, Dante was something of a player. This explained the suit and the haircut and the Rolex and the brooding charm. Elle lumped him into the same category with her ex-husband.

Untrustworthy skeeve.

In her book, anyone who was a friend of Mark’s was an enemy of hers.

Now, Elle, chided her good-girl side. You only diminish yourself when you think like that. Not giving Mark power over your feelings is the best revenge. No need cluttering your mind with negativity.

Maybe so, but it didn’t seem as satisfying as the fantasy of slashing the tires on Mark’s new Mercedes. She was still driving the compact Chevy she’d bought after she graduated from college ten long years ago.

Thank heavens for her two best friends, Vanessa and Julie. They also worked with her at Confidential Rejuvenations. In an attempt to deal with the stress of their professions and the secrets that the job forced them to keep, they’d formed an after-hours club where they could get together and vent. Sharing their hopes, dreams and fantasies with one another.

Her friends had been there for Elle during her divorce and they understood her even when her own family didn’t. The group was meeting on Wednesday night and she couldn’t wait to tell them what had happened in the E.D. with the new surgeon.

Her family thought she was crazy for staying at Confidential Rejuvenations, considering she had to see Mark on a daily basis. She would admit it was particularly difficult when Cassandra Roberts showed up, dangling adoringly from his arm.

But this was the best job Elle had ever had. For one thing, she was extremely well paid. She couldn’t go anywhere else and make the same kind of money. Plus, she was given lots of autonomy and she adored the staff. The VIP patients could be challenging at times, simply because they were VIPs, but Elle enjoyed taking care of people. Being a caregiver, however, had its drawbacks. For instance it prevented you from making a voodoo doll of your ex-husband and sticking sharp pointy things through it.

“Come on, let me show you to your office,” Mark said. Without even bothering to introduce the new doctor to the staff, he slung an arm around Dante’s shoulder and propelled him toward the door.

Typical Mark. No thought for anyone except himself.

As her ex-husband dragged the new physician past her, Dante’s elbow accidentally grazed Elle’s breast.

Sharply she inhaled as the shock of the unintentional contact spread out through her nerve endings.

She saw Dante glance down at her from his imposing height. He had to be at least six-three, almost a foot taller than her own five feet four.

For the briefest of moments, their gazes wed.

His eyes glinted as if he knew exactly what she looked like stark naked and he approved. The intimate suggestion in his stare caused Elle’s knees to weaken.

Nature had packaged him in a hard, muscular frame. He was meaty but not bulky. At once both supple and strong. His hands were big and square, his fingernails manicured. Nothing odd there; lots of surgeons babied their hands. Then she spied something that completely rattled her. There, at his wrist, from underneath his Rolex, curled the hint of dark-blue ink.

A tattoo.

Talk about out of place.

Who was he really?

The look that passed between them was succinct and yet weighted with a meaning she couldn’t begin to unravel.

She felt heavy and light at the same time.

Elle’s cheeks tingled. She was blushing!

God, how embarrassing.

What was happening to her? One minute she’d been minding her own business, doing her job as the nursing director of the E.D. and the next minute this sharp-dressed, broad-shouldered stranger had her locked in some emotional chokehold.

She didn’t trust a man who could make her feel so breathless with just a look.

Not one little bit.

Chapter 2

AS MARK ESCORTED HIM from the emergency department, Dante couldn’t help swiveling his head for one last look at the feisty red-haired nurse.

She glowered, hands on her hips, watching him go.

Her eyes narrowed. The woman didn’t like him. But could he blame her? He’d messed up her disaster drill, and in the process he could very easily have blown his cover. He’d already made her suspicious.

Not good.

Dante could tell from the way she’d scolded him that she thought he was a bulldozing hothead, and he’d given her plenty of reasons to draw that conclusion. He’d have to be more careful. He threw her the most disarming grin he could conjure before turning his attention back to Mark. Behind him, he heard her snort indignantly. He wasn’t winning her over that easily.

“The medical staff is waiting in the doctors’ lounge,” Mark was saying. “We’re throwing you a little welcome party.”

Ah crap, he hated this sort of political meet-and-greet, but he knew it was necessary. Suck up to the old guard if you want to fit in, and he had to fit in to gain their trust. He’d done it well enough in college. He could do it again.

“Who’s the redhead?” Dante asked, the words popping unexpectedly from his mouth.

“Redhead?”

Dante jerked his thumb in the direction of the emergency department.

Mark wrinkled his nose and his smile disappeared. “Word to the wise, steer clear of Elle.”

“Any particular reason?”

“You don’t know?”

“Know what?”

“She’s my ex-wife.”

“For real?”

“We were married for five years.”

Surprised, Dante tightened his chin. Elle wasn’t Mark’s typical type. She was solidly built for one thing—wellrounded hips, sturdy legs, the generous look of a true earth mother. She also had quick, intelligent seashore-blue eyes. Unless his college roommate’s tastes had changed, Mark went in for thin, leggy, big-breasted blondes with wide eyes and a minimum of brain power.

Dante resisted the urge to look back down the hallway again. “What happened?”

“Things happen. People change.”

“Bad breakup?”