Taming the Playboy

Georges withdrew the instrument, shutting off the light. “Well?” she asked impatiently.

He returned the instrument to its place. “You don’t appear to have a concussion.”

“That’s because I don’t.”

“But you did faint,” he reminded her. And that could be a symptom of a lot of things—or mean nothing at all. He liked erring on the side of caution when it came to patients. “I could order a set of scans done—”

Vienna cut him off at the pass. “Not on me you can’t.” She said the words with a smile, but her tone was firm. She knew her own body and there was nothing wrong. Besides, if she was in the hospital as a patient, she might not be able to be with her grandfather and he was all that mattered. “I just got a little frazzled, that’s all.” Throwing off the covers from her legs, she swung her legs over the side of the bed. As she slid off the bed, she looked down on the floor and her bare feet. There were no shoes in sight. “Now if you could just tell me where my shoes are, I’ll be all set.”

For a moment, he thought of pleading ignorance, but he had a feeling that being barefoot would not be enough to keep her here. Bending down, he retrieved the plastic bag from beneath the bed and handed it to her.

“It wouldn’t hurt for you to stay overnight for observation, either.”

Vienna took out her high heels and, placing them on the floor, stepped into the shoes. It struck Georges that he’d seldom seen anyone move so gracefully.

“Maybe not,” she allowed, “but it would be a waste of time and money. I didn’t even hit my head.”

The hell she didn’t. “Then what’s this?” Georges asked as he moved back wispy blond bangs from her forehead. A nice-sized bump had begun to form above her right eye. He ran his thumb ever so lightly across it.

Vienna tried not to wince in response, but he saw the slight movement that indicated pain.

She feathered her fingers just on the outer edges of the area and shrugged. “Okay, maybe I did hit my head, but not so that I saw stars,” she insisted. “It was my grandfather who got the brunt of the impact.” Even as she said it, she could see the events moving in slow motion in her mind’s eye. It was a struggle not to shiver. Her expression turned somber. When she spoke, her voice was hushed. Fearful. “How is he?”

“You haven’t been out that long,” he told her. “Your grandfather’s not back from X-ray yet.” Pausing, he studied her for a second.

She shifted slightly, trying to stand as straight as she could. She did not want to argue about getting more tests again. “What?”

“Just before you took your unofficial ‘nap,” ’ he said tactfully, “you were about to go to the registration desk to give the administrative assistant your grandfather’s insurance information.”

Now she remembered, Vienna thought. Edging over to the front of the stall, she inadvertently brushed up against the doctor and instantly felt her body tightening.

Reflexes alive and well, she congratulated herself.

Taking a deep breath, she announced, “Okay, let’s go.”

But he didn’t seem all that ready to take her where she needed to go. Instead, he regarded her for another long moment, as if he expected her to faint again. “You’re sure you’re up to it?”

In response, she left the curtained enclosure. He quickly fell into step beside her, indicating that she needed to turn right at the end of the hallway. Vienna noticed several nurses watching them as they passed.

“Do you take such good care of all your patients?” she asked.

He appeared to consider her question, then deadpanned, “Only the ones I rescue from a burning car.”

“Oh.” A smile flickered across her lips, teasing dimples into existence on either cheek. “Lucky thing for me.”

They walked through a set of swinging doors. As he brought her over to the first available space in the registration area, his cell phone began to ring.

“She has insurance information about a patient who was just brought in to the E.R.,” he told the young girl behind the desk, then turned to Vienna as the phone rang again. “I’ve got to take this.”

Vienna nodded. “Of course.”

Taking the cell out of his jacket pocket as he moved away from the desk, Georges glanced down at the number. And winced inwardly.

Diana.

He’d completely forgotten about her. And about his date. He supposed if he hurried, he could still salvage some of the evening.

Georges was considering the option when he saw two policemen entering the E.R., coming from within the hospital rather than via the back entrance the way they had. By their unhurried demeanor, intuition told him the patrolmen were here to see Vienna. Since he’d seen everything that had gone down, that made him a material witness. Which meant that he was going to have to stick around to give his statement, as well.

That made his mind up for him.

Flipping the phone open on the fifth ring, he turned away from the desk. “Diana, hi. I am so sorry. I know I’m late, but I was involved in an accident—”

“An accident?” the voice on the other end repeated breathlessly. “Are you all right?”

“Yes, but the police just got here and I’m going to have to give them my statement. I’ve got no idea how long this is going to take.” He caught himself looking over toward Vienna, wondering if she was going to be up to this. “I’m afraid that I’m going to need a rain check.”

“This is Southern California. It doesn’t rain here this time of year,” Diana reminded him. But she didn’t sound angry, just disappointed.

“We can do our own rain dance,” he promised, lowering his voice.

He heard her laugh and felt a sense of satisfaction. She’d forgiven him. “That I’d like to see. All right, call me, lover, whenever you’re free.”

“Count on it,” he told her. Ending the call, he flipped the phone closed and pocketed it again. Georges turned around just in time to see the two policemen position themselves on both sides of Vienna’s chair. That same protective instinct that had had him throwing his body over hers when the car burst into flames stirred inside his chest.

He quickly crossed back to her, but he was looking at the patrolmen as he approached. “Can I be of any help, officers?” he asked easily.

The younger of the two policeman gave him a once-over before speaking. “That all depends. You have any information about this car accident on PCH that was reported?”

Boy, have I got some information for you, he thought. Out loud, he said, “As a matter of fact, I do. But first, how did you find out about it?” he asked. He’d given Vienna the number to the hospital to summon an ambulance, not 911.

The younger of the two looked reluctant to divulge any information at all. When he remained silent, his partner said, “Paramedics called it in. Someone named Howard. Told us where to find you.” The last statement was directed to Vienna.

Howard. He should have known, Georges thought. The EMT wasn’t kidding when he talked about adhering to the rules.

Georges glanced over toward an alcove. E.R. doctors typically retreated there to write their reports without being disturbed. The area was empty at the moment.

“Why don’t we move over there, out of the way?” he suggested, indicating the alcove. Not waiting for the policemen to agree, he put his hand beneath Vienna’s elbow and helped her up from the chair.

“You a doctor?” the other policeman, older than his partner by at least a decade, asked as he followed behind them.

Taking out the badge that was still in his pocket, Georges hung it about his neck. “Yes.”

“Lucky for the people involved,” the older patrolman commented. As the tallest, he stood on the outer perimeter of the space, allowing his partner and the other two to assemble within a space that normally held no more than two.

The patrolmen left half an hour later, satisfied with the report they’d gotten and armed with the make and model, as well as license plate number, of the hit-and-run driver’s vehicle. The younger patrolman had even cracked a slight smile. The older one promised they would be in touch the moment there was something to report.

Vienna had held up well during the questioning, Georges thought as the two men in blue took their leave, but now she looked drained. Concern returned.