The Doctor's Dating Bargain

“What if I were, Dr. McKnight?”

“I’d be flattered,” he said.

“And I’d have a target on my back. Enjoy your dessert,” she said, turning away.

“Whoa, not so fast, Cam. Do you mind if I call you that?” Without waiting for an answer he pointed to the chair at a right angle to his. “It’s just plain mean to make a cryptic remark like that, then walk away.”

“I have no reason to stay.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be friendly to your guests?” he asked.

“The first rule of hospitality,” she confirmed. “And I have been. But there’s a line that shouldn’t be crossed.”

“Isn’t the customer always right?”

“Yes, but—”

“So, sit. Take a load off that foot.” He looked down at her legs in four-inch heels. “Nice shoes. How is the foot, by the way?”

“Fine.” She didn’t take him up on the offer to sit because that wasn’t professional. But she didn’t leave, either.

“Tell me about the target on your back.”

“Obviously you were smart enough to pass medical school. Do you really not get it?” That was tough to believe. A man as good-looking as he had to have had opportunities. He’d probably left this small town for college a naive guy of eighteen, but surely he’d been around the block a time or two since then. “You’re quite a catch.”

“What am I? A fish?” The twinkle in his eyes said he knew where this was going and wasn’t the least offended.

That was fortunate because in the hospitality game one always aimed to please. “You’re a doctor and not hard on the eyes—”

“Did you just say I’m cute?”

“I said the women in this tiny little town might perceive you that way and you probably make a decent living as a doctor.”

“Are you asking?” He rested his forearms on the white-cloth-covered table.

“I’m not interested. But clearly a number of women are. A single guy—” She stopped as a thought struck her. “You aren’t married, are you?”

“Nope.”

“Divorced?”

“One would have to have been married for that to be the case.”

“So you’ve never been married.”

Before Camille could continue the line of questioning, Jenny brought over his cake and the assistant waiter delivered a saucer and cup, then filled it with coffee.

“Anything else I can do for you?” Jenny asked.

“No. But thanks.” Ben gave her a smile.

The waitress returned it and moved behind him where she leveled Cam with a look that if it could kill would render her a rust-colored stain on the floor.

Ben forked off a piece of cake then put it in his mouth, his eyes never leaving hers. After chewing and swallowing, the sound of pleasure he made was almost sexual. Since her January arrival in this state that was so close to Canada, she’d never once been too warm. Not until now. And she very much wanted to fan herself.

Steady, girl. What were they talking about? Oh, right. He’d never been married.

“What’s wrong with you?” she asked.

“Excuse me? I believe I just proved your point about this being the best cake in Montana.”

“I’m not talking cake.” She folded her arms over her chest. “You’re handsome, smart, a doctor who returned to his hometown to practice medicine. Approximately thirty-five—”

“Close,” he confirmed. “Thirty-four.”

“Apparently I’m out of practice. And don’t interrupt me. I’m on a roll. You’re thirty-four, not married and never been married. What’s wrong with you?”

“Am I gay, you mean?”

“That’s not what I asked, but—”

“No. I’m not.”

“That’s a relief.” She realized that thought hadn’t stayed in her head and added, “I mean, for the single women in Blackwater Lake who went to all the trouble of giving you their phone numbers.”

“How do you know that?”

“I’ve been watching them hand you slips of paper too small to be a résumé or autobiographical novel. And I did catch a glimpse of numbers.”

“You’re very observant.”

“Attention to detail is the hallmark of the hospitality business,” she said, irritated at how much she sounded like her father. “So, how does someone who looks so good on paper escape personal entanglements unscathed?”

The twinkle in his eyes vanished and the warm cocoa color turned almost black. “Who says I did?”

“So you have a story.” It wasn’t a question.

“Doesn’t everyone? You go first.”

“Nice try.” She shook her head.

If he was curious he could just Google her. There was plenty documented on the internet that she’d never live down no matter how hard she tried. Or he could ask the hotel staff. They’d be happy to share.

And judge. The employees had made up their minds about her based on tabloid stories and entertainment gossip. They’d decided she was too shallow, too spoiled, too short and too blonde to be taken seriously.

Why should Ben McKnight be any different?

Chapter Two