With A Little Help

“Wiser, maybe.”

“Yes, the doctor ego thing.”

“Don’t forget the delusions of godhood,” he said. “You have me typecast, but you haven’t told me what you do for a living.”

“I’m a qualified chef.”

“You’re not in medicine?”

She’d slid down a little in the leather seat of his beautiful car. “Nope. Sad, isn’t it?”

“Only sad if you wanted to and couldn’t.”

“I didn’t want to. I’m creating a new branch of the Jarrett family.”

“Good for you. Is this your place?”

His voice gave no clue what he thought of the run-down house that was both home and business. “Mine and the bank’s.”

“I’ll walk you in.”

“No need.” Her keys were already in her hand. She was embarrassed enough for one night without him seeing the dilapidated former café she was slowly turning into a boutique eatery. She couldn’t do the renovations she wanted until the business brought in more money, and the small apartment she lived in at the rear wasn’t a priority.

He came around to her side of the car and opened the door. “I’ll wait until you’re safely inside.”

He sounded as if he doubted she could make it under her own steam. With good reason, she found as soon as the night air hit her. She concentrated on getting the front door open and herself inside without stumbling, sighing with relief when she closed the door behind her and leaned against it. After a few minutes, she heard him start his car and drive away.

Had she really said doctors were walking egos with delusions of godhood? Thinking it was one thing, but saying it… She’d kill Todd for spiking that drink. But was it all his fault? Hadn’t the vodka provided the excuse to do exactly what she’d wanted to do from her first sight of Nate? That didn’t let her brother off the hook, but she knew she had to take some responsibility. She should have kept a better eye on her drink. But like hypnotism, alcohol couldn’t make her behave totally out of character. So what did tonight say about her?

Despite Nate’s lecture and his patronizing manner, the memory of his bristly hair under her hand elicited a shiver of desire she couldn’t blame on anything but sexual attraction. And his designer stubble had felt so enticing when she kissed him. He’d turned her on, even as she’d turned him off. She’d resolved never to willingly cross his path again.

And now she was walking up to his front door.

SHE SHOULD HAVE EXPECTED a man like Nate to do things his own way. Instead of meeting her in an office or at least a living room, he was waiting for her in a garden arbor overgrown with old-fashioned white roses. When his housekeeper led her to him, the scent of the flowers made her feel light-headed. She refused to believe Nate himself could have such an effect on her. “Thanks, Joanna,” she said, but the woman had already turned back toward the house.

Emma hadn’t seen Nate since the ill-fated Christmas party but his height and athletic build were fixed in her memory. If anything, he looked even more attractive in daylight. He stood up as she climbed the steps into the arbor. His eyes, which had shone amber under artificial light, now glinted with gold flecks around the iris. In narrow-cut jeans, a pale blue T-shirt with random French phrases scribbled across the front and bare feet thrust into leather sandals, he looked more like a university student than a successful surgeon. She immediately felt overdressed in her businesslike taupe pants and short black cardigan with a lacy white camisole.

He stuck out his hand. “Good to see you again, Emma.”

With an assurance she was far from feeling, she touched her palm to his, but before she could step away and sit down at the wooden table strewn with papers, his grip tightened and he pulled her closer.

“Nate, what are you doing? This isn’t a good idea.” She was aware of how unconvincing the words sounded.

He gestured with his free hand. “You can’t tell me you felt more romantic in a boardroom setting than in a rose garden?”

“I didn’t feel romantic at all. That was the vodka talking.”

His warm gaze met hers. “Only the vodka?”

Alarmed at how tempting his mouth looked, she held still with an effort. “You know it was.”

And she should have known enough to stay away from him. She felt her resistance slipping even now as he slid his hand down to the small of her back. His touch was light. She could have broken the contact with the slightest move. So why didn’t she? “I came here to discuss catering arrangements for your party, not for…this.”

“You’re right,” he said, moving away with every sign of reluctance. “I’ve been thinking about that night. Seeing you here now made me want to find out if what I remembered about our encounter was real.”

“The encounter wasn’t real, at least not in the way you mean,” she assured him, sitting down at the table. “And it won’t happen again.”

His expression was devilish as he sat opposite her. “Are you sure it won’t? I’m not.”

The thought that she disturbed his equilibrium gave her a moment of satisfaction before she squelched it. “We should get down to business?”

“Coward,” he murmured so softly she couldn’t be sure she’d heard him. The ring tone of a cell phone cut off any retort she might have made. The Chipmunks’ “Witch Doctor,” she noticed. So the man had a sense of humor.

He shot her an apologetic look as he flipped the phone open and glanced at the number. “The hospital,” he said to her. “Hale speaking.”

An all too familiar sensation crept over her. The hospital. How many of her family’s activities had been interrupted by those same words? When she was a child, the reasons her parents had to take the calls had been explained to her over and over again. The clear message she’d received was that patients were more important than she was.

Whether it was a school play, a sporting event, a graduation, or simply a time when she needed their support, her parents would promise to get there as soon as they could. Medical duties came first. Often they wouldn’t get to her event at all, or she’d solve the problem by herself. The upside was she’d developed a healthy self-reliance. The downside was a reluctance to depend on other people, or expect them to be there for her.

But all this was in the past. Replaying her grievances because Nate had answered a call from the hospital didn’t change anything. She heard him give a string of instructions concerning a patient’s treatment, sounding so self-assured that she imagined the person at the other end standing at attention. Her father and mother sounded exactly the same.

He ended the call and placed the phone on the table. “I hope you gave your brother hell for spiking your drink.”

“You bet I did.” Todd had admitted he’d drunk too much himself, falling over himself to apologize. She’d never seen her brother so upset. “I don’t think he’ll do anything that idiotic again.” Emma hoped she could say the same for herself.

Nate nodded. “Would you like some iced tea?”

A carafe and glasses sat on a tray on a little table and he poured a glass for her. Ice tinkled in a tube in the center of the carafe, chilling the drink without diluting it. “Unusual flavor,” she said after taking a sip.

“Pomegranate, from a tree growing in the garden.”

Pleasure rippled through her. Her grandmother also grew the fruit, and had included some recipes in one of her cookbooks. Emma would have to look them up.

She opened her net book and swiveled the screen toward him. “As I told you on the phone, my business isn’t fully up to speed yet, but I’ve put together a selection of menus that might—”

His phone rang again and he held up a hand to silence her as he took the call. This time he didn’t need to say it was the hospital. He listened intently then unleashed a string of commands. “Do you need me there?” he asked.

If anything was guaranteed to kill her interest in him, leaving her sitting while he took off would do the trick. Once upon a time she’d let herself be guilt-tripped into feeling selfish for putting her needs ahead of someone in crisis, until she realized that there would always be another crisis, and not even the most highly qualified doctor was indispensable. There was always someone to help, whereas she had only one family. The problem was convincing her parents that she had as much right to their time as their patients did.

He put the phone down again. “Coming from a medical family, you’d be used to interruptions,” he said.

“Yes, I am.”

The coldness she couldn’t keep out of her voice made him raise an eyebrow, but he didn’t respond. Instead he scrolled through the document she’d sat up late last night preparing for him. “Impressive,” he said. “The combinations are nicely balanced. Tarte Tatin is one of my favorites. Making it with figs and leeks is an interesting variation.”

She heard what he didn’t say. “But?”

“These options are a bit ordinary.”