Banner O'Brien (5 page)

“That must be most inconvenient.”

“Not really. Maggie—that’s our housekeeper—takes care of them and comes to me if there’s a problem.”

They left the ward to enter a cluttered office. Here, the walls were lined with hundreds of books, except for one, where a startling array of diplomas hung, framed. According to these august parchments, Adam Corbin had attended the prestigious University of Scotland, in Glasgow, and taken special courses in such places as Vienna, Berlin, and Stockholm.

Banner, thinking of her four years at the New York Infirmary, her courses squeezed in between the menial hospital tasks that paid her way, felt intimidated. No wonder Adam had been so suspicious of her education.

“You are well trained,” she admitted, with a slight lift of her chin.

“Thank you,” he said, pulling her past a very messy desk and into a larger outer office, where there were chairs and benches to accommodate patients waiting for treatment.

At a neat desk beside the outmost door sat a girl about Melissa’s age, her long fingers poised over the keys of a typewriting machine. Her hair glistened around her face in hundreds of appealing little taffy-colored curls, and her dark brown eyes assessed Banner with tart dispatch. “Hello,” she said.

Adam was all gentlemanly grace. “Francelle, this is Dr. O’Brien. O’Brien, Miss Francelle Mayhugh.”

“Francelle,” Banner nodded cordially.

But Miss Mayhugh was done with pleasantries; she harumphed and went back to her work with frightening energy.

“There are two examining rooms,” Adam said, pulling Banner unceremoniously into one of them and closing the door.

Banner’s heart was doing crazy things again, and she braced herself against one examining table and cast an uneasy glance toward the closed door. “I don’t think Francelle likes me,” she said, though that was the last thing she was really concerned about.

Adam laughed and came nearer. So near that Banner could feel the warmth of his breath on the bridge of her slightly upturned Irish nose. The hard, lean length of his body sent primitive signals to the softness of hers as he imprisoned her by bracing himself against the table, one hand on each side of her. “Who cares?” he said.

Banner trembled. Her knees were weak and the pit of her stomach was spinning and there was a strange melting sensation somewhere in the depths of her pelvis. She had never felt this way before, with Sean. What was happening?

Adam’s lips came down to taste hers, tantalizingly. “Shamrock,” he breathed.

Banner ordered her hands to come up to his impervious chest and push him away, but they were bloodless, without muscle or bone. She wanted Adam Corbin to kiss her.

He caught her lower lip between his lips and a jolt went through her. His thighs were hard against hers as he drew her nearer still and claimed her mouth fully.

All five of Banner O’Brien’s senses sang in wanton harmony as he compelled her to surrender, and confusion whirled in her mind. How was it that he could make her feel such things, when her own husband’s kisses had engendered only fear? What was the medical basis for this?

She was gasping when Adam drew back, swept her face once with those impudent indigo eyes, and kissed her again.

Banner’s riotous response was quelled by the brisk opening of the examining room door.

“Well,” said Francelle coldly. “Is this a consultation? I’m sorry I interrupted.”

Adam swore and turned to face the girl squarely, though Banner could not have done so for anything. She lowered her head, embarrassed.

“What do you want?” Adam snapped.

“I was going to ask about the Christmas party,” Francelle answered, with a dignity calculated to sting for days. “Will you be there, or do you plan to disappear again and come back in a black rage, as usual?”

“Couldn’t this have waited?” Adam drawled, and through the thick fringe of her lashes Banner watched as his jawline tightened and a muscle twitched at the side of his neck.

“I didn’t expect to find you and the—lady—so engaged, Adam. You must forgive me.”

“Must I? Get out, Francelle.”

“To be sure,” she replied, and promptly closed the door behind her.

Adam stood at a little distance from Banner now, and his powerful shoulders slackened as he ran one hand through his hair. “I’m sorry, Shamrock,” he said in gruff tones, though he did not meet her eyes. “I shouldn’t have done that. Francelle will have your reputation shredded by nightfall.”

Banner had no doubt of that. Female doctors tended to engender gossip as it was—especially in small towns. But she didn’t regret the kisses, though she knew she should have. “Do you really disappear at Christmas and then return in an ugly state of mind?” she asked, to change the subject.

This she did regret, and instantly. Adam’s eyes were
fierce when they sliced to her face, and a white line edged his jaw.

“I only kissed you, O’Brien,” he said. “I did not offer to unveil my soul.”

He could not have humiliated Banner any more deeply even if he had made a conscious effort. She felt cheap and presumptuous, and her eyes shifted from the strange menace in his gaze.

To her surprise, Adam sighed raggedly and caught her shoulders in strong hands. “Shamrock, look at me,” he muttered.

She could not, for there were tears brimming in her eyes and her fierce pride demanded that she hide them.

Not to be dissuaded, Adam caught her chin in a hand that felt rough and smelled of antiseptic and forced her to obey his order. “I’m sorry,” he told her, and the pain in his face made it easier for her to reveal her own.

She sniffled. He’d seen the tears, and there was nothing for it. “There is no need to apologize,” she said.

“There is,” he insisted. “I was rude and I’m sorry.”

Banner did not know what to say to that, and besides, she’d already set aside her own hurt feelings to wonder what it was that pained him so much. “Adam—”

He laid an index finger to her lips. “Don’t ask me,” he said. And then he stepped back and released his hold on Banner’s chin and she felt bereft, as though a great distance had risen up between them.

At the door of the examining room he paused, his hand on the knob. “Will you work with me, O’Brien?” he asked.

Banner was agape. Dear heaven, what a mercurial man he was, one moment kissing her as though he would consume her, the next wounding her with words, and the
next
asking her to work with him! “I—I don’t understand,” she said.

Adam arched one eyebrow and spread his gifted,
healing hands wide in a gesture of gentle impatience. “I’m asking you to share my practice, O’Brien.”

“But, Dr. Henderson—”

“Henderson,” he scoffed. “If you’re worrying about how you’ll look after his patients, don’t. He doesn’t have any.”

“But—Mr. Royce expressly told me—”

“Mr. Royce, O’Brien, doesn’t give a damn whether you tend Henderson’s ‘patients’ or not. Knowing him, he took one look at you and decided that courting you would be an enjoyable diversion. Of one thing you can be certain, Shamrock: he brought you here because he found you appealing, not because he has any stirring need to provide medical care in Port Hastings.”

Banner felt a myriad of things—confusion, anger, disbelief. “You’re lying! He said Dr. Henderson’s patients needed me—he said—”

Adam looked maddeningly smug. “No doubt he said you were beautiful, too, didn’t he?”

She was deflated by the truth in his words. Temple
had
remarked on her looks as they were leaving the waterfront in his carriage the night before.

“I thought so,” Adam said, aptly reading the look on Banner’s face. “Don’t be naive, Shamrock. I’m offering you a job. A real job. Do you want it or not?”

Banner was undecided. The idea of working in such a spacious, well-equipped place was attractive, on a professional level, and she knew that she would learn much from Adam. Still, how did she know that he was telling the truth? How could she be certain that he wasn’t doing exactly what he had accused Temple Royce of doing?

“Where would I live?” she asked, reasonably.

“This is a big house, O’Brien. You could live here.”

The prospect was alarming. Banner O’Brien was a woman of principle and upright morality, but how long would these qualities last if there were more kisses like those just shared? Heaven help her, she’d shrunk from
Sean’s kisses, and he with a legal right to them, but Adam’s were of a different ilk entirely. They stirred longings for the thing she had most hated in marriage.

“I don’t think that would be a good idea,” she said.

Adam shrugged. “Whatever you say, O’Brien,” he tossed back as he opened the door and strode out, leaving Banner the bitter choice of following after him or staying behind and looking just as much the fool.

She followed grudgingly, avoiding Francelle’s eyes, only to feel their scorching glare on her back as she left the office.

Adam’s strides were long and furious as he traversed the long walkway back to the main house, and Banner scrambled after him angrily, her face flushed, her heart bruised. Damn you, she thought, with tender malice.

As if he’d heard the words, Adam turned his head and grinned. “Well, O’Brien,” he wheedled, as they entered the dining room again. “What’s your answer?”

“Yes,” intruded another masculine voice. “What’s your answer?”

Banner whirled and was greeted by the benign amusement of Melissa and the tall, pirate-handsome man beside her.

He had glossy, butternut-colored hair, this man, and his shirt had flowing sleeves and was open at the throat. His laughing eyes were the same impossibly dark blue as Adam’s, and his teeth were perfect.

“Hello, Jeff,” said Adam, in somewhat weary tones.

“Some greeting, after six months,” retorted Jeff, with mock indignation. He turned and looked down into Melissa’s bright eyes. “Don’t you think that’s a shame? My own brother—”

Melissa tried to look just as annoyed. “I’m not surprised. He didn’t even bother to meet my steamer. What do you suppose he’ll do when Keith and Mama get here? Yawn?”

Adam laughed. “Stop it, you two. You’ll have O’Brien thinking I’m without family loyalty.”

Jeff’s blue eyes came with gentle humor to Banner’s face. “’O’Brien’? Trust my elder brother to address a beautiful woman as though she were a lumberjack. Tell me your given name, my lovely, for I do perish to know it.”

Adam made a rude sound.

Banner laughed and executed a curtsy befitting Jeff’s playfully formal remark. “My name is Banner,” she said.

Adam was quietly furious.
My name is Banner,
he mimicked, in his mind. Damn it all to hell, he hadn’t yet dared to call her by her first name, even after those two ill-advised but patently delicious kisses stolen in the examining room, and here she was offering it to Jeff in a way that could only be called coquettish.

Suddenly, he couldn’t bear the way she was looking at his brother—he had to have her attention. “Shamrock,” he said crisply. “Shall we eat? We aren’t finished with our rounds and—”

Jeff swung a knowing smirk in his direction and broke off his words by taking one of Banner’s hands in his, bending slightly, and kissing it.

Adam seethed.

“We’re having an all-day skating party the day before Christmas,” said Jeff smoothly, ignoring his brother. “After that, we’ll trim the tree and enjoy one of Maggie’s magnificent dinners. Won’t you join us, Banner?”

Banner’s clover green eyes were bright as she looked up at Jeff and nodded shyly. “I don’t have skates, though,” she said.

Melissa was quick to leap in with, “Don’t worry, Banner, I have an extra pair. Maybe they’d fit you—let’s go up to my room and see.”

Incredibly, O’Brien readily agreed and dashed off after Melissa as though she weren’t a doctor with patients to see. Adam ground his teeth and glared after them.

Jeff’s laugh was low and entirely too knowing. “Where did you find that one?” he asked, folding his arms.

Adam’s gaze sliced to his brother’s face. “Never mind where I found her,” he growled. “What the hell do you mean, kissing her hand and—”

Jeff grinned. “And liking her? She’s the best-looking woman I’ve ever seen.”

“Leave her alone.”

Jeff arched one eyebrow. “Shall we discuss this further?”

“Yes.”

“Outside?”

Adam nodded. “Outside.”

They strode to the front doors and faced each other in the yard, just as they had on a thousand other occasions, throughout the tumultous years of their childhoods.

They were about evenly matched, equal in size and weight and prowess, and a fight between them, Adam knew, could go either way. At the moment, he didn’t give a damn. Stupid as it seemed, he was ready to tangle with this brother of his, this brother he loved and respected.

Jeff planted his booted feet wide apart and refolded his arms. “If you feel something for the lady, Adam, why don’t you just say so?”

Adam didn’t know what he felt, beyond a crazy, consuming sort of desire. He wanted O’Brien—he had since the moment he’d walked into Henderson’s house and seen her—but he wasn’t sure how deep the feeling went, or how permanent it would be. Was it love? He couldn’t answer that question, either, since he’d never truly known what it was to love a woman.

Jeff grinned. “Well?” he prodded.

Adam swore. God, how he wanted, needed to throw a hard punch. “I don’t know,” he confessed lamely.

Jeff whistled, and his blue eyes danced. “Oh, my God, it’s for real. You’re in love!”

Adam gave a crazy whoop of frustration and turned his back. “No,” he said, after a long silence.

“No?” Jeff mocked. “This is your brother you’re talking to, Adam. The person who knows you better than anyone else in the world does. I invited the lady to a skating party and kissed her hand, and admit it, you’re ready to cut my throat.”

Adam lowered his head, and snow gathered, cold, on the back of his neck. Was he losing his mind? He
had
wanted to hurt Jeff, he still did.
Jeff,
his brother. His best friend!

“I’m sorry.”

“Adam, if you love her, it’s all right. I’ll leave her alone.”

“I met her last night,” Adam said, drawing deep breaths that did nothing to clear his mind.
“Last night
How the hell can I be ‘in love’ with her?”