Cindy's Doctor Charming (3 page)

“Until now there was only one black mark on the day. In the last five seconds that just doubled.” She set her spoon down. “Why are you here?”

“I'm hungry?”

“You know that's not what I meant. You could be having lobster, caviar and truffles in the doctor's dining room.”

“Actually I think it's pheasant under glass and baked Alaska day. I'm not a big fan of either,” he said.

“Again, not my point. You're here with the peasants. Why is that?”

“Maybe I find the environment here more interesting.” He finished the first half of his sandwich and glanced at her empty bowl with wrappers piled up in it. “Soup and crackers isn't much for lunch.”

“I'm on a diet.”

“Why?” Nathan twisted the top off his water bottle and took a drink.

“By definition diet implies trying to drop a few pounds.” Her tone was conversational, but mistrust lurked in her eyes.

“Again I ask—why?” He wagged a warning finger when she opened her mouth to answer. “Don't give me the snarky, sarcastic response that I know is on the tip of your tongue. You're not overweight.”

“Why else would I go on a diet?” She leaned back and folded her arms over her chest. The classic stubborn, you're-not-getting-anything-out-of-me pose.

“All well and good for someone who needs to shape up, but you don't.”

“How do you know?”

“Because I saw you in that dress last night.”

The sexy, sensuous image would be imprinted on his mind forever. And he'd held her in his arms. She had curves in all the right places and not one of those places needed to slim down. The memory of her body pressed against his sent a flood of testosterone surging through him. And it wasn't the first time he'd reacted to her that way.

“Why are you really eating this?” he asked.

“Why do you care?”

“Good question. Humor me.”

“Would you believe I have irritable bowel syndrome and this is a bland diet?”

“No.”

She was irritable, but that wasn't a medical diagnosis.
It had something to do with him personally. Just a feeling, but he was pretty sure this snappish attitude had a lot to do with him not recognizing her, especially after coming down on her for something she hadn't done. And since his apology hadn't produced any discernible softening in her, that cranked up his curiosity.

“Okay.” She tapped her lip thoughtfully. “What if I'm still full from last night?”

“Doubtful. You didn't finish the rubber chicken or even touch the prefab cheesecake.” He would know. He'd noticed that, along with everything else about her. She was quick-witted, smart and sexy. A triple threat.

She sipped from the straw in her iced tea, then asked, “Are you going to let this go any time soon?”

“That's not my current plan, no.”

She sighed. “If you must know, I'm always on a very tight budget the week before payday. Something you probably have no frame of reference for.”

“Budgets? Or payday?”

“Either. Both.”

“I get the concept, but you're right. It's not something I had to deal with.”

“Had?”

“I didn't have a childhood, but not because money was a problem.”

He'd had his hands full coping with family issues. And thinking about that could put multiple black marks on his day. Cindy, however, could brighten up an entire room. He'd found that out last night. And she was much more interesting than memories of the clinically dysfunctional Steele family.

“So,” he said, rolling the empty plastic from his sandwich into a ball. “The south of France with Mumsy isn't in the budget?”

Her mouth twitched. She wanted to laugh but was holding back. “About that—”

“No need to explain.”

“In my small way, I was getting even with you for yelling at me.”

“I get that. What's your excuse for being crabby now?” he asked. “Lack of sleep? Staying out too late last night?”

“You got me. Hobnobbing with the rich and famous wore me out. I stayed up way past my bedtime.”

And speaking of beds, an image of her in his with twisted sheets tightened a knot of need inside him that had started fewer than twenty-four hours ago when he'd seen her walk like sex in motion across a crowded room. Talking with her, discovering her sharp mind and keen sense of humor had only intensified the feeling. Then she'd really piqued his curiosity by abruptly walking out after cutting short their dance.

“It seemed like you were having fun. Why did you leave the party?” he asked.

“It was time to go.” Something in her eyes said that wasn't the whole truth. “Now I've got a question for you— why are you stalking me?”

“That's harsh,” he teased. “Take last night—”

“You mean when you didn't have a clue who I was?”

“No offense,” he said, “But last night you weren't wearing the NICU jumpsuit.”

“It's a legitimate question, Doctor—”

“Nathan, remember?”

The look on her face said she remembered it all and wasn't happy that she did. “My point is that a physician rubbing elbows with the peons here at Mercy Medical Center just isn't deliberately done. So the stalking remark is not out of line.”

“It is if I just want to get to know you. And I do. We work
in the same place and it's inevitable that our paths would cross. Which is the reason I'd like your phone number.”

“I don't really get the connection.” She stood and picked up her tray. Over her shoulder as she was walking away, she said, “And you should just let it go,
Doctor.
”

Nathan knew she was right. He should let it go.

He honestly didn't understand why he couldn't. The average woman would be happy to go out with him. Clearly Cindy wasn't average, which could explain part of her appeal. The other part was curiosity. She wouldn't even give him a chance, and he was pretty sure that wasn't about him chastising her.

Cindy Elliott was quite the mystery and he wasn't finished trying to solve her. He'd see her stubborn and raise her a healthy dose of persistence.

C
indy had clocked in from lunch after her unexpected encounter with Nathan and was now back to work. The afternoon stop in the NICU was next on her work sheet. Other than Dr. Charming going out of his way to talk to her in the cafeteria, it promised to be an ordinary afternoon. Then everything changed. And it all happened so fast.

One minute Cindy was running a long-handled dusting tool over the linoleum floor, the next Nathan was there with a tiny baby. He was calmly issuing orders like a general in the thick of battle.

The common sense move was to get out of the way even if directions to do just that in the event of a medical crisis hadn't been drilled into her. Cindy had been employed at Mercy Medical Center for nearly two years and had seen her share of medical situations but never one involving Nathan Steele. She knew what he did, had seen his medical practice partner in action, but she had never actually
witnessed him saving a little life. And she had a bad feeling that her life was about to change. She couldn't help thinking that darn raffle ticket had somehow altered fate to put her in his orbit.

From her protected position against the wall she could hear the team talking and knew the baby boy was a twenty-five-weeker born just minutes ago by C-section. That made him about four months premature. He was already intubated, and they were using a bag to force air into his lungs. The person bagging the baby was her friend, Harlow Marcelli, who worked in the Respiratory Therapy department.

Cindy couldn't really see what the staff was doing to the baby, but Nathan was taller than everyone and the strain and intensity on his face were clearly visible. When bodies parted, she noticed that he was using two fingers on the tiny chest, compressions for cardiopulmonary resuscitation.

After listening with the stethoscope, he said, “Let's get him on a ventilator. IV line stat and electrodes for EKG. I need to surf him.”

She made a mental note to ask what that meant.

Meanwhile, the troops moved to follow his orders, and moments later there were tubes and machines in place. Tracings on the monitors were blue, green and pink—each to distinguish a different function to be watched.

“I need blood gases,” Nathan said.

Instantly Harlow moved, like a runner off the block at the sound of the starting pistol. In a few minutes, Nathan looked at the readings and nodded.

“He's a fighter. I think the little gladiator is stable for the moment. Watch him. I want to know if anything changes. I'll be right outside.” He looked at the staff who'd fought with him. “Great job, everyone. I'm going to talk to the dad. Mom's still in recovery.”

Cindy moved slightly to her right, to see through the double glass doors and out into the hall. The father was probably in his late twenties or early thirties, blonde and blue eyed, with terror all over his face. She couldn't hear what was said, but as Nathan talked some of the fear drained from the man's expression, leaving your garden-variety worry in its wake. When the man glanced over, she could also see love for the tiny little life fighting to survive. The gladiator, Nathan had called him.

Just last night he'd told her that if he couldn't see or touch something, he didn't believe it existed. How could he not see the love in that father's eyes?

“He's pretty awesome, isn't he?”

Cindy jumped at the sound of her friend's voice, then turned. “You startled me. I didn't know you were there.”

“Yeah. I can see you're distracted.” Harlow Marcelli was a pretty, green-eyed brunette and the fairy godmother who'd loaned her the patched-up pumps for the fundraiser.

“Not preoccupied. Just doing my job,” she defended.

“Yeah.” Her friend glanced to where the two men were still talking. “If your job is to watch Dr. Hot Stuff.”

“Not my day to keep an eye on him.” Cindy deliberately turned her back to the doors. “No matter how many times I see you do your thing, it never fails to amaze me. You were pretty awesome just now.”

“Thanks.” Harlow slid a glance over her shoulder at the isolette surrounded by state-of-the-art equipment. “He's not out of the woods yet. I hope he's a fighter like the doc said.”

“Me, too. The gladiator.” She smiled.

“The staff usually gives the preemies nicknames,” Harlow explained, echoing what Nathan had already told her. “Something inspirational to live up to.”

“Live being the operative word. It surprised me coming
from Nathan—” She stopped when the other woman gave her a funny look.

“Since when do you call him by his first name?”

“Oh, that—”

“Yeah, that.”

Cindy glanced over her shoulder where he still stood in the hall. “We sat at the same table at the fundraiser last night.”

“And?”

“The glue on your shoe didn't hold up.”

“Later with the shoes news.” Harlow's green eyes snapped with impatience. “When did you start calling Dr. Charming
Nathan?
”

“Last night. When he asked me to.”

“Why?” Her friend added, “Did he ask you to, I mean?”

“Probably because he didn't know who I was.”

“I need more information than that.”

Cindy gripped the long handle of her dusting device. “He sat next to me, bought me a drink and said I looked familiar, but he couldn't place me.”

“He didn't recognize you?” Surprise jumped into Harlow's eyes.

“Not even when I made him guess.”

“You didn't,” her friend scoffed.

“I did.” Cindy had her reasons and it had seemed like a good idea at the time.

“Hot damn,” Harlow said. “I can't wait to tell Whitney and Mary Frances that we literally transformed you into a mystery woman. That's so cool.”

“Not really. When I saw him this morning, he figured it out.”

When he smelled her perfume. That memory made her stomach do a funny little shimmy and she told herself it was
only because something that sensitive was out of character for Nathan Steele.

“Was he mad?”

It would have been easier if he had been. Then giving him a hard time would have been justified and not just turned her into a roaring witch.

“No. He took it well. Even apologized to me for over-reacting and yelling at me in here yesterday. Then he asked for my phone number again,” Cindy explained.

The other woman's jaw dropped. “Again?”

“I refused to give it to him when he asked me last night. After he caught up with me. And he only did because your shoe broke.”

“He chased you?” Harlow folded her arms over her chest. “This gets better and better.”

“It was time for me to go.”

“Apparently he didn't agree.”

“That's just because my identity was still in question and that intrigued him,” Cindy said. “Sort of like when a superhero assumes an alter ego. It's the whole don't-I-know-her-from-somewhere? thing.”

“Then what was his excuse for asking again today?”

“He's one of those guys who can't take no for an answer.”

“And why should he? Women in this hospital are taking numbers in the line to snap him up.” Warning slid into her friend's eyes. “Let him call. You don't have to commit to anything. And I wouldn't if I were you.”

“Preaching to the choir, H,” Cindy said. “I don't have time for the games.”

Just then Nathan walked back into the unit to check on the baby.

“Gotta go,” Harlow said.

Cindy turned away and finished her job in the NICU,
then slipped out the door. Her clean cart was against the wall in the hall. She was still putting away her cleaning supplies when she heard the doors behind her whisper open. It could have been anyone, but not just anyone made the hair at her nape prickle. Only Nathan did that and the development was recent. And, annoyingly enough, recurring.

“Cindy—”

She turned around. “Did I forget to do something in the unit?”

“No. I just—” He ran his fingers through his hair. “I saw you talking to Harlow.”

“She's my friend. One of the fairy godmothers, actually.”

“Good to know her talents are more than just being one of the best respiratory techs here at Mercy Medical.”

“Speaking of that,” she said. “I was watching just now, when you were working on the gladiator.”

“Don't ask me where that came from,” he said sheepishly. The look was too darn cute.

“Okay. But I wanted to ask something else.” Anything to take the edge off his appeal. She met his gaze and said, “What did you mean when you said ‘surf' him?”

“Surfactin. It's a medication.”

“Yeah. I was pretty sure you weren't talking about ocean waves. What does it do?”

“Makes the lungs more flexible. If they're stiff, air can't be pushed in and out,” he explained. “One of the problems in neonates is that their lungs are immature. The medication helps them function better until they fully develop.”

“I see.”

“Good. Now I've got one for you.”

“One what?”

“Question. Turnabout is fair play.” He leaned a broad shoulder against the wall.

If the inquiry was about how a guy could look so sexy dressed in utilitarian scrubs, she had no answer. On every possible level it was just wrong for him to be so yummy in shapeless cotton material with a drawstring at the waist of the pants. The V-neck shirt at least revealed the hint of chest hair, but really, the ensemble left a lot to be desired. Except the guy in it was more desirable than her favorite chocolate with caramel.

“Okay. You can ask,” she said, knowing she was really going to regret giving permission.

“What do you have against giving me your phone number?” he said.

“You'll use it,” she answered. “Gotta get back to work now.”

She grabbed her cart and pushed it down the hall, feeling his gaze lasering into her back until she rounded the corner. Leaning against the wall, she blew out a long breath.

It was hard work going one on one with a hero. Even harder to remember why she needed to not get sucked into the games. Between work and school, she didn't have the time or energy. Whatever he was selling, she wasn't buying. And even if she were, she'd just blown any chance with him. Like Harlow said, women were waiting in line.

So much for her plan to attend the fundraiser and enjoy every moment. Pulling out those memories of how the beautiful people lived was supposed to brighten her daily grind. She'd made memories, all right, and so much more. She'd snagged the doctor's attention. For all the good that would do.

After today he wouldn't waste any more time on her. Which was just as well because she didn't have the time, energy or emotional reserves to waste on him.

And that made her sad and angry. It made her wish that once upon a time, she hadn't been duped and damaged by a dope.

 

As Nathan headed down the hall toward administration, he was mentally fine-tuning his case to hire extra staff for the NICU. For the past week things had been nuts. Gladiator, aka Dylan Mason, was the first of some really sick babies. The staff in the unit was working their asses off and he wanted more bodies to care for his patients. Still, it wouldn't be easy to convince the powers-that-be to spend more money, and he braced for the coming battle.

But when he walked into the outer office and saw Cindy at the desk, battles of the sexy sort took center stage. Probably because she'd refused every request to let him call her.

He'd never worked that hard for a phone number and, frankly, the struggle made him even more determined to get to the bottom of her resistance.

Cindy watched warily as he moved closer then settled his hip on the corner of her desk. There were two metal-framed chairs in front of it, but invading her space was more appealing. And this place could use a healthy dose of interesting. The ocean scenes on the beige walls made it generic decorating. With her blond hair and warm brown eyes, she sure brightened up her surroundings.

“Is there any job in this hospital that you don't do?” he asked.

“Brain surgery.”

He laughed and that hadn't been his expectation on his way to the administration offices. “So, can I ask what you're doing here?”

“You can
ask.
” The way her full mouth curved up in a
teasing smile finished the implication that she didn't have to answer. “I'm an administrative intern.”

“Right. I remember. In addition to your other job?”

She nodded. “After the fall semester, I'll have my degree in hospital administration. This summer was a good time to get the internship part accomplished.”

“Busy girl.”

She shrugged and the movement did amazing things to her breasts under the pink, silky blouse. By peeking over the desk he could see her black slacks. The business attire was buttoned-down professional. He'd also seen her in plain housekeeping clothes. But by far his favorite look was that short, strapless dress he'd first seen her in. The memory caused a very physical reaction that was a good indication his desire to see her out of it hadn't gone away.

“So,” she said, tapping her pen on the desk. “I'm going to take a wild guess that you're here to see Mr. Ryan. And not stalking me.”

“You would be correct. I have a staffing issue to discuss with him.”

“Specifically?”

“There's a lot of work in the NICU. We're going nuts up there.”

“And you want more help,” she guessed.

“Right in one.”

She swiveled her chair to the right and faced the computer monitor, then clicked away on the keyboard until data scrolled onto the screen. After studying it for a moment, she turned back and looked up.

“Good luck with that.”

He stared at her for several moments, then said, “What?”

“I'm pretty sure Mr. Ryan won't give his approval to hire any more people.”