Playboy Doctor

Playboy Doctor

Heartthrob Heroes

Book Two

by

Kimberly Llewellyn

Bestselling Author

Published by
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ISBN: 978-1-61417-424-0

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Acknowledgments

I tend to have two kinds of friends... writer friends and medical friends. I am so thankful for both. Special thanks goes out to Carol Poelker, RN, Pediatric ER; Elizabeth Panduro, RN, BS; and Jackie Jones, Nurse Practitioner, Surgical First Assist.

Chapter 1

One more hour until the end of the shift. Willow Brady approached the pediatric ER desk, collapsed into a chair, and released a long overdue sigh. The rush of young patients had subsided for the time being. She took advantage of the momentary lull by pulling a chart to review her RN notes and catch up on her documenting.

The evening's most notable patients so far had suffered a broken arm, a bad fall resulting in a goose egg on the head, and a chewable vitamin lodged in a toddler's nose. Oh, and acute appendicitis treated with an urgent appendectomy. Just an average night here in the ER at the Pediatric Building of Baycoast Memorial Hospital.

The evening was passing quickly and Willow liked it that way. Coming in to work tonight proved a better option than spending another restless night at her bungalow. Alone. On her birthday. Her eyes darted to her watch. Midnight would come soon and she'd survive this birthday unscathed.

When she felt a tap on her shoulder, she turned to see Emmy, her friend and fellow nurse from pediatric ICU.

"What are you doing here? You're still supposed to be on vacation for your birthday, visiting your family up in New England."

Willow blew out a gusty breath. "What can I say? I missed good old Florida."

Emmy cocked a suspicious eyebrow. "Missing Florida in late August? It's the hottest spot in the entire United States right now. Not to mention all the thundershowers. Seriously, tell me why you came back early."

Willow groaned. "I flew back early because I couldn't face
the inevitable
with my family."

"The inevitable?"

"Listening to my mom and aunties and old college friends remind me that with another birthday behind me, I should be in some new relationship by now... or at least dating. As of today, I'm twenty-six. Is that really considered old?"

Emmy scoffed. "Not at all. You're getting a little older so your family wants to push you into your next big thing. All families do it, trust me."

Older
? So that's her new label. Willow slumped her shoulders.

"Anyway, happy birthday," Emmy said. "And don't let your family drive you crazy. I've got to go. I was just on my way to the cafeteria when I saw you over here moping."

"I'm not moping."

"Mmm-hmm." Emmy pursed her lips. "Either way, I'm sure everyone's glad to have you back. You're great with kids—and their parents. After working here, you'll definitely be ready when you have kids of your own."

Willow froze.
Kids of her own
. No matter how many times the subject came up, the truth of the matter still managed to sting.

"Oh, I don't know..." Willow ignored the forlorn twist of her heart.

When Emmy's warm eyes turned inquisitive, Willow needed to cover the heartache fast. She simply didn't want to go there.

"Right, of course, kids. Someday," she quickly amended, and then feigned a reassuring smile despite the big fat lie.

Emmy, apparently satisfied with Willow's change of disposition, whisked off, leaving Willow to contend with the heart-wrenching truth.

No. She'd never have children of her own.

As a pediatric ER nurse, part of her job included soothing distraught children and their frantic parents. Another part included working side by side with medical staff, which she'd been doing well since coming to Baycoast Memorial six months ago.

But her job did not include having to disclose why she could never have children, not even to a friend like Emmy. The pain of it was simply too fresh.

It took three miscarriages to diagnose MTHFR, the rare genetic defect responsible for her plight. The blood clotting disorder would keep her from her dream of having babies. By the third pregnancy, which she'd lost in the second trimester, her now-ex-husband had had enough and walked. More like sprinted.

But it was his reasoning—what he'd ultimately confessed to her—that truly broke her heart and sent her into an emotional tailspin. That fateful night, almost a year ago, she'd not only lost a third baby, she also lost her marriage.

The thud of quick footsteps cracking against the linoleum floor broke her unsettling thoughts.

Willow rose and rounded the desk to see what new storm was brewing. She looked down the corridor. The sight before her made her breath catch.

A man dressed in a tuxedo came at her with a determined stride. He had to be at least six feet in height with a commanding posture and Hollywood good looks. Thick, dark locks of hair winnowed in his wake. Even darker eyes met hers. Hooded, soulful eyes framed in unfairly long, black lashes. As he closed in on her, a muscle twitched in his chiseled jaw.

Willow's blood rushed and she had to keep from letting her own jaw fall open in awe while she marveled at the glorious sight of him.

The cardboard box he carried, however, made a strange juxtaposition to the strikingly handsome vision.

Willow sized up the situation as she tried to reign in her rampant heartbeat. The man looked like a male model. Or perhaps an actor. His muscles strained against the black fabric of the tuxedo while he gripped that box. He extended his arms toward her as if presenting her with a wonderful gift.

And he was doing it today. On her birthday.

Had her family hired a singing telegram about to belt out a tune? Or perhaps her friends sent a male stripper to cheer her up.

Either way, she couldn't allow it to happen, not on her watch.

The man opened his mouth to say—or sing—something, but Willow raised her hand to stop him in his tracks.

"Oh, no, you don't. You are not singing or dancing here, no matter who let you in. Celebrating my birthday in the middle of the pediatric ER is completely inappropriate."

She crossed her arms and stood defiantly.

The man's exotic features dimmed to a frustrated glare. His gaze flitted momentarily to her name tag.