With a Little Help (10 page)

“Even if you had the skills you do now, it might not have been enough.”

“I know. I'm not God.” He felt a smile play around his mouth. “Despite what you think of me.”

“It was a general observation about the medical profession. I'd never have said what I did if I'd known about your sister.”

“Don't start holding back now,” he cautioned. “One of your strengths is saying what you mean.”

“You're telling me I have a big mouth?”

“A very kissable big mouth.”

 

K
ISSABLE EVIDENTLY WASN'T ENOUGH,
Emma thought. “After what happened, I can understand you wanting to become a doctor. But not what it has to do with a kiss between us.”

“I don't want to stop at a kiss.”

Neither did she. “You didn't have to.”

His words came at her like darts, burying themselves in her heart. “If Dad hadn't been out saving the world, he'd have been there, possibly able to save his own baby. But he wasn't. Night after night, I kept my mother company until we heard his car in the drive, and I scooted off to bed. I lost count of the meals she cooked and threw away because he wasn't on time, or was called away before he could eat them.”

Except for losing his baby sister, Nate wasn't telling her anything she hadn't experienced herself. Knowing where this was leading, she had the childish urge to slap her hands over her ears to shut out the truth. “You're saying his work split them up?”

“They were already arguing over his long hours when Annelie was born. For a time, having her made things better. After she died, they didn't fight anymore. There was only silence and coldness. As an adult, I can see they had nothing left worth fighting for.”

“They had you.”

He adjusted the sling, wincing as he searched for a more comfortable position. “They cared for me. They still do, both of them.”

Yet his father hadn't made it to the party last night. “Your stepfather does. Last night he told me how proud he is of your achievements.”

“He's a decent man and he's been good for my mother and me,” Nate confirmed.

But he'd never take the place of Nate's real father. At least both of Emma's parents understood the demands on the other. They didn't expect regular meals or hours, and didn't feel neglected when patients' needs came first. Emma herself was the only one who cared about such things.

Given Nate's family life, his decision not to avoid getting involved with a woman outside the medical profession was perfectly logical. Again, Emma felt the pain of being excluded from a select club. Nate was trying to let her down easy, but the truth couldn't be avoided. She didn't belong with him. She never would because of a gene everyone else in her family had except her.

What about Gramma Jessie? She didn't belong, either, and yet she'd made a place for herself in the senior Greg Jarrett's heart. Was she lucky, or was Emma missing a clue here?

Restlessly, she carried the cup to the sink and rinsed it, then turned to the boxes Joanna had stacked for her. She couldn't take them all back in a cab. “Is
it all right if I pull out what I need for now, and leave the rest of this stuff here to be collected later?”

“Suit yourself.”

Challenged by his surly tone, she spun around. “If it's an imposition, say so and I'll have Sophie pick up the rest this afternoon.”

He rubbed a hand over his head. “It's not an imposition. They can stay here as long as you like.”

She took in his gray skin and felt guilty for not noticing before. “Do you need some ice for your wrist?”

He nodded without speaking and went into the breakfast room. Following Grace's instructions from the previous night, she wrapped ice in a hand towel and carried it along with water and painkillers to the sunny room where Nate sat at the table.

The sling hung loose around his neck, and he was awkwardly undoing the Velcro splint when she joined him. “Here, let me.”

“You're good at this,” he said as she applied the ice pack to his wrist.

“Why didn't you say you were in pain?”

“I was going to do this as soon as you left.”

Because she wasn't a doctor and there was nothing she could do.
Well, any competent person could apply an ice pack and dispense painkillers. “It's not an admission of failure to ask for help.” Her gesture telegraphed frustration. “I understand why you
don't want to feel helpless, but you don't have to be a superhero, either.”

He adjusted the ice pack slightly. “Must be that walking ego again.”

Her lips pursed with the effort not to sigh with annoyance. “If you want to put it like that, yes.”

“We're not getting involved,” he insisted, “but if we did, you'd make darned sure I didn't have any delusions of godhood.”

Was that Gramma Jessie's secret? Remembering how often her comments had brought her husband or Emma's father firmly back to earth, she almost smiled. But she wasn't her grandmother, one of the strongest women Emma knew. If anyone could find a way to reconcile family life and a doctor's career, Jessie could. Why couldn't Emma's and Nate's parents have done the same?

“I'll stay until the pain eases,” she told Nate, “then I have to go.”

“Busy afternoon?”

Glad of a way to distract him while the pills took effect, she said, “Only one catering job booked, but a mountain of paperwork to clear up.”

“How are your renovation plans progressing?”

They'd been on hold while she catered his party. “The contractor is coming to quote on the kitchen tomorrow.”

“Mitch tells me you were impressed with his sketches.”

She nodded. “He's a genius and he knows exactly what a professional kitchen needs. But until the builder gives me an idea of cost, I don't know how many of Mitch's ideas I can afford.”

“Which reminds me.” Nate rested the ice pack against his wrist and fished in his pants pocket with his other hand. “This is for you.”

She took the crumpled envelope he held out. It wasn't sealed so she opened it and was stunned to see the amount of the check inside. “This is way more than we agreed.”

“You did way more than we agreed. My birthday cake wasn't in the original quote.”

Because she'd only thought of it a few days ago. “Carla Geering made most of the cake and I did the decoration,” she said in fairness. “Carla's joining the business as soon as the kitchen's ready. Since she wasn't available last night, she wanted to make a contribution.”

“Carla's on your team so I repeat, you deserve the fee,” he insisted. “If you hadn't tackled that young punk last night, he and his mate could have set my home on fire.”

Some of the gloss went off the check. He wasn't rewarding her catering skills, but her usefulness in saving his property. “All part of the service,” she said stiffly, and tucked the envelope into her back pocket.

He stood up, heedless of the ice water dripping
from the towel onto the polished wood table. “Now what did I say wrong?”

“Nothing. Absolutely nothing.”

“Why is it I can't open my mouth without offending you?”

She kept her gaze level. Being offended suggested he had the power to touch her emotions, and she refused to let him. “What makes you think you've offended me?”

“Because you've gone all stiff again.”

Her breath huffed out. “It would be nice if, just once, you showed some appreciation for my professional abilities.”

The ice pack was shoved aside and he began to fumble with the splint. “The check is supposed to do that.”

“You said you bumped it up because I saved your house.” Setting her annoyance aside, she took the splint from him and fastened it around his wrist, careful not to cause any more pain. He was causing her enough for both of them.

Glaring at her as if he could read her thoughts, he shrugged his arm into the sling. “And your problem is?”

“My problem is you and the rest of your kind. All my adult life I've been put down for not joining the family business, as if nurturing people with food is a lesser calling than medicine. I think it's about time…”

His nostrils flared as he got to his feet, and his eyes held a brilliance that shocked her, while the intent in them shook her to her core. “It's about time you stopped telling me how I should treat you.”

Alarm made her voice unsteady. “You don't think I deserve your respect?”

“You're doing it again, putting words into my mouth.” His good arm came around her and she found herself captive between the table and his hard body. Her senses fired warning signals along her limbs, pulling the blood to the center of her body. Her fight-or-flight instincts were fully engaged, but she wasn't sure which she planned on using.

T
WO GOOD ARMS WOULD HAVE
helped, Nate thought as he felt tension ripple through Emma. But he put the only one he had to good use, pinning her in place while he set her straight on a few things.

Without asking him what he thought, she'd made up her mind that he was the same as her family, elevating medical professionals to a higher level than other people, and that made him mad as hell.

This time he didn't have to check her pulse to gauge her agitation. The set of her jaw and her gritted teeth betrayed her. But she wasn't as angry as she wanted him to think. Her enlarged pupils were a sexual response she couldn't hide. His were probably every bit as dilated, and for the same reason. She drove him wild, and not only because she thought she knew everything about him.

He felt her try to turn herself to stone in his arms…arm. Instead, she felt hot and yielding, sending answering heat coursing through him. But her tone was cold. “I suppose you think kissing me will make things better?”

Feeding him lines like that made this too easy. “Who said anything about kissing you?”

Confusion sent jets of pink color shooting across her cheeks. Good. He'd shown her she couldn't second-guess him as easily as she believed.

“I thought you were…when you…damn it, Nate, how can I have a proper talk with you like this?”

He studied her from under lowered lids. “You can't, and that's the point. This is about me talking for once. All you have to do is listen.”

She made a halfhearted attempt to squirm free, the movement against his body almost his undoing. Seconds ago he'd decided to make her listen if it killed him. At this rate, the prospect was alarmingly real.

“Perhaps a well-aimed kick would make you take me seriously,” she said.

He'd made sure there was no room for kicking, but in the process, put himself at a disadvantage. Having her pressed against him was proving to be more of a problem than violence. “Believe it or not, I do take you seriously. But as this is the only way to get you to hear me out, then you leave me no choice.”

Disbelief radiated from her. “I'm the one being manhandled, but it's my fault?”

“How can I manhandle you with one good arm?”

 

N
ATE COULD MANHANDLE
her from across a room, just by looking at her with those hooded dark eyes,
Emma thought, wishing he would say what he had to say and release her.

Perhaps she shouldn't have accused him of being like her family, when she didn't know his thoughts well enough to make assumptions. But this macho stuff was hardly likely to change her mind.

In all honesty, she wasn't sure any force was involved. She'd been off guard when he caught her against him. Now, feeling his breath warm on her cheek and his body aligned with hers, she could easily melt into his hold if she let herself. Or walk away.

“I'm listening.”

A smile played around his mouth. “See? I knew I would get your attention.”

“So does ‘Greensleeves' when the van drives down my street selling ice cream.”

“I can hum ‘Greensleeves' if you want. Come to think of it, the words are appropriate. ‘Alas, my love, you do me wrong, to cast me out so discourteously.'”

Her glare bored into him. “I'm not your love, and you were the one treating me discourteously last time I looked.”

His expression hardened. “I don't remember calling your work a delusion of godhood.”

“You know that was the vodka talking.” Still, the words were hers, and she hadn't retracted them afterward.

“It's different when the shoe's on the other foot, isn't it?”

“Yes.” The word came out as a whisper.

“Okay, so here's the truth. I don't believe, and never have, that practicing medicine makes me special. It's a privilege, and I count myself damned lucky to have the chance to make a difference in my patients' lives.”

It was insane to feel so moved by his words. Or to want to return his embrace when she should be coming up with a snappy counterargument. “Because you couldn't help your baby sister?”

He inclined his head. “Annelie was the start. Now it's about the others who won't be able to go home to their families without medical help.”

With her parents and brother, it was invariably about them. Their achievements, wise counsel, nick-of-time intervention. Unable to stop herself, she touched a hand to the side of Nate's face. Knew she'd made a mistake when she couldn't stop touching him.

Her fingers curled around the side of his neck, and she felt his strength, wanted his mouth on hers. Amazing how her self-control fled when he was this close. He was wrong for her. She wouldn't put it past him to say what he thought she wanted to hear. The bit making no sense was why he would.

There was one thing she could do that made sense. “I'm sorry for what I said about doctors in general.
You're right, it was a sweeping judgment. I can't know every doctor's motives.”

“You know mine now.” His mouth hovered over hers. “We're making progress.”

Her lips felt dry but she refused to lick them. Afraid he'd take it as invitation? Or that she would? Alarm made her say, “Nate, I should get back to work.”

“Do you have your cell phone with you and switched on?”

Strange how hard she found it to get out one word. “Yes.”

“Then you're at work if you need to be.”

Seconds ago, she'd have recoiled from the perceived put-down. Now she read between the lines. He didn't want her to go any more than she wanted to leave. The truth might be unwelcome, but couldn't be argued on her side, at least.

If the phone rang this minute, she knew she wouldn't be able to answer coherently to save her life. Her thoughts were in chaos, her body a mess of confused signals. The choice was no longer between fight-or-flight, but between two crazy options—kiss him or encourage him to kiss her.

With a light pressure of her fingers on his nape, she brought his head down, lifting up on to her toes to meet him halfway.

His arm around her tightened and he crushed her mouth with a hunger that told her kissing hadn't
been far from his mind from the start. Her thoughts whirled. If he was playing her, she'd taken his bait willingly. Taken what he was offering, and given as much in return.

Whatever this was felt incredibly pleasurable. The fierce molding of his mouth to hers was like a dream. She parted her lips and he plunged.

He tasted of the rich, dark coffee he'd drunk. And maleness. And a sense of purpose that unraveled whatever she thought she knew about the kind of man he was.

When he wrapped both arms around her, the splint felt hard against her neck. Concern flared. “You're not supposed to use your wrist.”

His eyes danced. “I'm not. I'm resting it on you.”

“Is that medically approved?”

“I'll check with Dr. Lester. Much later.”

Without missing a beat, he kissed her again, his good hand sliding down her body and inside the unbuttoned neck of her uniform shirt. “Lace,” he murmured as he found her bra. “I'll bet it's black.”

“Pink with navy polka dots.” Had she really admitted that to him?

He cupped her breast, fingering the lace and triggering a chain reaction from her hardening nipple, all the way to her core. “How come?”

Dizzy with sensation, she could hardly think straight. “How come what?”

“You wear pink with navy polka dots under that prissy blue uniform thing?”

Some of the pleasure drained away. “My uniform is not prissy.”

“Okay, practical and official then.”

“No more than the white coat I'll bet you wear at work.”

He chuckled, the low sound tingling her spine. “True. Scrubs are even more prissy, and a lot less flattering than this blue thing on you.”

Belatedly she realized he was stating facts, not being critical. She'd have to work at being less sensitive.
If she was to see more of him.

His busy fingers threatened to send her up in flames, but the weight of the splint on the back of her neck made her wonder what he could do with two working hands.

He dipped his head, trailing kisses along the side of her neck, making her arch her neck like a petted cat. His touch was driving her crazy, her breasts becoming mounds of liquid sensation, echoing the need she felt quivering through him with every stroke.

“You sure you're not busy this morning?”

“I am now.” Oh, Lord, what was she saying? There was only one way this could end and she wasn't ready.

Keeping his injured arm across her shoulders, he steered her around the table and into a hallway. On her first visit, she'd lost her way and ended up in a
bedroom. A very masculine bedroom. She'd paused in the doorway, fascinated by the huge bed with a camel-and-chocolate suede covering and a hint of black satin beneath. Piano-black bedsides and a vast matching headboard loomed. A man's room for a man's pleasure.

Voluminous café au lait drapes covered a floor-to-ceiling window. On another wall, a massive painting combined slashes of black, brown and cream, bringing the color scheme together. Instinctively she knew it was Nate's bedroom and that was where he was taking her.

Where he would take her if she agreed. “Nate, I don't know…”

“Your choice,” he said easily, although she heard an undercurrent of tension. “But I need you to tell me now.”

Because later would be too late. For her, as well. She was already in over her head, wanting him, needing him to keep her from thinking too much.
Afraid you'll change your mind?
More like come to her senses.

For once she'd gone beyond the point where sense could help her. She simply wanted. And she suspected he knew.

The bedroom was indeed the one she'd stumbled into. Her steps were far from steady, and his arm helped to keep her upright, although not for much longer.

Releasing her, he swept the suede cover back, revealing the satin sheets. “What about your sprained arm?” she ventured, her voice a complicated croak.

“I don't need my arm to make love.”

“You could worsen the injury.” She sounded like a mother hen, although it was the last thing she felt like. But she couldn't help worrying. When had his welfare become such a priority?

He turned to her and stroked a strand of hair away from her face. “We'll improvise.”

Before she could let her mind deal with that, she heard the sound of the kitchen door opening and closing. He frowned. “Joanna's back.”

Until now Emma had completely forgotten the housekeeper. Forgotten everything but how Nate made her feel. Joanna's return pierced the fog in her mind.

When he went to the door and started to close it, she followed and touched his arm. “No, don't.”

“Joanna's worked for me for a long time. She's considerate of my privacy.”

He might be able to deal with the housekeeper's presence but Emma wasn't ready. “I can't.” She had to force the words out, but knew immediately they were the right ones. Making love with Nate would be sublime. She already had enough evidence of that. She was torn between wishing Joanna hadn't come home, and being glad her return had stopped Emma from doing something she was likely to regret later.

She believed him when he said he respected her. And that he didn't put himself on a pedestal because of his profession. None of that helped to make their different paths more compatible.

Gramma Jessie had found a way.
The thought was as insistent as it was unwelcome. Emma didn't want to find a way with Nate. What about her plans and dreams? Gramma Jessie had written cookbooks. She hadn't tried to run a business while being married to a doctor.

Emma felt dazed, disoriented. How had she made the mental leap from sex to marriage? With Nate, things were moving too fast.

He jerked the door fully open. “There will be a next time.”

Emma felt safe nodding, knowing there couldn't be a next time, although she wanted there to be. He was taking it for granted they'd continue this when his housekeeper wasn't around. How could she, knowing all the reasons arguing against a deeper involvement with him? One close call was enough.

A few more minutes and she'd have been naked in his bed. Improvising, he'd called it. Finding ways to make love to her that required only one arm. The very thought made her skin tingle.

 

N
ATE WATCHED THE EMOTIONS
play across Emma's expressive face like scenes on a big screen. She'd never make a poker player. He read her desire, the
willingness and then the concern at what she'd nearly allowed. He also saw her resolve strengthening. He could deal with that, too.

Not because he always got his own way, as he feared Emma still believed. But because they would fit together as snugly as his hand inside a surgical glove.

As he slipped his arm back into the sling, his body thrummed like a high-voltage electric wire. He couldn't remember the last time he'd wanted a woman as much as he did her. Whether it suited her or not, she wanted him, too.

He wanted to tell her how she affected him. Make her see that this wasn't only about sex. He also needed to assure her he wasn't interested in a lasting relationship any more than she was. But the words refused to leave his mouth.

Was he more interested than he was telling himself? Seeing her in a role she'd made clear she didn't want? He hadn't wanted it himself until…Emma.

Anger at himself took hold, freezing out the unwelcome emotions. “Probably just as well Joanna came home.”

Her face twisted in confusion. “What?”

“This is a bad idea.”

“Wait a minute, you just said there'd be a next time.”

“Do you want a next time, Emma?”

Her exquisite eyes clouded. “Of course I don't. Do you?”

He fiddled with the sling until the knot felt more comfortable on his neck. Less like a noose. “We both know what we want from our lives, and this isn't it.”