DR. DEVASTATING Page 11

  "Lenora Hirsch was lucky," he said, "that you saw the signs. That you followed up on what you saw. You're one hell of a nurse, Lee."

  Dr. Derek Taylor rarely gave a compliment. So when he did give one, it meant the world. "Derek?"

  "What?"

  "Can I get that on tape?"

  On Friday, she made eggplant Parmesan. And she brought over a thriller she'd rented at a local video store. Derek produced a nice bottle of Chianti to go with the eggplant and then made sure to fill their glasses again when it came time to watch the movie.

  The thriller lived up to its billing. It started with an edge-of-your-seat helicopter chase. Derek seemed very absorbed in it. He sat in his usual spot, with his ankle propped on a pillow, sipping his wine, his gaze glued to the tube.

  Lee felt happy and relaxed. The workweek had been a tough one, but it was over at last. And Derek's ankle was healing well. He planned to be back on the job Monday.

  She shot him a grin that he didn't catch, since he was so caught up in the movie. She'd probably never admit it to him, but she'd actually missed his presence at the clinic.

  Yes, he was demanding. But he always drove himself just as hard as he did his staff. The residents who were filling in for him did their best, but they couldn't approach his efficiency or his skill. And they were always asking Lee to look things up and track things down for them, which slowed her progress with her own patient load.

  Lee smiled, and sipped her wine. She glanced at the movie. The helicopter chase had ended. The hero was being given instructions for a top-secret mission. Lee allowed her glance to drift over to the man beside her again.

  He didn't notice. His gaze never left the TV as he leaned forward and set his wine down. Lee did the same, setting her glass beside his, watching him as she performed the action. And then she sat back again, just as he did.

  Sometimes, lately, she actually forgot how gorgeous he was. She just thought of him as Derek, her friend. And his spectacular looks didn't even occur to her.

  But right now, watching him when he didn't know it, she found she couldn't resist cataloging his various perfections, from the rich gold of his hair to his strong, straight nose to the shape of his left ear.

  Lee let out a sigh—only a small one.

  Yes. It was a truly fine ear. An ear with good color—not too red and not too pale. An ear that was neither too large nor too small. An ear that heredity had determined would stay close to his head, as perfect in shape as some lovely shell.

  Well, of course, every ear was like a shell, but Derek's was an especially fine-looking specimen.

  The kind of ear a woman would enjoy kissing.

  Lee could almost imagine herself kissing Derek's ear. Right now, it would be so easily accomplished.

  She would simply hitch her leg up onto the cushions, laying her arm across the sofa back at the same time. Then she would lean his way enough to run her tongue slowly along the helix—that tempting outer ridge. He might shiver a little, when she did that.

  And she would laugh, a whispery sound. And then her tongue would go roaming, following the whorling shelllike pattern. Around once. Twice. Until finally she found her way to the entrance of the dark canal, the external auditory meatus, there at the heart of his outer ear.

  Yes. She would taste him there. With her tongue. And then she would pull back enough to take his earlobe—so lightly—between her teeth.

  He might even moan then, a very low moan, faint and quickly controlled.

  And then he'd turn to her.

  He would say her name, on a ragged intake of breath.

  He'd reach for her. And she would—

  "Lee."

  Lee blinked. Swallowed. Because he had turned. "Lee."

  "Uh, yes?"

  "You're not watching the movie."

  "Well, um, I am. I mean, I was. I mean—"

  "Lee, I know that look."

  "What look?"

  "The one on your face."

  "There's no 'look' on my—"

  "Lee."

  "What?"

  "I thought we were friends."

  "We are."

  "But friends don't lie to each other."

  "I wasn't ly—"

  And that was as far as she got. Because he reached out with his left hand, cupped the back of her neck and brought her mouth to his.

  * * *

  Chapter Ten

  « ^ »

  Oh, my goodness, the man knew how to kiss!

  He had one leg up on the coffee table and one hand hampered by a cast.

  And those little disadvantages didn't even give him pause.

  His mouth met hers, coaxing and commanding at the same time. She felt the scratchiness of his end-of-the-day beard and the lovely, contrasting softness of his lips. And she smelled him, warmth and man and the lingering hint of that lovely aftershave he wore. At her nape, his fingers rubbed and caressed—and held her captive at the same time.

  A pretty willing captive, actually. She let out a tiny moan and when she did that, her mouth opened just a little. Enough that his tongue slid inside.

  She moaned louder. He kissed her more deeply, his tongue roaming the moist recess beyond her now quite definitely parted lips. On the video, someone had started firing a machine gun. The rat-tat-tat sound jarred her enough that she froze.

  She made herself pull away a fraction. And she whispered with breathless urgency, "Derek—"

  And that was all she managed to get out. Because he caught her mouth again with his.

  Though gunshots still echoed from the television, she hardly heard them now. She sighed in surrender and kissed him back.

  The problem was, it felt so wonderful. She knew she should stop. But she didn't want to stop. All those months and months of fantasies had suddenly exploded into searing, incredible life. It was terribly disorienting.

  She raised her hand, thinking—with the tiny part of her mind still capable of reason—that she would push him away. But her hand didn't do what she told it to do. It grasped his hard shoulder and held on, making it all the easier for him.

  Easy enough that he didn't need to keep holding her in place with his one good hand. He brought that hand around to the front of her. In a single long, burning stroke, he dragged it down her chest, over the slight curve of her right breast, all the way to her waist. He pushed the hem of her shirt out of his way.

  And then he was touching her bare skin, all the while continuing to kiss her so hungrily, drinking from her lips. Her head spun in absolute delight and she went on moaning and clutching his shoulder, making no move at all to get him to stop.

  He caressed her, that clever hand of his touching her as if he couldn't get enough of the feel of her, as if he were memorizing the curve of her waist, the shape of each rib beneath skin that felt as if it had somehow managed to catch fire and burn.

  Out of control. That was how she felt. As if she were a fire, blazing out of control. It was just like her fantasies.

  Well, maybe not just like her fantasies. In her fantasies, Lee always knew what would happen next, since she was the one making them up.

  But not now. Oh, not now. Now, anything could happen. Because Derek was here doing this, too.

  On the television, a loud engine roared out, and a man and a woman shouted at each other. Lee didn't care.

  Derek gathered the hem of her shirt in his fist and pushed at it, impatiently. Before she could really think about what she was doing, Lee had lifted her arms. He thrust the shirt up to her elbows. Somehow, she caught the hem and shimmied it up the rest of the way, pulling it over her head and then tossing it to the carpet by her feet.

  Derek made a low, approving kind of sound in his throat. Lee opened her heavy eyes and saw that he was looking at her breasts. His slight smile told her he was pleased, which surprised her somewhat. Really, there wasn't enough there to get all that excited about.

  But then again, today she wore her seafoam blue stretch satin bra. It really was a gorgeous piece of
lingerie. Evidently Derek liked it as much as she did. The bra had bikinis to match—though since she still had her jeans on, Derek couldn't see them.

  Yet.

  Lee looked down. Yes, the bra was very pretty.

  Even if there wasn't much filling it.

  She glanced up again—and met Derek's eyes.

  And the full impact of what was happening hit her like a blow to the solar plexus.

  "Oh, no," she heard herself whisper.

  "Oh, yes," he replied.

  She hitched in a tiny gasp and raised both arms to cover herself.

  "No." He caught her right wrist with his left hand. "Don't do that. Don't hide."

  "Derek, I—"

  He let go of her wrist then, roughly, almost tossing it away.

  "Derek…"

  He growled, angrily, "Don't tell me you want to stop."

  I won't! the traitor in the back of her mind cried. I won't tell you that. I don't want to stop. I never, ever want to stop…

  She had to force herself to speak firmly. "I do. I want to stop."

  On the TV screen, the man and the woman were shouting again. Derek leaned forward and snatched the remote off the coffee table. He pointed it at the television and the screen went blank. He tossed the remote back down and turned to her again. His jaw was clenched, his fine mouth a grim line.

  Quickly Lee scooped up her shirt from the floor, yanked it on over her head and smoothed it down to cover herself. He watched her, not moving, looking terribly annoyed.

  Finally she couldn't bear the heavy silence for another second more. "Derek, listen. I am sorry. I didn't mean for this to happen."

  He let out a poignant expletive and then he challenged, "I'm not sorry. Not in the least. I'm sick of this stupid game we've been playing. And I think it's about time that it stopped."

  "Game?" she murmured weakly. "What do you mean, game?"

  "You know damn well what I mean." Now his mouth had curled into a snarl. "I mean the 'let's be friends' game."

  "It's not a—"

  "Don't," he commanded. "Do not try to tell me that all you want from me is friendship. I've seen the way you look at me, the way you've looked at me for months now. Are you going to try to tell me that you look at every man that way?"

  "I…"

  "Just say it. If it's true, then say it. Do you look at other men that way?"

  She closed her eyes, and turned her head away.

  But he caught her chin, made her face him. "Do you?"

  She shoved at his hand. He let go. And then, since she knew she could no longer evade this particular question, she met his eyes straight on. "No. I don't look at other men the same way I look at you."

  "You want me."

  She nodded.

  "I think the least you can do, at this point, is to say it out loud."

  "Fine. All right. I want you."

  "Exactly. And I want you. And we're both single. Hell, we even like each other. There is no damn reason in the world why we shouldn't make love."

  "Yes, there is. There are several reasons, as a matter of fact."

  "Name them."

  "We have to work together."

  "At this point, that's completely irrelevant."

  "It is not irrelevant. One way or another, if we became intimate, it would end up affecting our working relationship."

  "Lee. The fact that you want me and I want you has already affected our work as much as it's going to. It's too late to go back on that score, I'm afraid."

  "No, it's—"

  "At this point, it's a nonreason, Lee."

  "It is not. Look at the way you've treated me already. You were absolutely insufferable to me. You made my working life hell for almost two weeks."

  "How many times do I have to tell you I know I was a jerk? I was totally in the wrong. And I won't be behaving that way again."

  "You say that, but—"

  "You've run this particular reason into the ground. Is that because you have no others?"

  "Derek. Please. You don't want an … intimate relationship with someone like me."

  "Oh, here we go. First, you tell me how I'm going to be treating you at work. And now you tell me what I don't want."

  "All right, fine. I don't want that kind of relationship with you. I'm sure to take it more seriously than you would. And I'd get hurt in the end."

  "You have no way of knowing the outcome of this. No way in the world."

  "Oh, come on. All indications point to me getting my heart broken if I get involved with someone like you."

  "What damn indications?"

  "Derek, your girlfriends are still calling here."

  "And I say 'how are you' and hang up. And besides, you and I are supposed to be just friends, remember? Why shouldn't I date other women?"

  "No reason. No reason in the world. I accept the fact that you like to date a lot of women. I just don't want to be one of them."

  He forked his right hand back through his hair, wincing at the slight pressure on his bad wrist. "Lee. Why are we arguing about this damn other woman thing? I don't care about any other woman. I could give you my word—and easily keep it—that as long as you and I are together, you would be the only one."

  She closed her eyes, took in a breath and let it out very slowly. Then she looked at him once more. "Look. Can we please just let this go?"

  "No. I want you to run this whole thing down for me. I want to know the rest of the reasons you think we can't be more than friends."

  She sighed again. "Derek…"

  "What does that sigh mean? Have you run out of reasons? Well, let me help you. Let's see. We've covered how badly I treated you at work and all those women I've dated that I don't even want to see anymore. What's left? Oh, I know. We're down to the truly ridiculous now, down to the ultimate in flawed logic. Your daddy was a bad man. And your daddy was a doctor. Therefore, all doctors are bad men."

  "Derek, it is not that simple."

  "It is. Just look at your own friends. They made that absurd never-marry-a-doctor pledge with you. And they've both had the good sense to break it. And hell, I'm not even asking for marriage from you. I'm only asking you to quit pretending that we're nothing more than friends."

  She longed for him to understand. "Please. I just … I really don't think I can do that."

  He must have picked up on her honest confusion, because his hard expression eased a little. He spoke more softly. "Lee. You're blaming an entire profession for the behavior of one man."

  "I don't think so. I've known a lot of doctors, and they do tend to be—"

  "I know, I know. You've said it all before." He sounded weary. She dared to hope he might give up and let her be. But he didn't. "Let me ask you something."

  She eyed him warily. "What?"

  "Have you ever been married?"

  She frowned, not sure why he'd ask such a thing—and wishing he hadn't.

  "Just answer me. Have you?"

  "No."

  "How many really serious relationships with men have you had?"

  Now, she felt uncomfortable looking in his eyes at all. She turned her gaze to the dark TV. "I've dated."

  "That's no answer."

  "What are you getting at?"

  "Lee. Are you a virgin?"

  She shot him a glance, then stared at the blank screen again. "Why are you asking me this?"

  "I'm right, aren't I? You've never had sex with a man."

  She surged to her feet, realized how foolish she looked and dropped back to the couch once more.

  He was relentless, though he spoke so very carefully. "Lee, you're what? Thirty years old?" He waited. She gave him a tight nod, though she still couldn't bear to look him in the eye. He pressed on. "All right, you're thirty. You've never been married—or even come close to commitment with a man. You haven't let down your guard enough to have sex even once. Maybe it's more than just doctors you're afraid to get near. Maybe your father's desertion has left you afraid of all men. Do you think maybe t
hat's possible?"

  She stared numbly at the TV.

  "Lee. Come on, look at me."

  Reluctantly she turned his way. And then she made herself smile, though her mouth wouldn't stop trembling. "You're right," she whispered. "You're right about all of it. I don't want to take a chance on getting hurt by a man. And especially not a man like you. As a friend, I can deal with you. I … I like you so much, as a friend. But as far as any more…" Her darn lip kept quivering. She bit the inside it of it, to make it stop. "Oh, Derek, everything about you is all wrong for me."

  Those blue eyes seemed to drill right through her. "Why, Lee?"

  "We're just … so different."

  "No, I don't think so. Not really."

  "Yes, we are."

  "No. We're not."

  "Derek. Look in a mirror. You're one of those golden, perfect people that the rest of us stare at with envy—and longing. Do you know how all the nurses at Memorial drool over you? And then look at me. Nobody drools over me—unless they happen to be teething, I mean."

  He looked irritated. "This is absurd."

  "No, it's the truth. You're just … out of my league in every single way."

  "I am not."

  "Now, who's the one that's lying?" She stood again, and this time, when she got upright, she stayed on her feet.

  "Lee—"

  "No. We just … we don't agree on this, Derek. And we're not going to get anywhere by debating it to death."

  He gazed up at her. She hadn't the faintest idea what he might be thinking. He didn't seem angry—more like troubled. Or hurt. "You're leaving." It was a prediction, not a question.

  "Yes."

  He lifted his left hand to gesture at the TV. "Take your video with you."

  She thought of how much he'd seemed to be enjoying the movie, until he'd turned and caught her staring at him. "I could leave it, if you—"

  "Take it." The words came out on a growl. He drew in a slow breath, and spoke more gently. "Please."

  She went to the VCR and ejected the cassette, then slipped the thing into its plastic sleeve. That accomplished, she picked up her purse and fumbled around in it until she found the key he'd told her to keep last Saturday night.