DR. DEVASTATING Read online

  She sat back. "I'm not hostile, just … wary. I don't know what you're up to here."

  He lifted one of those sculpted, rock-hard shoulders in a totally casual shrug. "Just dinner." He tilted his golden head, his expression turning thoughtful, as if he were choosing his next words with care. Then he said, "And I think it's time we talked."

  On reflex, she gulped. "Talked? About what?" The three words came out all breathless and squeaky.

  He gave her a long, considering look, then leaned on his door. "Come on. I'm starving."

  "But—"

  He swung his legs to the blacktop and descended from the car before she had a chance to insist that he answer the question she'd just asked. He walked around the front of the vehicle and pulled open her door. "Let's go."

  She glared at him. "You totally ignored my question."

  "No, I just didn't answer it." He held out his hand to help her down.

  She disregarded that hand and climbed down on her own.

  The restaurant seemed pretty busy, but still Derek managed to secure them a corner booth next to a potted umbrella palm. They ordered immediately.

  As they waited for their food, Derek made noises about what a good nurse she was—on the whole. Naturally he couldn't resist bringing up how he wished she'd think about shortening the consulting phase of her patients' visits. Lee made noncommittal noises as she crunched on chips and salsa and sipped white wine and wondered how in the world she'd managed to let herself go out to dinner with a doctor.

  All right, it was only dinner. But still, it made her very nervous. Her fantasies aside—and they didn't count anyway, because they were totally in her own mind and thus no one's business but her own—she just couldn't afford to take any chances with getting near this man on anything but a strictly professional level. Katie and Dana may have found two exceptions, but the rule remained. Doctors were just plain deadly, at least when it came to personal relationships. Doctors, Lee knew from years of dealing with them, tended to be out of touch with their emotions, dictatorial—and unwilling to give their time or attention when it came to their own families.

  And Derek Taylor was just like almost every other doctor Lee had ever known. A little overbearing, always ready to treat the symptom and move on to the next case, never willing to slow down and deal with each patient as a whole and complex organism. And egotistical to the max.

  Across the booth from her, Derek lifted his bottle of Dos Equis and took a long sip. She watched his Adam's apple work as he swallowed. When he set down the bottle and leveled those eyes on her, she was struck for the gazillionth time with how downright incredible-looking he was.

  Much too good-looking for her. At Memorial, med techs had been known to bump into walls at his passing, and L.P.N.'s to sigh in hopeless longing. He dated only spectacular-looking women. A few of them—always blond, inevitably beautiful—had wandered into the clinic looking for him under one pretext or another. Lee had thought what a match each of them had been for him, as gorgeous as he was. And perfectly color-coordinated too, with blond hair, blue eyes and blindingly white teeth. Nothing like Lee, who was so ordinary as to be virtually invisible to anyone who didn't know her personally.

  And beyond the disparity in their looks, he was neat; she tended to be a slob. He was cool; she saw herself as caring.

  Their food arrived. Lee realized as she picked up her fork and dug into her red chili burrito that she'd actually started to relax. No, this was not a match made anywhere but in her own overactive imagination. And whatever Dr. Taylor thought they needed to talk about, it couldn't possibly have anything to do with him as a man and her as a woman. She didn't want him except in her daydreams. And never, not in a hundred thousand years, would he be interested in someone like her.

  Across from her, Derek chose a tortilla and carefully arranged his sizzling fajita meat on top of it. He rolled up the tortilla, brought it to his mouth and took a bite. As she watched him chew, she thought of Zorro, for some crazy reason.

  Probably the mariachi music coming from the speakers suspended in the corners of the big, busy restaurant.

  Could Zorro have blond hair and blue eyes?

  Well, who cared? Her Zorro did.

  Oh, she could see him now. A blond moustache, yes, caressing that finely shaped upper lip of his—and those blue eyes looking at her through a black silk mask.

  And the sword. Oh my, that long, flexible sword.

  He would send it zipping through the air and all of her clothes—the layers of red taffeta and black lace—would simply float from her body and drift to the floor around her dainty feet. She'd stand before him, clad only in red satin shoes, a black mantilla and an ebony comb. He'd make short work of each one of them, of course.

  And then he'd—

  "Lee."

  Zorro vanished and Dr. Derek Taylor took his place. He was wearing that strange, knowing smile again, the same one he'd given her earlier, at the club.

  Lee grabbed her wine and took a healthy slug of the stuff.

  "Lee." He said her name again, as if he couldn't be sure she'd heard him the first time.

  With the wine still trapped in her mouth, she pasted on a smile and made a questioning sound. "Mmm-hmm?"

  "What the hell was that look you just gave me?"

  Lee gulped. The wine went down wrong. She had to cough. For a few hideous seconds, she felt like an asthma victim caught without her inhaler. But then, blessedly, the choking fit passed.

  "Are you all right?" he asked.

  "Uh. Sure. Fine. Just fine." She started to knock back the last bit of wine, decided against it and reached for her water glass instead. Cautiously she sipped.

  And he asked again, "That look you just gave me, Lee. What did it mean?"

  She stalled by feigning innocence. "Mmm. What look?"

  He set down his own fork, pushed his plate away a little and folded his beautifully shaped hands on the table in front of him. "Lee. You were staring at me. It appeared you'd slipped into a nearly trancelike state. You do it a lot, Lee."

  She coughed again. Her heart was pounding in her ears and the capillaries at the surface of her skin had suddenly decided to start working overtime. Her cheeks burned. And, of course, he could see it. Why were Mexican restaurants invariably well lit? Fool, fool, fool, she chanted silently. What was the matter with her? To have let herself slip into a fantasy while he was sitting right across from her?

  "Lee, let's face facts here." He took in a slow breath and let it out at the same speed. So tolerant, so forbearing. The good doctor dealing with a very sick patient in serious denial as to the severity of her illness. "I know you're—" he hesitated, treading so cautiously, looking for exactly the right words "—attracted to me."

  The words came at her like a slap in the face. He knew! Oh Lord, he knew!

  Her heart just stopped. Cardiac arrest. She needed CPR, an ambulance, a few heavy jolts from a defibrillator…

  He went on, so calmly, "Look. It's all right." He paused long enough to flash that knock-'em-dead smile, this time with a rueful edge to it. "Well, to be honest, it wasn't all right at first. I was afraid that your, er, interest would interfere with our work. But it hasn't at all. You're always right there when I need an assist, and you're extremely conscientious when you handle a patient on your own. Yes, there remains the problem of your difficulty with time management. But I think you'd have that problem regardless, don't you?"

  She put her hand against her heart and felt it pounding as if it would crack her chest right open.

  Bronze brows met over that fine Roman nose. "Are you sure you're all right?"

  "Uh. Hmm. Fine. Okay."

  "Do you want some more wine?"

  She waved her hand at him. "No. No wine. No more of that. No thanks." She looked down at her half-eaten burrito. She'd always loved a good red chili burrito. But after tonight, she'd probably never eat one again.

  "Lee?"

  She made herself meet those waiting eyes.

  He
tipped his head sideways and leaned a little closer to her across the table. His expression was infuriatingly calm and sincere. "Seriously. It's not a big deal. Okay, I admit that at first, all I wanted was for you to stop looking at me like that. But somehow—and I don't really understand how, since as far as I can see, no two people were ever more poorly suited to each other than the two of us—"

  Amen to that, she thought grimly.

  He continued. "—somehow, I guess I've grown accustomed to your looking at me that way. And today, at the gym, it finally hit me. Why the hell are we playing this stupid game?"

  "Uh, game?"

  "Yes. Game. You looking at me the way you do, and me pretending I don't see. What's the point, when you're attracted to me and—well, I suppose I might as well just say it. I'm attracted to you, too."

  * * *

  Chapter Three

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  "Huh?" Lee almost dropped her water glass. The thing slid through her fingers and clinked on the edge of her plate. Awkwardly, at the last second, she caught it by the rim and somehow managed to ease it to the table without spilling any.

  Derek watched her struggle with the glass. And then he nodded, still rueful, a little abashed. "It's true." His expression said it all. He couldn't understand what in the world he saw in her. He considered her totally beneath him, since she was neither gorgeous nor blond. For goodness' sake, her eyes weren't even blue. "I don't know how it happened, but I'm attracted to you."

  Amazing, Lee thought. The man really did have an ego every bit as hefty as the two-hundred pound barbell he bench-pressed each time he worked out. But then, he was a doctor, after all. Lee recalled an old joke she'd heard back in nursing school: Imagine an arrogant doctor. But I repeat myself…

  Derek went on, a little bewildered, but still utterly sure of himself and his power over disease, injury—and the feminine gender. "I guess what I'm saying is, I think this is something we might as well just go ahead and deal with straight-out. I think we can see each other in private and still maintain a viable working relationship. Because I really do believe this is something we're just going to have to get out of our systems."

  "Like a viral infection, you mean? Something that has to run its course?"

  Lee had meant to inject a note of irony, but Dr. Taylor failed to pick up on it. "Yeah. You could say that. We could agree that whatever happens between us, we won't allow it to affect our work at the clinic."

  "Whatever … happens?"

  "Yes." He narrowed his eyes at her, in one of those reproving looks he reserved for patients who balked at the course of treatment he'd prescribed. "And what's the problem? Am I not making myself clear?"

  "Well, no. I think I'm getting the picture just fine."

  "You do?" He looked doubtful.

  "Yes. You want us to … date." The word sounded so incongruous to her that she had to choke back a burst of hysterical laughter as soon as she said it.

  He blew out a breath and gave her a reproachful frown. "Lee. You're behaving very strangely about this."

  Strangely. He thought she was behaving strangely. Well, all right. Maybe she was. Derek Taylor was her fantasy. Her mind candy. She'd had a very good thing going with him. A safe, secret, harmless, one-sided, totally mental love affair. It had been great.

  But he just couldn't leave it that way. Oh, no. He had to go and make it dangerous. Make it real.

  And beyond that, there was the little matter of his attitude about the whole thing. His arrogance and his ego simply knew no bounds. It was written all over his too-handsome face; he thought he was doing her a big favor to give in and go out with her.

  Well, she didn't need any favors from him.

  What she needed was out of here, stat.

  "Lee. Say something. Please."

  Carefully she pushed her glass and her plate toward his, in the center of the table. Easy, she thought. Tread cautiously. Remember, you do have to work with the man.

  "Lee?"

  "I, um…"

  "Yeah?"

  "Well, Dr. Taylor—"

  "Derek."

  No. She was not going to call him that. "Dr. Taylor," she repeated, a real edge in her tone.

  They stared at each other. At last, he said too quietly, "Go on."

  She reached for her shoulder bag a few inches away on the Naugahyde bench of the booth. She pulled it into her lap, all ready to go. And then, choosing each word with agonizing care, she told him, "Dr. Taylor, I'm sorry if you imagined I had some … romantic interest in you. But I promise you, I never intended for you to think I wanted anything more than a strictly professional relationship with you. I love my work. And going out with you is way too likely to cause problems—for me, for you, and most importantly, for the work we do."

  His fabulous face had taken on a totally blank, disbelieving expression. She thought of how a Ken doll might look if Barbie told him she was leaving him for G.I. Joe. "You're telling me you won't go out with me." Clearly getting turned down was a new experience for him.

  "Yes. I think it's for the best. I think that we—"

  "Just a minute." The words were pure ice. She did her best not to flinch at the sound of them. And the blank look was gone, too. Suddenly he bore no resemblance to a Ken doll at all. "Yes?"

  "Are you saying you're not attracted to me in the least? That I imagined those looks you're always giving me?"

  Lee knew what she should answer: That's exactly what I'm saying. But she just didn't have it in herself to tell a lie that big. So she hedged, "Whether I'm attracted to you or not isn't the issue here."

  "I think it is."

  "Well, I'm sorry, but I can't agree with you."

  "You are attracted to me. Admit it. I just want the damn truth, that's all!"

  She shot a look around. The diners in the booth behind him had both glanced up from their meals. "Keep your voice down, please."

  "Fine. Sure," he whispered low and ragefully. "Are you attracted to me?"

  Instead of answering, she fumbled in her purse and came up with some bills, which she set on the table beside her plate.

  He looked at the money. "Don't insult me."

  "I don't—what?"

  "I brought you here. Okay, maybe it was one hell of a mistake that I did. And I can see that nothing's going to make you admit you've got a thing for me. Fine. We'll keep it strictly professional. But the damn check is mine."

  "It isn't necessary, really. I don't mind paying my own—"

  "Pick up your money and put it away."

  The thread of steel in his tone could not be ignored. Lee scooped up the bills and stuffed them back into her purse. "I'd really like to go back to my car now."

  "Fine." He signaled for the waitress, and she brought the check.

  The ride back to the health club took place in a frosty silence that made it seem like January instead of July. Derek didn't say a word when they pulled into the parking lot. Lee pointed out where her car was parked and he stopped the big vehicle right behind it. Lee gathered her gym bag and purse, and then turned to him one last time, feeling she should say something that might somehow ease this awful situation. But what? She hadn't an inkling.

  Gamely she began, "Dr. Taylor, I—"

  His eyes met hers, cool and distant. "Don't make it worse. We'll just chalk tonight up to bad judgment on my part. Good night, Lee."

  "I…" No other words took form. It came to her that there really was nothing more to say beyond, "Good night."

  Fifteen minutes later, thinking of Lee and telling himself to forget her, Derek ran up the stairs to the condo he'd been renting since his move from Sacramento to Honeygrove six months before.

  "Hey, baby brother." The voice came from the shadows in the little overhang to the right of the door. "Where the hell you been?"

  Derek stopped a few steps short of the landing. "Larry?"

  Grinning, Larry Taylor emerged from the shadows. He held a cigarette clamped in the corner of his mouth and squinted against the smoke that s
piraled up toward the evening sky. "You been busy savin' lives—or out with some gorgeous babe?"

  Derek thought of Lee again and didn't know whether to laugh or mutter something satisfyingly profane. "Nothing that exciting."

  Larry grunted. "It was a babe, I'll bet. Who woulda thought you'd end up being so lucky with women? But then, you always did have the brains. And since you put on some muscle, you don't look half bad. And now they gotta call you Doctor. What more could a woman ask for? You're deadly, brother. Deadly." Larry took a final drag on the cigarette dangling from his mouth and then flicked the butt over the railing and onto the concrete walk below.

  "Speaking of deadly," Derek said wryly, wondering what Larry wanted, wishing he could simply be glad to see him. "Those things'll kill you."

  Larry pantomimed his hand as a pistol, cocking it, pointing it at Derek. "Gotcha, Doc. Bang." In the harsh light from the porch lamp, Larry's eyes looked bloodshot, the skin under them puffy and dark. He held out his beefy arms.

  Masking his reluctance as best he could, Derek set down his gym bag and allowed his brother to embrace him. When Derek pulled back, Larry made a show of boxing him on the chin. "You are lookin' good. Been workin' out regular, huh? Watchin' the old diet, all that jazz?"

  Derek picked up the gym bag again. "Yeah, I guess so."

  The two men looked at each other, a long look. They hadn't seen each other in a year … not since their mother's funeral. Then, Derek had been finishing his residency at American River General. Larry had just gotten married—to a sweet, very young woman named Ellie. Larry and his bride had driven up from Bakersfield for the funeral.

  And Larry had borrowed four hundred dollars from Derek, money Derek couldn't really afford to lend at the time. After all, med school hadn't been cheap. In fact, in spite of the scholarships he'd earned, Derek would be making payments on his education for several years to come.

  "So. Where's Ellie?" Derek asked.