DR. DEVASTATING Read online

  "Wow," said Jack reverently, when the two were gone. Then he flipped the phone back up to cover his mouth and started talking as if he'd never stopped.

  Lee looked blindly down at the medical history form in her hands and ordered her eyes to focus on it. This is good, she silently told herself for the second time. This is just what the doctor ordered. After lunch with a woman like that, giving me the cold shoulder is going to seem really ridiculous to him.

  She hoped he had a wonderful time, she honestly did. And she just knew things would start smoothing out between herself and him from now on.

  Felicia reached across the console and put her hand on Derek's thigh. "That was a lovely lunch."

  He looked down at her hand and then back up into those delft blue eyes. "I'm glad you enjoyed it."

  Delicately she licked her upper lip. "Do you have to go right back to the clinic?"

  He didn't. He'd purposely had Jack juggle his schedule so he'd have two full hours for lunch. The idea had been to thoroughly enjoy the company of a beautiful woman—and thus forget all about a certain nurse practitioner with poor time-management skills and a bad haircut who refused to admit she had a thing for him.

  But it wasn't working. Felicia was nice. And absolutely gorgeous. She was also quite bright and sexy as hell. They'd enjoyed more than one mutually satisfying intimate encounter in the months he'd lived in Honeygrove.

  But it hadn't really gone anywhere. Hell, the truth was, none of his relationships ever seemed to go anywhere.

  Which had been fine with him until recently—like Monday night, maybe.

  Felicia sighed and drew her soft hand slowly along his thigh. "Derek, is something troubling you?"

  In his mind's eye, he saw Lee, staring at him, glassy-eyed, the way she used to stare all the time—until last Monday night.

  "Derek?"

  He blinked and ordered thoughts of Lee out of his mind for good and all. "What?"

  "I asked if something is bothering you."

  "Bothering me?"

  She gave a small, throaty laugh. "Yes. Bothering you."

  "No, nothing's bothering me. Nothing at all. Why?"

  "You just seem … preoccupied."

  "I'm not."

  "Are you sure?" She pouted across the console at him.

  To show her how unpreoccupied he was, he leaned over and captured her mouth. She sighed and returned his kiss with considerable enthusiasm.

  But the console was in the way. She retreated to her own seat and suggested softly, "Let's go to my house."

  He stared at her. And it came to him.

  He couldn't do it. He could not go to her place and fall into bed with her.

  It seemed … wrong, somehow. And cheap. And unfair to both of them.

  He could strangle that damn Lee Murphy. This was all her fault.

  Dr. Taylor returned from lunch at exactly one o'clock. Lee came out of Room 6 just as he came stalking down the hall. She had to back up against the door to avoid running into him. "Oops. Excuse me." She tried a smile.

  He granted her one swift, dismissing look. "Watch where you're going," he growled.

  And then he marched on by, straight to his office, where he shoved open the door and closed it harder than necessary behind him.

  Lee stared at that closed door, feeling grim. Even lunch with a beautiful blonde hadn't changed his attitude toward her. The prognosis for the future of their professional relationship did not look good.

  Derek bent at the knees and hoisted the barbell to his chest. He breathed in. Exhaling, he raised the thing over his head. He adjusted his grip and lowered the bar behind his head, till it rested on his shoulders. Slowly, deliberately, he raised it, lowered it, raised it again, breathing rhythmically as he worked.

  At last, when his arms and shoulders felt like rubber, he lowered the bar to his chest, bent at the knees and put it down again. He stood, armed the sweat from his forehead—and couldn't help glancing up at the running track overhead.

  The glance became a long, hard stare.

  He waited, watching for Lee to appear near the center rail, running slower than she should have, glancing over at him as she used to do, when she thought he didn't see.

  She was avoiding the gym. She had stayed away both Wednesday and today. Because he was here. She didn't want to deal with him outside the clinic.

  Hell, she probably didn't want to deal with him at work, either. But she had no choice about that. So she smiled at him and treated him so pleasantly during the day.

  "Dr. Taylor, good morning," she'd chirp. Or, "Dr. Taylor, have a look at this X ray…" So cool. So professional. As if she really had no interest at all in him, other than as her colleague and immediate supervisor.

  And maybe she didn't. Maybe he had imagined those steamy, yearning looks she used to give him.

  Because she certainly didn't give him looks like that anymore.

  With a low sound of fury, Derek turned for the slant bench. He raised it to an angle of sixty degrees. Then he climbed on, hooked his feet under the rung and started doing stomach crunches.

  He was so busy thinking about Lee that he did thirty extra.

  The rest of his workout was the same. He spent too much time between sets staring off toward the running track or over at the Universal, willing her to show up and furious when she didn't. And then, when he'd get back to business, he'd lose track of his reps.

  Before he went home, he took a long, cold shower. He stood under the icy jets and told himself he was going to have to get Lee Murphy out of his mind.

  But how the hell could he manage that? How could he forget her when she was always underfoot? He was the clinic's attending physician, and she was the charge nurse. Since the clinic was closed nights and weekends, they worked basically the same shift. He saw her five days a week for six to ten hours a day, depending on the patient load.

  He needed a break. A getaway. A change of scene.

  Dr. Walter MacAllister, chief of staff at Memorial, had a cabin up in the mountains somewhere not too far away. There was a lake up there, too, as Derek understood it. Blue Moon Lake. A place where a man could escape the day-to-day grind, do a little fishing, breathe clean air. Walter often let other doctors he worked with and some of the residents use it. In fact, a few weeks ago, he'd offered it to Derek. Derek had demurred, but asked for a rain check.

  Maybe the time had come to accept the chief of staff's generous invitation. Maybe what Derek needed was that cabin, a fishing pole and a six-pack or two of beer. He'd get away from town for a weekend, from the clinic, from the gym—from all the various elements of his life that lately seemed to have way too much of Lee in them. The fresh mountain air would fill his lungs, and clear her from his mind.

  By the time he returned, he'd wonder how he'd ever let her get to him in the first place.

  Saturday morning, Lee lost control.

  It happened because she glanced out the living-room window and saw a man jogging by.

  It was just a little after eight. Lee had carried her second mug of Good Earth Original Blend tea from the kitchen to the living room, where she planned to sit on the sofa, sip her tea and thumb through her newest Victoria's Secret catalog.

  The blinds over the front window were still drawn. She went to open them. As soon as she did, she caught sight of the jogger. A well-built man in his thirties. He wore the same type of shorts Derek always wore and the same kind of athletic shirt—a gray one.

  He didn't really look anything like Derek. His hair was dark and he wasn't quite so tall. But at the sight of him, Lee froze, transfixed.

  The runner jogged on down the street. But it didn't matter to Lee. By then, she didn't see him anyway.

  By then, she saw Derek.

  Derek turning into her front walk, approaching the steps, taking them two at a time, pounding on her front door.

  "Lee," he would shout. "Damn it, Lee! Let me in!"

  Oh, she shouldn't. She absolutely should not.

  But how c
ould she help herself? Drawing in a shuddering breath, she would take a step toward the front door. Her eyes would be wide, frightened, yearning…

  "Lee!" More pounding. "I know you're in there!"

  One trembling hand would fly to her throat. "Oh, no! Derek…" she would whisper on a torn gasp of dismay.

  And then, as he continued his pounding and his shouted demands, she would take another step, and another, until she stood opposite him, with only the door and about six feet of scarred hardwood floor separating them.

  And finally, he would be able to bear it no longer. He would kick the door open. The frame would splinter; the dead bolt would give. And the door would fly back, hitting the wall with a sound like a thunderclap.

  They would stare at each other.

  And he would whisper, "Damn you, Lee."

  And then, in three long strides he would be on her, yanking her against him, kissing her so hard she would almost faint from the pleasure of it, then scooping her up against his chest. "Your bedroom. Where is it?"

  "No, Derek, we can't. We have to work together. And you're so arrogant. And way too good-looking. And a doctor. We can't do this. It's impossible."

  "Quiet. Don't argue." Of course, by then he would have seen the tiny hallway behind her, the open bedroom door beyond. Purposefully, still holding her cradled in those powerful arms of his, he would stride toward it.

  She would struggle. "No, Derek! Don't… We can't…"

  "Stop it, Lee. You know it's what you want. What we both want."

  "It's not, it's not…"

  Again, his mouth would descend on hers, stopping her protests, stealing her breath and her will to resist. At last, he would pull away enough to whisper, "What do you say now?"

  Only one word would come. "Yes."

  Something hit the floor and shattered.

  Lee blinked. She stood a few feet from her front door. Dazed, she looked down. Her mug lay on the floor in pieces. The fragrant tea had spattered everywhere, on the Keshan-style floor runner and the end of the sofa.

  Oh, dear Lord, Lee thought in sudden, abject misery. Four days. She'd gone four entire days without a single fantasy of Derek.

  But now, when she finally had one, he'd been playing himself. And she'd been herself.

  That had never happened before. Always before, he was someone else—a figure from history or the movies, or some character she'd made up to suit a certain scenario.

  And never, ever was she just her boring old self, with her minimal breasts and her flyaway hair and her scrubbed-clean, ordinary, round-cheeked face.

  With a small cry, Lee spun on her heel. In the hall cabinet she found an old towel. She rushed back to the front door and knelt to blot up the tea. As she blotted, her eyes blurred. Oh, God. She was going to cry.

  She closed her eyes. She counted to ten, swallowing back those foolish tears. Really, it was nothing to get worked up over. Yes, it was odd that they'd both appeared as themselves this time.

  But it didn't have to mean anything. She wouldn't let it mean anything.

  Lee set the tea-stained towel to the side. Carefully she began picking up the shattered pieces of the mug. She had two days off, today and Sunday. She wouldn't have to see him for a full forty-eight more hours.

  Time off from him. Yes. It was just what she needed.

  And surely, when they returned to work, he would start to treat her more civilly. By then it would have been a week since their awful encounter in the Mexican restaurant. A week had to be long enough for him to get over his anger at her and get on with his life.

  But apparently, it wasn't.

  In fact, on Monday, things got worse. He went beyond being merely cold and aloof. He began criticizing her work methods again.

  Tuesday was worse than Monday. And Wednesday worse than Tuesday. As each day passed, he seemed to become more and more obsessed with what he considered the way she wasted time. It seemed to Lee that he was constantly commanding her to move her patients along faster and to get her charting done more quickly. He complained that the nurses' station wasn't organized effectively, that the toys in the waiting room were always finding their way to the examining rooms with Lee's patients—where he always ended up tripping over them later.

  Lee gave up on practicing civility toward him, she stopped making herself smile at him, she didn't even try to speak to him cordially. She just did her best to stay out of his way.

  It was no way to live, but what else could she do? He remained, as he'd been from the first, very civil in his persecution of her. He never raised his voice. He never stepped beyond the boundaries of technical courtesy. But he was hounding her, plain and simple.

  Lee felt so frustrated. And alone. And by Thursday night, she knew she had to talk to someone. She thought it might be one of Katie's nights at the free clinic, so she tried Dana.

  "You busy?" she asked, as soon as her friend picked up the phone.

  "What's up?"

  "I suppose Trevor's there, huh?"

  "You bet. It's just him and me and take-out Italian. Later I'm going to show him my etchings."

  "Oh, well. I don't want to bother—"

  "Lee. What's the matter?"

  "Honestly, you and Trevor just enjoy your dinner, all right?"

  "Are you at home?"

  "Dana, really, it's not right that you should have to—"

  "I'll be there in fifteen minutes."

  Dana was better than her word. Thirteen minutes later, she strolled through Lee's front door. She said yes to a Diet Sprite. They sat on the sofa in the living room.

  Dana toed off her shoes and gathered her legs to the side. "All right. Spill it."

  And Lee did. She told all—well, almost all. She did leave out the part about her fantasies. They were her business and hers alone, after all.

  When Lee finally fell silent, Dana remarked gently, "So. Still holding firm on the old vow, huh?"

  Lee closed her eyes, tipped her head back. "Yes. No…" She opened her eyes, faced her friend. "Okay, I'm willing to admit that there may be a doctor or two out there worth getting close to. After all, you found Trevor and Katie's got Mike and I've got no gripe with either of them. But Derek Taylor…" Lee sucked in a breath and shook her head. "Let me put it this way. If I ever met a man who is living, breathing proof that a woman should never get involved with a doctor, he's it."

  "Why?"

  "You really want to know?"

  "I asked, didn't I?"

  "All right. Derek Taylor doesn't converse, he gives directives. He dates women for their looks alone—about one blonde a week. And he's got an ego the size of Mount Hood. Are those reasons enough?"

  Dana volunteered sheepishly, "Walter really likes him."

  Lee groaned in frustration. "Of course Walter MacAllister likes him. Derek Taylor is a fine doctor and a credit to Honeygrove Memorial. As chief of staff, Walter MacAllister would naturally think he's just dandy."

  Dana set her glass on the coffee table. "I guess I'll get nowhere suggesting you give the man a break."

  "Dana, he honestly is persecuting me on the job."

  Dana reached out and put her slim hand on Lee's shoulder. "Hey. I hear you. I honestly do. And from what you've just told me, I think you really are being treated unfairly."

  Lee could hardly let herself believe her own ears.

  Dana understood. Someone understood. "You do?" The words came out small and weak.

  "Yes."

  Lee sat up a little straighter. "Any suggestions as to how I can change the situation?"

  Dana reached for her Sprite again, and took a small sip. "Call him on it."

  Lee thought of that first morning after the Mexican restaurant ordeal. She'd tried to "call him" on his behavior then. Fat lot of good it had done. "I tried. He didn't listen."

  "Try harder. I think, from what both Walter and Trevor have said about him, that he's an honorable man. I'd like to believe he doesn't truly realize what he's doing to you. So you're going to have to explain it
to him. And if he doesn't snap out of it, then let me know."

  "And?"

  "We'll go to Walter."

  "And tell him…?"

  "Just what you've told me. Because, quite frankly, I think Dr. Taylor's behavior skirts awfully close to sexual harassment. And don't look so stunned. I didn't say it was sexual harassment—not exactly, anyway."

  "Are you serious? I'm not even sure I know what constitutes sexual harassment."

  "Shall I explain?"

  Lee shot her friend a sideways look. "You sound so authoritative."

  "Well, since I've moved into administration, it's part of my job to keep up on anything that has to do with employee relations. And the way I understand it, sexual harassment can take two forms, both of which are illegal. The first form occurs when submission to sexual advances is used as the basis for employment decisions. The second form is called hostile environment harassment."

  "And that is?"

  "When a worker is subjected to offensive comments and unwelcome physical advances of a sexual nature on the job."

  Lee shook her head. "No, Dana. Really. The first part of that doesn't fit at all. I was hired before he got there and he could complain about me, but he couldn't actually fire me. And as for the hostile environment idea—"

  "Answer me this. Since you turned him down, how would you describe your working environment? In one word."

  Lee sighed. "All right. Hostile. But listen. The man has made no advances to me, except that one. I said 'no way' and he didn't try again. And I swear to you, he would never make suggestive remarks to a woman on the job. That would just be so completely beneath him."

  A tiny, knowing smile tugged on one corner of Dana's pretty mouth. "Considering you hate this guy, you certainly seem ready to jump to his defense."

  "I didn't say I hated him. I just want him to treat me fairly at work."

  "Okay, okay. So the situation is, you turned him down when he asked you for a date and—"

  "He didn't ask."

  "Fine. You turned him down for a date. Yes or no?"