by Rita Herron
Jake glanced at the man’s name tag. Dr. Seth Broadhurst.
“Can I talk to you for a minute?” Broadhurst asked.
It seemed everyone wanted a word in private with Hannah today.
“Sure.” Hannah set the brake on the wheelchair. “Mind if I leave you here for a second, Mr. Tippins?”
Jake shrugged, feeling surly but not knowing the reason. “I’m not going anywhere.”
Hannah smiled and took Broadhurst’s arm, ushering him into a corner. Jake strained to hear the conversation.
“I’ve decided to take a little trip, go to that conference in Dallas for a few days, let some of the gossip around here die down.”
“Oh, Seth, I don’t want you to go away. If anyone should leave, it should be me.”
Two nurses bustled past, chatting, and a woman dragging a screaming toddler toward the doorway drowned out the rest of the conversation.
Jake noticed Broadhurst squeeze Hannah’s hand, lean forward and kiss her on the cheek. A tight sensation gripped Jake’s stomach. The man was obviously still in love with Hannah—why else would he have to leave town to recover from their canceled wedding?
Curiosity won over his rational thoughts. When Hannah returned to his side and pushed him into the elevator, he finally asked, “That one of the surgeons?”
Hannah’s blue eyes darkened with anxiety. “No, he’s a psychiatrist.”
“The man you left at the altar?”
Her sharp look told him he’d spoken out of line.
“I didn’t dump him, I…” She stared at the numbers on the elevator as if willing them to signal their arrival at the lobby. “I don’t have to explain my personal relationships to you, Mr. Tippins.”
Jake fisted his hands on his lap. Obviously not. He didn’t have to think twice to see the differences between himself and her former fiancé—in her eyes he must look like a low-life salesman, a half-crippled one at that, while Broadhurst was a professional who probably made megabucks. He supposed women thought Broadhurst handsome, if they liked the scrawny, yuppie, clean-cut type. Jake had no idea why the thought irked him so much but it did. “Right. Sorry to intrude.”
Judging from the tension between her and the shrink, there still might be something between them. When Broadhurst returned from his trip, Hannah would probably wind up back in his arms, or in some other doctor’s, so Jake didn’t have to feel too guilty about being with her during the interim.
And with Broadhurst out of town, he’d have the perfect opportunity to cozy up to Hannah.
Chapter Six
Hannah helped Jake settle into the front seat of her Volvo, ignoring the little embarrassed chortle he’d emitted when she’d placed the foam doughnut in the seat. Being a patient definitely humbled a person, and she always made a conscious effort to help her patients maintain their dignity. She also avoided personal relationships with them.
Especially patients who worked with her father.
Why had Wiley been so stubborn earlier? Just because he’d made a good profit this month, he felt he owed her a tidy sum to help pay off her medical-school loans. But Hannah insisted on paying her own way, had never taken money from him and didn’t intend to now, at least not for herself. She’d simply put the money in a fund for a graduation party for Alison.
Determined to spend as little time as possible with her father’s employee, she maneuvered her car into the light afternoon traffic. “Where do you live, Mr. Tippins?”
“Call me Jake.”
Hannah’s fingers tightened around the steering wheel at the sound of his husky low voice. Somehow calling him by his first name seemed so…intimate. “All right, Jake. Where can I take you?”
“I’m renting one of those little duplexes on Ivy Street. Do you know where they are?”
“Sure. I’ll have you home in a jiffy.” Then I can get away from you.
“No hurry. I suppose I’ll be taking a couple of days off work.”
His tone implied he didn’t relish the idea of a forced vacation.
“Dad will definitely cover your salary, Jake, plus the hospital bills and any further treatment you need. After all, you were hurt on the job.”
“I’m not worried about the money,” he said tightly.
Hannah winced. Apparently she’d stepped on that abominable male pride again.
“Sorry, I just wanted you to be able to relax and take it easy.”
“Doctor’s orders?”
“Yes.” Out of the corner of her eye, Hannah caught him staring at her. Masculinity oozed from every pore of the man’s big long body. Dark stubble grazed his wide chin, his bronze skin giving him an even darker, more sensual look. His thick blunt fingers were wrapped around the envelope containing his wallet and keys, and his legs were so long they touched the dash. His brawny body and sexy gaze oozed with testosterone. And those eyes, darker than any chocolate she’d ever seen, were tinted with flecks of gold that made her think of snuggling by a fire on a cozy, dark night.
A lazy grin spread on his face as if he recognized the electricity humming between them and planned to stoke the fire. Well, she didn’t. She didn’t like this…this weird hot feeling that strummed through her body every time he looked at her or simply spoke her name. Her granny had been mistaken about him being her destiny. He was the exact opposite of what she wanted in a man—she wanted calm, safe, someone who didn’t rattle her.
“So, with Wiley’s connections, why aren’t you driving a Porsche or some sporty little convertible?”
“I happen to like my Volvo, Mr. Tippins.”
“Jake.”
“What?”
“You called me Mr. Tippins again. Mr. sounds too formal, especially considering…”
Heat rushed up Hannah’s neck, uncharacteristic of her. Their meeting hadn’t been personal, but professional. “All the more reason I should stick to formalities. You’re my patient, Mr. Tippins.”
“Not anymore. At least not technically.” He smiled a warm, sexy smile. “Humor me, then, all right?”
“All right, Jake, but back to my car. I like Volvos. They’re safe and dependable.” And boring, like her.
“You’re not a daredevil, huh?”
“Hardly.”
“That the reason you decided not to get hitched yesterday?”
No, I cancelled the wedding after I dreamt about you. Hannah bit down on her lip and shot him an impatient look. “I simply decided Seth and I weren’t right for each other. We’re still friends though.”
Judging from their earlier encounter, the man obviously wanted more. “So Broadhurst is the daredevil type?”
Hannah chuckled in spite of herself. “No. Seth’s even more…conservative than I am.”
“Oooh, you started to say boring, didn’t you?”
“No.”
He was safe, the very reason I wanted to marry him.
Yet, she didn’t truly love Seth and she knew that now. She admired his professional manner, even liked him immensely, but love? No.
Perturbed at the way he’d read her mind, Hannah decided to change the subject. “How long have you been working for my father?”
His dark gaze finally pivoted toward the scenery. “Not long. Couple of weeks.”
“You like the job?”
Jake’s big shoulders lifted slightly. “It’s a decent living. Your dad’s a pretty interesting guy.”
She let that comment slide. “You’ve sold cars before?”
“No.”
“What did you do before you came to Sugar Hill?”
“Oh, a little of this, a little of that.” He shaded his eyes with his hand at the blinding sunlight when they turned the street. “I like to move around a lot.”
“I see.” A vague, short answer. Was he simply a drifter taking odd jobs or was he hiding something? Their conversation died as Hannah turned into the complex of apartments. A few children rode paint-chipped bikes in the street, another group played softball in the cul de sac. Two little girls wearing T-shirts and jeans ju
mped rope in their driveway. The places looked old, a little unkempt, the grass growing in haphazard patches, as if the owners either didn’t care about the appearances or couldn’t afford the upkeep.
“I’m in 3B,” he said, pointing to a gray wooden structure with a broken-down fence.
She parked the car in the drive and killed the engine. “Just sit tight and I’ll come around and help you.”
Before she could circle the front, he’d opened the door, grabbed the sides of the car door and lifted himself from the seat. Hannah recognized a man full of pride and placed a tentative hand out to help him.
“I can do it,” he said between gritted teeth.
“Look, Mr. Tippins, I’m—”
“Jake.”
“Jake, I’m a doctor and you’re an injured man. If you fall and reopen your wound, we’ll be heading back to the ER.”
He nodded tightly, his only concession. Hannah curved her arm around his waist, her breath hitching as he reluctantly draped his arm around her shoulders. For a fraction of a second, his gaze locked with hers. His height dwarfed her, his size and strength almost intimidating. But the sharp flicker of emotion that darted in his eyes scared her far more than his size.
Desire.
Sweet, hot, fiery hunger that sent a ripple of heat soaring through her body. Why hadn’t she felt this way when Seth held her?
Hannah sucked in a sharp breath. At the harsh sound, his gaze lowered to her mouth, then to her hand where she gripped his waist. “Am I hurting you?”
He meant was his weight hurting her, she realized, although she instinctively knew that getting involved with him could hurt her much much more. She didn’t indulge in one-night stands, illicit affairs or dead-end dates. “No. I’m stronger than I look.”
“That a fact?”
“Yes,” Hannah whispered, hating the breathy sound of her voice. He smelled of antiseptic and hospital soap and pure male, his solid muscular chest like a wall of granite beneath her hand. His heart beat steadily, pounding with an intensity that spoke of strength and determination. They moved slowly, awkwardly up the steps. He leaned against her slightly while digging inside the envelope for the key. When he finally opened the door, he tried to push away from her, determined to prove he could stand on his own two feet, but Hannah refused to release him until they stood beside the couch, a thread-bare plaid sofa that looked as if it had come straight from Goodwill.
“I rented the place furnished,” he said, as if he read the questions in her eyes. “It’s easier to pick up and leave that way.”
The second time he’d mentioned that he moved around a lot. His house mirrored the truth of his words. Three cardboard boxes sat in the small den, the contents spilling out as if he virtually lived out of them. No pictures, personal or decorative, adorned the walls or filled the built-in wooden shelves flanking the gas fireplace. An eerie kind of loneliness echoed off the shabby bare walls. At the hospital, she remembered Jake saying he had no family to call and wondered what had happened to them.
She gave herself a mental shake while he angled himself into a semi-comfortable position on the sofa. Whether or not the man was all alone in the world or wandered the streets with no job at all shouldn’t matter to her. After all, he made no bones about the fact that he wasn’t a settle-down type of guy so he obviously didn’t miss his family or want one of his own. Definitely not the kind of man Hannah would ever get involved with.
So why the heck had she dreamed about him as if he were her destiny?
JAKE WATCHED HANNAH fidget with her hands and fought a chuckle. After he’d situated himself on the sofa, she’d made a quick trip to her car and returned with two bags of groceries, then packed them in his cupboards. Not only had the woman bought him clothes and underwear, but now she’d bought him food. A regular little caretaker.
“I’ll just heat you some soup, then leave you alone to rest.”
“You don’t need to—”
“Yes, I do. I promised my father I’d take care of you personally today,” she said softly. She leaned against the doorjamb, her luminous blue eyes sparkling in her heart-shaped face.
His gut clenched at the wariness in her expression. And the sweet scent of her delicate skin wafted toward him, reminding him of gardenias. Was it his second, or had it been his third foster mom who’d liked gardenias?
“Dad had to go out of town this morning to film that ad or he would have driven you home himself.”
“I know. Wiley told me.” He grimaced silently, trying to forget her intoxicating scent and wondering what exactly Wiley was up to in Atlanta. An innocent ad or something more devious—like meeting with potential buyers for his stolen cars? Irritation crawled through him. Wiley’s absence from the dealership would have provided the perfect opportunity for Jake to sneak into his office and check out his computer files. Besides, Joey DeLito, Wiley’s right-hand man and the person Jake suspected of being the main front man, would be running the place. He could have watched DeLito for signs of subterfuge, maybe even found some concrete evidence to tie up this case so he could move on.
“Jake, are you all right?” The concern in Hannah’s voice startled him. There was nothing personal here—not with Dr. Hartwell. Hell, Wiley was probably afraid he’d sue him so he’d sent Hannah to baby-sit. Or maybe Wiley suspected Jake’s real reason for being in Sugar Hill and wanted Hannah to spy on him.
The mere thought angered him, cementing his resolve to have her help him.
“I’m fine.” He reached for the remote, but she beat him to it and placed it beside him on the scarred end table. Their fingers brushed slightly as he took it, and their gazes locked. He felt a current of something spark to life between them, reflected both in the way her hand trembled and the small hitch of her breath. Still, male pride reared its stubborn head and he heard himself say, “Look, doc, I know you’re a busy lady. If you need to go back to the hospital, I can take care of myself.”
“My shift’s over for today. I’m sure you’re still tired from the surgery though, so I’ll only stay long enough to make sure you’re fed and tucked in bed.”
That image definitely disturbed him. As if she read his lascivious thoughts, she scurried away to the kitchen like a doe caught in the headlights of a car. If she intended to spy on him for her dad, she certainly lacked experience or else she’d probably already be trying to seduce the truth from him.
From his position on the sofa, he saw her bend over to search for a pot in his tiny kitchen. Her long black skirt stretched taut across a firm little backside, rising slightly to give him an enticing view of her ankles.
Good lord, he was getting turned on by her ankles.
This little plan of his might be more difficult than he’d imagined.
“I hope you like chicken soup, although I picked up a can of vegetable and one of clam chowder, or I could make you a sandwich. I know the hospital food is less than desirable. You probably ate instant pudding and their eggs taste like rubber and—”
“I’m not a picky eater,” he said, chuckling at the way she rambled on. For some reason, the good doctor seemed nervous as hell around him. Because they were in his apartment alone? It certainly wasn’t like he had enough energy to attack her after just being shot. Of course, she might feel weird being near him after her recent breakup with that shrink. Maybe she’d already started plotting a reconciliation.
He flipped on the TV, frowning at the news report. A short clip highlighted news of the attempted robbery, flashing a brief photo of Jake and the subsequent arrest of the punk responsible for the shooting. Finally the reporter switched to international news. Jake prayed his cover wouldn’t be blown by the picture.
“The soup’s heating.” She appeared in the doorway again, her slender arms folded across her waist, accentuating the enticing sight of her breasts. “Can I get you anything else? Ginger ale, a soda, coffee?”
“Maybe some coffee.”
Her shy gaze met his and he felt sucker punched. He wanted to ass
ure her she could relax beside him, that he wouldn’t hurt her, but his words would be a lie. Her hesitancy to get near him suggested she wouldn’t warm to the idea either. Vulnerability was written all over her delicate features, evident in the way she held herself in the doorway edge, the way she refused to stay still for more than two seconds.
An odd reaction for such a beautiful tempting woman. Or was she simply being coy? Since she’d called off her engagement, she’d have her choice of men pursuing her, all kinds of doctors, other professionals. Distinguished physicians whose salaries were quadruple his. Men who had degrees from Ivy League schools, who drove fancy sports cars, men who had intelligence and brains and the class he’d never have. Yet, as comfortable as she’d been in the ER, her little display of nerves made him want to reach out and comfort her. Tease her until she released those inhibitions and let down her defenses around him. After all, he had to win her trust if she was going to confide the details of Wiley’s business….
She disappeared into the kitchen again, gliding back seconds later with a tray laden with soup, crackers, a cup of hot coffee and a slender flower vase holding a single red rose. His eyes narrowed, his stomach knotted. What the…?
“I thought it might cheer you up,” Hannah said when his gaze flew to her face.
Nobody had ever given Jake Tippins a flower. He didn’t know why the gesture snuck under his skin. Maybe because his own mother hadn’t bothered to take care of him when he’d been sick as a child. She’d left him to fend for himself.
“Jake, are you okay?”
He dragged his gaze away from her worried face, and reminded himself she was only doing her job, taking care of him out of some misguided duty to her father who felt he owed Jake. Heck, Wiley might have even funded her medical degree with money he’d earned through illegal means.
“I’m fine.” He broke the crackers into the steaming broth, determination replacing any sentiment over Hannah Hartwell. He had to forget the damn rose.
He had a mission. And he couldn’t allow her soft vulnerability, no matter how real, to mellow his hardened heart, because if he did break through that barrier between them, any steamy looks she might possibly give him in the future would turn to ice when he locked dear old Wiley in jail.