Mac's Angels : Sinner and Saint. a Loveswept Classic Romance (9780345541659)

by Chastain, Sandra

  Nothing. No response to normal doctor-patient questions at all. Either she didn’t hear, or she didn’t care. No, it had to be personal or his lady in blue ignored him.

  Niko clenched his fist helplessly. Power over life and death had always been a doctor’s heavy responsibility. But this was turning into something more. This could become a sexual thing, or it needed to be if he was going to make it work.

  Just to test his theory, he geared up his resolve and took her hand in his. “Didn’t you think I’d miss you?”

  A faint shudder on the monitor.

  That was what he’d been afraid of. In order to get to that secret, hidden part of her, the relationship had to be taken deeper. This was going to be difficult, for it had to happen quickly. He couldn’t handle a long-drawn-out seduction. It was too hard on the body.

  His body.

  “Okay, so you don’t want to talk about the past. You like fantasy better than reality. Can’t say I care much for real life myself. Let’s me and you hide together. I want to go back to Slade Island. Remember the first time we went? It was summer. The air-conditioning went out and the heat was so bad that we walked around the lodge nude. You said you felt like Rachel from The Thorn Birds, without the white beaches. I didn’t know who Father Ralph was, and having you compare me to a priest sounded kinky. Until you showed me what you meant.”

  What are you saying? I don’t remember Slade Island. I don’t remember you. The Thorn Birds was a book. Father Ralph was light and beautiful. You don’t sound like that. You sound dark and dangerous.

  Niko frowned as he tried to recall the movie he was drawing from. He’d slept through most of it one night last month when it was on the Movie Classic Channel. All he could remember was a priest and the woman he’d loved since she was a child.

  Giving up, Niko concentrated on another memory, his painful recollections of the island and a period he’d forced himself to forget. He had actually been to Slade Island often as a child. His father’s Gypsy tribe used to meet there regularly. But the last time had been as an adult. The summer after his second year of residency, he’d been summoned for the naming of the future king of the tribe.

  People didn’t believe that Gypsy tribes existed in America, but they did. They had become unseen, secret wanderers in this country. Oh, they didn’t travel about in wagons and caravans anymore. They were more into RVs and motor homes. But few of them had put down roots.

  That made it easy when they were called to a tribal gathering. Word of mouth spread like Indian drums and they came. He still remembered.

  After years of pushing away from that kind of hidden life, he hadn’t wanted to be there. He’d gone only because of his sister, to keep her from being sold that weekend as a bride.

  That had been his first failure. At the age of fourteen his sister Karen had become the wife of a man who paid thousands of dollars for her. Niko would have faced the wrath of his father and the others to save her, but in the end she’d convinced him that she’d changed her mind. Years passed before he understood that she’d been the strong one, that she’d done it for him.

  That had been the last time he’d seen her, until Mac, a stranger then, had sent for him, until Niko had realized that she wanted to die. They’d tried up to the end, but they hadn’t saved her. Niko’s failure and guilt had overwhelmed him so much that he’d wanted to die too. But Mac refused to allow that. Instead, Niko went back to medical school and changed his focus to research, determined to find a way to make up for his sister’s death.

  After that he knew he’d never be able to bring himself to treat patients directly. Research had been the answer. Research was impersonal. Now Mac was forcing Niko to change that.

  Silence again, blessed silence that allowed her to drift. In this place she didn’t have to face her past, or what the future might bring. If only that voice would leave her alone.

  Niko swore. Once he stopped talking, everything about her reverted to the same void that he’d faced when he first entered her cubicle. Ripping her cocoon of sleep away was like trying to catch air.

  Well, lady, he thought, if it takes personal to get your attention, let’s get real personal. Time was running out. He planted his eyes on her monitor, kicked off his shoes, and poked one foot beneath the sheet, skimming her ankle.

  “Gypsies are normally full of bull, but I’m not much of a talker. I guess you, know that.

  “It’s always been easy to be with you, but talking—that’s a different thing. I’ve never told you how much I like your body. Your skin is so soft. It isn’t just the way it feels in my hands or against me. I think it’s the way you move so lithely, like some mythical creature in one of your books, that gets to me. Oh, babe, I like you naked, wrapped in gauze in the moonlight.”

  That did it. Monitor movement. It was the suggestion of desire that got to the lady. Hell, it got to him too. Pretty potent stuff, Sandor. Niko moved his foot, feeling bare flesh where it met the fabric of her hospital gown. Slowly he pushed the gown up, the pads of his toes caressing her leg intimately. He couldn’t see what he was touching, for she was covered with a sheet, but the mental image of her body was more erotic than if he’d been viewing it.

  “We’ve got to get you away from hospital sheets. I know that you like satin ones. Remember the first time we tried them out? It was in that little bed and breakfast on the Hudson. They were out of rooms and we had to take the honeymoon suite. You laughed when I kept sliding. I said they were too slick. It was hell getting traction with my toes. You flung your legs around me and said that we’d slide together.”

  But I didn’t. I never made love on satin sheets. Did I?

  He thought he felt her move.

  He did. Though it was more of a twitch. She might not be consciously hearing him, but her body was. Following his hunch, he dropped his foot to the floor and leaned forward.

  It was truth time. He had to get on with it or pack up his medical bag and move out. Mac had sent him to bring her back and he had to do it in the only way that seemed to be working. Taking a deep breath, he reached out and took her hand turning it over.

  “As a Gypsy, I never believed much in fortunetelling.” He skimmed her palm with his finger. “This is your lifeline.” He touched it with his tongue. “If I were predicting your future, I’d say we have a long life together. Do you feel my mouth against you?” He planted a kiss in the center of her hand, gently at first, then more intimately.

  Bingo! The monitor was fluttering wildly. But there was an unexpected glitch in the program. Not only was his sexy talk getting to the woman, it was turning him on as well.

  “I’ll be damned, my lady in blue, I believe that we have a small problem here. I’m trying to bring you back to life, and it’s me that’s getting aroused.”

  But she was coming to life too, at least on the heart machine. The green line was plunging from peaks to valleys in a fury.

  He can’t be kissing my palm. It must be the dream. The woman on the moor. Her lover has come back and I’m there. It’s happening again. I’m becoming the woman in the dream. Her breath came faster and she felt the woman push against his hand.

  Niko wasn’t imagining her physical response either. She’d flexed her hand, twisting it so slightly that if it hadn’t been for the monitors, he’d have thought he imagined it. “That gets to you, doesn’t it? Don’t pull away. I make you feel good, don’t I? I always have.”

  The Gypsy was doing it again, just like in the dream, igniting the fire in the woman. He always fanned it into flame. And though she knew it was wrong, she could never hold back. Her Gypsy was there and she wanted him to make love to her.

  What in hell was he doing holding her hand to his mouth, tasting the salt on her skin, breathing unevenly against her. His pulse raced wildly. No matter what kind of reaction he was getting from her, he was swimming in deep water. The intercom crackled to life.

  “Do you need any help, doctor?”

  “No!” he barked, then swallowed back his irr
itation, recognizing it was pure frustration at his own response. He ought to get up and leave. But he couldn’t. He was too close. Not until she’d been forced to open her eyes.

  Niko sat on her bed, leaning forward to study her in disbelief.

  He was as hard as some randy kid, his jeans rubbing tight against an erection that throbbed painfully. Was, she feeling the same thing he was? She had to know what was happening. She couldn’t sleep through this, could she? One way to find out. Either the ice princess would thaw out and send him flying across the room, or …

  Hippocates, forgive me. Niko took her hand again.

  “I’m sorry you’re asleep, princess. If we were somewhere else, I’d let you see what you do to me,” he said in a tight voice. “It’s pretty obvious how much I want you. But then, I always do, don’t I?”

  She definitely wasn’t standing to the side, watching. This time she was the woman. She felt the tide of desire sweep over her. In her mind’s eye she could see that the man was hard and big and he wanted her. And she wanted him—so badly.

  The monitor was going crazy. The door to the cubicle burst open and he barely had time to move his hand before the new nurse came charging in.

  “What’s happening?” she asked, obviously confused to find him sitting on the patient’s bed.

  “She’s trying to wake.” Niko slid his fingertips around her wrist as though he were taking her pulse. “It’s all right. I’ve been trying some new methods of stimulation. Go away.”

  No, don’t stop. Please.

  The nurse looked from the monitor to Niko, her eyes fastening suspiciously on the hospital ID tag attached to his belt. “I don’t understand.”

  “You don’t have to. Just leave us. You’re interfering with my treatment.”

  Hesitantly, the nurse backed out of the room. “If you’re certain.”

  “I am,” he snapped, then let out a sigh of relief when he heard the door close. This nurse wasn’t going to accept that for long. He’d proven that his patient was responding physically, but if he were going to continue to reach her, he’d have to make different arrangements.

  He’d have to be able to touch her. No! Was he actually justifying physical stimulation of a patient through her mind? That went against everything he’d ever been taught as a doctor. Even as he weighed his options, his own body was arguing with his hesitation. Dammit, he wanted her. This wasn’t medical research, this was lust.

  The monitor was quiet now. He rose and stepped back from the bed and left the cubicle in a silent rage. Even if it worked, he wasn’t comfortable with touching a patient. This wasn’t what he’d trained to do; it wasn’t medicine, it was something closer to abuse. Mac was asking too much.

  “Watch her. Call me if there’s any change,” he instructed the wide-eyed nurse behind the rack of monitors at the nurses’ station.

  “But I don’t even know who you are,” she protested.

  “I’m Dr. Nikolai Sandor,” he roared, “the devil on the ninth floor.”

  The devil? That made sense. Only a sinner could put such thoughts in her head. But he was gone now and she would put that turmoil behind her. She’d worked hard at not feeling anything. She wouldn’t allow herself to feel—ever again. It wasn’t safe.

  Friday the 13th—2:00 P.M.—near Times Square

  The library where Karen worked was close to the hospital, which meant it wasn’t in the best section of the city. Halfway between his condo, where he spent an occasional night, and Times Square, it huddled between two small office buildings, dwarfed by a sign for a popular soft drink company whose neon carbonation sent bubbles spiraling into the air.

  It was no different from a hundred other buildings, tired, yet trying to hang on to the idea that people still wanted literary enlightenment. In truth, the homeless enjoyed the warmth in the winter and the air-conditioning in the summer.

  Behind the checkout counter, a woman whose face was as weathered as the carpet looked up. “May I help you, sir?”

  “Yes, I’ve come for some information.”

  “Are you familiar with our computer system?”

  “Not that kind of information,” he corrected her. “I’m a doctor at Mercy General. I’m treating Karen Miller.”

  “I don’t suppose you have any identification, do you?”

  “Well, I have a driver’s license and my hospital ID tag.” He smiled. He might as well exude some of that charm that Mac accused him of using to raise funds. Niko knew it was there, in spite of his protests. He just didn’t often care enough about anything to go to the trouble.

  He didn’t know why he cared about the woman back in the hospital, nor could he explain the power of his attraction to her.

  She just arouses you sexually, he told himself. Maybe it was time he looked in his little black book of society matrons on the make. That would satisfy his urge and stop his preoccupation with the woman in blue.

  The librarian glanced at him shyly, examined his identification, then nodded. “Okay, I guess. How is Karen?”

  “She’s still in a coma. I think she’s afraid to wake up.”

  “I always thought she was afraid too,” the woman responded, concern more evident in her eyes now.

  “Oh? Afraid of what?”

  The woman moved closer, smiling now, as if they had their own private conspiracy. “Don’t know. In the three months she’s been here she never spoke about herself. No friends. Never even had anybody call her—until the day she walked in front of that cab.”

  “Somebody called her that day?”

  “Yep. Answered the phone myself. Somebody wanted to know if there was a Karen working here. Called her last name wrong, said it was Middleton.”

  Niko felt a sense of unease sweep over him. “How’d you know it was her the caller was looking for?”

  “He told me exactly what she looked like. Tall, thin, blond hair, and bluebonnet eyes. He said he was an old friend from Minnesota.”

  Minnesota. He hadn’t been far wrong on guessing her background. “What happened then?”

  “She answered the phone, then just laid it down and walked out the door. Didn’t even take her purse. Next thing I knew, old Mort—he’s one of the street people who comes in and out—ran in here and said she’d been hit by that taxi. We called the ambulance and they took her to Mercy.”

  “Where does she live?”

  “That seems to be a popular question. The police asked first, then this very morning that same old friend from the phone turned up looking for her. She lives in a boardinghouse.”

  “What old friend?”

  “Well,” she said in a can-you-believe-it voice, “turns out he wasn’t an old friend after all, but a reporter for a newspaper. He didn’t tell me he was the one who called, but I recognized his voice.”

  “A reporter? Damn! That’s just what she doesn’t need.”

  “Don’t worry. I didn’t tell him. Not going to. So far as I know, he doesn’t even know she’s in the hospital. I believe in a person’s right to privacy. Tell Karen we miss her, but I don’t know if we can hold her job.”

  “I will. And if that reporter calls back, I’d appreciate it if you’d find out where he is staying, in case Miss Miller wants to reach him.”

  The woman who identified herself as Agnes Feeback agreed, taking Niko’s private number and tucking it into her pocket.

  “You don’t think that taxi hit Karen on purpose, do you?”

  “No, of course not.” But he wasn’t certain that she hadn’t wanted it to.

  Karen tossed and turned, cognizant now that her place of safety was being threatened. The warm anonymity of foggy sleep was fading away. Something was waiting for her, something she didn’t want to face.

  It was all because of him, the Gypsy who’d invaded her dreams and kept returning to prod her into wakefulness. Well, he’d accomplished his purpose. Now she was aware of her condition, though she was still not yet ready to leave its comforting darkness behind.

  Why had he com
e?

  Why had he talked to her as if they were friends, lovers? While she couldn’t remember what had happened, she knew somehow that this was untrue. If a man like the one who kept pulling her back had ever made love to her, she’d remember it.

  Yet he’d told her things—private, personal things that seemed right. A part of her wanted to believe him, while another part of her laughed at her naiveté.

  You’re nobody now, Karen, nobody a man would want. And if he did, you couldn’t allow it. It wouldn’t be fair. It wouldn’t be safe.

  She turned her head and tried to burrow down into the pillow. Where was the drugging oblivion of sleep? Where were the dreams she’d escaped into nightly? No, she didn’t want to dream “the dream.” It was too real. Like an aphrodisiac, it swept her up in such physical desire that she’d begun imagining the man was actually speaking to her.

  It was her head. It hurt and the pain mixed up her thoughts. She didn’t want to think. She didn’t want to feel. But the need was stronger than the darkness.

  Where are you? Why have you gone away?

  From the library, Niko headed for the Daily World newspaper office. The name Middleton kept whirling around in his mind. The reporter had been looking for a Karen Middleton, not Karen Miller. Had he been wrong, or was Karen Miller using a phony name?

  And why was she afraid?

  And why was he playing detective when he ought to be back in his lab, working?

  The woman at the desk directed him to Sam Wade’s office. Sam had been involved in the mess with his sister years earlier, and Niko thought he’d be willing to bend a few rules to help this girl out.

  “So, what brings the Mercy General genius out into the real world?” Sam asked.

  “I need some information, in confidence.”

  “Oh? Is somebody stealing DNA and marketing it to prosecuting attorneys for evidence?”