THE PASSION OF PARICK MACNEILL

by Virginia Kantra

  Her casual dismissal of her sister's abilities and dedication stunned Patrick. He waited for Kate to protest, but the prickly lady doctor had hidden her face in the baby's neck, as if drawing comfort from the soft weight and powder smell of the child in her arms.

  "Well, thank God she's taking care of mine," he said curtly. "The least I can do is stick around."

  Amy smiled ruefully. "That's real sweet. That's more than any man has done for me. Okay, then. I guess I'll go pick up Mama. Billy, you be good, now." She hugged her baby and kissed the air by her sister's cheek. "See y'all later."

  She floated to the little blue car parked in the weeds by the trailer. With a wave of her hand and a beep of her horn, she was gone.

  Hell. Patrick studied Kate, wondering at her reaction to her flighty younger sister. Wondering what his own response should be.

  She straightened her shoulders, shifting the baby to her other hip. "Billy, why don't you take Jack inside and show him your space men. Patrick, could you please take that bag out of the trunk for me?"

  Her brisk recovery made him grin. "Yes, Doctor."

  Billy balked at the trailer steps, dragging the toe of one sneaker in the dirt. "Can we go down to the creek, instead? We'll be careful," he added quickly, anticipating his aunt's caution.

  Kate's gaze sought Patrick's. He warmed at the hesitancy he found there. "Is that all right with you?"

  "Where is the creek?"

  Kate pointed. "Right there. You can see it from the kitchen window."

  This was part of the test flight, Patrick guessed. Could he afford to let his boy try his wings? "How deep?"

  "With all the rain we've had, it might be, oh, eight inches." So they wouldn't drown. "Anything else you should warn me about?"

  Kate smiled. "Muddy shoes?"

  Patrick nodded, accepting both the information and the probability. He and his brothers had trashed more shoes than a battalion at boot camp.

  "Fine. As long as you're both careful. Jack, stay with Billy."

  Jack was pale with excitement. "‘Kay, Dad."

  "And stay in front of the window where I can see you," Kate added.

  "Yes, Aunt Katie," Billy said cheekily.

  "And keep your bandage dry!" she called after them.

  Inside the trailer, Kate plunged into activity, depositing Jenny in her playpen and pulling plastic baby bottles out from one of the cabinets. Patrick had trouble reconciling the flushed, devoted aunt bustling in the cramped kitchen with the cool, decisive doctor he'd first met. The contrast fascinated him, tempted him to explore. What had driven Kate Sinclair from the trailer park to Jefferson University Hospital?

  He crossed his arms, studying her. "So how much older are you than your sister?"

  Her busy hands paused briefly over the bottles. "Eons," she said. "Can you reach a can of formula out of that cabinet? I want to feed Jenny and get her down for her nap. Then I'll make lunch for the rest of us."

  So they weren't going to discuss her sister, Patrick thought, contemplating her averted face. That was fine with him. As she'd been so careful to insist, they had a doctor/father-of-a-patient relationship. He didn't need the details of her personal life.

  He handed her the formula and then leaned a hip against the counter. "What's in the bag?"

  Running water in the sink, she barely spared him a glance. "Groceries."

  He raised an eyebrow. "You brought groceries to your sister's?"

  She shrugged, not answering. She didn't need to. Suddenly, the way she lived, the plain apartment, the rattletrap car, made disturbing sense. Opening a cabinet door, he began to stack cans of tuna and tomatoes on the second shelf.

  Leave it, MacNeill, he ordered himself. But in the Corps he'd been known for his willingness to tackle ticklish assignments. He tried a quick, conversational foray. "So when you two were growing up, did she steal all your boyfriends?"

  Bottles rattled in the sink. "What boyfriends?"

  He lowered his hand, studying her uncompromising back. "There had to have been boyfriends."

  "Why?"

  Nine years since she'd had a lover, Patrick thought. Surely that wasn't the pattern of her life? He remembered the frame house in Quincy, the girls dropping by through long, hot summers to watch the MacNeill boys mow the grass and wash the car. He could almost taste the tang of sweat, the smell of excitements as they experimented at love in the back seats of cars and under the bleachers in the high-school gym. Between chores and Holly, he'd never had the success Sean boasted of, but still…

  "I just figured that sort of thing was part of growing up." Kate shook her head. Her hair slipped forward to veil her face, and he felt his groin tighten. "Not for me. I never even went to my prom."

  "Too busy studying?"

  "Never asked."

  He felt a vague need to apologize for the inadequacies of teenage boys. "They were probably intimidated."

  "Not intimidated. Just not interested."

  He tried to imagine Kate at sixteen. She'd been a brain, he figured. Con had gone for that type. She probably wore dark baggy T-shirts that couldn't disguise her developing breasts. He pictured her with plain nails and loose hair and big, serious brown eyes.

  "Honey, I don't believe that for a minute."

  Water splashed as she set another bottle on the drain board. "It's true. I was fat, I was ugly, I didn't know how to dress, and I talked too much."

  Her vulnerability fissured his control. "Fat, huh?" He pushed away from the counter and came up behind her. "You probably matured early. You've got great curves."

  He put his hands on her hips and pulled her back against him, ignoring her swift intake of breath, letting her feel just what those curves did to him. "What's a poor, dumb kid gonna do with a girl his age who's built like a woman? I'm telling you, they were intimidated."

  Between his hands, she trembled. He dragged in a breath, fighting to keep his touch easy on her hips. He wanted to span her ribs with his fingers. He wanted to sneak his palms up over her round, firm breasts. Remembering the way her nipple had risen to his touch, his body surged.

  "I still wasn't pretty," she insisted.

  Tenderness swelled in him, almost crowding out desire. Almost. He turned her to face him, leaning her back against the sink.

  "You look okay to me." He lifted one hand to play with her pretty hair, loving the way it curled around his fingers. "You've got nice hair. Nice eyes." She kept them lowered, as if his collarbone was a medical anomaly. "Did you have pimples when you were a kid?"

  That brought her gaze up. "No!"

  He smiled. "Nice skin." He let his palm cup her cheek, warming his hand on her blush as he continued to catalog her features. "Your nose is pretty straight. Your mouth…"

  Her mouth quivered. She bit down on her lower lip to punish it, and he was undone. "Damn, you've got a sweet mouth, honey."

  He bent to taste it. He used his tongue to comfort her poor lip and then to dip inside. Warmth and welcome greeted him. He traced the slick inner surface of her lip and the smooth, sharp edge of her teeth, getting to know her, learning the textures of her mouth. She pressed closer, seeking more. He widened the kiss, widened his stance, dipping deeper. She sucked on his tongue, and his blood pressure shot through the roof.

  He lifted her, so the sink supported her sweet, lush backside, and found a place for himself between her thighs. Her breath came shallow and quick against his lips as she strained against him. Her wet hands trailed up his arms and grabbed his hair. He smelled lemon dish detergent and something sweeter, wilder, distilled from the hollows of her skin. Groaning encouragement, he thrust back into her mouth.

  Her calves wrapped the back of his thighs. Her knee knocked the counter, and something clattered and fell. Jenny's bottle rolled on the floor.

  Wild-eyed, Kate pushed at his chest. Patrick let her go, using his strength to gentle her, to ease her down from the edge of the sink, to support her until her legs could do the job on their own.

  "I can't be
lieve… I never meant…"

  "Spit it out, honey."

  Glaring, she took a deep breath and tried again. "I thought we agreed it was in Jack's best interest to keep our relationship completely professional."

  She meant it, too. He raked a hand through his hair. "Yeah, we did."

  Better that way, he thought. Safer that way. Only the bulge in his jeans and the empty feeling in his chest were telling him different.

  He took a step back, hooking his thumbs in his back pockets, trying to lighten the tension between them. "I just figured maybe you could use a different perspective on your high-school years."

  He admired the way she lifted her chin and attempted a smile. "Gee, thanks."

  He couldn't help himself. He had to say it. "You were right about one thing, though."

  She blinked at him owlishly. "What?"

  "You do talk too much."

  * * *

  Chapter 7

  «^»

  "This whole visit," Kate announced in the car going home, "was a mistake."

  The yellow caution markers flashed in her headlights, rushing down the current of a dark river. Concentrating on the road, she didn't look at Patrick, but awareness of him beat through her body like a pulse. He crowded her car, his knees almost touching the glove compartment. He turned to check on Jack, sleeping in the back, and his arm stretched along the top of her seat. She felt its heat against her neck, imagined the brush of his fingertips.

  "Lunch was good," he offered mildly.

  Kate snorted. "Lunch was sandwiches. And about five hours too long."

  "Your sister said she lost track of the time."

  "Sure."

  "She always take advantage of you like that?"

  "I…" Kate sighed. "No, of course not. She's just started a new job, and she probably needed to get away. She's had a busy week."

  "Yeah, and being a doctor is a walk in the park, right?" It was so rare for someone to take her part that Kate actually smiled before shaking her head. "I still should never have invited you."

  "The kids got along okay."

  "The kids… Well, yes. I was talking about us." He lifted one dark eyebrow. "Honey, if we weren't getting along, I'd love to be around when you're feeling friendly."

  Kate bit her lip. She could handle the man's sex appeal. Maybe. Once she got used to it. So what if his attention made her feel like a fourth grader who'd gotten more Valentines than anybody else, or a duty date suddenly presented with a wrist corsage by her escort? She'd been taken in by a man's flattering interest before.

  But she was a sucker for his humor. No one before Patrick had ever bothered to tease with bookish, serious Kate. And she was discovering the urge to laugh with him was even greater than the need to freeze him out.

  How could a man who'd been through all Patrick MacNeill had endured still have the heart, the guts, the nerve to make her smile?

  "We got along too well, and you know it."

  "Lighten up, Kate. It was just a kiss."

  "Like a subdural hematoma is just a bruise."

  His eyes gleamed. "Don't get medical on me now."

  "I don't know any other way to be. I'm a doctor."

  "And kissing me makes you less of a doctor?"

  She wasn't sure. "You're missing the point. Jack—"

  "Likes you."

  In spite of her defensive attitude, his words warmed her. Of course, Jack was such a wonderful little boy, he probably liked everybody. But it was nice to be liked. She relaxed her grip on the steering wheel.

  "I think I've been effective with him," she admitted cautiously.

  "Effective. Yeah, you could say that." Patrick shifted to face her, and the scent of him, soap and sweat and some spicy aftershave, drifted through the dark. "I still think Jack should have that surgery this summer, but you were dead-on about his needing kids his own age. He really took to your sister's boy."

  In spite of the doubts started by his mention of the surgery, she smiled, pleased. "He did, didn't he?"

  "Yeah. The visit was good for him, Kate. But not for some medical reason. Not because you're his doctor. Because you invited him into your family and gave him a friend."

  It was too tempting, too dangerous, to believe him. If she wasn't a doctor, she was nothing. "All the same, he's my patient."

  "He's Swaim's patient."

  "And Dr. Swaim is my boss."

  "So." He studied her face in the dim glow of the dashboard. She fixed her gaze firmly on the road. "It's political?"

  "Yes. No. But I am attached to the hospital where Jack is a patient. It's not unethical, precisely, for me to see you, it's just … unwise."

  "Come off it, Kate. You said it yourself. You're a doctor, first and last. I can't see you letting any relationship compromise Jack's recovery."

  "Not on purpose, no. But—"

  "And I'm not conceited enough to suppose I'd be the man to distract you from doing your job. I've seen you with Jack. I've seen you at the hospital. Hell, I've seen you with your sister's kids. You're not going to neglect your patients' care for a stunt roll and a loop-the-loop. So what is it exactly that you're afraid of?"

  Of you, she almost said, but that wasn't true. He'd proven his essential kindness, his basic decency, over and over again. She was afraid of herself. Not that she would be less of a doctor for Jack, but that she wouldn't be enough of a woman for Patrick.

  She signaled her exit. The car's tires rumbled through the long, slow turn. "I've worked very hard to get where I am," she said as steadily as she could. "I don't want to compromise my position at the hospital because of a temporary attraction, and I don't have time for anything else."

  Patrick leaned back against the passenger side door, but there was nothing relaxed about his pose. She could feel the weight of his interest, like the building air pressure that forecast a storm.

  "Our involvement doesn't have anything to do with the hospital. It's the other one that's the kicker. No time, no energy. No sex for either of us."

  Patrick MacNeill without sex? The mind boggled. His masculinity proclaimed itself in a dozen ways: his coiled intensity, his controlled strength, the obvious ease with which he inhabited his broad-chested, long-boned body. How had this potent, passionate man managed since his wife died?

  Her own case was different, Kate thought. Her ex-lover had always accused her of a lack of enthusiasm in bed. She was honest enough to acknowledge that it was the intimacy she'd craved in that brief, disastrous relationship, not the physical gymnastics. Since their breakup, she'd sometimes wondered if the fault had been at least partly Wade's, but, frankly, going without sex had never been a problem for her.

  Until now.

  Her grip tightened on the wheel as she guided the car into the parking lot and under a light. The overhead glow threw Patrick's face into sharp relief: dark eyes, strong nose, sensitive mouth. Her insides contracted. She turned the key in the ignition.

  "We're here," she said unnecessarily, and fumbled with her seat belt.

  "Kate."

  Her hands stilled on the shoulder strap. She looked out at the moon- and fluorescent-washed parking lot. "What?"

  He shifted on the seat beside her, checking to see if Jack still slept, and his knee brushed her thigh. With the engine shut off, the car's interior was warm and close and very silent.

  "I respect that you don't have room for a grand passion in your life. Neither do I. Thing is," he continued slowly, "I'm already spending too much time thinking about you. Wanting you. Imagining how it could be between us. Maybe it would be less … distracting for us both if we found out."

  She turned to face him, choosing indignation over the quaking in her stomach. "Are you suggesting we sleep together to get it out of our systems?"

  "That's one way to put it. Neither one of us wants a complicated relationship in our lives."

  With an effort, she kept her voice low, to avoid waking the child in the back. "And am I supposed to be flattered by this limited offer?"

>   He shook his head, his smile gleaming in the darkness. "Not flattered. Interested, maybe."

  She was interested, all right. More tempted and more scared than she'd ever been in her life. She folded her hands tightly together in her lap to disguise their shaking. "I don't know. I'll have to think about it."

  "Kate." His deep voice was gentle. "I don't want to hurt you. I like you. But you need to know up front how things are with me. I may want you until my teeth ache with it, but Jack is the center of my life right now. If that's not enough for you, if I misunderstood you, just tell me no."

  Her nails dug into the backs of her hands. Kate had long ago accepted that she wasn't the kind of woman men wanted to marry. Wade, brutally breaking their understanding, had gone so far as to suggest she wasn't the kind of woman men wanted, period. But Patrick wanted her. And maybe she owed it to herself, just once, to experience a man like Patrick MacNeill.

  "I understand. I'll get back to you."

  "Good. That's good." He paused a moment, as if there was something else he wanted to say, and then unfolded abruptly from his seat. "Let me walk you to your door."

  She glanced over her shoulder at Jack, still asleep in the back. "What about…?"

  "I've got to shift him to our car anyway."

  She waited, jingling her keys, as he lifted the sleeping boy from the car. "Go home. I'm fine. I don't need an escort."

  Patrick adjusted Jack over his chest like an examination drape. The boy stirred and clung. "I'll walk you to your door."

  She shrugged irritably. "Whatever you want."

  He grinned at her over his son's dark head. "Is that a promise?"

  Kate swallowed. Ridiculous that he could make her feel this way without touching her, with the child between them. "I'll let you know."

  "Fair enough."

  He followed her along the cement walkway, gravel from the cracks grinding beneath their soles, and then stood to one side as she unlocked her door.

  "I'll be gone a couple of days next week," he offered abruptly. "Charter flight to the Outer Banks. My partner Ray doesn't want to be away overnight so close to his wife's due date, so I'm covering it."

  It was none of her business. She found herself asking anyway. "What about Jack?"