Tempted by the Heart Surgeon

by Lucy Ryder

  “So. Where are we going again?” she asked a little desperately.

  “Juniper Falls.”

  “It sounds rustic.”

  Adam’s grin was quick and white in the predawn darkness as he took the interstate on-ramp and accelerated south. “You sound worried.”

  She nibbled on her lip and nervously smoothed her skirt over her thighs. “Should I be? Worried, I mean?”

  She felt his eyes on her profile. “Are you?” His voice reached across the Jeep’s darkened cab, a rough and tempting challenge that scraped at the sensual nerve endings she hadn’t thought she had.

  “Well,” she rasped, a little light-headed. “Only if you’re kidnapping me.”

  His soft chuckle soothed the little pulse bump. “As tempting as that sounds, that isn’t the reason for our field trip.”

  “Oh?” Heck, had that sounded as disappointed as she felt?

  Instead of replying, he checked his side mirrors before accelerating around a truck. Once they were some distance away, he said casually, “Coco thought you might like to see where the foundation started.”

  Perturbed by the disappointment that it had been Coco’s idea, all she could say was, “Why Juniper Falls?”

  “I grew up there,” he announced, and her disappointment morphed into curiosity. “Since it relies mostly on tourists all year round there isn’t—wasn’t—a proper hospital, which meant no medical care, especially for the folks who can’t afford to travel to larger centers. I started the outreach program for people who can’t afford specialist care.”

  She sat up slowly and studied him curiously. “You started the foundation?”

  He grimaced. “Unofficially. It was just an idea until I took the concept to Coco,” he corrected. “She has all the contacts. So we set things up and now it’s not just about Juniper Falls anymore. There are dozens of people who donate their time and skills to the foundation in other small towns.”

  “Maybe,” she conceded. “But they don’t have a foundation named after them, do they?”

  He made a sound of exasperation in the back of his throat. “How on earth did you reach that conclusion?”

  “Oh, come on,” she snorted, turning to grin at him. “Surely, I’m not the only one to make a connection between Galahad and Knight?”

  He met her gaze for just a moment and she lost herself in the warm amber depths of his eyes.

  “You know,” he said, when her amusement faded beneath his intense scrutiny, “that’s the first time I’ve heard you laugh. Really laugh, I mean.”

  “That’s ridiculous,” she scoffed, smoothing her hair off her forehead in a move she recognized as nervousness. “I laugh all the time.”

  He shook his head. “Not with me.” His gaze caressed her face, coming to land on her mouth before returning to the road. He was smiling when he said, “I like it.”

  A shocked little bubble grew in her chest. Something that felt very much like pleasure. Horrified by how much his words affected her; how much she’d needed that brief acknowledgment of an attraction that went beyond the physical, she rasped, “You’re changing the subject, Dr. Knight.”

  He chuckled, the deep warmth of it reminding her that she might have said he’d been her rebound rebellion but she hadn’t been able to forget how he’d made her feel and she hadn’t been able to stay away despite her determination to treat him as nothing more than an occasional boss or colleague.

  To distract herself from the direction her thoughts were heading, she finally asked, “Are you going to tell me what prompted you to start the foundation?”

  He flicked a hooded look in her direction before returning his gaze to the road. After a long pause, he said, “My grandmother died of a heart condition that shouldn’t have killed her.” He was silent for some time before adding, “My father was an artist, more concerned with the contents of a bottle than with making a living—at least after I was born. Needless to say, there wasn’t a lot of money and she kept quiet about her condition until it was too late.”

  She heard what he didn’t say. “And your mother?”

  His mouth twisted an instant before he gave a short hard laugh. “She wasn’t around.”

  “Oh?” she said carefully, wondering if his mother had died. “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be,” he drawled dryly. “She wasn’t.”

  “Oh?” she said again, her brow tightening at his tone more than his words. “Why do you say that?”

  After a short pause, he admitted, “The instant I was born, she handed me over to my father and told us to have a nice life.”

  Sam couldn’t hide her shock. “He—he told you that?”

  “Every time he got drunk,” Adam said casually, as though he were talking about some acquaintance. “He’d lock himself in his studio and stare at the paintings he’d done of her. And then he’d cry and quietly put away the contents of an entire bottle of whatever he had in the house.”

  Sam swallowed past the lump in her throat at the image he’d painted of a man devastated by the loss of someone he’d loved. “He must have loved her very much.”

  She wasn’t sure what to make of his dry snort.

  “He was obsessed with a woman he couldn’t have,” he said dispassionately as though he were talking about a stranger. “Her parents wanted a commemoration of her coming of age. Apparently, it’s a thing among socialites of wealthy families, but then I suppose you’d know more about that than I would.” He sent her an unreadable glance, but before she could say that she hadn’t run with that crowd, he continued, “Anyway, they heard about this up-and-coming Native American artist and decided to one-up their friends. Of course, he didn’t do portraits and initially refused the offer, that is until he got a look at his subject. She was everything he wasn’t—a blue-eyed blonde that simply drew everyone in with her bright and bubbly blue-blooded gorgeousness.” This time Sam had no trouble interpreting his snort.

  “Well, long story short, he fell like a rock and thought she’d fallen too. When she announced that she was pregnant, he was over the moon because now her family would surely allow them to be together.” He gave a hard laugh. “Yeah, well, the laugh was on him because it turns out she was already engaged to some rich blue-blooded guy and had no intention of giving up her bright and golden future for a struggling artist from the reservation. She’d only been having her last fling before tying the knot. A baby with him didn’t exactly feature in her plans other than to punish her parents.”

  Sam’s mind whirled as she considered his words. “She—she was a debutante?”

  “Coincidence, huh?”

  Sam didn’t know what he meant, but before she could ask, he whipped into a small local strip mall. He parked and with a terse, “Wait here,” slid out of the car and disappeared into the bakery, leaving Sam with her thoughts whirling.

  Minutes later, he was back, handing over a large to-go mug and a small bakery box. Conscious that he’d used the stop to close the subject, she took the coffee and peeked into the box at the assorted pastries. They smelled fresh, warm and very tempting, but in that instant she couldn’t have swallowed one mouthful if her life depended on it.

  “You eat pastries for breakfast?”

  He backed out of the parking spot and headed for the exit. “They’re for you.”

  “I don’t normally eat breakfast,” she said absently, as he turned onto the road heading east again, studying him out the corner of her eye.

  She caught sight of his wry half smile before he said, “Maybe that’s why you’re so cranky in the morning.”

  “I am not cranky,” she said primly, unsure whether to be relieved or disappointed by the subject change but willing to give him space. Heck, she understood all too well the baggage that came with family. “I’m just not a morning person.” His answer was a low chuckle that eased her clenched gut. Apparently, talking about
his family made him as cranky as he accused her of being. “At least not when I’m rudely awakened before the birds.”

  He flashed her a sizzling look, his mouth curving with sensuality. “I could help with that,” he drawled, the deeply sensual timbre of his voice sliding into her belly like a heated promise because there was absolutely no doubt about what he meant.

  She snorted and inhaled sharply at the exact moment she took a sip of coffee and everything went down the wrong way. She instantly went into a paroxysm of coughing. Preoccupied with hacking up a lung, she felt the car pull over and the to-go cup whipped out of her hand, the next instant receiving a couple of hard whacks to her back. It finally did the job, and after a few more splutters, she managed to drag in a shuddery breath as she held up a hand of surrender and collapsed back into her seat.

  A large hand gently cupped her chin and tipped her face sideways. “You okay?” he murmured, his eyes quickly assessing her in a way that was both professional and intensely personal, leaving her feeling exposed.

  “Define okay?” she rasped, brushing his hand away before she decided she liked it there. She sat up and reached for her shoulder bag to look for a tissue.

  Adam snagged it from her nerveless fingers and again tilted her face toward him. She was surprised enough by his move that she let him gently and efficiently dab at her face and wet eyes. His mouth quirked as he caught her gaze.

  “Interesting that the idea of my helping to improve your morning mood makes you choke,” he said, studying her intently in the light from the dash. “Why is that, I wonder?”

  Her face heated. “You had your chance and blew it,” she dismissed loftily, snatching the tissue from his hand and stuffing it back in her purse. Then because she was tempted to crawl into his lap and bury her face in his throat, she shifted back, hoping to put a little distance between them. “I was just a little stunned by your arrogance, that’s all. Besides—” she waved her hand flippantly as he pulled back onto the road “—many have tried and failed.”

  Now why had she said that, she wondered when one dark brow rose up his forehead and his eyes turned almost black. She shivered. Heck, he must know from her behavior that she wasn’t nearly as sophisticated as her words implied. Or, at least, suspect that she wasn’t.

  “Many huh?” he drawled—and there was that bite of annoyance again—studying her in the light from the dash. “Does that include last night’s date?”

  Sam frowned, confused. “Last night’s—? What are you talking about?”

  “Coco said you were out to dinner last night.” He paused, his eyes unreadable, mouth unsmiling.

  “Oh,” she said, thinking back to the subtle bite of displeasure in his voice when he’d arrived at her door. As though he were jealous of her date, which had actually been a business dinner and had not exactly gone well. Blake Lowry had kind of hinted that any sizeable donation he made came with strings. The kind that led to the bedroom. Needless to say, she’d cut the evening short.

  “Blake is a wonderful man.” No, he wasn’t. But she wasn’t about to tell Adam that. Anyway, let him think what he wanted. Sam didn’t have anything to hide.

  “Blake?” He grimaced as though the name pained him. “So he’s what, some male model or something?”

  Sam snorted out a laugh. “Don’t be snide,” she chastised mildly. “He’s actually a financial director at the tech company his father owns.”

  “Uh-huh,” he said finally, sending her a hooded glance as he flipped his indicator and turned onto a gravel road, the Jeep’s headlights slicing through the darkness. “And does this financial director fit into that ridiculous plan of yours?”

  Alerted to something in his voice, Sam paused in selecting a cinnamon-covered doughnut hole from the bakery box and slid him a curious look. “Actually, no,” she snapped. “For your information, my plan is not ridiculous.” He didn’t comment but the glance he sent her spoke volumes about his opinion. “It makes perfect sense when you’re changing your life.”

  “Uh-huh. So Jake’s—what?”

  “A potential donor,” she snapped, shoving the doughnut hole into her mouth. “And it’s Blake.”

  “Ah. So it was a business dinner.”

  She looked up and narrowed her eyes when she caught the amused curve of his mouth, as though the news pleased him. Annoyed with that smug look, she opened her mouth to deny it out of irritation but was distracted when the headlights picked out an arched-stone-and-iron gateway over which the words Copper Creek Aviation were displayed.

  Her mouth closed with a snap and an uncomfortable feeling settled in her belly. It might have been the result of the three doughnut holes she’d just wolfed down, but was more likely the uneasy feeling that they were about to board an aircraft that in no way resembled anything she’d ever flown in.

  “Please tell me that we’re about to board a large commercial jet with in-flight attendants.”

  He laughed as though she’d made another joke, when she’d been serious as a heart attack. “Nope, Miss City Girl. Where we’re going, there’s no place for anything larger than a twin prop.” Fried dough abruptly churned in her belly as he pulled up in front of a sprawling building. With the sky only just beginning to lighten, the place appeared deserted. “But not to worry,” Adam assured her lightly, “I have a couple hours flying time, and last week I learned how to land without the instructor.”

  Sam felt her eyes widen and tightened her grip on the rapidly cooling coffee. “You mean—you’re flying?”

  He must have heard something in her voice because he turned to study her face in the darkened interior of the cab, his gaze abruptly serious. “Yes, I’m flying.” After a short silence, during which she struggled to absorb the news, he asked quietly, “You trust me?”

  Sam gave a strangled laugh. “If I needed heart surgery, maybe,” she managed, exhaling on a gusty whoosh. “But this—this is something completely different. I, uh—”

  “Hey,” he interrupted gently, lifting a hand to cup her face and gently swipe his thumb along her tight jaw. The gesture was both an apology and intended to soothe. While it did just that, it also sparked a host of sensations that weren’t the least soothing.

  Dammit, she thought, struggling not to lean into his touch. She was in a bad way when just the touch of his hand on her face had the hard knot of fear melting. His deep voice slid across the space, settling alongside the feelings she was already fighting for this complex man. Feelings that were as thrilling as they were terrifying.

  “I was kidding,” he said softly. “I’ve logged over thirty-two-hundred hours in the air and I’ve been doing this since I was in high school.”

  “Doing what exactly?” Sam choked out. “Abducting women?”

  He traced a finger along her collarbone. “Nope,” he said with a grin when she shivered. “I’ve never had to do that before.”

  She could believe it. Just take her for example. Ever since she’d fallen into his lap in San Francisco, she’d been fighting the urge to follow him anywhere. She might say that she was annoyed to be dragged out before the sun was even up but the terrifying truth was that something deep inside had shuddered awake when she opened her door to find him on her doorstep looking better than coffee and doughnuts.

  If that wasn’t a sign she was in big trouble, then she hadn’t been paying attention.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  ADAM SLID HIS gaze to the woman white-knuckling it beside him. She was pale and tense but had uttered not one word since that strangled gurgle back when she’d first caught sight of their ride.

  “Hey,” he said softly, infusing his voice with confidence. “I know this isn’t what you were expecting, but this is a solid little plane and the mechanic keeps her in tip-top condition.”

  With her fingers digging into the seat, Sam looked around the tiny cockpit. “There’s not a lot of plane between me and the ground,” s
he admitted into the headset. A visible shiver moved through her. “And those propellers look kind of flimsy. In fact, this whole aircraft looks flimsy.”

  “Relax,” his deep voice soothed. “This girl is the best twin turboprop on the market. She’s solid and reliable and can withstand anything but major weather. Besides—” he said, gesturing to the landscape below “—you don’t see scenery like this from a commercial jet.”

  Instead of agreeing, Sam ignored the view and kept her eyes locked on him. “Did you know that nearly four-hundred people die in private plane accidents every year?”

  “That fatality rate is negligible compared to the thirty-thousand road accident deaths,” he pointed out, hoping facts would ease the hollow-eyed fear. “That works out to be about one per one-hundred-thousand flying hours, which is nothing. You have a better chance of dying walking across a street than you do in an aircraft.” Unable to keep his hands to himself, he took one hand off the controls and smoothed the wrinkle between her brows, enjoying the softness of her skin. “We’ll be fine, Miss Worrywart. Just sit back and enjoy the new experience.”

  For reasons he couldn’t think about now, he wanted to share his love of flying with her.

  Grabbing his hand, she returned it to the controls. “Hands back on those controls, buster,” she squawked, making him chuckle and link their hands. He enjoyed her surprise and the perceptible tremble in the pale elegant fingers and the way her eyes darkened and her breath caught as her fingers clenched in his.

  Looking down at their entwined hands, he marveled at how different they were, at how good her hand looked and felt in his—his large and dark, hers pale and slender. It was as if they’d been molded to fit together like pieces of a puzzle.

  He gave her hand a last squeeze before releasing it, because not only was that kind of thinking sappy and way out of his comfort zone—probably because it reminded him of his father—he felt like he was free-falling through space without a parachute.