The deep genuine laugh that rumbled behind her sent a frisson of electricity up her spine. What a voice, she thought, and that laugh was as warm and luxurious as a bubble bath that you’d want to soak in for hours. She tensed. Where had that come from? Sheesh, pay attention, woman, you’re working.
“You’re on, my friend,” said the deep voice, “shall we get started?”
Sherry scooted forward on her stool and slipped the mask onto Arthur’s face, asking him to count backward from one hundred. By the count of ninety-three, he was out. Dr. Trent had moved away and she was free to take her position down the table, directly across from him. As the scrub nurse, she was his primary assistant. He stepped close to the table and she looked up, her gaze eye level with his chest. Her eyes tracked upward. He was tall. Correction, he was very tall. He stood several inches over six feet, and the table was elevated to accommodate his height, making it necessary for five-foot-four–inch Jessie to stand on a riser. During training, Jessie had learned this special setup was required by Drs. Trent and Baker; now she knew why.
She looked up at him and stopped breathing. He had the most beautiful brown eyes she’d ever seen. It sounded trite and overused, even in her own mind, but it was true. The primary chocolate combined with a sprinkling of gold in the iris to make the warm golden brown color. They were entrancing.
A throat cleared at her side and she turned, thankful for the distraction. It was Sherry. “He’s ready. We can proceed with the surgical pause.”
It was all professional after that. They went through the required pause to identify the right patient, right site, and so on, and then Dr. Trent began. Jessie kept her eyes on her patient and the tools needed to repair his worn-out hip. She responded without hesitation to all of Dr. Trent’s orders for instruments, or irrigation, and swabbing with the sponges. Before she knew it, he was stapling the long incision closed.
“You do beautiful work, Doctor.”
“Why thank you, blue eyes,” he murmured, amusement evident although he didn’t look up from his task.
Jessie glanced up at him, frowning. He shouldn’t call her that; the others would get the wrong impression. “My name is Jessie, sir. I’d much rather—”
Finished, the doctor stood up straight and set the stapler back on the tray. They were done except for a dressing. “I’d happily call you by name, but you didn’t share it with me at any point in the past ninety minutes. If I’d said nurse, at least four others would have answered, so I figured I’d improvise.”
Their eyes met. His twinkling, hers narrowed in concern. Was he flirting or just being friendly? Either way, she had a reputation to maintain.
“I’m sorry. I was concentrating. This was my first solo and I was anxious to do everything perfectly.”
“You did wonderfully, as if you’ve been doing this for years. How much experience do you have?”
“Just under two years, but I took the peri-operative training course and I’m certified.”
She stepped off the riser and moved around the table next to him, gathering up the instruments in order to begin the counts and clean up with the circulating nurse. Looking up, she realized just how much the riser helped, because she now felt like she was standing in a hole. Their eyes connected and held for a moment. A frown furrowed his brow suddenly and she saw the mask move as he swallowed.
“Well, you did great and I look forward to working with you again.”
His tone had changed, turning strictly professional, still friendly but no hint of flirtation. That was a good thing, right? Then, without another word, he was gone.
Jessie finished up and took a short break before her next procedure with Dr. Baker in forty minutes. When she returned a few minutes later, she headed for the documentation room to do a little charting, but the sound of hushed voices made her pause. She’d worked in hospitals long enough to know whispered voices were usually toxic.
“Twenty bucks says she’s next.”
“You’re on. I was in there. She was chatting him up, smiling at him with those big baby blues, but he shut her down.” That was Sherry, the CRNA. She recognized the slight rasp in her voice.
“I’m in. She is exactly his type. He goes for the cute ones, with big boobs and a round boo-tay. She’s got all that goin’ on.” This came from Allen, the surgical tech. Jessie didn’t recognize the other woman’s voice, it sounded garbled as if she were eating, but even if she didn’t know her, it hurt all the same. Dang, it was that blue eyes comment. She knew that would be trouble as soon as he’d spoken. She’d like to smack Dr. Trent.
She turned to leave, deciding to chart later, and saw another tall young doctor walking into the suite. This must be Dr. Baker. Deciding to be proactive this time, she walked up to him and assertively stuck out her hand and introduced herself. Soon she found herself in conversation with another handsome surgeon who welcomed her with an easy friendly manner and a devastating smile. From the way she had to tilt her head to talk to him, she knew he was as tall as Dr. Trent was. She could see the ripple of muscles across his broad chest as the blue scrub top (a much better color than the nurse’s gray) stretched tautly. His exposed arms in the short sleeves left no question that he was ripped.
He asked about her background and experience, and although he was courteous and professional, it reminded Jessie of a job interview. She really didn’t mind; curiosity about the people you work with and rely on was natural.
Tight quarters made it necessary to stand closely, more so than two strangers ordinarily would. His shoulder propped against the wall made it look casual, too casual she thought for people who’d just met. That was how Sherry, Allen, and Josie found them. Jess was surprised to see the unidentified gossiping woman was Josie. Sherry and Allen wore identical smirks on their faces, while Josie’s face darkened with a frown. She could just imagine what they were thinking, that she was a flirt, or a slut, and that their bet was safe. Did she have to be a complete bitch or a mute to avoid this crap? Dammit! This was not starting well.
Excusing herself, Jessie went to the locker room for a quick pit stop before scrubbing again. As she sat in the stall, she wiped her sweaty palms on her pants, and took deep breaths to slow her rapid breathing. She had to keep these men at a distance. She had her ten-year plan for the future all laid out. Getting her degree, her nursing license and a good job were in the done column. Now came working and saving so that in a few years, she could return to school for her master’s degree. Nowhere in her plan did it state ‘get a man,’ no matter how sexy that man’s golden brown eyes were. A man had been her mother’s downfall, and her grandmother before her. Jessie was determined to break that cycle of self-destruction. It ended with her, here and now, and she felt that financial independence was the key.
* * *
Jared and Marc walked into the medical arts building behind their clinic. Part of Saint Joe’s, it housed a few primary care practitioners offices but mostly conference rooms, computer labs for staff training, and on the third floor was the Physician’s Practice Management Group, the arm of their clinic that did all of the billing and finances, including accounting and credentialing. It was also the location of their practice manager’s office. Today was their monthly board meeting and they were running a few minutes late. Lunch, or dinner on the rare occasion it was held in the evening, was always served first, so there was a time buffer built in before the business portion started, but neither of the partners ever wanted to be late.
Thursday was Jared’s office day and he’d been distracted all morning. It was his chance to catch up on paperwork and his charts, but he hadn’t been nearly as productive as he’d hoped. Instead of feeling refreshed after a night free from on-call duty, he’d slept fitfully, tossing and turning constantly. His dreams haunted by images of a sexy, blue-eyed blonde.
“Damn!” Jared stopped just shy of the elevator.
“What?” Marc was pressing the button impatiently and frowning up at the numbers indicat
ing both elevators were on the third floor, their destination.
“I forgot my briefcase. I had a proposal I wanted to give to Marcy. She was going to run some numbers for me. You go on. I’m gonna run back and get it.” He whirled to rush back along the path he’d just traveled. Too late, he heard Marc call out a warning at the exact moment he slammed hard into someone behind him.
The small body was no match for his 242-pound frame and the woman went flying. She landed on her butt and slid across the floor. Papers fluttered and floated around her as her briefcase, which had been knocked out of her hands in the collision, landed with a thud a few feet away. Finally, she came to a stop, but not before the momentum flung her head backward and it connected with a thump, like a watermelon, upon the hard tile floor.
Appalled by his clumsiness, Jared immediately rushed to her side. Smooth tanned thighs below a bunched-up navy suit drew his gaze. His eyes flicked up to her face but all he saw was a wealth of honey blond curls obscuring her face. A red-tipped hand shakily came up and brushed her hair back from her face.
“Georgia?”
Appearing confused, she looked up at him blankly. She didn’t seem to recognize him. Had she hit her head that hard? Maybe she was concussed. He called to her again. “Are you all right, miss?”
Shaking her head as if clearing out the cobwebs, she tilted her head and asked, “Wolverine, right?”
“Pardon?” Her comment was random, and he began to worry she might be concussed.
“In the parking lot, last night, you were in your U of M running gear. They’re the Wolverines, right?
He nodded, relieved that she wasn’t hallucinating or delirious. Maybe they could rule out a subarachnoid hemorrhage after all. He was also pleased she’d taken such detailed notice of him during their brief encounter.
“I’m sorry for not watching where I was going. Does your head hurt? You hit the floor hard.”
“My head’s okay, I think. You just knocked the breath of out of me and scrambled my brains a bit. Did you happen to play football for your alma mater?”
“No, just in high school.”
“Too bad, they could have used you as a blocker.”
He smiled, once again charmed by her southern accent. “Do you think you can stand?”
She nodded. As she moved, her hand suddenly flew to the hem of her skirt, frantically pulling it down as if realizing for the first time she’d been sitting with her skirt almost to her hips.
He watched as a becoming blush tinted her cheeks. Offering her a hand, he pulled her up easily. The hand returning to her head concerned him.
“Are you dizzy?”
“A little, I think it was from getting up too fast. You’re very strong, sugar.” She used the endearment easily, automatically as if unaware, as she looked around for something. “One of my shoes is missing.”
“Here you go, Stacy.” Marc’s long arm extended between them holding a high-heeled taupe pump.
As if unaware of his presence until now, she looked at Marc in surprise. “How did you know my name?”
He held up her resume. “I gathered up all your papers, Stacy Altman of Atlanta, Georgia.”
Jared watched her gaze flick over to Marc. The smile she gave him caused a pang of jealousy to flare within him. He tamped it down. How insane was it to be jealous over a woman he’d seen twice?
Still concerned, he continued his assessment. “Now that you’re standing, any dizziness, pain, blurred vision? Maybe we should get a CT to check.” He pulled a penlight from his inside pocket and shined it in her eyes, checking her pupils.
“That’s not necessary. I’m sure I’ll be fine.” She plucked her shoe from Marc’s hand with a grateful smile. The she used Jared’s arm to steady herself as she put it back on her foot. Accepting the stack of papers Marc held out to her, she slid them into the briefcase.
“Did you find everything okay?”
“Pardon?” She tilted her head in question.
Jared found the beguiling gesture cute and sexy at the same time and grinned as he explained. “Your really important meeting, did you find it all right?”
“Sure did, sugar. In fact, I found it and rocked it, so now I’m homeward bound. I’m surprised you remembered.”
“Heading back to Georgia?”
“You remembered that too, I’m impressed.”
She had no idea her southern drawl was as obvious as the sweet uptilted nose on her face.
“Well, Wolverine, I’m sorry I can’t say it’s been exactly nice running into you again. Don’t sweat it, really. I’m fine.” With a smile for him and a wave to Marc, she turned and headed out the front doors.
Marc let out a low whistle as they both watched her move. She didn’t just walk; she swayed seductively. Her tight skirt hugged her hips and her full rounded ass was like a siren’s call, tempting a man’s eyes.
“Damn!” Marc murmured in awe.
“I told you. When I saw her last night, it was shorts and a tight tank top. Just as hot, but different. The suit makes her look older. Last night, she looked barely legal, if that. I was ready to turn myself in to the sex offender’s list.”
“Good thing she’s from out of state or I’d give you a run for your money.”
“What about Jessie, the new scrub nurse, I thought you were into her?”
“Nope, I’ve sworn off hospital romance for good. No matter how blue her eyes are, or that her hair is the most unusual red, with copper and gold mixed in. I’ll just have to learn to ignore that sweet ass and her killer tits.” The elevator dinged open as he said that. Fortunately, there wasn’t a board member on the other side to hear.
As they entered, Jared laughed. “You’re toast, bud.”
“I know.” Marc groaned and fell forward, banging his head against the elevator wall after the doors slid shut. “What about you? Your fantasy lives in freakin’ Georgia.”
“That just means my wet dream won’t be under my direction in the OR calling me ‘sir’ every day. I take back the toast, you’re screwed.”
“No, bud, I’m fucked.” Jared’s chuckle accompanied Marc’s slow head banging, as it thumped once, twice and then again, in defeat.
Chapter One
Two years later…
A light breeze teased her hair as she walked purposefully across the back lot. It amazed her that after two years working for Southeast Orthopedic and Sports Medicine, Inc. she had never been inside the clinic that was just a stone’s throw from her office. Of course, she’d never had a reason to go. As the billing supervisor, she had nothing to do with the clinical operations of the business. Her job was the money. She was responsible for accounts receivable, internal collection efforts, and all other activities that ensured the busy surgical practice was properly reimbursed for services rendered.
It seemed only yesterday that she’d started out as a wet-behind-the-ears college grad, eager to learn but totally clueless when it came to medical billing. After her whirlwind trip from Atlanta for her interview, she’d gotten the call within days. Marcy James, the practice manager, had offered her the position. She’d explained that she wanted to give a young energetic newbie a chance. She’d also said, tongue-in-cheek, that it would be easier to train a beginner in the ‘Marcy James Method’ than have to break an old dog’s bad habits. A year passed before she owned up to using gut instinct when making the call to hire her.
Whatever her reasons, Stacy had been grateful and said yes to the decent pay and great benefits. She’d also agreed to start in two weeks, which she had soon discovered was overly optimistic considering all that was involved in relocation from out-of-state, but she had needed the money desperately. The clinic was located on the outskirts of West Bloomfield Hills, which was a renowned affluent community and well out of her price range. Instead, she’d made the move to nearby Royal Oak, a middle-class suburb northwest of Detroit and an easy commute to her new job. Thank goodness for the relocation stipend she’d
received because after first and last month’s rent, security deposits, utility hookups, and various and sundry other expenses, she was down to her last $100.
Now, here she was two years later, applying for a promotion that if she got, at the tender young age of twenty-five, would be quite an accomplishment. Glancing at her watch, she picked up the pace, the heels of her four-inch black pumps tapping out a quick staccato beat on the pavement. As she approached the wide double doors of the clinic, she caught a glimpse of her reflection in the mirrored windows. Her hair was swept up in a professional-looking bun that sat low near her nape, the look softened by two tendrils curling long and loose around her face. She wore a jade green silk blouse and black pencil skirt of a conservative length hitting right above the knee. It was snug, but not obscenely so, and the kick pleat in back allowed her free movement. She finished off the ensemble with a wide belt, the subtle gold accents the only adornment she wore, eschewing all jewelry, other than her watch.
Unbelievably, every item she wore sported a designer label and she’d thrown it all together for under $75. She had become a consignment store aficionado out of necessity. The early days after her move had been such a hard time for her. She’d owned little more than the Jeep she’d arrived in and her one navy blue interview suit. Oh, that suit! It had been put to good use. She’d hoped—no, prayed—at the time, that nobody would remember it from her interview because she had to wear it repeatedly. She’d tried mixing it up with one of the three blouses she owned or a scarf, but there was no denying it was the same navy blue suit. Thank heavens it was washable, not dry clean only. Her shoes had the same sad story, as she’d only had the one pair. She’d been mortified but with no other choice, had trudged to work every day in her navy blue uniform. Finally, she’d made it through the first two weeks to her first paycheck. That’s when she had found Something Old, Something New Consignments, the best kept secret in southeastern Michigan and her savior from being known as ‘One Suit Stacy’ forever.
Sweet Salvation Page 3