by Ann Mcintosh
“I don’t care how old you are. If you were my daughter the last thing I’d call that dress is ‘appropriate.’”
His fingers, somehow both firm and gentle at the same time, skimmed up her arm to her shoulder, stopping just shy of her collarbone, and a sweet shiver traveled up her spine.
“It’s alluring. Decadent. Deliciously sensual. It’ll make every red-blooded man in this room want to take it off.”
His hand fell away. That simple touch had left her far more aroused than it should have been able to. Made her want to grab his hand and pull it back, guide it lower, to where her breast swelled over the bodice of the dress in question.
“Highly inappropriate from a parental point of view, I would have thought.”
The right response would be to laugh, make light of what he was saying, but her insides were at war. She was dry-mouthed, her heartbeat threatening to go completely out of control. Taking a deep breath made it worse, because David was still leaning close and that scent, which she found excessively sexy, filled her already swimming head.
Then he straightened. “I’m going to have to beat the men off you tonight, aren’t I?” He said it in a wry, conversational tone, but his lips twitched, revealing his amusement. “Good thing I’ve been going to the gym.”
Trust him to make her smile, even when it was the last thing she felt like doing. Gathering her composure, she slanted him a glance, then quickly looked away again, because the warmth in his eyes was threatening to undo all her hard-won poise.
“Oh, I think we’ll be okay. Everyone tends to be on their best behavior at these galas.”
Tucking her fingers into the crook of his arm again, David muttered, “Darn it. I suppose I’ll have be too, then. Just my luck.” Then, before she could do more than chuckle, he continued, “Come on—let’s take a stroll around and look at the auction items. I want to see this sculpture you like so much.”
And she was happy to comply, knowing the night probably wouldn’t get any better.
* * *
Dinner had been delicious—far better than he’d expected from past experience—and the after-dinner speeches hadn’t droned on and on, as they so often did at these affairs. And being seated at a table with four other doctors from the Lauderlakes clinic, along with their accompanying spouses and significant others, had ensured pleasant dinner conversation, without any of the awkwardness that would have come with sitting with strangers.
And, of course, there was Nychelle—who had taken his breath away when she’d opened her front door earlier, and continued to do so every time he looked at her. At least here he had the opportunity to watch her openly, instead of surreptitiously as he often found himself doing at the clinic. Truth be told, tonight he’d had to tear his gaze away periodically, since the temptation was to hang on to her every word and gesture like a doofus.
Or some kind of creepy stalker.
He really wasn’t sure which one was accurate, but at least he was able to acknowledge it was one or the other and rein himself in. It shouldn’t be this difficult. They weren’t on a date, and he didn’t want it to be one.
At the time, asking her to come with him had seemed like a great idea. He liked her, found her good company, and got the impression she wasn’t particularly interested in him other than as a colleague and perhaps a casual friend. That last fact made her the perfect companion, so any problems he had were squarely on him.
Despite his fascination with Nychelle, and the spurt of annoyance he’d felt with the way her mother greeted her, from David’s point of view it had been a great evening.
Until now, when they were mingling with the other attendees. In particular, standing and chatting with Nychelle’s father.
When first introduced to the older man, David had been struck by the similarities in looks and deportment between father and daughter, and had been inclined to like the man just on that basis. Now he was wondering how such a cool and pompous man could have produced the warm and friendly Nychelle.
“Nychelle would have made a competent doctor if she’d had the ambition.” Dr. Herman Cory paused to take a sip from the glass in his hand. “Unfortunately she refused to listen to career advice from her mother and me. Luckily her sister makes up for it.”
Annoyed, David lifted his glass to his lips just so he wouldn’t have to reply to Dr. Cory’s comment. Glancing at Nychelle, he saw a half smile tipping her lips, but zero amusement in her eyes. However, she didn’t look surprised at the fact her father was singing her sister’s praises and had been for the last five minutes straight. Apparently it wasn’t anything new.
“Olivia was in the top five percentile in all her courses, and before she even graduated she was being headhunted by the Mayo Clinic and John Hopkins.”
Unable to stand it a moment longer, David replied, “It must be very satisfying to have two such intelligent and talented daughters.”
Dr. Cory waved his hand—somewhat dismissively, David thought. “Of course. It’s just a shame Nychelle isn’t living up to her full potential.”
“I disagree.”
If the circumstances had been different, he’d have been amused at the older man’s obvious surprise at being so clearly contradicted. As it was, Dr. Cory’s arched eyebrows just added to David’s annoyance.
“I have no doubt Nychelle would make an excellent doctor, in any specialty she chose, but as a nurse practitioner she’s fulfilling a vital role at our clinic, and she is one of the very best diagnosticians I’ve come across, whether doctor or nurse.”
The noise Dr. Cory made in the back of his throat didn’t bode well for the direction the conversation was about to take, and David braced himself.
“Being a nurse practitioner is all well and good, but it certainly isn’t the same as being a doctor.”
“Of course it isn’t.” David tried to smile, but it probably looked more like a snarl. “In many ways it’s better. The move we’ve made away from the ‘cradle to grave’ style of medicine, where a family doctor knows his patients over the long term, necessitates people like Nychelle. She can and does take the time to get to know the patients and their histories, without costing the same amount as a doctor would. Without her, and others like her, many more patients would fall through the cracks, or be diagnosed with diseases too late for the doctors to do anything for them.”
Dr. Cory drew himself up to his full height. “It doesn’t change the fact that Nychelle has wasted the opportunity she had to excel in the medical field. If she wanted to be a clinician, then she should have gone to medical school and become a general practitioner. As a father, I find her choices untenable.”
Taking a deep breath and a sip of his drink bought David enough time to control his close to boiling temper.
Once he was assured he wasn’t about to say something he’d regret later, he replied, “Not to put too fine a point on it, sir, but it seems to me your daughter has excelled in the medical field. If she weren’t the best of the best in her specialty I doubt Dr. Hamatty would have hired her, or given her the level of responsibility she has. I think most fathers would be ecstatic to have her as a daughter.”
Silence fell between the three of them, leaving David to wonder if he’d totally overstepped the bounds of politeness the way he feared. Didn’t the man know how lucky he was to have Nychelle? It was infuriating to see that Dr. Cory was so focused on his own wishes he couldn’t even appreciate the joy of fatherhood, much less be proud of the wonderful woman Nychelle had grown into.
What David wouldn’t give for the opportunity to see his daughter growing into a woman. He wouldn’t care what career she chose, as long as she was a good and decent person like Nychelle.
He had the urge to look at Nychelle, to see if she was angry with him, but instead he kept his gaze fixed on her father, willing the stubborn man to concede at least that to his daughter.
“Hey, Nychelle
. How are you?”
The interruption, caused by a tall, handsome, dark-skinned man, who bent to hug and kiss Nychelle before turning to shake Dr. Cory’s hand, was welcomed—by David at least. Also by Nychelle, if her smile was any indication.
“Martin. I was wondering where you and Jennifer were.” She turned to hug the short blonde woman who’d been a step behind the man. “Jennifer. Good to see you.” Then she waved a hand in David’s direction. “Have you two met Dr. David Warmington? David, this is my cousin, Dr. Martin Girvan, and his wife, Dr. Jennifer Howard.”
“I do believe I have.”
When Martin Girvan turned to shake David’s hand, a big smile on his thin face, his eyes twinkling from behind thick glasses, David felt a trickle of recognition.
“The New York conference on the international transmission of vector-borne diseases.”
“Yes, of course.” David felt some of the tension ease from the back of his neck at the other man’s warm reception and at the knowledge that, hopefully, the conversation he’d just been engaged in was now over. “Nice to see you again.”
“And you.” Martin threw an arm over his diminutive wife’s shoulders and pulled her closer. “Jen, this is the doctor I told you about—the one who saved me from an uncomfortable situation with a rather tipsy gentleman in the hotel bar.”
David laughed, remembering the incident in question. “I was just glad we were both able to get away unscathed.”
“Are you working in Florida now? I remember you being elsewhere at the time...”
“I was in Chicago. Now I’m at the Lauderlakes clinic.”
“Ah.” Martin smiled. “Snapped up by Dr. Hamatty, eh? And I assume that’s where you met Nychelle?”
All three of them—David, Martin and Jennifer—turned toward where Nychelle had been standing, but she was gone.
Looking over her cousin’s shoulder, David saw her slipping out of the ballroom and with a quick, “Excuse me,” went after her.
CHAPTER SEVEN
SHE SHOULD BE used to it by now, and in many ways she was, yet tonight her parents’ attitude toward her and her work—her life—stung worse than ever.
For them to speak to and about her like that, in front of a man who not only was a stranger to them but also her colleague, had Nychelle seething in a maelstrom of anger and embarrassment.
As she made her way quickly through the hotel lobby toward the open terrace doors on the other side, she tried to unclench her fists and keep a pleasant expression on her face.
It was so hard.
Her father denigrated her so casually, as though nothing she’d worked for and achieved had any value. Oh, she knew it was what he thought—he’d made it known ad nauseam. But somehow tonight it had sounded worse than usual. Made her feel worse than usual. Not even reminding herself why she’d made the choices she had, and how close she was to fulfilling one of her most dearly held dreams, took away the hurt and sense of isolation.
Nychelle had long ago recognized her parents’ seeming inability to offer any kind of affection, knowing their every thought regarding their children was focused solely on career paths and advancement. She wasn’t built that way. Never had been. Oh, as a child she’d tried desperately to be what they wanted, constantly striving for perfection in the hope of getting positive attention from them. It had been soul-destroying—especially as she’d grown older and realized what they wanted her to be was vastly different from who she wanted to be.
Everything had changed when she was thirteen, and had been diagnosed with dysfunctional uterine bleeding. A D&C had been her final course of treatment, and the doctor had warned that conception might prove difficult later on, because of the scarring left on her uterus.
But it wasn’t the diagnosis that had caused her change of perspective; it had been her mother’s response to hearing it. Coldly and clinically, she’d expressed a kind of satisfaction. It was the perfect reason for Nychelle to concentrate completely on a career in medicine. There would be none of the potential stumbling blocks or distractions children often caused.
Nychelle shook her head, still unable to comprehend how such a well-regarded psychiatrist could have so little understanding of her own offspring. It was one of the universe’s great mysteries.
Maneuvering around a cluster of people near the doors, she slipped past and out into the warm night air. The long terrace was dotted with folks, many of whom were familiar to Nychelle. Hopefully keeping her gaze distant and her steps brisk, as though she was on her way somewhere important, would deter anyone inclined to speak to her. She really needed a little solitude to get her temper under control.
Near the middle of the terrace, some steps led down to a boardwalk above the sand at the ocean’s edge. Reaching them, she swerved to descend toward the beach, quickly leaving the lights of the patio behind as she went.
As soon as she was alone, she tilted her head back and released the sigh of anger and pain she’d been holding inside toward the full moon above, trying to let the sound of the water soothe her.
She’d tried so hard to get to a place of acceptance where her parents were concerned, but it was an ongoing battle—one she feared she’d never win and, as a result, often considered giving up on. They didn’t even attempt to understand her—why should she bother trying to understand and be tolerant of them? They might be at the top of their fields professionally, but as parents they were, in her book, dismal failures. They’d let her down and embarrassed her once again.
It all made her want to pound her fists on the wooden railing in front of her, but instead she took a deep breath. As she exhaled she tried to relax, but the memory of her father’s words kept digging at her, tightening her muscles.
Yet it also could be taken as another indication that she was doing the right thing. A sign that being married, or even in a long-term relationship before having children, was highly overrated. Her parents might have been married for almost thirty-five years, but they spoke to each other with the coolness of strangers. They treated their children as though they were ongoing work projects, rather than individuals whose particular talents and desires should be nurtured.
Once upon a time Nychelle had hoped to find a soul mate, a partner in every respect of the word, but having given her all to Nick, only to be completely betrayed, she’d given up that dream. No. She knew she had what it took to give her children everything they needed without any help. And if her parents ever tried to embarrass her children the way her father had just done to her, making someone else—virtually a stranger—feel it necessary to come to their defense...
She let out a little growl.
Thank goodness for Martin and Jennifer interrupting before her father had had a chance to answer David. Dr. Herman Cory, head of the world-renowned Maynard Heart Institute, wasn’t used to being challenged and didn’t like it one little bit. In fact, Nychelle would go so far as to say he hated it. And David had definitely thrown down the gauntlet.
A little smile broke through her anger at the memory. When last had anyone, even herself, stood up in defense of her life like that? She couldn’t remember. It showed David wasn’t intimidated by her parents, or out to worm his way into their good graces, and it made her like him all the more.
“I like you a lot, Nychelle, and I already think of you as a friend. But I have to be honest. Your dad is a piece of work.”
The sound of David’s voice was startling. She’d been so wrapped up in her thoughts she hadn’t heard him approach, and she was too embarrassed to face him.
“That he is.”
Trying to inject even a veneer of amusement into her voice was difficult, and she wasn’t sure she’d managed it. Keeping her gaze fixed on the creamy disc of the moon rising over the water, she continued, “My parents are both overachievers and they raised my sister and me to be the same. It irks them that I went my own way rather than follow the pat
h they planned out for me.”
David’s chuckle was warm, as was the hand he cupped over the curve of her shoulder. “I understand. In a strange way, although our situations are very different, they’re also remarkably similar.”
Oh, Dr. Heat was living up to his name, if the little licks of flaming awareness tickling over the skin of her arm were anything to go by. The attraction she felt was impossible to ignore, but she had to disregard it. For her own sanity, if nothing else.
Yet she was unable to resist the lure of his voice and, wanting to see his face, tilted her head to look at him over her shoulder. Even with just the glow of moonlight, she was effortlessly trapped by his gaze, and it was a struggle to ask, “How so?”
“I come from a poor family. The town where I grew up was once a thriving mining center, but steadily declined over the years. My parents expected me to learn a trade—preferably become a mechanic so I could eventually take over my father’s shop. Imagine their shock when I decided I wanted to study medicine.”
There was a flash of his abbreviated smile, but there was genuine sadness behind it.
“I was ten when I first mentioned it, and they were horrified. No one in my family had ever gone to college, much less to med school. I don’t think they knew what to make of me. They still don’t.”
Dragging her gaze from his, she nodded, seeing the correlation—although to her mind it was tenuous. “I guess it all boils down to unmet expectations.”
“Exactly.”
His fingers tightened on her shoulder, just enough to bring her full awareness of them, and then relaxed.
“Our parents expected us to follow in their footsteps but we decided to forge our own course. None of them is comfortable with that, even though we’re successful and, I think, we’ve both turned out okay.”
“And not even, in my case, when they have another child happily following the life plan they laid out.”
The spurt of annoyance she experienced as she spoke was swiftly swamped by the sensation of his fingers soothingly tracing along the skin of her upper arm. It was impossible to continue speaking, and she was glad when David replied so she didn’t have to say anything more.