The Doctor's Deadly Affair

by Stephanie Doyle

Of course he was angry with her and that’s probably why he left her alone. But she had been planning for the confrontation. Expected it. Had worked hard to avoid him.

  Unless, he didn’t care anymore.

  Camille pushed open the door to the hospital locker room. It was a co-ed facility, but most took it for granted that the women stayed toward the right and the men the left. Not that most doctors cared if they got caught in their underwear. Bodies were just that to doctors. Big, small, skinny, fat. Once you’ve seen one naked on an operating table with a chest split open, it took most of the mystery out of them.

  Still, Camille preferred her privacy. Her locker was tucked in a corner where she was hidden from view. She shrugged out of her suit jacket and slid the zipper of her matching skirt down. Standing in the practical, beige bra and panty set she’d put on that morning—a set that basically matched every other one she had—she carefully placed her clothes on the hanger inside the locker that bore her name.

  The other night she hadn’t thought about putting on something sexier under her cocktail dress. There was no thought in her head that dinner might lead to sex. A normal woman would have, she knew. A normal woman would have realized the chemistry that existed between her and Wyatt even if their opinions on everything else differed. A normal woman would have been prepared with black lace. Just in case.

  Camille was not normal.

  She sank onto the bench, her scrubs in her hands, and waited for the wave of anger and hurt to overtake her. She was so damned afraid all the time.

  Dr. Rosen had said it was her mother’s fault for abandoning her. Or her father’s fault for not being able to handle the responsibility of a baby being left with him. Mostly it was her grandfather’s fault for regimenting her life too much. Her grandfather who raised her to be everything that she was.

  The most gifted thoracic surgeon on the East Coast.

  And the most socially inept woman any man had ever known.

  Camille took a deep breath and tried to push it out of her mind. It was in these moments of blame that she became angrier with herself more so than her parents or grandfather. They had had an impact on her life. There was no debating it. But it was within herself to change if she wanted to.

  She could have walked to her bedroom where Wyatt was getting dressed. She could have said that she loved pizza with meat on it. They could have drunk some wine and soda water, eaten greasy food, laughed about the disaster of their first date and made love again.

  She could have done that if she wanted. But she didn’t.

  Why?

  Camille thought of the rules it broke. Don’t get involved with a coworker. Don’t let personal relationships distract you from the work at hand. In the end, it hadn’t been her grandfather’s rules that had her freezing up. It had been fear. She only wished she knew where the fear came from. She despised not knowing the answer to any question.

  With all the pent-up anger inside her she slammed the locker door shut and watched as it rattled in its frame.

  Wyatt leaned against a row of lockers, watching Camille, unsure of how to approach her. He’d spotted her immediately. As soon as she’d walked through the hospital’s main entrance doors. For very good reason. He’d been waiting for her. But she appeared distracted and unaware of anything or anyone around her. There had been a look about her, a vulnerability that had made him deviate from his plan.

  Yesterday he avoided her.

  After being evicted from her bed and her home, he’d spent the rest of the night thinking about how he’d threatened her that what they had wasn’t over. The anger about what she’d done, what she’d so casually thrown away.

  What was so great about Camille Larson? Why did he need the hassle? What sane man would put up with a woman with all her quirks when she’d shoved him out of her bed?

  So he’d gone to work, done his shift in the clinic and not once had he walked the corridors searching for even a hint of her.

  By the time he’d gotten home, he’d been nearly crazed with frustration. He wanted to see her. Talk to her. He wanted to kiss her. Tell her that she was driving him nuts.

  He wanted to hold her. And he damn sure knew that he wanted her in his life. Hassle or no.

  Today was supposed to start out with dragging her kicking and screaming into the nearest treatment room and shouting at her until she began to see reason. He had all these angry things he wanted to say. That she was a child and it was time for her to grow up. That she couldn’t hide herself within the confines of the hospital for the rest of her life. That they had a shot at a good thing and she was blowing it. She would regret it.

  But when he saw her looking the way she did, as if she was lost in the middle of the place she knew best, he stopped himself. Instead he followed her. Now, as he leaned against the metal walls, watching her sitting there in her underwear, he thought about how much of what had happened had been his fault.

  He’d been a fool to push her so fast. She wasn’t prepared for what happened between them. That was obvious. He should have sensed that after the first time they made love and maybe have even slowed things down then. Let her get used to him, to the intimacy of it. Instead he’d turned her over and took her again. And again.

  It had to have been an overload of all her circuits, both sensual and emotional. He was confident of that fact because it had been that way for him. And he wasn’t nearly the loner she was.

  His poor Camille. He’d devastated them both in his rush to have her and now he was faced with the truth. Yelling at her and shaking her until she admitted how she felt about him was not going to help. He needed a new approach.

  “So what did the locker door do to piss you off?”

  She startled. He wished he hadn’t done that. Immediately, she was on her guard. She stood and blushed as soon as she saw him. She hadn’t put on her scrubs yet, so she tried to cover herself. It was pointless. She could be layered in Eskimo furs and for the rest of his life he would see only the naked Camille who had been stretched out on the bed underneath him.

  “I—I didn’t…see you.”

  “You look upset about something.”

  “I suppose you heard from Ruby?”

  “I haven’t heard anything from Ruby.”

  “Oh. Well, it’s nothing.”

  She was a lousy liar and he thought it charming. He was so gone over her. “I want to apologize for the other night.”

  He read her confusion.

  “I wanted to take you to dinner. I wanted to have a chance to get to know you better. I pushed things and I’m sorry.”

  “I let you,” she answered frankly.

  “You did. But still, I’m sorry.”

  “I told you to leave. You were angry. You had every right. I didn’t even let you have pizza. Why are you apologizing?”

  Because you look like a frightened cat backed into a corner and the only way to approach you is slowly, cautiously and without threat. “Because I am. I should have brought you flowers. We should have gone out. Maybe dancing.”

  “I don’t dance.”

  Wyatt closed his eyes struggling for patience. “Are you on call tonight?”

  “Yes.”

  “You’re on call a lot.”

  “I prefer to work.”

  “Why don’t I cook you dinner? I’ve started to review the cases you gave me. We could go over what I’ve found.”

  She shook her head. “I already told you I’m on call. I have to be close.”

  “My place is only a couple miles from the hospital. As close as yours is but in a different direction. What do you say?”

  Instead of answering, she bent over and stepped into her pants. She pulled the cotton jersey over her head quickly. He got a flash of belly button which reminded him of when he’d tongued her there and she’d moaned as if he’d been much lower on her body. He closed his eyes and suppressed his own groan.

  “You want me to come for dinner?”

  “Dinner. Nothing else. We’ll review the case
s and that’s it.”

  “Why?”

  He wasn’t sure what she was asking so he went with the more obvious answer. “I promised you I would look over them and I’m keeping my promise.”

  She looked away and there again was that look. It screamed for him to tread softly and so he would.

  “Just dinner.”

  Victory, he thought. He was so relieved he wanted to shout. But he didn’t. “I’ll do burgers.”

  “I prefer fish.”

  He hated fish. “I’ll do fish.”

  “Okay.”

  “Okay.” He sighed. “I’ll write the directions. You can call when you’re on your way.”

  It was hard to do but he turned and walked away. He wanted to show her that he had no plans to crowd her or push her again. Camille Larson was no ordinary woman and he was going to have to respect that and alter his actions accordingly.

  Quite frankly, he wasn’t sure why it was so necessary for him to involve her in his life. She was prickly, a workaholic, close-minded about things he wasn’t and downright difficult.

  And she was coming over for dinner tonight and he was so happy he whistled.

  Chapter 6

  Camille got in the loaner car she was still getting used to and hesitated before starting it. Gingerly she bent her neck and sniffed herself. The scent of the expensive lotion she’d applied before leaving the house taunted her.

  She’d told herself this dinner was going to be about the cases. She promised herself that she would let nothing happen other than a professional conversation and a shared meal. She convinced herself that after throwing him out of her house, the last thing Wyatt would want was a repeat performance.

  Then she’d gone and changed her underwear and applied the scented lotion. An extra dollop between her breasts.

  Shaking her head, angry with herself, she slowly reversed out of her driveway. Wyatt lived in the next town so it wouldn’t take her long to get there. Which meant she had to use every minute of driving time to go over in her head what this night would be about.

  Business.

  Advice.

  A meal.

  One that he was cooking for her. Fish, he promised, because that’s what she liked. Which was really sweet of him now that she thought about it. He was a red meat eater. The last time they had gone out, she tried to explain to him the impact on his heart that too much red meat would cause when he’d ordered a New York Strip steak. He had ignored her facts and devoured the steak.

  Sensing a vehicle approaching from behind, Camille checked her rearview mirror, but the car had quickly slid around her and passed her on the left. They weren’t on a highway but a two-way stretch of road, which meant the car on her left was actually driving on the wrong side of the street.

  Glancing over she saw nothing but black paint and tinted windows before the car was speeding past her then moving to the right to cut her off. She couldn’t imagine what kind of hurry the driver was in that warranted such reckless driving. Even had she been called into the hospital for an emergency surgery she wouldn’t have driven like this.

  Before she could formulate a realistic scenario for what was happening Camille saw red brake lights in front of her.

  Instinct had her slamming on her brakes and, true to its advertising, the luxury vehicle stopped on a dime. She heard the squeal of the tires gripping the road and waited for impact. Her body was thrown forward with the abrupt stop, then snapped back with the pressure from the seat belt. At some point she closed her eyes. When no collision occurred, she opened them to see the car speeding far down the road. It made a right at the next light and was out of sight.

  Pulling over to the side of the road she put the car in Park. She needed a few minutes to catch her breath and let the adrenaline that was flooding her system recede.

  What in the hell had that been about? Perhaps something had passed in front of the driver? A squirrel? Regardless, the person was a menace. If she spotted the car again, she might get a license plate number and report the driver. For now, there was nothing left for her to do but resume her journey.

  When Wyatt opened the door to his town house Camille had the strangest inclination to fall into his arms. Ruthlessly she suppressed it. Nothing had happened. There was no reason for her to still feel so jittery. Certainly no cause to wrap her arms around Wyatt’s waist and rest her head on his shoulder. No cause at all.

  Lifting her chin, she tried for a polite smile. “Hello, Wyatt. I smell fish.”

  “Exactly what every man wants to hear when a woman enters his home,” he said, returning her smile. “Remember, the fish was your idea.”

  “This isn’t half bad,” Wyatt said after a bite. Not that he was touting his own cooking skills, but the fish he’d been forced to buy was actually edible.

  “Sea bass. It’s my favorite.”

  And expensive as hell, he thought. Why anyone would pay that kind of money for something that wasn’t filet mignon he wasn’t sure, but she seemed to like it, which was all that mattered.

  He’d offered her a glass of wine to go with it. Wyatt believed that because he was an alcoholic didn’t mean he couldn’t offer a guest a drink. It had been strange for him to be in a liquor store. He realized it was the first time he’d been in one since he’d gotten sober. For a second he wondered if he would be bombarded by temptation, but all he really had been thinking about was how many glasses of wine it might take to get Camille back in bed.

  Bad Wyatt.

  Then the colors of the liquor bottles around him began to grow a little shiny and pretty. He bought the wine and got the hell out of there. Still, he was glad he’d done it. One less thing to be afraid of. A damn liquor store.

  The irony of it was it had been a useless task. She’d refused the wine because she was on call. She could use it though. She was as jumpy as a cat. He assumed it was because she was nervous about being with him again. He couldn’t say he blamed her. The last time, he hadn’t waited an hour before taking her to bed. Which is why he planned to take this night as slowly as he could. He hadn’t kissed her, hadn’t put his hand at the small of her back when leading her to the dining area. Hadn’t done anything remotely intimate or physical other than pull her chair out for her.

  It was driving him crazy. Worse, it wasn’t working. Because she was still nervous and fidgeting. So much so that he found himself asking her flat out.

  “What’s wrong?”

  The fork in her hand dropped and clattered on the plate. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean that. You’re trembling. You have been since you walked through the door. I’m not going to pounce, you know. This is dinner and some work.”

  “I know,” she said, wrapping her arms around her waist. Then she deliberately released herself and set both hands on the table. “I know. It isn’t what you think. It’s not you.”

  “It sure as hell is something.”

  “It’s silly. I was almost in a car accident on the way over. I guess I’m still a little shaky from it.”

  He reached his hand across the table and took hers. “Are you all right?”

  In a blink she snatched her hand back. Then seeing what she’d done, she bowed her head. It was as though she was disgusted with herself. “I’m sorry. I don’t know why I do that.”

  “You’re a germaphobe who doesn’t like to be touched,” he offered.

  “Germaphobe is not a real word. I saw you wash your hands before serving me. That was nice of you.”

  “I aim to please. Forget why you pulled your hand away. It was instinct.”

  “Not a good one.”

  Wyatt stood and walked around the small four-top he called his dining room table. In reality it was the only table in the house. He stood in front of her chair. “Let’s get back to my original question. Are you all right?”

  “Yes. I’m fine. Some crazy driver. I nearly collided but I didn’t.”

  “Stand up.”

  She looked at him cautiously. “Why?”
/>   “Stand up.” If he told her what he was going to do, she wouldn’t agree. Better to simply command it. After a second she stood, the paper napkin she’d properly put on her lap fluttering to the floor.

  He eased forward. He slid his arms around her waist and gently brought her into his body. “Sh, you’re okay.”

  He thought he heard her sigh and then he felt triumphant as she wrapped her arms around him and rested her head on his shoulder.

  “This is nice,” she mumbled into his shoulder.

  “You had a scare. Everybody needs a hug after a scare.”

  “My grandfather used to say scares were silly.”

  That was interesting. It was the first time she’d ever referred to a family member. Wyatt wanted to press her for more information yet he was leery to ruin the moment. But since this was the first opening she’d ever given him, he took it.

  “Grandfather, huh? Did you spend a lot of time with him growing up?”

  “He raised me.” As she said the words she pulled away from him.

  Still, Wyatt thought he had made progress. She had hugged him and let him hold her for nearly two minutes.

  “I’m going to get you a glass of wine.”

  She shook her head. “I told you I can’t. I’m on call.”

  “A half a glass then. It won’t intoxicate you and you need something that will settle you. Nobody wants a shaky surgeon operating on them.” Wyatt walked to the kitchen and opened the refrigerator where he’d stored the pinot grigio. He uncorked it and splashed two fingers in a wineglass for her. She had followed him into the small kitchen and leaned against the counter. He handed the glass to her and waited until she took a sip.

  “What happened to your parents?”

  For a second he didn’t think she was going to answer. She took another sip of the wine and set it aside.

  She didn’t look at him when she spoke. “My father got my mother pregnant. They were very young. She didn’t want me and gave me over to my father. My father couldn’t handle the pressure of a baby so he left. My grandfather raised me. Simple.”

  Hardly. “I see.”

  “My grandfather was a surgeon. A brilliant one. He thought his chances of grooming his son to take over his legacy were gone, but then I came along.”