She stepped through knowing distance was the only thing that was going to keep her sane. She was falling for him while she was supposed to fall for someone who was driven and heroic and had all those great Boy Scout qualities.
But distance was the last thing she got when Ben came through the door behind her.
He pulled her up against his chest and kissed her. He didn’t lead into anything, either. It was a full-blown, hot, wet, deep, slow kiss that stole her breath and made her think that making cappuccinos was a brilliant way for him to spend his time.
Ben finally lifted his head and let her go and she found herself protesting with a groan. He grinned at her, cocky and full of himself.
“That’s what you were going to show me?” she asked when she had some oxygen in her lungs again.
“Yeah.”
“That you’re still a great kisser?”
He slid his hands into the back pockets of his jeans and said casually, “That I can make you want to take off your clothes for me even in the middle of a coffee shop.”
She frowned at him. “You don’t have to convince me of that. I’ve been trying to take my clothes off for you for the past three days.”
He looked surprised and amused. “How did I miss that?”
“Because you hightail it out of the room whenever I so much as brush against your arm.” An exaggeration, of course, but she was irritated.
He suddenly crowded close. “Don’t you know why?”
Her breath lodged in her throat at the look of hunger on his face. Mutely, she shook her head.
“Because I want nothing more than to strip you down, push you up against the wall and make you scream my name with your legs wrapped around my waist.”
Still not breathing, Jessica swallowed hard as heat and moisture rushed south.
“But I can’t do that at the center. So I have to get away from you and get some control back after you touch me.”
More than ready for a little up-against-the-wall-screaming-his-name right then and there, Jessica said, “We don’t have to spend all our time together at the center.”
Heat flared in his eyes in spite of his answer. “I think we should.”
Disappointment hit her hard. “Why?”
“Because if I go home with you, I don’t know if I’ll ever leave.”
Oxygen swooshed out of her body and she stared at him dumbly. This was getting scary but she couldn’t help what she said next. “I don’t know if I would mind.”
He took a deep breath and seemed to make a decision. “Then let’s go.”
“You’re working.”
“It’s okay. I’m in tight with the owner.”
Yes was on her lips when she remembered. “I have to get to the hospital.” Now she was disappointed.
“I could say ‘it won’t take long’ but that’s not very romantic. And it’s not true.” He leaned in and brushed his lips over hers. “I intend to take lots of time. So I can taste every inch of you. Twice.”
There went the breathing thing again. Jessica felt her heartbeat pulsing through her whole body. “Yeah,” she said raggedly. “It’s good to have plenty of time.”
He grinned and held the swinging door open for her. “I’ll see you after your shift.” As she passed, he dipped his head near her ear. “Try not to accidentally stick anyone with a needle while you’re busy thinking about all the things I’m going to do to you.”
She turned and looked up at him, certain that all of her hunger was clear in her eyes. “It’s all the things I’m going to do to you that might distract me.”
He smiled. “I have a feeling I’m going to make lousy coffee and lose a basketball game today myself.”
Well, that was just great, Jessica thought as she made her way to her car, her body still humming with desire. Was every plan she made going to blow up in her face? She’d gone in there to simply tell him she had to work tonight. Now she had a date for earth-shattering sex and she was truly concerned that she would accidentally stick someone with a needle tonight.
She’d planned to get him back to work, but he was happier steaming milk.
She’d planned to not become anymore enamored with him until he went back to work but here she was, halfway in love with him. And he was happier steaming milk.
She was impressed with him in any scenario and liked seeing him happy…even while he steamed milk.
This was not going according to plan at all.
She was pretty sure Russ was going to agree with her.
Two hours later, she wasn’t any closer to solving her problem, so she’d chosen a different method for dealing with the whole thing…denial. Everything was going to be fine. She could have very nice sex with Ben and then walk away wanting nothing more and he was going to wake up tomorrow and realize that he simply couldn’t go another day without repairing someone’s duodenum.
Which was working well for her until Russ found her cleaning up trauma room two.
“He’s working in a coffee shop?” Russ asked promptly upon entering the room. “Tell me Sam was messing with me.”
“No. It’s true.” She threw the sharp instruments into the special red plastic container for disposal. “And he likes it.” She stalked to the counter and slammed the container down.
“And what are you doing about it?” Russ asked.
Jessica whirled to face him, her own frustration making her not care that he was, for all intents and purposes, her superior. “What am I supposed to do, exactly? He’s a grown man. He’s not related to me…”
“Whatever it takes,” Russ interrupted. “Pretty simple.”
Russ maintained his composure, keeping his voice even, while his eyes told her he was not taking any of this lightly. “Ted Blake has dropped the charges. Thank God. We want and need Ben back but he won’t return any calls. Even from his boss. You and Sam are the only ones who he’ll talk to.”
A fact that obviously irritated the hell out of Russ.
His I-can-order-you-around attitude needed some work when talking to people like her who he’d worked with and known for a long time before getting his own office and cherry wood desk. But his I’ll-manipulate-you-to-get-what-I-want attitude was going strong and the fact he intended to use it to its fullest extent was clear in his eyes.
“You’re the one who always gets things done, Jessica. You’re the one everyone depends on. You’re resourceful, smart, compassionate—you’re the go-to girl.”
Usually those kinds of things made her feel good. After all, that was pretty much what she’d been working for. She wanted to be dependable and prided herself on being resourceful. But this was different. She knew now that her feelings for Ben didn’t have much to do with the hospital after all.
“That’s in the ER, Russ. That’s when people are lying on gurneys with their bodies in pieces.”
“Think about those people,” Russ insisted. “That’s what I’m talking about. They need Ben.”
“Do you think I’m stupid?” she asked, stalking across the room to inventory the med cabinet. “Don’t you think I know that every day people come in here who need Ben, who could literally die because he’s not here?”
“Then do something about it!” Russ snapped.
She turned around and put her hands on her hips. “I cannot keep an adult, relatively sane man from making espresso, baking muffins and wearing an apron if he wants to.”
She snatched two bags of laundry from near the table, unable to concentrate on inventory right now.
“He’s baking muffins?” Russ was clearly appalled.
“Technically, Dolly makes the muffins, I suppose,” Jessica conceded.
“But he’s wearing an apron?”
“Definitely wearing an apron.” She understood why it was so hard to believe. “And serving quiche and scones on china plates.” She pulled the door to the trauma room open.
Russ stepped forward and pushed it shut again, almost on her toe, his hand staying on the door. “Jessica, think abou
t what you just said. This is Ben. He’s a surgeon. He’s serving quiche and scones.”
It was worth it all to see Russ’s face when he said the word quiche like that. Jessica did, somehow, resist smiling.
“It’s a complete waste,” Russ went on.
Jessica agreed, but stayed silent. Russ seemed on a roll.
“We all go through rough periods. Everyone needs time off. But I’m starting to lose my patience with Ben.”
Jessica sighed and shifted the heaviest bag of laundry to the floor. “I understand, Russ. But he’s not acting like this is a tantrum or a vacation. I don’t know what to do.”
“Beg him,” Russ said. “Give him whatever he wants.”
The other bag of laundry hit the floor and she crossed her arms.
“Fine. I will do everything within my power to get Ben back here. But I expect to see a completed letter from you recommending me for the Director’s position.”
Russ Edwards didn’t like being bossed around, but having lost the best trauma surgeon from his staff didn’t look good, and being unable to entice him back looked even worse.
“Of course,” he said with false graciousness. “And I’ll expect a call from Ben regarding when he’ll be returning to work.”
“Of course.” She could fake courtesy and compliance as well as he could.
Chapter Eight
Ben looked over the top of the People magazine at the other occupants of the ER’s waiting room. Business in the department had been steady and these folks had been passed over for more emergent patients.
Of particular interest to him was the older woman sitting in a wheelchair near the soda machine. She looked queasy. She sat with an elbow propped on the arm of her wheelchair, her head resting in her hand, eyes closed. She’d been there when he’d come in twenty minutes ago.
He’d carefully chosen the far corner of the ER waiting area to sit until Jessica’s shift ended. The basketball game had been a quick one. Evidently, Mario was spending more time in the rec room with Sophie than he was on the courts these days, and his team quickly lost to Ben’s. Ben felt less than satisfied with the contest. He liked to win, but he liked to fight for it. Plus, it left him with more time to kill until Jessica was done. Which should be any minute now.
He wasn’t here because he was bored, or had nowhere to go because all of his friends were working or involved with extracurricular activities or significant others. He just wanted to surprise Jessica.
He should get a hobby or something.
Or he could return to work.
Ben shook that thought off right away.
He’d received the phone message from Russ telling him that Ted Blake had dropped his assault charge. Russ had informed him that he was free to return to work whenever he was ready.
Ben hadn’t returned the phone call.
But surprisingly, it had taken some real willpower to keep his seat when the first trauma had come through the doors from the ambulance. The adrenaline had started pumping and his brain and instincts had kicked into high gear the minute he heard the doors open. He’d automatically attended to all the information the paramedics had called out as the gurney came by.
The man had fallen nearly sixty feet from scaffolding. They would definitely need a surgical consult. Ben had literally grabbed the edge of his chair to keep from going in.
He couldn’t let the reflexes that were still strong override the very sane decision he was mostly happy with. He hadn’t made his decision to leave the ER in the heat of the moment with Ted Blake as many believed. It had been in the quiet solitude of his apartment three nights after he’d found out about what happened in Tanzania. It had been decided a week before Ted Blake’s fateful decision to drive drunk. Ted had simply helped Ben decide when he was done and how he was going to make his exit.
However, the reflex to jump in and repair bleeding appendages was different—and evidently easier to suppress—than his ability to recognize someone with a problem and his desire to fix it.
Ben watched the woman in the wheelchair for another few minutes. She touched her forehead and he saw her hand tremble. He glanced down at the magazine he was reading and sighed.
He enjoyed the mindless Hollywood gossip. He’d lived for five years in a village where very little was mindless and for pure pleasure. There were occasional celebrations with the tribe, and the combination American and British medical group blew off steam with thrown-together, rag-tag parties from time to time. The music and books they’d brought, the Internet, and food and drinks sent from home had kept them all sane, as had the intermittent physical rendezvous with one of the female team members. But personal pleasure took a backseat every time to someone’s medical needs. And some habits were impossible to break.
Ben stretched to his feet and dug in his pocket for a few coins as he crossed the waiting room. He approached the soda machine, jingling the change in his hand. Pretending to ponder the beverage selection in the machine, he observed the woman out of the corner of his eye.
She flexed her left hand open and shut a few times and Ben noted the thick knuckles of someone with arthritis. Then she shook her hand. Her eyes remained closed.
“Ma’am?” Ben asked.
She didn’t answer or look up at him. She didn’t even open her eyes.
“Ma’am?” Ben squatted next to her chair and put his hand on her arm. “What are you feeling?”
She shook her head.
“Can you look at me?” Ben asked gently.
She shook her head again. “When I open my eyes it’s all blurry and I get dizzy.”
He understood what she’d said, but the left side of her mouth didn’t move as much as the right did.
Ben’s heart rate picked up. “Why did you come to the ER today?”
“I fell at home. My daughter insisted I come in, but she had to go get…” She trailed off, then put her head back in her hand. “Her little girl.”
“What’s her little girl’s name?” Ben glanced around for some help. Everyone was rushing around with no thought to the nice, quiet woman in the wheelchair who was conscious and not bleeding.
“Madeline,” the woman whispered hoarsely. A tear slid down her cheek as Ben turned back to her. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”
“What else are you feeling?” he asked.
“I have a headache. But I’ve had that for a couple of days.”
“Okay,” Ben said, stroking her arm. “We’re going to take care of you.”
She nodded glumly.
“What’s your name?” he asked.
“Carolyn McDonald.”
“Carolyn, can you squeeze my hand?” he asked, putting his hand in her right hand.
She squeezed it tightly.
“Now this one.” He moved his first three fingers into her left hand. The grip was much weaker on this side.
“Do you use a wheelchair all the time?” Ben asked. He got to his feet and started to push her toward the admitting desk. Carolyn moved her right hand to cover her eyes.
“No. We got this when we got here. My daughter was afraid I might fall again. It took us ten minutes to get me back on my feet this morning when I fell at home. Sometimes I use a cane because of my right knee.”
“Do you remember how you felt before you fell?”
“Dizzy.”
Ben stopped by the desk and pretended to read the posted sign about the patient’s rights and responsibilities, keeping his cap pulled down low on his forehead. He slipped a sheet of paper out of the top tray next to the phone and pilfered a pen from the counter.
Then he and Carolyn headed for the elevator.
As they waited for the car to arrive, he scribbled on the form, asking Carolyn for her date of birth and other pertinent information. At the bottom, under physician orders, he wrote: CT scan, head and neck; rule out CVA. He signed his name, though less legibly than usual.
It would work. The forms were for doctors transferring patients to other departments within t
he hospital and the folks in charge of the CT scan would assume that only a physician would know the process for transferring a patient, be able to obtain the form and fill it in properly. When they did read his name, he could only hope that they didn’t know he was suspended or if they did, they would assume he was back to work.
“Carolyn, I’m sending you up to the fifth floor. When the elevator stops, you’ll have to push yourself out, like this.” He showed her how to maneuver the wheelchair by pulling it forward with her feet and legs. “When you’re off, give this paper to the staff up there. They’ll take it from there.” He put the folded paper in her lap. “Can you do that?”
Carolyn nodded, opening her right eye slightly. “Tell my daughter where I am.”
He promised to be sure she knew. Once the elevator doors slid shut he went back past the desk with his shoulders slouched and his hands in his pockets. No one spared him more than a glance.
In the men’s restroom he pulled off a paper towel and printed neatly: “Carolyn McDonald is in radiology. Her daughter will be looking for her.”
The neat penmanship would ensure none of the staff recognized his handwriting. On the way back to the waiting area he slid the paper towel note onto the counter near the phone where Melanie, the desk clerk, would be sure to see it. He even returned the pen.
He was humming as he went back in to finish reading up on Bruce Willis’s latest movie and girlfriend.
Almost as if Russ was trying to prove a point to her, Jessica found herself assigned to a nearly impossible task, as usual, within ten minutes of leaving their little chat.
The man in trauma four had fallen from scaffolding at work. Things were critical and Jessica’s job was to find the man’s wife and get her on the phone so he could talk to her before he… Jessica shut down the thought before it formed. It didn’t matter what happened in five minutes or five hours. What mattered was right now. Unfortunately, right now the man’s wife was somewhere between Japan and Omaha and the man was too dazed to know when her flights were to leave, where she was laying over or even for sure which airline she was on. He was “pretty sure” it was United Airlines.
Just Right: The Bradfords, Book 1 Page 18