by Donna Hill
Dina’s eyes closed with pleasure as she slowly chewed on her first bite of the burger. Her tongue peeked out to grab a crumb from the corner of her mouth. She hummed deep in her throat and Franklin thought this was the most erotic thing he’d ever witnessed. His nostrils flared as he sucked in air and forced himself to concentrate on the food in front of him, not across from him.
“Did you see the news today about the latest immigration debacle?” Dina asked out of the blue.
Franklin speared a French fry and groaned. He slowly shook his head in disgust. “I can’t wrap my head around what’s going on. It’s horrific what’s happening to those families.”
Dina put down her fork and leaned forward. The intensity in her eyes held Franklin immobile.
“As a health care provider and understanding trauma—that’s not always physical,” she added, pointing her finger, “my heart breaks knowing what they’re dealing with. What happened to our humanity?”
“What’s most disturbing is that what is happening at the borders is symptomatic of much deeper issues that we have in this country.”
Dina heaved a heavy sigh. “Exactly.”
Their conversation, fueled by their individual passions, touched on politics, gentrification, books and movies. There were so many things they had in common from their love of burgers to sci-fi and horror novels, and really scary movies. They both enjoyed bike riding and were avid gym members. Surprisingly after talking and laughing for more than an hour they hadn’t spoken one word about work. They laughed at the same things and like mischievous teens they bent their heads together and whispered sweet and all-too-funny fictional stories about the customers who came in that cracked them up to a point that they had heads turning in their direction. They snickered under their breaths and mouthed apologies, then laughed some more.
“This was...really nice,” Dina said. “Thank you for the invitation.”
She looked across at him with an expression that Franklin couldn’t define other than it stirred him like a spoon swirling in a simmering pot. Franklin pushed his empty plate aside. “We work pretty much side by side every day. I’ve even gone so far as to ask you to my parents’ anniversary party.” He paused. “And to be honest...until tonight I really didn’t know anything about you.”
“Now that you do, are you taking the party invitation back?”
His eyes picked up the sparkle from the overhead lights and crinkled at the edges. “To be honest...when I asked I wasn’t thinking. At all. I considered taking it back, but knew that was totally not cool. Now...” He watched her tug in a breath and her breasts rise and fall. “I’m glad I asked and that I didn’t take it back.”
She waited a beat. “So am I,” she said softly. “I don’t care what they say about you,” she teased, “you’re a really great guy.”
He tossed his head back and chuckled. “Really, and what are they saying about me, that I’m a cold, hard-assed, tunnel-visioned workaholic, and that I don’t accept mediocrity?”
Dina scrunched her face. “Sort of. But—” she held up her hand and her amused expression sobered “—I can testify that none of that is true—well, almost none of it,” she said with a half smile. “I can easily say when you get to know him, he’s smart and funny, has a quirky sense of humor, is family oriented, has a myriad of interests...” She stopped in midsentence, lowered her head for a moment. “I’m sorry. Rambling.”
“What are the parts that are true?”
She glanced up. “You are a workaholic. You don’t accept mediocrity. I totally get it. I’m the same way. My work, my career are the centerpieces of my life. I can’t tolerate people who make excuses.” Her expression tightened. “Don’t have the luxury of family to take the edge off, I guess.”
The sliver of vulnerability that hitched her voice caught Franklin off guard. He cleared his throat. “Well, after you meet my family you may want to be careful what you wish for,” he teased, hoping to lift the light veil of uneasiness that settled between them. That got him a smile.
Franklin wiped his mouth one last time and pushed out a breath. He checked his watch. “Wow. It’s nearly eleven.”
“What? We’ve been here for three hours? I’m surprised they didn’t throw us out.”
He signaled for the waitress. “How ’bout that?” he murmured as he reached for his wallet inside his jacket pocket.
Dina went for her purse.
He held up his hand. “I got it.”
She leaned back and studied him from beneath her lashes. “That would make this something like a date, Dr. Grant.”
He pulled his black card from his wallet and slid it inside the slim leather portfolio with the check. “What if it is?”
Well just damn. She was speechless. She blinked. Tried to think of something smart and funny to say. She had nothing. Going with him as his plus-one to an anniversary party as a colleague was one thing—a date was completely different. But she knew it was what she wanted—for it to be something different, even if only for a little while.
Chapter 11
“Where did you park?” Franklin asked as they stepped out into the night.
His hand rested at the small of her back and sent waves of tingling heat flowing through her. Her thoughts fogged. It took her a second to process what he’d asked her. He needed to get his hand off her as much as she wanted it to stay put.
“Um, on the next block.” She fiddled with adjusting the strap of her tote up on her shoulder. That hand was still there. She wanted to turn right into him, press herself against him. Her breathing kicked up a notch as she inhaled the subtle scent of him.
“I’ll walk you to your car.”
With his hand firmly in place they started off in the direction of her parked car.
The DC streets had finally settled down for the night, with only a few determined nighthawks out and about. It was that perfect kind of night, unusually clear skies dusted with stars, a light breeze—a night for lovers.
Hmm...when was the last time she was out with a man—who mattered to her—on a night like this? She couldn’t remember. But if she allowed herself to imagine that this really was a date...with Franklin Grant, then she could imagine everything that came with it: the searing parting kiss, the hesitant invitation to come in for a nightcap, followed by some soft music and...
“The surgery tomorrow is at ten.”
She blinked out of her fantasy. “Yes. Of course. I’ll be there.” She stopped in front of her car. “Thanks again for this evening. I don’t think I realized how much I needed to get out and actually have some fun.”
“Neither did I.”
She held her breath and felt her heart pounding.
He angled his head to the side, smiled. “Do you have your keys?”
She sputtered a short laugh. “Yeah, guess I’m more tired than I thought.” She dug in her purse for her car keys.
Franklin nipped the keys from her fingers, pressed the unlock icon on the fob. The car chirped. He leaned in, reached around her and opened the door.
He was so close she could almost bury her face in his chest. Every nerve ending was on high alert. Somehow she managed to get behind the wheel without making a fool of herself. She looked up at him. He was smiling like he was thinking the same things she was. She should ask him...
“See you in the morning. Drive safe.”
She managed to nod her head. “You, too.”
He handed her the keys, stepped back and closed her door.
Her fingers shook ever so slightly as she inserted the key into the ignition. She pressed the button in the armrest and lowered the window. “Thanks again,” she softly said.
He gave a short nod, tapped the roof of her car and walked off in the opposite direction.
Chapter 12
Under the beat of the shower Dina replayed her evening, specifically all the parts t
hat had Franklin Grant in them. She reached for the almond butter shower gel, dropped a dollop on her loofah, closed her eyes and lifted her face to the cascade of water. Steam enveloped her. Slowly massaging the lathering gel across her skin she envisioned the moment she saw Franklin walk into The Bottom. That funny fluttering feeling began in the pit of her stomach, spread to her limbs and clouded her thoughts. All of that only intensified when she sat across from him at Reds. She slowly rubbed the loofah across her breasts and down her belly, the soapy water sluicing between her thighs, along her legs; she was relishing the sensual feel. Franklin Grant affected her that way, seeming to effortlessly enter her space, heighten her awareness, touch her in secret places. Her hands were his hands. A tiny shiver shimmied down the curve of her spine. Her eyes flew open. What would Franklin’s very skilled hands feel like exploring her body?
She’d watched him during surgery, self-contained, totally in control while subtly commanding the best from everyone in the room. Tunnel-vision focus, steady, strong hands, able with the pads of his fingers and eyes closed to locate exactly what needed to be healed.
Dina drew in a shaky breath, turned her body round beneath the water and rinsed the suds away. Would he be as thorough with the parts of her that needed to be soothed, reawakened, healed?
She turned off the water, stepped out of the shower, determined for the moment to satisfy herself with possibility.
* * *
Franklin stood in front of the floor-to-ceiling window of his condo that looked out onto the DC skyline. He held a glass of bourbon in one hand. Smiled. She’d said she’d pegged him for a bourbon kind of guy. He took a swallow. His lids fluttered closed as the amber liquid lit a small fire in his belly. She knew him—intimately—not the strip-out-of-your-clothes-and-hop-into-bed kind of intimate, but the kind that knew your mind, read your thoughts, anticipated your needs, could be by your side in absolute silence and still communicate. Surgery, having the power of life and death in your hands and depending on the person next to you birthed a particular kind of intimacy. You had to get to know each other in ways that were inexplicable to outsiders. It wasn’t often that as the team leader you found the perfect one. When you did it was pure magic. He took another swallow and turned away from the twinkling lights that presented the illusion of a fairy tale.
Dina Hamilton. He steered clear of office flings, but this thing he had for Dina threw his rule right out the window. But at the end of her time at Jameson, he’d simply sign off on her fellowship paperwork, give his recommendations and she’d move on and so would he. So...what would be the harm in stoking the embers? It was bound to end anyway.
* * *
“Amazing work in there, Dr. Grant,” Dina said as they pulled off scrubs and deposited them in the bins the next day.
“I have a great team.” He tugged off his surgical cap. “Glad you’re part of it, Dr. Hamilton,” he added.
She glanced up at him. Her insides shifted when he stared back at her. “So am I.”
He gave a short nod, tossed his cap in the bin and walked out.
Dina released a breath she hadn’t realized she’d held.
Claire, one of the surgical nurses, came up alongside her at the sink. “He can be a little stiff at times, but he’s great to work for.” She lowered her voice and glanced over her shoulder to ensure they were alone. “Every nurse on this service has the hots for him, but he doesn’t give any of us the time of day. Strictly professional.”
“Hmm,” Dina murmured, secretly pleased but undaunted. Dina washed and dried her hands. “Probably for the best.”
“Probably. Some of the other doctors around here could take a lesson from Dr. Grant on keeping the lines of business and pleasure separate.” She shook her head and rolled her eyes. “The stories I could tell.” She huffed, tossed her gown in the bin. “Have a good day, Doctor.”
“You, too.”
Dina stared through the glass partition that opened onto the operating theater. Franklin Grant was as complex as the surgeries that he performed. He gave off the impression that he was aloof, cold, a strictly by-the-book professional, one who would never become involved with a colleague. She saw a different Franklin Grant, someone who laughed, loved good music, enjoyed a strong shot of bourbon, was a surgical genius and was willing to cross that invisible line. At the same time downplaying the crossing as no more than business as usual. Why did he allow her to get a look behind the walls that he’d erected around himself?
* * *
Franklin returned to his office to unwind from the grueling four-hour surgery. He dimmed the lights, booted up SiriusXM on his computer to classic jazz, then stretched out on his office couch. He threw his arm across his eyes and drifted along with the music. Music always soothed him going as far back to when he was a kid. As the eldest, a lot of responsibility was put on him to look after his brothers and keep them in line. Alonzo and Montgomery did everything in their little powers to make his life miserable. Music was the one thing that put them on chill. They mimicked Boyz II Men, New Edition and Jodeci and swore they were going to be stars.
“’Round Midnight” by Thelonious Monk filtered through the small desk speakers. Franklin felt his body unwind along with the melody. It was one of his favorite pieces, copied by several jazz masters but none could match Monk’s original. He’d been in a debate with his brothers about that very topic during a hospital fund-raiser when Lindsay Gray entered the conversation siding with Franklin. A beautiful woman who was a jazz aficionado. He had no other choice than to ask her to dance. She fit perfectly in his arms and moved with him as if this was something they’d always done. She was beautiful, a skilled dancer and she was also the CEO of Media Corp., the organization that controlled the public relations messages and managed foundation galas for a string of hospitals in DC, Jameson Memorial being one of them.
That night was the first of many. Through the next two years he strengthened his career, built one of the most renowned thoracic surgery departments in the country and fell in love with Lindsay. At least he thought it was love.
He jerked at the sound of knocking. Inwardly he groaned, swung his legs to the floor, got up and went to the door.
“Dina... Dr. Hamilton.” He cleared his throat. “Something happen with the patient?”
Soft music floated out to greet her. She dipped her hands into the pockets of her lab coat. “No. Patient is out of recovery. I just came from his room.”
He stood in the doorway...waiting.
“Um, I wanted to ask about Saturday night. The anniversary party.”
“Oh.” His brows shot up. “Yeah. Come in.” He finally stepped aside and wished he’d had the presence of mind to turn up the lights. He shut the door behind her.
Dina turned in a slow half circle taking in the relaxing ambiance. “Nice music. Was that ‘’Round Midnight’ that I heard?”
Franklin smiled. “Yeah. As a matter of fact it was. Good ear.”
“Hmm, my dad was a would-be trumpeter. I’ve been listening to jazz long before I could even talk,” she said laughing lightly.
“Guess we didn’t get that far last night.”
Dina swallowed. Her gaze settled on him, wouldn’t let him go.
“So about the anniversary. I thought I could pick you up about seven.”
“That’s fine.” She held out her hand.
He frowned in question.
“Phone. I’ll put in my number.”
He walked around her to his desk, stealing looks along the way. There was something softer, more vulnerable about her in the low lighting. He picked up his cell phone and came to stand in front of her—close, very close.
“Password.”
He tapped in his password, then handed over his phone.
Dina put in her number and gave the phone back. “Text me for the address.” She brushed by him, stopped and turned back around. “I’m rea
lly looking forward to Saturday.” She opened the door. “See you at seven.”
Franklin sat on the edge of his desk. He was looking forward to Saturday, too.
Chapter 13
Dina hadn’t been to a formal-type gathering in longer than she could remember. Franklin wasn’t the best in terms of details on what to wear. But since it was being hosted at one of the ritzy boutique hotels, she opted to go semiformal with a cocktail dress. She’d had to buy a pair of shoes, since her repertoire consisted of soft-soled shoes for work and sneakers for jogging and the gym. After trying on the sexy sling-backs and walking through her apartment, she wasn’t sure if she’d make it through the night, but at least she would look good.
With a full two hours before Franklin was due to pick her up, she took a long relaxing bath before getting ready. When she’d been dress shopping—she knew her selection would make Franklin’s eyes pop—she’d made a stop at Victoria’s Secret in Union Station. She leaned back against the lip of the tub, closed her eyes and smiled. If he was lucky enough to get beyond the slinky fabric and angel-hair straps of her dress he would be in for an extra treat.
Seated on the side of her bed, wrapped in a towel, she massaged her legs, hips and thighs with body butter and thought about how long it had been since she’d been touched by a man. Maybe that was why she was projecting so hard onto Franklin. Sure, he seemed interested, but he’d made no real effort to do much about it, and the word throughout the hospital was that he was a stand-up guy. Even his invitation to this party didn’t seem to be romantically motivated, but rather out of a sense of pity for her.
With these thoughts running through her head, she moved on to applying makeup. Finally, she put down the tube of lipstick and stared at her reflection in the mirror. She refused to be pitied. For the past twenty years she’d done everything in her power to move beyond a sad history that seemed to mark her as an object of sympathy. Her fledgling family and fair-weather friends all felt sorry for poor Dina Hamilton, yet they’d done little to lift her burden. She blinked away the past. She wasn’t that girl anymore.