Читать книгу Starting with a Kiss - Barbara McMahon - Страница 9

“This is going to be a total disaster!” Abigail Trent exclaimed, frowning at her reflection in the mirror, nerves churning. Taking a deep, slow breath, she tried to calm her jitters.

“Hey, you’re the one who said you wanted to make Jeb jealous,” her friend Kim said, aiming the hair spray at the back of Abby’s head. The hiss of the spray sounded before Abby replied. She held her breath as she was enveloped in the mist. She couldn’t deny Kim’s remark. When she’d first learned Jeb Stuart had stopped calling because he was seeing someone else, she’d been hurt, and furious. She’d thought they’d be heading for the altar one day. Instead, he was totally involved with someone else.

Stepping away from the mirror, she shook her head. “Do you think it’ll work? Even though I don’t look a bit like myself in this getup, I’m not sure it’s going to be enough. I wish I was a fabulous blonde with a figure to die for.” She frowned again. “What has me worried about tonight is I have no business accepting the donation. I’m not sure I should even be going to this presentation banquet. The hospital’s chief administrator should accept. Or the head of Internal Medicine, not some newly appointed doctor of pediatrics.”

“Carol’s family specifically asked for you,” Kim said gently.

Abby nodded, her eyes filling with tears. She missed her friend so much! It wasn’t fair. She’d died so young! Too young. She’d had her entire life ahead of her, until a drunk driver had ended it by ramming into her car.

“Don’t do that or all your makeup will run and we’ll have to start over,” Kim fussed, touching her shoulder in sympathy.

Abby looked up at the ceiling, blinking rapidly. “No time for that! Dr. Hastings will be here any second. And the last thing I plan to do is keep him waiting!”

Kim began to tidy all the bottles and containers she’d brought. “I can’t believe you’ve worked at the same hospital for six months and you still call him Dr. Hastings. Don’t you have any kind of informality there?”

“Not with him,” Abby said, stepping in front of the mirror again. The push-up bra gave her cleavage she’d never expected, and the painted-on dress displayed it for all the world to see. She tried to pull the dress up to a more modest level. Kim slapped her hand.

“Stop that. It’s fine.”

“I feel I’ve been poured into this thing. I’m not sure this was a good idea after all.” All her doubts and insecurities rose up to mock her.

“Hey, you wanted Jeb to see you in a different light. This is it. No scrubs, no lab coat, no jeans. Just pure Abby.”

“This does not look pure!”

Kim laughed. “Okay, then mysterious, sultry, sexy Abby. Jeb will eat his heart out.”

“I wish.” Sighing softly, Abby turned when the doorbell sounded. “Great, nemesis himself.”

“Why did you agree to go with Dr. Hastings if you don’t like him?”

“Politics, why else? When the chief of staff heard I didn’t have an escort, he insisted Dr. Hastings take me tonight. Who am I to argue with the head man? Being low on the totem pole, I need all the friends in high places I can get.”

She hurried from the bedroom when the second peal came. The high heels felt strange, the turquoise dress was definitely two sizes too small, and her teased and tousled hair wouldn’t move in a tornado, it had so much spray holding it. She wished she was spending the evening at home in comfy sweats.

Why had she ever concocted the idea of trying to compete with Jeb’s new love?

Taking another deep breath, she threw open the door, bracing herself for the onslaught of feelings she always experienced when she faced Greg Hastings. It didn’t seem to get easier, though she’d known him for six months.

She’d been in staff meetings with him. Seen him in the corridors dozens of times since she’d started working at Merrimac General Hospital—usually in the company of some nurse gushing in adoration. Not that it was hard to see what they found attractive.

Everything.

From his height, to the breadth of his shoulders, to the high cheekbones and dark, all-knowing eyes. Tanned as if he spent time outdoors and didn’t care about sunscreen, he always looked healthy and vital.

Tonight he looked perfect in the charcoal-gray suit, white shirt and deep maroon tie. But he looked equally wonderful when she’d seen him in the white lab coat he wore attending staff meetings, or even the rumpled scrubs after a day in surgery.

“Hi,” she said, trying to ignore the fluttering in her stomach that had suddenly grown worse. “I’ll just be a sec. Want to come in?” She turned, without waiting for an answer, and snatched up her evening purse and the coat she knew she’d need for San Francisco’s cool evenings.

Kim came out from the bedroom, her tote on her shoulder. “Have fun,” she said. Her eyes widened with interest when she spotted Greg Hastings.

He’d stepped inside and stood studying Abby’s apartment, or what he could see of it. Abby could imagine his disdain for her feminine furnishings. Not that she cared. She had more immediate things to worry about—like getting through tonight’s presentation. She could do it. Take the check that would be given by the Walker family’s attorney. Give her brief acceptance speech on behalf of the hospital. She could do that for her friend’s sake. She had to.

When Kim cleared her throat, Abby rushed into introductions.

“Kim, this is Dr. Hastings.” Abby motioned to Kim and said, “My neighbor, Kim Saunders.”

“Hello, Dr. Hastings, I’m pleased to meet you,” Kim said with a wide smile. She made it a point to cross the room and shake his hand.

Abby envied her friend’s walk. If she practiced for years, she’d never get that sexy sway. Was that what men wanted?

“Kim, a pleasure, and it’s Greg.” His deep voice seemed genuinely pleased to meet her. Abby looked at him, and wished he sounded half as pleased to see her when they met at the hospital.

“You take good care of Abby tonight, Greg,” she said flirtatiously.

“I’m ready,” Abby said, wishing she had her friend’s ease around men. But just being around Greg Hastings tied her tongue in knots and made her stomach feel as if a dozen butterflies were playing rugby.

Greg turned to her, letting his gaze run down the length of her. The slight amusement in his eyes flustered her even more. Was something wrong? Had Kim missed something?

Tilting his head to one side, he commented, “You look different from the way I’m used to seeing you at the hospital.”

“I couldn’t very well wear a lab coat,” she said shortly. But his look only increased her uncertainty about the appropriateness of her dress. Of her whole appearance. After years of concentrating on study and work, she felt like a novice in the social scene. Time to make changes. Starting tonight!

Raising her chin, she glared at him.

His lips twitched as if in amusement. “My car is downstairs.” Without another word, he stood aside for her to precede him out the door. Kim slipped through and waved.

“Tell me all about it tomorrow,” she called to Abby as she headed down the hall to her apartment.

In only moments Abby was seated in the luxurious interior of Greg Hastings’s silver Mercedes. He pulled away from the curb with ease and headed toward the downtown restaurant where the banquet was being held.

Feeling awkward in the silence, Abby reviewed what she planned to say when the endowment check was presented. Her heart ached. Carol Walker had been her best friend—she and Jeb. Both Abby’s age, just thirty, they had gone through four years of college together, medical school, then done their internships in hospitals close enough to hang out or study together when they weren’t working. She and Carol and Jeb—the three musketeers, they’d been dubbed early on. The best of friends.

Now one was dead—and the other just as gone.

Aware the silence had lasted a long time, Abby looked at her companion.

“Thanks for the ride,” she said.

He shrugged. “I was going anyway.”

“I can find my own way home. You needn’t bother.”

He flicked her a glance. “I’ll take you home.”

He could sound a bit more friendly, she thought. The embarrassment she’d felt when the chief of staff had informed her Dr. Hastings would pick her up hadn’t totally faded. If she had thought about it early enough, she could have found someone to escort her tonight, couldn’t she?

But Jeb was the one she would have chosen, and he was too entangled with Sara, the blond bombshell.

“Tell me about Carol Walker,” Greg said, “and why her family is providing this endowment for the hospital.”

“She had just been hired at the hospital when she was killed,” Abby said slowly. The now-familiar ache in her heart seemed to spread. “She was so excited about being a doctor. Thrilled to be taken on at Merrimac General. I guess we all are when we start out.” She looked at him, wondering if she’d become as cynical as he after she’d been working a few years. She hoped not!

“You don’t have to say anything, I know what you’re thinking,” she said defensively.

“And that is?”

“That we all seem young and idealistic and it won’t last. But I’m still excited and not afraid to admit it! Carol had her whole life ahead of her—finally able to start the career she’d spent years training for. She had just gotten engaged and was making plans to get married, have kids.” Abby’s voice broke and she looked away, furious with herself for letting this man see her emotions.

“Tough break.”

“It’s unfair.”

“Life often is.”

“Spoken like a true cynic.”

“Is that how you see me—cynical?”

“Aren’t you? Your views stated in the staff meetings sure seem to point that way. I don’t want to become like you.”

“Then let’s hope you can stay in your cozy cocoon.”

“I’m not encased in a cocoon. I’ve been working as a doctor for some time now. I love it. It has its bad moments, of course—when, no matter what, I can’t help someone. But mostly, it’s just what I always wanted.”

He slid the car to a stop in front of the restaurant. Abby slipped out when the doorman held the door open, wishing the dress hadn’t ridden up so much. She tugged it in place, pulling it up a bit for good measure.

Good manners dictated she wait for Greg, but she wished she could just go into the banquet room alone. The reality was she’d be spending the entire evening with him. She glanced down at her wrist. No watch—darn. How long would it be before the banquet ended and he took her home?

She regretted her outburst. She and Greg Hastings didn’t see eye to eye, but there was no call to start an awkward evening off with hostility. Not that she was going to apologize. There was nothing wrong in expressing her thoughts. He was cynical. Even he hadn’t denied it.

The banquet room was almost full when they entered. Walking toward the designated head table, Abby nodded to two or three acquaintances and quickly scanned the room to see if Jeb had come. He’d been invited—as a close friend of Carol’s. Her family was not coming. It was still too soon after her death.

She saw him seated at a table to the right. Immediately her gaze was drawn to the blond beauty at his side. There was no denying Sara was gorgeous. Frowning, Abby marched onward, feeling self-conscious with the drastic change in her appearance. And with the looks she was getting from people who knew her at the hospital.

She took another deep breath. This technique for calming jittery nerves seemed highly overrated. Any more deep breaths and she’d hyperventilate. Her nervousness grew as more and more people swung around to stare at her. Was it simple curiosity, or was it the dress?

Maybe, just maybe, she’d gone a tad overboard.

Or were they fascinated by the fact that she had arrived with Greg Hastings? Would it be all over Merrimac General tomorrow that Dr. Abigail Trent couldn’t get a date, that she had to be set up?

How long had it been since she’d been on a date? A real honest-to-goodness date—not a night out with Jeb and Carol? She shied away from thinking about all the evenings the three of them had shared. She would not let her emotions choke her again.

Tilting her chin, she stepped up to the head table, grateful to be able to sit. At least she didn’t feel so much on display.

Unfortunately, Greg Hastings sat right beside her. Too close, actually. She peeked at him through her lashes, then looked quickly away. Could she pretend her beeper had sounded and dash away? No. She owed it to Carol’s memory to accept the endowment.

She recognized some of the administrative staff, doctors, two head nurses. Glancing around, she looked for the Walkers’ attorney.

The subtle scent of Greg’s aftershave wafted her way, starting a curious reaction. Her heart rate sped up, her senses became more alert. A strange bud of interest curled deep inside. Swallowing hard, she tried to ignore the sensations, tried to ignore how awkward she felt. It was just a meal, a business commitment.

“What a large crowd,” she murmured, wishing desperately she had the gift of small talk. Maybe she could pretend he was a patient and talk to him like a doctor.

That wouldn’t work. Almost all her patients were under ten, and Greg Hastings was nothing like a ten-year-old! She even wondered if he’d ever been ten. She had trouble envisioning him as anything other than the successful surgeon he was.

A laugh almost escaped as she imagined him as a dedicated surgeon when only ten. She glanced at him and found his dark eyes on her. Her breath caught—that gaze felt as dangerous as skydiving. Her breathlessness couldn’t be any worse if she’d jumped out of a plane!

He reached for his water glass and her gaze was drawn to his hands. As a skilled surgeon, did he take them for granted? His palms were large, as fitted a man his size, his fingers long.

What would they feel like holding hers? They had never touched, had no reason to. But for a moment she wondered what it would feel like to have her hand engulfed in his.

She raised her eyes and Greg quirked up one eyebrow, as if in silent inquiry. Heat flooded her face. She was no better than those silly nurses who fawned all over him.

Ben Taylor, chief of staff for Merrimac General, joined them at the table. Greg stood and shook the older man’s hand, smiling in warm welcome.

In his right cheek a dimple appeared. Abby’s heart skipped a beat. She used to daydream about some dashing knight sweeping her off her feet—and in her mind he’d always been a rugged rogue—with dimples.

Where did women get these silly notions? Greg was a respected member of the hospital staff, a surgeon with a growing reputation. Not some man to have fantasy dreams about. They were colleagues. Nothing more. A colleague, moreover, she wasn’t sure she even liked. And if his attitude toward her was anything to go by, the feeling was mutual!

Seated beside him, she could almost feel the power and assurance that cloaked him. She definitely felt a tingling awareness that had nothing to do with business, but was totally personal.

It was simply sex appeal. Oh, Lord, did he have that in spades!

She looked around and caught the eye of one of the doctors from the emergency room. His knowing smirk startled her. What—? When his gaze moved to Greg, the oddest thought struck. Did he think she and Dr. Hastings were dating? How ludicrous. As if Greg Hastings, heartthrob of Merrimac General, would ever consider dating someone like her!

“We’ll wait until the dessert is served before starting the speeches,” Ben remarked.

She nodded and involuntarily glanced at Jeb’s table to study the vivacious woman at his side. That was the kind of woman men liked—beautiful and gifted with the ability to make small talk.

“Is there someone you want to speak with? There’s time before they start serving dinner,” Greg said softly as he sat down when Ben moved on to speak to another staff member at the next table.

She met his eyes. “What do you mean?”

“You keep staring at that table. If there’s someone you want to talk with, you have time.”

“No, there’s no one.” She looked away. He was too perceptive. She’d better make sure she didn’t look at Jeb’s table again anytime soon.

Greg studied her for a moment, perplexed with the enigma that was Abigail Trent. He’d been surprised yesterday when Ben had asked him if he would escort Dr. Trent to tonight’s banquet. Used to the ploys of women on the make, he’d instinctively suspected an ulterior motive in the request.

When she’d opened her door tonight, he’d been shocked to see the change from quiet, slightly prickly young Dr. Trent to—to what? He didn’t mind women dressing up for a date, but there was something too much about the way she was dressed tonight. Not that he’d ever mention it. He had two sisters and knew better than to make any negative comment when a woman had taken pains to dress to the nines.

And it wasn’t that he didn’t appreciate the way the dress showed off her figure. Who would have suspected behind those ubiquitous lab coats Dr. Abigail Trent had a tempting femininity that could capture a man’s interest in less than five seconds.

Tempting?

Greg watched her take another deep breath. Did she have any idea what doing that did to the dress?

While her attire suggested one thing, her attitude puzzled him. Had she dolled herself up to make a play for him? If so, she’d lost her nerve. So far he felt more like a fifth wheel than the center of her attraction.

Wryly looking away, Greg wondered if he was starting to believe the hype his secretary told him every day. He did not expect every woman he met to fall for him. He didn’t want anyone to, if the truth be known. He’d been down that road once—and had no intention of ever going again.

But neither was he used to taking a woman out and having her attention focused three tables away!

He frowned at the thought. He didn’t care. He was merely doing his duty as a favor to the chief of staff. When tonight’s event ended, they’d go back to normal. He’d see her a couple of times a month at staff meetings, maybe pass in the hallway. Or consult if she had a patient who needed surgery. That would be the extent of their involvement.

By the time dinner had ended, his companion was definitely displaying signs of nervousness. Amusement began to sweep through him as he studied her, taking in her agitated air, her held breath. She was a doctor, held the power of life and death in her hands, and she was nervous about accepting a check on behalf of the hospital? He hadn’t felt that anxious when he’d diagnosed his very first patient.

Interested in how she’d handle herself, Greg sat back to watch, still trying to figure the woman out. And he glanced to the table she had under observation, trying to figure out which man sitting there was the one she was interested in.

By the time the evening ended, Greg felt almost sorry for Abigail Trent. She’d given a good speech when accepting the endowment. Her voice had broken once, but that had added to the poignancy of the evening. Several colleagues spoke warmly about Carol Walker, about the lost potential, the tragic accident that had claimed her life. The speeches seemed to upset Abigail.

He could tell the entire evening was proving a strain and almost felt her relief when they rose to leave. The next time Ben Taylor asked him for a favor, he’d be sure he had other plans.

A young man from the table she’d been staring at came up to her. Greg suddenly felt Abigail’s tension increase.

“Abby, I nearly didn’t recognize you. What did you do to yourself?” he asked bluntly, frowning as he looked her over from head to toe.

“Hi, Jeb.” She smiled at him almost in relief. “I don’t always wear lab coats, you know.”

From the bright smile and the way she looked up at the young man, Greg suspected he’d been her focus of interest all evening.

“I guess not, but neither do you wear dresses like this.” His gaze held obvious disapproval. “You look like a tart.”

Hot color instantly stained Abby’s checks.

A feeling of protectiveness suddenly and unexpectedly surged through Greg. She might not be dressed as conservatively as she normally did, but there was no reason to insult her! He stepped closer.

“I don’t believe we’ve been introduced. I’m Greg Hastings.” He held out his hand, coming between Abigail and the rude young man as if he could cut the tension by his presence.

“Jeb Stuart. I’m an old friend of Abby’s. And Carol’s.” Jeb held out his hand.

Greg resisted the temptation to annihilate him with a punishing handshake. It was surprisingly hard. He thought that kind of behavior ended in high school. Obviously not.

“We have to be going,” he said to Abby, offering an out.

She took it gratefully. “Yes, of course. Bye, Jeb.”

As they wound their way through the crowd, Greg kept an eye on Abby. Her head held high, she refused to meet anyone’s eye, but walked determinedly toward the door. The deep pink in her cheeks made her blue eyes sparkle. He’d seen that same kind of sparkle once or twice when she became impassioned about a topic in the staff meeting.

He admired her for holding up after Jeb’s insult.

There seemed to be more to Dr. Trent than he’d first thought, even though none of it concerned him. She’d made that abundantly clear during the evening.

Nevertheless, his interest was piqued—he wanted to know about the relationship between her and Jeb Stuart. Were they lovers who had had a falling-out? He frowned, not liking the idea at all.

They had to wait for the parking attendant to bring his car. The air blew briskly down the canyon between buildings, the cool ocean fog already blanketing the city. Abby huddled in her coat, buttoned to the neck, her gaze on her toes.

“You did well in your speech,” he said to break the silence.

“Thanks.”

Another couple from the banquet left, calling goodnights.

Just then a taxi came to a stop in front of the restaurant. Before he could react, Greg watched Abby dart into the cab. Halting before closing the door, she offered a phony polite smile.

“Thanks for being my escort, Dr. Hastings. I’ll see myself home.”

So much for thinking the lady had a hidden agenda, Greg thought wryly as he watched the cab pull away. Two seconds later his car arrived.

“Timing is everything,” he murmured, giving the attendant a tip and sliding in behind the wheel. For a moment he considered following Abby to make sure she got home safely, then discarded the idea. The woman had made her choice clear. But he couldn’t help wondering what her thinking had been—before and after seeing Jeb Stuart.

Who was the real Abigail Trent—quiet, shy doctor? Or budding femme fatale?