Читать книгу The Bachelor Doctor's Bride - Caro Carson - Страница 11

Chapter Four

Diana had barely reached the doors to the mezzanine when she ran into Dr. Lana MacDowell, the woman Quinn had been studying so longingly when Diana had first spotted him. Lana looked simply smashing in her evening gown, glowing like the bride she was as she walked next to Braden MacDowell.

Poor Quinn.

Diana held out her hand, ready to shake Lana’s like a proper business associate, but Lana kissed her on the cheek and, to Diana’s surprise, the always businesslike Braden did, too. They’d barely gotten past their hellos when a gentleman asked Lana to dance. Braden turned to Diana, and for the first time that night, she found herself on the dance floor, partnered by a handsome man in a tuxedo.

It was lovely. Diana enjoyed it for what it was. Lovely—but not romantic. Even if Braden had been single, Diana would not have felt a spark with him. They were simply not a match.

She didn’t recognize the song the band was playing. She wondered how Braden and Quinn were related—and she worried how Braden would feel if he knew Quinn was in love with his wife. She worried that Quinn would never get over his unrequited feelings for Lana. She worried—

“Are you having a good time tonight?” Braden asked.

“Yes, thank you.”

Braden looked at her more closely. “Is anything wrong? That was the most lukewarm thing I’ve ever heard you say.”

Diana felt herself blush a bit. This whole gala was to benefit the hospital that Braden’s father had founded, the hospital he now ran as CEO. She’d gone and made him worry that she didn’t like the evening.

She tried harder. “Nothing’s wrong. Nothing could be wrong tonight. Your gala is absolutely beautiful, down to the last detail.”

“Thank you, but I can’t take credit for planning any of this. I only approved the final proposal.” Braden smiled faintly at her praise, but he was still studying her too closely.

Diana seized on the subject of party planning and kept up a bright stream of chatter. She didn’t doubt that she was rambling a bit, but people didn’t mind in general, as long as she was friendly and undemanding.

The song ended, and they rejoined Lana just as Quinn walked up to their little group. Diana’s bright chatter petered out. She couldn’t talk around the lump in her throat as Quinn greeted Lana with a kiss on the cheek. When Quinn and Braden stood side by side, Diana knew they had to be brothers.

Oh, God, poor Quinn—in love with his brother’s wife. It made for dramatic movies, but in real life, she could hardly imagine a worse situation.

Braden introduced her to Quinn.

“Brothers?” Diana confirmed, then cleared her throat a little. “The green eyes threw me off. I should have seen the resemblance earlier.”

“Earlier? You two have already met?” Lana squeezed Quinn’s arm. “Diana’s more than a real estate agent. She’s a magician.”

“She’s already tried to perform a little magic with me tonight,” Quinn said with mock severity. “Brace yourself. I’ve been dancing.”

“No!” Lana laughed.

Quinn winked at Diana.

Two things hit Diana in rapid succession.

One, Quinn was not in love with Lana. It was evident in his body language, in his tone of voice, in his relaxed manner. Nope, not in love, not the least little bit.

Two, Diana was overwhelmingly relieved. Absurdly so. She wanted to laugh, to float, to hug everyone.

Quinn didn’t need time to nurse a broken heart. He didn’t need a transition girl.

He could—

What? Decide she was his perfect match? Choose her over all these elegant women as the one he wanted in his life?

Not very likely.

Her bubble burst. Diana tapped her purse impatiently against her bare thigh. It took courage to be happy, her mother had said. But experience had taught Diana that life was easier when you didn’t expect too much. When you didn’t long for things you couldn’t have. When you enjoyed the sparkling wine, and didn’t compare it to champagne.

What would one taste of Quinn be like?

She really should be going. It was time to move on. The MacDowells were catching up with each other. If she gave Lana a little friendly wave, if she nodded toward Quinn, then she could head to the mezzanine.

As she raised her hand for that wave, Quinn cupped her elbow. He stepped close to her, very close, and she was overwhelmed at the height and the heat of him, at his masculine body clad in a civilized tuxedo crowding into her personal space.

“You can’t leave yet.”

She looked up at him in surprise.

He smiled, a subtle lifting of one corner of his mouth. “I haven’t had the privilege of dancing with you tonight.”

Oh, this was delicious, this shiver his voice sent through her body. He sounded almost like he was giving her an order, but his words were so courteous. The privilege of dancing with you... She could get lost in a romantic fantasy if she weren’t careful.

“That’s okay. I’ve been forcing you to dance enough as is.” She lightly socked him in the arm with her purse, as much to remind herself that she was his pal as for any other reason.

“I think my stamina is up to the task. Let’s dance. This song fits you too well for us to stand here, talking.”

Diana listened for a moment. Quinn thought “The Way You Look Tonight” fit her? This handsome man, the brother of people she liked and respected, liked the way she looked.

Life might never be this perfect again, her conscience reminded her. You can’t miss what you’ve never had.

It takes courage to be happy. Diana remembered her mother’s words. When in doubt, she always tried to follow her mother’s advice. She placed her hand in Quinn’s, and let him lead her onto the dance floor.

Quinn was a wonderful dancer, holding her properly with one strong arm across her back, just under her shoulder blades, making it easy for her to rest her entire arm along his. He held her other hand out to the side, keeping their arms extended like real ballroom dancers. Her hand rested easily in his. He held her with just the right amount of squeeze to make her feel secure.

Secure. Special. In sync. Right. Dancing with Quinn felt right. She looked up a bit, wanting to see his expression. Did he think they were a match?

“You were trying to escape again, weren’t you?” he said, as they moved forward in time to the music.

With every step, her bare legs brushed the black wool covering his. Each and every step. She was aware of her relative nakedness in a way that made talking difficult. Or perhaps, it made talking imperative.

“You didn’t need me any longer. Patricia was obviously your next dance partner.”

“She is not the one I asked. You are.”

Diana enjoyed that delicious shiver once more, before the implications set in. “So poor Becky is stuck with Patricia again? Oh—I don’t mean your friend is someone to be stuck with.”

“You meant exactly that, and you are exactly right.” Quinn gave her a little extra spin at the edge of the dance floor, before they merged into the dance floor traffic once more. “Patricia can make a plant wither with one look, if she wishes. Never fear. I left Becky with some of West Central’s med school students. They are much closer to her age, and they were fighting over the chance to dance with someone who isn’t a professor’s wife.”

“That’s wonderful. What a good idea.”

She felt his fingers sift through the fringe that fell from her shoulder.

“Thank you,” he said. “I’m not the magician you are, though. I’d like to know your secret. How did you change Becky’s outlook so completely?”

Diana jumped at the chance to talk about something so silly. Remaining quiet as he toyed with the fringe of her dress was too much to ask of herself. Talking would distract her from this awareness of how they moved, how they meshed, how they made magic—at least in her mind. Oh, but did he feel it, too?

Talk. He asked about Becky.

She tapped his shoulder with her purse. “To my boss’s dismay, this purse is too small for me to waste room on things like business cards, but I always find space for critical items like safety pins. Becky’s dress was just a size too big. She couldn’t relax, because her top was loose. A few safety pins along the seams—”

“Strategically placed while you chatted behind a palm tree?”

“Bingo. You can really dance once you know your dress won’t come off.”

Quinn laughed, but this time the laugh had a slightly different undertone. A little more bass to it.

“Since you’re dancing with me, you must feel very certain that your dress is not going to come off.”

She leaned back just enough to smile with him, but he wasn’t smiling.

He turned them once more. “Your dress will stay on no matter what I try?”

The possibility that he was talking about more than dancing was hard to ignore.

Quinn spoke intimately into her ear. “I find myself tempted to test that theory.”

He smiled at her, but it was something of a pirate’s smile. “Just how certain are you that your dress won’t be coming off tonight?”

* * *

Diana hoped her smile didn’t slip. Apparently, she’d gone and done it again. A man had mistaken friendliness for something else. Something looser. Easier.

Sleazier.

She never saw herself that way. It always disappointed her when other people did. It just about killed her that Quinn did.

Darn it, she’d wanted him to be different.

She was curvy. She smiled a lot. Tonight, she was pretty much flashing all the leg she owned in a dress that was just a teensy bit too small. Could she blame Quinn for thinking she was less of a matchmaker and more of an easy bed partner?

She’d been thinking about finding magic, about making perfect matches. He was thinking about getting her naked. Tonight. His hand slid lower, leaving her upper back cold as he curved his arm around her waist.

The disappointment was crushing.

She started to let go. At the same moment she loosened her hold, he tightened his, and then she found herself bent backward in a dip, breathless and disoriented, despite being held securely by his strong arms.

The last notes of the song faded away. She focused on his green eyes, the crystal and the flames and the music all a blur beyond him.

He smiled that disarming, charming half smile. “You were quite right. Your dress is secure. It’s safe to dance the next song with me.” He stood her up and gave her hand a friendly squeeze.

She was such an idiot. She was the one who’d jumped to all the wrong conclusions. They’d been talking about safety pins. Quinn hadn’t been thinking of her in a sexual way; he’d been joking with her. Of course he had been—she was the buddy.

Quinn held her lightly, waiting for her to say she’d dance with him.

Diana called up her smile. She forced herself to laugh. She placed her hand on his shoulder and smacked her other hand in his, in a move that resembled a high five. “Let’s dance. We can scope out your perfect partner over each other’s shoulders.”

* * *

Quinn knew he’d screwed up.

Thirty seconds, that was all it had taken. He’d been dancing with Diana, having a genuinely interesting and lighthearted conversation on a topic unfamiliar to him—how to fix a girl’s dress and thereby a girl’s evening—and then he’d lost Diana’s spark. She was still dancing with him, moving in time to the music, but she was no longer with him.

He needed that spark. Without any conscious effort on her part, without knowing he was hurting from the passing of Irene Caulsky, she’d made him feel better. Balanced, like there was enough light in the world to offset the dark.

But somehow, he’d blown it. Hell, she was even looking for another woman again, someone else for him to dance with.

Quinn was familiar with situations that went sour in a moment. As a cardiologist, he’d had patients chatting groggily with him as they waited for their sedation to take effect suddenly go into full cardiac arrest. As a rancher, he’d seen livestock ambling across a dry creek bed, kicking up dust, suddenly be swept away in a roaring torrent of water, a deadly flash flood from some faraway rainstorm.

When situations turned, Quinn turned them back. He threaded wires into hearts and opened blocked arteries. He gave chase on horseback and lassoed swimming cattle.

What did he do with Diana?

Situations with women didn’t turn so rapidly. Women liked being with him, and he with them. If a woman was upset, it was generally because he hadn’t been able to keep a date—which usually meant a patient had taken one of those sudden turns for the worse. Although the circumstances that kept him from showing up were beyond his control, women liked an apology. They liked their apologies best when he showed up bearing a gift, generally wine and roses, or a tasteful piece of gold jewelry. No gemstones. He liked his relationships exclusive, but without expectations of permanence.