Читать книгу Dr. Daddy - Elizabeth Bevarly - Страница 6

Jonas Tate was not having a good day, and it was all Juliana’s fault. She was the most demanding, petulant female he had ever had the misfortune to know, an absolute monster hiding behind big blue eyes, soft blond hair and delicate, cupid’s bow lips. As she did virtually every night since she’d invaded his home two months ago, she had woken him in the middle of the night, insisting that he see to her needs—and by God, Juliana’s needs could exhaust an army of men—and hadn’t allowed him to go back to sleep after he’d satisfied her. Once awake and sated, she had ordered him to further entertain her, commanding stories and music and clever conversation.

She was that most deadly kind of female, he thought, charming and surprisingly alluring one minute, needful and completely dependent the next. There was no doubt in his mind that she would be the death of some unfortunate man someday.

All that, and she was barely three months old.

Jonas pulled open the top right-hand drawer of his desk, pushed aside a sheaf of papers, a banded bundle of pencils and a wayward pacifier until he located a bottle of extrastrength pain reliever. He tossed back three of the capsules without water, grimacing when one got stuck halfway down his throat. When he went to the water cooler in the corner of his office, he caught a quick glimpse of himself in the mirror hanging near it and wished he hadn’t.

He looked like hell. His dark curls were ragged looking and badly in need of a cut for which he had absolutely no time to spare. He’d also had no time to spare for a shave that morning, and his three-o’clock shadow—normally heavy on the best days—shaded the lower half of his face like a Mack truck. What had once been faint purple crescents beneath his eyes due to a little overwork were fast becoming indelible black smudges due to an almost total lack of sleep. He looked not like a man who oversaw a hospital wing, but a man who was confined to one—whichever one it was that housed the psychiatric ward.

A quick rap at his office door caused him to turn around abruptly, icy water sloshing over the side of the cup and onto the sleeve of his white dress shirt. His reaction to the cold liquid was to jump, an action that spilled even more water onto the front of his shirt.

“Come in!” he shouted out angrily, holding the wet fabric away from his skin.

The door opened slowly, barely enough for one of the new interns to stick her head inside. “Uh, Dr. Tate?” she asked.

“Yes?” He couldn’t remember the young woman’s name, but he didn’t really care. From what little he’d observed of her, she wasn’t long for the program, anyway.

“They, uh, they need you in the maternity ward, sir.”

“Why?”

“I, uh, I don’t know. They just asked me to bring you.”

“Is it an emergency?”

The young woman narrowed her eyes as she considered the question. “I don’t think so. They probably would have told me if it was, don’t you think?”

“One would think so, yes.”

“Or else they would have paged you. I guess.”

Jonas studied the woman for a long time before he spoke further. When he did, it was brief and to the point. “What’s your name?” he asked the intern.

“Mills, sir. Uh, Dr. Claudia Mills.”

“Mills,” he repeated, making no effort to hide the displeasure and exasperation he felt. “Dr. Mills,” he corrected himself, placing a sarcastic emphasis on her title. “How long have you been with us here at Seton General?”

“About two weeks, sir.”

“Two weeks. I see. And in that very brief amount of time, you’ve already managed to forget the most basic principles of your medical education, is that right?”

Her eyes widened in surprise before she dipped her head to avoid meeting his gaze. “No, sir, I—”

Jonas strode forcefully to the door and jerked it open, out of the intern’s grasp, causing her to stumble forward past him. He turned again before he left and addressed her one final time. “The next time someone asks you to do something, Dr. Mills, do try to get the particulars before you go trundling off on your merry way, won’t you?

“And one more thing,” he added when he saw tears forming in her eyes. “If you expect to last in this profession, you’d better develop a thick skin. I won’t be the last doctor to take you to task for stupid mistakes. Just watch that you make as few of them as possible. Someone might wind up hurt. Or dead. And then where will you be, hmm?”

As the door closed behind him he thought he heard the young woman sniffling, and he frowned. Interns, he thought with a cynical shake of his head. These days none of them seemed to have the backbone for the job.

He was still angry, and his head was still pounding, when he arrived in the maternity ward, finding the unit surprisingly quiet so close to a change of shifts. Only one nurse commanded the main station, and she was bent over a clipboard, making what appeared to be standard notations on a patient’s chart.

“What is it?” he asked when he approached her.

“Oh, yes, Dr. Tate,” she said, standing. “Dr. Forrest wanted to see you in LDR room C.”

Jonas was puzzled. “Did she say why?”

The nurse shook her head and shrugged. “Nope. Sorry. Just that I should send you in as soon as you arrive.”

He rubbed vigorously at his forehead, trying to will the throbbing between his temples to go away, since the pain relievers were doing no good whatever. He was still cradling his forehead in his palm when he pushed open the door to LDR room C, so he didn’t realize it was packed full of people until they all shouted out, “Surprise!”

Immediately, Jonas looked up to find himself surrounded by doctors, nurses, interns, orderlies and other representatives of every unit housed in the east wing. Intermingled between them were several dozen colorful balloons—some of which, he noted, were actually inflated surgical gloves with smiley faces drawn on them in Magic Marker—and a huge sheet cake ablaze with candles and billowing smoke.

“You didn’t think you could hide the big four-oh from us, did you, Jonas?” Lily Forrest, the head of neonatal intensive care asked him.

Lily and her husband, Mike, had been the first friends Jonas had made after his arrival in New Jersey. Actually, he realized reluctantly, they were the only friends he’d made since moving. Then again, he thought, he was a man who liked to keep to himself. At least, he had been, before the social worker holding Juliana had arrived at his front door. On top of every other lousy thing that had happened since New Year’s Day, Jonas was turning forty. He had no idea how Lily had discovered that today was his birthday. And he’d certainly told no one how old he was going to be. Hell, he didn’t even like to think about that himself.

But now, as he stared out at the eager, smiling faces surrounding him, and the cake with enough candles burning atop it to make it appear comical, he felt a genuine smile start to curl itself onto his lips. Until his gaze traveled over the crowd and settled on one woman in particular.

A redheaded nurse stood alone in the corner. Her long, straight ponytail, crisp, blue surgical scrubs and the stethoscope dangling around her neck made her appear a vision of efficiency and calm. Jonas couldn’t deny that Zoey Holland was the epitome of efficiency. However, he also knew she was anything but calm. Her ramrod-straight posture, and the perfectly manicured, red fingernails digging into the arms she had crossed over her chest gave her away. That and the scowl she always seemed to reserve for him alone.

Jonas knew Zoey hated him. And, he conceded reluctantly, maybe she had a right. He hadn’t been the easiest man to get along with lately. And, dammit, for some reason, she really rubbed him the wrong way. He couldn’t put his finger on why, exactly, but the two of them had been butting heads almost since day one.

“Well, aren’t you going to say something?” Lily asked him, circling an arm around his shoulder and pulling him close for an affectionate hug.

“Frankly, Lily, I’m not quite sure what to say,” he told her honestly. “Who’s minding the store? There must be countless women in labor wondering what’s happened to the staff.”

“They’ve all been nice enough to time their contractions to convenience our little party. Besides, there’s just been a shift change. What you’ve got here is the first shift on their way out.”

“Yet you all made time to wish me a happy birthday,” Jonas remarked, honestly flattered by their gesture. “Thank you,” he added. “I’m not sure how you knew it was my birthday....” His voice trailed off as he offered Lily a look of mock censure. “And it might be best if I don’t find out, but...” He didn’t know what else to say, so he simply repeated, “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Lily told him. “Now hurry up and blow out your candles before someone calls the fire marshal.”

As Jonas approached the cake, he glimpsed Zoey from the corner of his eye trying to make a discreet exit. There was no doubt in his mind that she had been pressed into attending this party against her will, and suddenly feeling inexplicably devilish, he called out after her, “Give me a hand here, will you, Zoey? I’m not sure I can do this by myself.”

She paused, her long, fiery ponytail shivering like liquid copper as she clearly tried to control what was at best her pique—and at worst her rage, Jonas was certain—at being singled out from the others.

“Sorry, Dr. Tate, but I’m kind of pressed for time,” she said as she spun around quickly. “I’m pulling an extra shift later tonight for Jeannette, and I’ve really got to get home and catch a little shut-eye before I come back.”

Her long hair kept moving even when she stopped, cascading over one shoulder in a ruddy stream. Jonas’s fingers twitched at his sides. Normally she wore her hair confined in a tightly woven French braid or wound into a bun. This was the loosest he’d ever seen it, and he was helpless to deny that, at the moment, he wanted nothing more for his birthday than to bury his fingers in the silky tresses. He wondered if her “little shut-eye” after work included a man, and if that was why she was wearing her hair almost loose like that. Her green eyes flashed at him as he formed the thought, as if to demand what business it was of his if she were.

“Oh, come on,” he cajoled her. “This will only take a minute.”

Zoey Holland glared at Jonas Tate with all her might, willing him to spontaneously combust so that she could go home and soak in a hot bath. It was no secret to anyone in the east wing that she and Jonas Tate did not, to put it politely, get along with each other. Yet here he was, in front of God and everyone, daring her to be nice to him. His challenge didn’t sit well with Zoey, and she wondered what he was setting her up for.

On top of that, she’d had a lousy day. The only thing that had made it bearable was that it had looked as if she would see it through to its completion without running into the infuriating Dr. Tate. She had been this close to grabbing her coat and leaving the floor when she’d been corralled by Dr. Forrest.

Only because Zoey had such enormous respect and admiration for Lily Forrest had she conceded to the woman’s request that she attend this surprise party for Jonas Tate. She didn’t have to stay long, only a few minutes, Lily had promised her, knowing as well as everyone that Zoey didn’t get along with the good doctor. But maybe, Lily had suggested further, Zoey’s appearance would help mend the rift that seemed to be growing wider everyday between the two.

Zoey knew the only thing that would mend the rift between herself and Dr. Tate would be to erect a wall three feet thick between the two of them. But, nonetheless, she had promised Lily she would come. What would a few minutes hurt? she had reasoned. She could hang back in the corner and sneak out when no one was looking. Besides, Lily had said there would be cake. Chocolate cake with white icing, without question the most favorite culinary treat Zoey could name. She’d grab a piece and take it home, and have it with her coffee after dinner.

A few minutes, she repeated to herself now. That was how long Lily had said Zoey would have to stay. Well, a few minutes were up, and she wanted to go home. Still, Jonas Tate’s eyes glittered with the light of combat as he awaited her reply, and she had never been one to back down from a challenge. Especially when she’d been challenged by an overblown, egocentric, self-important, male chauvinistic—

“Zoey?” he asked again, his deep, rusty-sounding baritone grating on her nerves. “Better hurry. This cake’s going to set off the sprinkler system if we don’t put it out soon.”

She wasn’t sure when or why she decided to play along, but Zoey suddenly found herself moving slowly toward the good doctor. He looked like hell, she noted absently. His hair, normally a little longish, but nonetheless neat, was becoming pretty shaggy, and he clearly hadn’t shaved that morning.

She wondered idly if he had overslept at the house of a female companion after spending the night practicing all kinds of sexual gymnastics, and simply hadn’t had the time—or the energy—to make himself presentable for work. Come to think of it, he did look pretty exhausted, she thought as she drew nearer. Just what kind of women did he date, anyway?

He smiled at her when she halted beside him, and she wondered why she even cared about the type of woman who would interest Jonas Tate. She already knew the answer to that—someone coy, petite, demure and submissive. Which, of course, left her completely out of the running. At five foot ten, she stood nearly eye-to-eye with him, fewer than two inches shorter than he was. She was big boned, too, her hands strong and capable and not much smaller than his. And as for the coy, demure and submissive part, well... Zoey Holland had never been accused of being any of those things. She spoke her mind when it suited her—and often when it did not—and no one, no one, ever told her what to do.

Except for Jonas Tate, a little voice in the back of her head taunted. He can get a rise out of you faster than a thoroughbred through the gate.

Zoey doubled her fists at her sides when she realized how easily she had fallen into the trap. Just by succumbing to his dare that she do something he knew she otherwise wouldn’t, she’d played right into Jonas Tate’s hands. Once again, he’d told her what to do.

“On the count of three,” he instructed her softly, his voice coming from dangerously near her ear.

She turned to find his face scant inches away from her own and started to back away. But his fingers circled her wrist and held her close, a cryptic smile that curled his lips her only indication that he’d known how she was going to react before she’d even formed the thought in her head. Reluctantly, she stayed put in her position beside him, but she couldn’t quite shake the shivery sensations that spiraled up her arm and through her heart to pool in a tightly wound coil in her stomach.

She scarcely heard him count the numbers, but reacted accordingly when he reached three. Zoey and Jonas both inhaled deeply, bent forward at the waist and expelled their breaths in a long gust of wind. The candles sputtered and went out, every last one. The group surrounding them laughed and applauded, and even Zoey felt oddly pleased by their accomplishment.

“Guess this means my birthday wish will come true,” Jonas said, his voice low and suggestive and once again closer to Zoey’s ear than she found comfortable.

When she turned to face him this time, his eyes were lit with a bold fire, and she got the unnerving feeling that he was trying to tell her something.

“Yeah, well, that’s what they say, isn’t it?” she replied, her own voice sounding breathless and weak.

His fingers on her wrist tightened, not painfully, but insistently. “Don’t you want to know what I wished for, Zoey?”

The light in his eyes took on a new dimension, now becoming undeniably libidinous. She felt his thumb stroking over the pulse in her wrist, felt her own heart racing. Was this some kind of joke? she wondered. What was he trying to do to her?

She shook her head feebly as she replied, “No. I don’t think I do.”

One corner of his mouth lifted in a wry grin. “Well, since my wish is destined to come true, you’ll find out about it soon enough, seeing as how it includes you, too.”

She tried to laugh off the odd sexual tension that had suddenly leapt up between them, but her laughter came out sounding hollow and false. Finally, she tugged her wrist out of his grasp, circling it with her free hand as if she’d been burned.

“Oh, I get it,” she said with a flip shake of her head, regaining enough of her senses to issue a chuckle that was almost convincing. “I know what you wished for.”

The gleam in his pale brown eyes brightened, and he took a step closer to her. “Do you?” he asked.

Zoey nodded and took a step in retreat. “You want me gone. You’re either going to demand my resignation, or you’re expecting me to foul something up so badly you’ll have the perfect excuse to fire me.”

This time Jonas Tate was the one to chuckle, a single, solitary sound that lacked all humor. “Is that what you really think?” he asked her.

Zoey nodded harder. “It’s what I know.”

She took another—giant—step away from him, and the distance seemed to give her more strength, more energy, more conviction that he would not throw her off balance. She glanced quickly around to make sure the others in attendance were occupied elsewhere before she continued, somehow managing to keep her voice low.

“Well, don’t hold your breath, Dr. Tate,” she continued. “Because I’ve been at Seton General for too long and like it too well to give up my position just because some doctor finds me an annoyance. And all modesty aside, I’m too good at what I do to ever make a mistake that would end my career here.”

She waited to see how he would respond, and wondered if maybe in speaking to him so boldly she had just made precisely the kind of mistake she’d sworn not to. But instead of retorting angrily or threatening to fire her, Jonas Tate just smiled.

“Touché, Zoey,” he finally said quietly. “Touché.”

And with that he turned to the cake that Lily had finished slicing and was now passing out to everyone present. He didn’t look back at Zoey once, didn’t even seem to notice she was there. For just the briefest of moments, she felt jealous indignation that the man had the nerve to slight her in such a way. Then she realized how ridiculous a reaction that was. She wanted Jonas Tate to ignore her, she reminded herself. And if that meant she had to be dismissed by him, so be it. It was better than being singled out for his full attention.

Wondering why she should suddenly feel cheated that she wasn’t the center of his universe when she had been trying for months to steer clear of him, Zoey backed away. Someone pressed a paper plate with a generous slab of cake into her hand, and she looked down at it blindly. Then, making her way to the LDR room door, she quietly slipped outside. Sleep, she repeated to herself as she went. She needed to catch a few z’s. That could be the only reason for her odd reaction to Jonas Tate just now. By this evening, she wouldn’t even be able to remember what his careless touch had done to her.