Читать книгу Nyc Angels & Gold Coast Angels Collection - Lynne Marshall - Страница 25

UH-UH. THERE WAS absolutely no way Dr. Eleanor Aston was wearing that itsy-bitsy, teeny-tiny scrap of sparkly spandex her sister had sent for her to wear tonight!

“Take it back,” she ordered Norma, the darling, elderly woman who’d headed up the Aston household for over twenty years and a woman who was more like family than—well, than Eleanor’s biological family.

Looking out of place and uncomfortable in the hospital doctors’ lounge where Eleanor had pulled her to talk in private, Norma shook her head. “Sorry, but I can’t do that. Brooke gave me specific instructions. You are to wear that dress and those shoes to the ribbon-cutting ceremony.”

Right, because she could squeeze her more than generous curves into the dress. Eleanor shuddered just at the mental image.

“I’m giving you specific instructions, too. Take it back, because even if I could squeeze into that …” She eyed the glitzy red dress and matching stilettos her sister had picked out. “Well, it’s not exactly my style, is it?”

Staring at Eleanor with her almost-black eyes, Norma shrugged her coat-clad shoulders. “Perhaps your sister thinks your style needs an update.”

Norma’s tone implied that Brooke wasn’t the only one who thought that.

Ha. No doubt about it. Media darling Brooke Aston definitely thought her sister’s style as ugly duckling in the midst of a family of swans should change. Mostly because Brooke thought Eleanor’s usual wardrobe of hospital scrubs to be the bottom of fashion’s totem pole.

Eleanor loved her hospital scrubs.

For so many reasons. Never had she felt more proud than when she’d donned a pair after she’d completed her training as a pediatrician specializing in neonatology. Plus, shapeless hospital scrubs hid a lot of body flaws.

“A lot” being the key words. She’d never be a size two like Brooke and she’d quit beating herself up over that years ago.

She eyed the scrap of fancy material again, crinkled her nose and shook her head. “I’m sorry my sister wasted your time, but you can keep the dress because I’m not going to wear it, or those torture devices my sister calls shoes.” She glanced at her watch. “Sorry to run, but I’ve got to get back to the NICU. My patients need me.”

Norma winced, but didn’t look surprised by Eleanor’s answer. “Brooke won’t be happy.”

Was her baby sister ever happy with anything that didn’t involve all the attention being on her? Too bad she’d had an allergic reaction to some new beauty cream that had left her unable to bask in the limelight of Senator Cole Aston’s latest publicity project.

At least this time Eleanor agreed with how her father was spending his money. Actually, she was quite pleased, which was the only reason she’d agreed to take Brooke’s place at the ribbon-cutting ceremony this evening. He’d donated an exorbitant amount to build a new neonatal wing for premature babies at the Angel Mendez Children’s Hospital where she worked.

She loved being a part of something as wonderful as Angel’s, New York’s first and finest free children’s hospital. Working with her preemies left her with a feeling inside that no other aspect of her life had ever achieved. She felt needed, whole, as if she made a difference. In her patients’ families’ eyes, she did matter, was the most important person in their tiny baby’s world.

Her patients didn’t care that she wasn’t glamorous or wearing the latest Paris styles. They didn’t care if her hair was plain black and always clipped tightly to her scalp in a bun. They didn’t care that she never bothered with makeup or taking time to put in her contact lenses so her thick-framed glasses didn’t hide her dark brown eyes.

Neither did they care that she’d never be beautiful and svelte like her petite sister, not with her bone structure and too-generous curves that no amount of starving herself seemed to cure. So she just maintained a healthy diet and lifestyle and ignored that the media liked to point out the differences between her and her Hollywood-thin, perfectly coiffed sister.

Pain knotted Eleanor’s gut at the recall of some of the comments that the gossip rags had made about those differences over the years.

Her sister might love the limelight, but Eleanor detested it, did everything she could to avoid putting herself in the media’s glare. Yet tonight she would be representing her family at a very important event for Angel’s. The press would be there in droves.

What had she been thinking?

The sheer impact of what she’d agreed to do hit her, made her hand shake, reminded her that she was being forced to attend a social event. Still, think of all the families the new wing would benefit.

She took a deep breath, praying a full-blown panic attack didn’t hit. “Brooke isn’t going to be happy anyway, Norma. She’s not the one cutting the ribbon this evening.”

Having been a constant fixture in their lives and knowing them as well as their own mother did, probably better, a semblance of a smile played on Norma’s twitching lips at Eleanor’s accurate assessment of her sister.

“Agreed, but you’re going to have to return that dress yourself.” At Eleanor’s frown, she continued, “If I’m going to have one or the other of you upset with me, it’s going to be you over your drama-queen sister.”

Eleanor took another deep breath and exhaled slowly. Hadn’t it been that way her whole life? Brooke always managed to get her way one way or another, whether it was with their parents, the hired help, the media, or the many enamored people who flocked to be close to such “perfection” as the lovely and superfun Brooke Aston.

Eleanor had spent a great portion of her life in the shadows. Fortunately, she liked it there.

She glanced at her watch again. She’d been away from the neonatal unit too long already. “Fine. I’ll deal with this later.”

Eleanor’s heart squeezed as Rochelle Blackwood’s tiny fingers wrapped around her pinky finger. So precious.

Even with the tubes and wires attached to the twenty-six-weeks-gestation little girl, nothing was more beautiful or precious to Eleanor than new life.

Not so many years ago, Rochelle wouldn’t have had any chance of surviving outside her mother’s womb short of a miracle. Thanks to advances in modern medicine, the little girl’s odds had greatly increased, although certainly she was high risk. Still, each day she survived raised those odds.

Eleanor intended to give her tiny patient everything in her favor that she could.

“What do you think, Eleanor?” Scarlet Miller, the head neonatal unit nurse, asked from beside the tiny heated incubator. “Is she going to pull through?”

Rochelle had been born with part of her intestines outside her abdomen, with underdeveloped lungs and eyelids that were paper-thin and not yet open. She couldn’t eat or breathe on her own. But the little girl had a strong will to live. Eleanor felt the strength of her spirit every time she was near the baby.

“I hope so. She’s a fighter, that’s for sure.”

Rochelle’s mother had been sideswiped by a drunk driver and had suffered multiple crush injuries. Rochelle had been in trouble and the decision had been made to deliver by emergency cesarean section. Sadly, her mother hadn’t survived the night.

Eleanor felt a special bond with the baby, perhaps because the five-day-old baby’s father was grieving the loss of his wife and had yet to visit the little girl who’d already undergone multiple surgeries and treatments during her short life. The medical staff of the NICU was the only human contact the baby had.

“Agreed,” a strong masculine Texan voice drawled from behind her. “I hope you don’t mind, but I’ve been keeping tabs on this little darlin’.”

As it always did when Dr. Tyler Donaldson was around, Eleanor’s face caught fire. Not literally, of course, but it may as well have for how hot her skin burned anytime the man was near.

Just as it also always did, her tongue refused to do anything other than stick to the roof of her mouth, leaving her unable to answer him and feeling like an awkward teenager with a first crush.

Urgh. How could one sister be such a consummate flirt and known for the many hunks wrapped around her manicured finger and the other sister be a shy, inept mute just because a good-looking man spoke to her? Not even spoke to her about anything personal but about a patient. Yes, she really was pathetic.

Probably taking her silence as disapproval—or who knew what he thought of her since he usually ignored her—Tyler stepped closer to the incubator. “I was on duty the night she made her entrance into the world. She’s such a sweet little darlin’, ain’t she?”

His Southern accent got to her, just as it did most of Angel’s female staff. In a big way. His voice was so inviting, like a fire on a cold winter’s night. She just wanted to bask in the warmth of everything about the man. Which was crazy. He was a total player who charmed women right out of their pants. Yet all his exes still adored him. Go figure.

She risked a look at him and immediately wished she hadn’t. Just as if she really did stand next to a fire, her face burst into a new wave of flames. If there was a pill to cure blushing she’d be first in line at the pharmacy, because she hated the nervous reaction almost as much as she hated her panic attacks.

“You met her father?” Tyler asked, his warm brown gaze focused on the baby.

Still unable to prise her tongue off the roof of her mouth, Eleanor shook her head.

“Guess he still ain’t been by.” Tyler sighed, making the sound long and as drawn out as his speech, as if every sound that came from his mouth had to stretch the span of his home state of Texas. “Can’t help but feel bad for the guy. Losing his wife that way and afraid that he’ll lose this li’l sweetheart, too.”

Her tongue still not cooperating, Eleanor nodded.

“I’m glad she got assigned to you, Eleanor. She got lucky and got the best.” Without looking up, he brushed his finger gently across where the baby still clung to Eleanor’s finger.

Sparks shot up her arm and her breath caught in her throat.

She’d been so engrossed in the man beside her, in his unexpected compliment, she’d completely forgotten she was still touching the baby until his skin made contact with hers.

Wow.

Just wow.

Thinking she had finally prised her tongue loose, she turned to try to say something witty, but just as she opened her mouth, he flashed that half-crooked grin of his. At someone walking up beside them.

Someone else female.

Because he was Dr. Tyler Donaldson and that’s what he did best.

With every single female in the NICU except for dumpy, boring, mute, too-curvy Eleanor Aston.

Where was the black dress she’d brought with her that morning?

Panic raced through Eleanor as she stared at the contents of her staff locker.

It had been ransacked.

In the place of her gym bag, the black dress that she’d neatly hung that morning and the pair of black flats she’d planned to quickly change into was a note in familiar handwriting.

A note that made smoke billow from her ears.

You’re gonna look so hot, sis. You can thank me later. B.

Thank her? Ha. She was going to strangle her sister. How had Brooke gotten into the doctors’ lounge? Gotten into her locked locker? Not that her sister had been there herself. No way would Brooke risk being seen or photographed with her face red, swollen and peeling.

Yet her sister had wiped her out.

Even her purse was gone.

There were three items in the locker other than the note. The red dress and stilettos that her sister had so thoughtfully sent over and a square white box that covered almost the entire bottom of the locker.

Dare she even open the lid to see what lay inside?

She glanced at her watch, knew she was running out of time and snatched the lid off to stare at the items inside.

Underwear. Eleanor wrinkled her nose. Leave it to her sister to know that if you were going to wear an itty-bitty dress you had to have itty-bitty underwear to go with it.

Plus, a red clutch purse that matched her dress and shoes and a too-big, too-flamboyant hair clip meant more for adornment than to actually be useful.

And makeup. Lots of makeup.

Acid gurgling in her stomach, Eleanor shook her head. This was her place of employment, the hospital where she worked.

Okay, she’d jump in the shower and pray that when she was clean, her belongings would be back.

They weren’t.

“What’s wrong?” Scarlet asked, doing a mad makeover dash of her own to get changed for the ribbon-cutting.

“My sister has gone too far this time.” Eleanor tightened the towel she had wrapped around her body. “How am I ever going to be taken seriously again if I wear that?”

Scarlet’s gaze ran over the dress then over Eleanor from head to toe. “I’m pretty sure if you wear that there’s going to be a lot of people taking you seriously. Maybe one person in particular.”

Eleanor’s chest tightened. “What do you mean?”

“Don’t give me that. I’ve seen how you look at him.”

“Who?” Had her voice just squeaked?

Scarlet laughed. “Dr. Donaldson.”

“He barely knows I exist.”

Scarlet motioned to the dress. “You wear that and there’s not going to be a man alive who isn’t aware you exist.”

Eleanor crinkled her nose. Brooke she could see putting her into a dress she shouldn’t be in, but she trusted Scarlet. “You really think so?”

Scarlet gave her a duh look. “Hurry up and get changed and I’ll help you do your makeup and hair. You have great eyes and hair. We’ll play them up to draw attention to them.”

Great eyes and hair? Right. Had Brooke bribed her friend to say that? Next thing she would be telling her she had a great body.

“Of course, with a chest like yours it’s going to be difficult to keep attention anywhere but on your cleavage.”

That she knew. Which was why she never wore anything revealing or clingy. Her breasts were too big, but they matched her curvy hips and thighs.

But Scarlet was right. She was running out of time and it wasn’t as if she had anything else to wear. Plus, she felt ridiculous talking while wearing only a towel.

She let her gaze go back to the items in her locker. If she was going to look a fool, she might as well go for broke. “Why not?” She smiled at her friend. “We’d better hurry. Thanks to my father for being out of town and Brooke not being able to make it, yours truly is sort of the guest of honor.”

“You’re going to totally knock the socks off Dr. Donaldson,” Scarlet mused as Eleanor stepped into the dress. “It’s a perfect fit.”

Eleanor blinked, then put her glasses on and stared at herself in the mirror. “Yeah, but where’s the rest of the dress?”

She tugged on the material, trying to cover some of her cleavage, but only managed to hike the skirt higher up her thighs.

Dear Lord, if she bent over someone might get a glimpse of those tiny scraps of underwear Brooke had left her no choice but to wear or go commando.

Mortification set in. “I can’t go out in public like this.”

Scarlet inspected her then nodded. “You’re right. Hand ‘em over.”

“Huh?”

“Your glasses. Give them to me.”

One hand protectively holding on to her frames, Eleanor shook her head. “I can’t see without them.”

Scarlet tsked. “You should get contact lenses. You have gorgeous eyes.”

“I have contacts.” She wore them for sports and exercise, but rarely when she was at the hospital as she was more comfortable behind the shield of her glasses. “But since my sister took my purse, I couldn’t put them in if I wanted to.”

“Not a problem.” Before Eleanor could stop her, Scarlet had plucked her glasses off her face and refused to give them back. “Now, let’s get you to the ribbon-cutting because you’re already five minutes late.”

Eleanor glanced at her arm, realized she wasn’t wearing her watch and frowned. Late? The senator was not going to be happy with his elder daughter.

During the whole walk to the new wing, Eleanor told herself that all the stares she was getting was because she was wearing a fancy red dress in a children’s hospital.

She knew better.

Thank goodness she’d decided to carry her heels because if she’d had to walk in those things over to the new wing, she’d have fallen flat on her face and probably split the seams of her dress in the process.

“Quit fidgeting,” Scarlet ordered from beside her. “You look great.”

She looked a fool—not that she could see how foolish she looked, not without her glasses.

Only this time was much worse than past embarrassments because she was at the hospital where she worked, surrounded by the people she worked with, people who, until today, had respected her as Dr. Eleanor Aston.

Dr. Tyler Donaldson grinned at the cute little nurse who worked in the obstetrics department and considered the possibilities.

Just as he knew she was sizing him up.

No doubt she’d heard about his reputation.

Everyone at the hospital knew he was a love-’em-and-leave-’em kind of man.

He liked it that way. Truthfully, he was pretty sure most of the women liked it that way, too, although they’d never admit it.

He was a good time waiting to happen, but not a keeper.

However, the blonde was looking at him as if she wouldn’t mind keeping him occupied for the night.

“I can’t believe Dr. Aston isn’t here yet,” she chattered, although Ty was more interested in what her eyes were saying. Those eyes were saying you and me, bub, hot and sweaty between the sheets.

Although he hated admitting it, lately he’d been getting bored with women.

“I never would have thought she’d be late.”

Dr. Aston? No, he wouldn’t have pictured her the type to be late either. She seemed much too uptight to be anything other than punctual. Unless something had come up with one of her tiny patients and then Ty could see the dedicated pediatrician blowing this celebration altogether. He’d be hard-pressed to name a more dedicated doctor.

“It’s so difficult to believe she and Brooke Aston are really sisters.”

He’d have to live in another country not to know who Brooke Aston was. The media loved her. The image of a blonde bombshell came to mind. Yeah, accepting that the two women came from the same DNA pool was difficult to believe.

“Brooke was supposed to have been here to cut the ribbon, but she caught a virus or something while volunteering at some charity event for sick children,” the blonde prattled on. “I hope it’s nothing serious.”

From the things Ty had seen about the infamous senator’s daughter, he had a hard time envisioning her getting close enough to sick kids to have actually caught something from them.

“Maybe one of them was adopted,” he suggested to make polite conversation. With the publicity for the new wing, he’d heard about the family connection prior to this evening. As Eleanor didn’t make a bleep on his possibility radar, he hadn’t paid much attention to the hospital gossip.

But something about her irked him. He couldn’t quite put his finger on what it was about her, just that he’d decided to steer clear.

“Oh, my word!”

At her gasp, Ty’s attention jerked back from thoughts of a woman who crept into his mind more often than a woman who didn’t make a bleep on his radar should to the OB nurse. Her gaze was fixed beyond him to the hallway leading into the new wing. He turned to see what she was looking at and found his own breath catching in his throat.

It took him only a moment to realize who he was looking at. Even then he had to do a double take before he could convince himself that he wasn’t wrong. But once he realized that it was really her, his chest tightened, making him gulp for much-needed oxygen.

“I don’t believe it,” the nurse next to him muttered. Neither did Ty.

He didn’t believe he’d totally missed that Dr. Eleanor Aston had been hiding a killer curvy body beneath those baggy scrubs she wore. Wow.

Bleep. Bleep. Bleep.

Hell, what was his possibility radar doing? He was not interested in Eleanor. Not in baggy scrubs or in a body-hugging red dress that ought to be labeled lethal. Not with her gorgeous brown eyes wide and uncertain rather than hidden behind her glasses as she faced the crowd. Not with her glossy black hair flowing loosely down her back rather than tightly pinned to her scalp.

Only he was and maybe he had been all along.

Bleep.