My Sister's Boyfriend (The Trouble With Twins 1) (7 page)

Brent watched her, his brows drawn together, his green eyes alert, but didn't say anything.

"The executive committee and I came up with these suggestions: Building Bucks for employees to buy food, gas, gifts and eat out on. The retailers would give us up to ten percent of all profits. If we have at least seventy-five percent participation, we could anticipate collecting almost a hundred thousand dollars in the next year." She paused. "Memorial bricks. For five hundred dollars, a family can purchase a brick in a loved one's name to go on the memorial wall. If we sell five hundred of these, we could raise two hundred and fifty thousand dollars."

Brent leaned back. To the casual observer he wouldn’t appear to be paying attention, yet she could feel him watching her, which left her flushed and heated. He wet his lips, drawing her attention to the sensual fullness of his mouth. The memory of kissing those lips vibrated through her, and she stumbled over her words.

"And—and the last idea we had was a silent auction for goods local merchants donate. If we do this right, we could raise approximately a hundred thousand dollars."

"On a silent auction? Are we going to auction off gold bricks?" Brent asked sarcastically, sitting straight up.

"No, we'll get the local stores to donate different items. Maybe a couple of travel agencies will offer vacations. We'll approach the mall about jewelry and maybe a fur coat or two. It'll all add up."

"We need something more adult. Something edgier that will draw in people. Lots of people," Taylor, an anesthesiology nurse who gave Brent a come-hither look, contributed.

Jennifer ignored the woman.

"You're going to need a lot of free trips to Cancun to raise a hundred thousand dollars," Brent acknowledged.

"What attracts people?" one of the members asked.

"Sex," Taylor said, uninhibited.

Everyone laughed at the ribald comment.

"This is small-town America. I don't think so," Jennifer said.

"Bake sales?" an older woman from the administration offered.

"That's an awful lot of cookies, and if I'm going to Cancun, I'm not buying any," Brent commented.

The anesthesiology nurse smiled. "You know I read the other day that forty-five percent of our employees are single. Why not a bachelor auction?"

"That sounds like fun!" one of the secretaries replied.

"Single men and women, even some local celebrities could bring in a lot of quick cash. Bid for your next date."

"That's barbaric," Jennifer replied, thinking they couldn't be serious. "Not to mention unprofessional and detrimental to the hospital’s image."

"If it helps us reach our goal, what does it matter how we get there," Brent said. "As long as it’s legal."

"No," she insisted, fearing she was losing control of the meeting. "We have to maintain the hospital's image."

He made a face at her. "Come on. Are you telling me you wouldn’t accept a date with Ryan Gosling?"

"No," she lied. "I'm choosy about who I date!"

He paused and grinned. "That's good to hear, but I'd jump at the chance for a date with Pamela Anderson or Claudia Schiffer. I'm just looking to have some fun."

Somehow she felt like his last sentence was a message for her. He just wanted to have some fun.

"Excuse me, Dr. Moulton, but I'm really not interested in your dating preferences. I'm trying to establish good fund-raising opportunities for the hospital."

"We both want the same thing," he said.

"Yes, but we're going about it in different ways."

A grin split his face. She could tell he enjoyed seeing her under pressure. "That being said, I'm not going to subject this hospital to ridicule from the press for hosting something that seems outdated and could possibly hurt the hospital's image."

For a moment the room was silent as she gazed around the table at each person. "Now, we're going to have a nice silent auction, maybe even a bake sale or two. And I'll be looking for a restaurant that will donate their catering service for that night."

Brent smiled at her and shook his head. "You're going to come up short on capital."

"Please try to remain positive, Dr. Moulton," she responded, trying to carefully hide her irritation.

Jennifer glanced down at her watch. "We're quickly running out of time, and I know you all are very busy. I need a couple of volunteers to take on each one of these projects. Mainly you will be working with me to help get the message out to the employees and ask for their help. Do I have any volunteers?"

Jennifer hurriedly scribbled the volunteers’ names down while Brent sat, his arms folded, his smile replaced with a frown. He didn't say a word, but from the determined set of his jaw, his mood was not hard to discern.

"Okay everyone, I'll get in touch with you individually. Our next committee meeting will be in two weeks. Thanks for coming today."

Chairs rolled away from the conference table as people stood and began to hurry out the door. All except Brent, who remained seated in his chair staring at her. They sat like opponents at opposite ends of the long conference table.

She closed her leather notebook, zipping up her notes inside, taking her time before she looked at Brent. When she glanced up, his eyes, dark and serious, caused a trembling deep in her stomach.

"You know, the bachelor auction could be a lot of fun if you'd consider it. We would get plenty of publicity, and I think if you'd just give it a chance, we could raise a lot of money."

"So I'm supposed to go before the very stuffy chairman of the board and present him the idea of auctioning off men and women on stage? Should they wear a G-string? How about romance novel cover models? Or even better a couple of centerfolds?" she asked sarcastically.

He just stared at her, not responding.

"Are you trying to get me fired?"

"It could be done tastefully," he acknowledged, his voice low, his words slow and precise.

"I'm not willing to take the chance."

"No, you've closed your mind against the idea. I could line up a star-studded list and you'd still turn me down. I never thought that a woman who jumped out of coffins in seductive clothing could be so rigid."

Ooh…she resisted the urge to throw something at the mulish doctor. Instead, she smiled, determined not to let him see how his remark affected her.

"Well, you've forgotten that my sister was the one who was supposed to sing at your party, not me."

"Oh, no. I haven't forgotten," he said his voice dropping, his eyes focused on her, stirring something deep within her. "When I close my eyes at night, I still see that long, sexy, black dress. I smell your sweet perfume and feel your lips beneath mine. And I think how much I enjoyed seeing your body swaying to the music. Only this time, I dream we're alone and you're dancing for me."

Jennifer’s body could have busted thermometers, she felt so hot at Brent’s remarks. She stood, needing to escape from the man and the sensations he created within her.

Her senses exploded with awareness. God she still wanted him!

"The meeting is over, Dr. Moulton."

She picked up her iPad and walked out of the conference room, determined not to respond to the erotic image he'd just created. She’d gone from annoyed to aroused in less than a minute, and the quick fluctuation in her emotions left her disturbed.

Why did she let the man get to her?

Chapter Four

Five days later, Jennifer stood at Brent’s front door wishing the last time they’d spoken things had been different. She was in charge of the fund-raising activities of County General, and she wasn’t about to risk her job and the reputation of the hospital on a bachelor auction. Not even for Brent Moulton.

Yet here she stood on his doorstep, nervous, unsure of his reaction to seeing her. Maybe she would get lucky and he wouldn’t even open the door.

When his pregnant secretary had phoned and told her of his illness, she could hardly refuse the woman’s request to bring him the care package his office had put together for him. After all, pregnant women should never be around people infected with chicken pox, and even though Jennifer’s pride was smarting, she couldn’t let the young woman take the risk.

But even worse, she’d eagerly taken on the care package project and added items she thought he would like or need, putting in extra time and energy as if she cared for him.

So here she stood on his doorstep with her hands full, pressing his doorbell.

She heard him yell. “I thought I told you not to come over,” he shouted through the closed door. “I’m still contagious.”

“I’m immune,” Jennifer yelled back.

She saw movement through the small decorative window. “Open up the door before I drop everything.”

He cracked the door open. “Sorry, I thought you were my sister. What are you doing here?”

“What does it look like? I’m bringing you food,” she replied,

“You’re certain you won’t come down with the chicken pox?”

She pushed open the door with her foot, determined to get into the house before he made his decision on whether or not to let her in.

“I wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t,” she retorted, walking right past him. “I took the vaccine when the hospital offered it to us.”

A pair of college athletic shorts and a T-shirt were all he wore, though his skin looked worse than a teenager in the throes of puberty.

“Well, aren’t you the smart one. I had chicken pox as a child and never thought I would need the shot.”

She watched him reach up and scratch his arm until he realized what he was doing. She tried to block the feeling, but he looked wretched and she couldn’t help but pity him.

“Spot, you must have had a very light case the first time. Don’t worry, you’ll never catch chicken pox a third time.” She gazed at him, amazed at how miserable he looked, and all the anger she’d hung onto like a lifeline melted away. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen an adult with as many spots as you.”

He scowled but didn’t respond.

“Where’s the kitchen?” she asked.

“Through that door.” He pointed to an entrance that led off the main room.

“So we’re in agreement that you look awful, but how are you feeling?” she asked, her movements brisk and businesslike. The quicker she gave him what she’d brought and got out of here, the better.

“Itchy. Cranky. Why are you here?”

“I come bringing soup, bread, other assorted goodies, and a get-well card from the staff. But more importantly, I brought Benadryl and Calamine Lotion,” she said, setting the Crock-Pot and sack down on the counter.

“Bless you!” He glanced with longing at the sack. “So you were the sacrificial lamb my staff sent to be exposed.”

“Everyone was busy covering minor emergencies. Your secretary called and asked if I knew anyone who lived in your area,” she said with a sigh. “How could I refuse a pregnant woman? I told her I would do it.”

Jennifer plugged the Crock-Pot into an outlet, and she let her gaze pause momentarily on him. He looked pathetic, and though she considered him an adversary, she would never have wished this on him. How could she stay angry at a man covered in red welts? “Besides, I thought that you might want homemade soup rather than the canned for a change.”

Pulling the groceries out of the paper bag, she began to put them up. He tried to help her, but she turned and gave him a stern look.

“You look gray. I think you need to sit down.”

She pulled a loaf of French bread out of the sack and walked over to the oven, where she turned it on and slid the French bread in.

“Yeah, well you try having little bumps that itch in the warmest recesses of your body and see if you aren’t grumpier than the oldest man.”

She tried not to laugh. She could see he was hurting, and suddenly she was glad she had come to his aid. “By the way, I also brought you one of those oatmeal baths. I thought it might help your itching.”

He sank down in the nearest chair. “Thanks.”

“Here are some movies to watch, a couple of paperbacks, a magazine or two, and a crossword puzzle book. Everything to keep you occupied for the next week.”

“Why are you doing this?” An odd look of surprise crossed his face. “The last time we spoke, we didn’t part on the best of terms.”

She’d asked herself that same question in the car as she drove over here. “I knew you would be going crazy sitting at home. So when your staff wanted me to bring the Calamine Lotion and Benadryl, I thought I’d throw in a few things to occupy you.”

“So does this mean you’re not angry with me anymore?” he asked.

“Let’s just say that due to your illness, I’m calling a truce. Besides, we’re both entitled to our opinions. You’re not going to change yours, and I’m not going to change mine. My job with the hospital is at stake, and I’m not willing to risk it for something I don’t believe in.”

He opened his mouth and then paused as if reconsidering. “Thank you. I really didn’t feel up to fighting with you today. I’m more the cuddly-sickpersonality type.”

She raised her brows at him. “That’s nice to know, but even with the shot, I’m not willing to get that close to you.”

“Not up for a little make-out session on the couch?” he said trying to tease, but she knew he wasn’t capable.

“Look, I know you feel bad, so drop the come-on lines. They’re not working. I’m just here to fix your dinner, give you your card, and tell the staff that yes, you look as bad as you sounded on the phone.”

“I guess hunks don’t normally have nausea and fever.”

Jennifer smiled and shook her head. “Try to relax while I heat up your dinner.”

She was trying so hard to keep things professional-yet-friendly between them. But would she have gone so far for any other sick coworker? Right now, she couldn’t answer that question. She didn’t even want to contemplate the thought.

He groaned. “I guess my staff must think it’s pretty funny that the head of pediatrics has chicken pox.”

“They feel badly for you.”

A grimace froze on his face, and perspiration broke out on his forehead. His face turned a white pasty color.

“What’s wrong? Are you all right?”