Prima Donna (12 page)

He waved for the bill while Regan ducked into the ladies’ room, and ten minutes later they were on the bike heading back down the highway toward home. The sun had started to slide, leaving parts of the road in chilly shade while other parts were almost blinding in the brilliant late light.

With her damp, hole-filled gloves left back in the bathroom garbage, Regan’s hands were laid bare to the biting January wind, and it wasn’t long before she could barely move them. She needed to find a way to cover them without letting Carter go and falling off the bike, and she needed to do it fast, because it wouldn’t be long before she lost all feeling in them.

Inch by inch, she slid her hands to his sides, hoping she could find side pockets on his jacket, but no luck, so she moved them to the front again, lower, and slipped them under the edge of his jacket.

Carter’s head twisted a little, then harder when she accidentally brushed fingers across the edge of his waistband. The bike jerked hard to the right. Regan squealed and grabbed whatever she could—some of his shirt, part of his waistband, a little bit of skin—and hung on as they careened over and skidded to a stop on the side of the highway, the Cheakamus River roaring angrily beside them.

“What was that?” she cried, gasping for breath, then using what she found to blow into her palms. “Are you okay?”

“Am I—” Carter ripped off his helmet and glasses as the deep growl tore from his throat.
“Am I okay?”

“Well, are you?” She scrambled off the bike and tried to unfasten her own helmet but her half-frozen fingers wouldn’t work. “You scared the hell out of me.”

“I—?” He held both gloved hands up and gaped at her wide-eyed before roaring like a wounded grizzly. “What the hell were you doing?”

“
Me?
I wasn’t doing any…oh.” She sucked both lips between her teeth and tried not to laugh. “Ooooh, Carter, I’m so sorry. My hands were cold.”

“Your hands were cold?”
He paced beside the bike, one hand raking back through his hair, his helmet clutched in the other. “Jesus, Regan, I could’ve killed us.”

His eyes were like rocks, his voice hard and tight, and when she stepped toward him, he jerked out of her reach.

“I’m sorry.” It wasn’t funny, so why couldn’t she stop laughing? “I didn’t…I wasn’t thinking. Well, I mean, I was thinking, but not of
that
.”

Her mouth twitched relentlessly against the half-truth even after she pinched her lips together.

It took Carter a full minute before he stopped pacing and stood staring at her, and almost another minute before he finally kicked the dirt and chuckled. “Shit.”

“I’m sorry,” she repeated, still snickering.

“Seriously, Red.” Head shaking, still chuckling, he waved his helmet toward the bike. “Get on.”

Regan scrambled on, her knees a little shaky and her hands still half frozen. Carter fastened his helmet and climbed on in front of her, but before he started the bike, he took her hands and tucked them against his stomach, under his jacket but above his shirt.

“But—”

“Don’t move,” he growled. “Just leave them there. Got it?”

Regan nodded, tightened her hold on him, and laughed until the wind sucked the breath out of her again. They made it back to town ahead of ski traffic, and much to her unexpected chagrin, all too soon, Carter turned off the highway and parked in front of her building, which meant she was going to have to let go of him.

He unbuckled her helmet, then walked her up toward the building.

“So?” he prodded. “That was fun, right?”

“Not bad. Not bad at all.” She held the helmet out to him, but Carter shook his head.

“Keep it.”

“No.” She frowned from him to the helmet and back. “What if you need it?”

“It’s not really my color.”

“But—” Her frown deepened as she pulled open the front door. “Oh, I get it. This is one of your things.”

“My things?”

“Sure.” She wasn’t completely stupid. Every guy had “things.” “You buy the helmet, take the girl for a ride, ba-da-boom, ba-da-bing…”

“I don’t have ‘things.’ ” Carter held the door then walked in behind her. “And the only other helmet I ever bought was mine.”

“Yeah, right.” He didn’t look like he was messing with her, but come on, it was Carter, which is why his next sentence shocked the hell out of her.

“I’ve never even had a chick on my bike before.”

“Seriously?” Side by side, they made their way slowly up the stairs, Regan trying all the while not to think about how close they were. Or how freakin’ good he smelled.

“Not a one.”

Easy there, Girlie Regan
.

“Why not?”

Carter shrugged indifferently. “They were all too scared.”

“Ha,” she snorted. “And you think I wasn’t? God’s sake, Carter, I almost peed my pants when you ripped by that fuel truck. And then again when you nearly crashed us into the river.”

“That was your fault.”

“Didn’t make it any less scary.”

She pushed open the door to her apartment and tossed the helmet on the nearest chair.

“Maybe,” he grinned. “But you manned up. Hell, you’re like my little biker chick now.”

She wasn’t anyone’s anything, but before she could say as much, he squeezed her hand in his and pressed a soft, slow kiss against her cheek. Her senses swirled, dipped and crashed, overwhelmed by the warmth of his lips against her skin, the dizzying scent of leather and faint musk, and the barely audible growl that seemed to creep up from his toes.

“I’m really wishing I hadn’t told you about this stupid job,” he muttered.

Dazed, and more than a little freaked out, Regan had to force herself to blink. This was Carter for crying out loud; a distraction and nothing more. She wasn’t supposed to want him to stay and she sure as hell wasn’t supposed to regret it when he let go of her and stepped back.

It was going to take some serious work to convince herself of all that.

“See you tomorrow.” His smile was more of a wince, but at least he managed to do it, not like Regan.

“Yeah, uh, okay,” she muttered. “Tomorrow. Thanks for the ride.”

A few minutes later, Regan managed to drag herself off the closed door she’d slumped against and huffed out what was supposed to be a sigh but sounded a lot more like Girlie Regan sobbing in the corner. Like it or not, distraction time was over.

Rossick met her at her desk with a smile and a fresh-brewed cup of coffee.

“Is this how every morning’s going to start?” she laughed. “Or are you just trying to butter me up?”

“I’d like to say it’s how every morning will start.” His dimples grew deeper with his grin. “But I’d be lying.”

“Where’s mine?” Julia rounded the corner into the reception area, hands raised in a
what-the-heck
gesture.

Rossick flashed her a goofy grin and bobbed his head down the hallway. “Still in the pot’d be my guess.”

“Nice.” She rolled her eyes, but when she turned to Regan, she was smiling. “Morning. You ready to get started?”

“Absolutely.”

“Great.” She pointed to three boxes sitting on the front desk. “We got some basic office supplies you can sort through and set up however you like, but if there’s anything else you need, just call Patty at the office supply store; I set up an account there.”

“Okay.” Regan moved toward the desk, pulling off her jacket as she moved. “Is there anything you guys need first?”

Julia looked over at Rossick, who shrugged and shook his head.

“Not right now, so take your time, look around, get comfortable with the place, and we’ll go from there.” She started toward the far hall, then turned back and dug a piece of paper out of her pocket. “This is the URL for an online tutorial for the billing system. I’m told it’s fairly simple once you get the hang of it, but if you have any questions, I wrote the help line number down there, too. Ask for Egon. Oh, and our nurse, Tracy, should be in about noon.”

“Great, thanks.”

And with that, Julia and Rossick disappeared down the hall, their voices trailing back behind them.

“Any word from Carter?”

“Yeah, said he’d meet us at the apartment at ten.”

Regan didn’t hear Julia’s response, didn’t even listen for it; she was already pulling open the first box and lining items up on her desk. A couple hours later, every office was stocked with supplies, her own desk was set up properly, and she was two screens into her billing tutorial, when the door opened and in walked a fifty-something woman, dressed in black and neon green yoga clothes, her salt-and-pepper hair cut into a short-short pixie that suited her face perfectly.

“You’re not Amanda,” she said, her brow puckered in a slow frown.

“No, I’m not,” Regan answered. “I’m Regan.”

The woman couldn’t have dismissed her faster. “Where’s Amanda?”

Regan stared back at the woman long and hard, blinked slowly, then tipped her head and smiled as sweet as could be. “I’m sorry, is there something I can help you with, Miss…?”

It took her a few seconds, but the woman finally sighed. “Bowden. Tracy Bowden.”

“Tracy?” Regan repeated, fighting back a smirk. “
Nurse
Tracy?”

“Yes. Where’s Amanda?”

Regan held her smile another few seconds.
Oh, this was going to be fun
. “From what I understand, she quit last week.”

Not even so much as a blink. “Is Dr. Rossick here yet?”

“Come and gone. They’re moving into the new apart—”

The glittering ray of sunshine that was Regan’s new coworker marched straight past her and down Rossick’s hall. It was all Regan could do not to snort, and good thing she didn’t because Carter came whistling through the door just then, keys jangling in one hand, a paper bag clutched in the other.

She immediately tramped down the rush that coursed through her, and tried not to notice the way his eyes crinkled at the corners or how his mouth tipped up in one of his sexy little half grins. But that hair—she didn’t even try to stop her eyes from rolling at the way it stood up all over his head from what must have been a finger comb after his shower.

“Good morning, Dr. Scott.”

“Miss Burke.” The closer he got, the wider he grinned. “Good to see you again.”

“And you.” She twisted her pen between her fingers, then used it to point down each hall as she spoke. “Mail’s on your desk, Julia and Rossick are at the apartment, and Tracy’s down the hall.”

At the mention of Tracy’s name, Carter’s eyes widened a little, his grin turning to a smirk.

“She comes highly recommended,” he said, almost defensively. “We were lucky to get her.”

“I’m sure,” Regan grinned.

“Dr. Scott?” Tracy’s voice called from the end of the hall. “Is that you? Do you have a second?”

With a wink, he started past Regan’s desk, setting the bag on the edge as he walked by. “Just a little something to make this easier. For me.”

She waited until he was out of sight before she pulled the bag onto her lap and slowly opened it: four plain yellow bars of glycerin soap, each wrapped in crinkly loud plastic, and two brown bricks of antiseptic soap, each stamped “St. Mark’s Hospital.” Lying on top of the heap was a ripped-off piece of envelope with a note scrawled on it:

Nothing good about the way these smell. Please use liberally.

“You got in late last night.” Jayne set her book on the island and turned her music down until Bon Jovi was hardly more than a whisper.

“Yeah, sorry about that. You’d think Duke would figure out it’s just me.” Carter poured himself a glass of milk, grabbed a muffin, then slid onto the stool across from her. “We got everything moved in, but I was too tired to start setting things up, so I figured I’d crash here one last time.”

“You’re still welcome to stay, you know.”

“I know. Thanks.”

“So.” Running her finger across the cover of her book, she watched him swallow a large gulp of milk. “How’d Regan make out yesterday?”

Carter grinned slowly, remembering the way her left eyebrow had cocked slightly when she’d called him Dr. Scott. “Great.”

Jayne clicked her tongue and scowled when he kept grinning at her. “Just stop it.”

“Stop what?” he laughed.

“You’re her boss, Carter.”

He lifted his shoulder in a careless shrug as he bit off a chunk of muffin. “Doesn’t change the fact she’s one fine-lookin’ woman.”

“Carter.”

He was saved from the lecture when his phone rang, the St. Mark’s number flashing across the display.

“Dr. Scott.”

The second he heard Imrie’s voice, his fingers froze around the phone.

“Are the labs back?” He turned and headed slowly out of the kitchen, but Jayne was right behind him. “Okay. Is her mom there? Good. Yeah, thanks for letting me know. I’m on my way.”

He ended the call, but stared at the phone for a second before cursing under his breath.

“What is it?” Jayne wrapped her hand around his arm, her worried blue eyes searching his face.

Carter tucked the phone back in his pocket as he headed for the bathroom near his room. “One of my patients was admitted last night.”

“Is it bad?”

“Not sure yet.” He squeezed some toothpaste onto his brush and sighed. “It might be nothing but she just finished chemo a month ago and now she’s running a fever.”

“How old is she?”

“Twelve.”

“But if it’s…can they treat it?”

He moved the brush through his mouth as she stood waiting for an answer, but all he could do was shrug. After a quick shower, he grabbed another muffin and headed for the door. “Would you call the office and let Regan know I won’t be in this morning?”

“Yeah, of course. Drive carefully.”

He bobbed his head in response, grabbed his keys and took off. It wasn’t the best way to start his first day at the clinic, but at twelve years old, Erin had already been through two rounds of chemo. He’d only been through it once and that was hard enough.

Traffic was pretty light, so he made good time getting into the city. He jogged up the stairs to the third floor and nodded a greeting to the nurse on the phone. Without him having to ask, she pointed at the huge whiteboard where Erin’s name had been freshly written. 310.