Unlocking the Surgeon's Heart (9 page)

One of her eyebrows arched high. “Writing a check is nice, but it isn’t
participation
.”

“Well, thanks to you, I’m participating now,” he complained good-naturedly.

She giggled. “You are, aren’t you?”

While his apprehension about sailing around the floor in front of a group of people hadn’t faded, it seemed small and insignificant when compared to Christy’s challenges. Spending an evening in the company of a woman who embraced life to the degree that she did wouldn’t be the royal pain in the backside that he’d first thought. Perish the thought, but, to borrow her phrase, it would probably be…fun.

“I’m warning you, though. After this week, when I don’t have to cover so many extra shifts, we’re going to start practicing,” he said firmly. “And I do mean
practice
.”

A small wrinkle formed between her eyebrows. “I was only teasing about getting my dance partner up to speed.”

“You have may have been teasing, but I’m not.”

“Need I remind you this is only a friendly event? No one is expecting you to be Patrick Swayze.”

“If they are, they’ll be sorely disappointed, but if something is worth doing—and you keep telling me it is,” he added wryly, “then we’re going to do it well.”

As he saw her smile, he asked, “What’s so funny?”

The grin disappeared, but the humor remained in her eyes. “Nothing,” she said innocently. “If you want to practice, we’ll practice.”

The cuckoo suddenly chirped eleven times, which caught Linc by surprise. He wondered where the hours had gone, but he’d been so engrossed in Christy’s story that he hadn’t noticed how quickly the evening had passed.

“I’d better start the dishwasher before I forget.” She rose out of his loose embrace. “Then I’m turning in.”

As he followed suit, his arm felt empty and almost unnatural, as if his body sensed what his mind could not—that she belonged there. Not just for a few minutes or over the course of a conversation, but for years and years.

Perhaps it was time he reconsidered a few points he’d etched in stone. The ideal woman he’d hoped to find—the one with steady, dependable traits—suddenly didn’t seem quite as attractive she had a few weeks ago. Being with Christy had made his nameless, faceless future wife seem so…colorless, so black and white.

He now wanted color in his life.

Out of habit, he checked the front door to be sure the deadbolt was thrown, and armed the alarm system.

It was such a husbandly sort of thing to do, he decided as he waited for her to return so he could turn off the lights. Yes, he knew she could flick the switch as easily as he could, but he’d reverted back to his early days when his family had been together. He had always been the last to go to bed because, as the man of the house, he’d accepted the responsibility of securing their home for the night. Old habits, as he’d told Christy, definitely died hard because he’d fallen back into them as if it were only yesterday.

He heard the water running into the dishwasher, then the rhythmic swish as it circulated, but she still hadn’t reappeared. Wondering what had delayed her, he meandered into the kitchen and found her with her hands planted on the counter, head down.

“Is something wrong?” he asked.

She straightened immediately and turned toward him, but he saw the too-forced smile. “Why do you ask?”

“You looked as if you were a few hundred miles away.”

Her smile was small. “I suppose I was,” she said slowly. “For years I haven’t thought about some of the things I shared tonight. I’d pushed Jon and the incident with Anthony completely out of my mind, but remembering the way it was…now my emotions are a little tangled.”

He didn’t believe she had pushed those two experiences out of her head as much as she thought she had. The fact that she intended to hold any fellow at arm’s length until she passed her magical five-year date proved that both men’s rejections continued to color her relationships.

“Understandable,” he said, “but I’m honored you opened up to me. For the record, though, if you hadn’t have volunteered the information, I wouldn’t have pressed.”

“The story was bound to come out sooner or later. You can’t share a house with someone and keep any secrets,” she said ruefully. “I trust, though, you’ll hold everything in confidence? It’s not that I don’t want anyone in Levitt Springs to know, but I’d rather tell people in my own time and in my own way.”

“I won’t say a word.”

“Thanks.”

He sensed the absence of her normally confident air and he felt somewhat responsible. If he’d pretended ignorance about the pills, denied any knowledge of what he’d seen, she wouldn’t be reliving the sting of her ex-boyfriend’s rejection.

Impulsively, feeling as if he needed to comfort her as he would a distraught Emma, he covered the distance and drew her against him. “Jon was, and still is, an ass,” he murmured against her hair. “For that matter, so is Anthony.”

She shook in his arms and he didn’t know if she was laughing or crying until she spoke. Then he heard the hoarse, tell-tale quiver in her voice. “They are.”

“You’re better off without them.”

“I am,” she agreed.

“Jon definitely didn’t deserve you.”

“He didn’t.”

She sounded as if she was repeating the arguments she’d used before. He pulled away just enough so he could tip up her chin and stare into her chocolate-brown eyes. “A fellow with any brains would be happy to call you his, cancer diagnosis or not.”

She licked her bottom lip before squeezing out a weak smile. “Thanks for the thought.”

His gaze landed on her mouth and he instantly realized she was definitely
not
Emma by any stretch of his imagination. He had an uncontrollable urge to determine if her lips would fit his as well as her body did, and if they tasted as delicious as he suspected. Before he could restrain himself, he bent his head and kissed her.

It was a chaste kiss, one meant to console, but not only did that contact pack a powerful punch, it also ignited a hunger inside him.

Gradually, he increased the pressure, waiting for her to respond to his lead, and to his utter delight she did. He caressed her back, carefully encouraging her to lean closer until he finally felt her weight settle against him. Little by little, he inched one hand toward her bare shoulder. Entranced by the smooth skin, he trailed his fingers along the bones before stopping at the hollow of her throat.

He’d run his fingers along the skin of countless patients, but his touch had been clinical as he’d felt for lumps, bumps, and other signs of illness. This time it was different. This time his sensitive fingertips noticed softness while his nose picked up the fresh, floral scent that was pure Christy.

Stopping was impossible; it seemed crucial to catalogue every inch of her, although he was cautious of what he suspected were her well-defined boundaries. But her skin was warm and his five senses conspired against his good sense until his fingers traveled an inch lower and she suddenly pulled away.

Puzzled, he stared at her, wondering if he’d touched a tender spot, but as he glanced at the point where his hand had roamed on her sternum, he mentally kicked himself for his insensitivity. Clearly, she thought he intended to stray deeper into what she considered forbidden territory.

“I should go to bed,” she said, her voice breathy as if she’d been jogging for a mile. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight,” he answered to her back as she fled. His night, however, couldn’t end with him in his current state. He’d work off his tension in Ty’s basement weight room and if that didn’t resolve his problem, a cold shower would come next.

All because of the sixty seconds she’d spent in his arms.

* * *

Christy spent the next twenty-four hours scolding herself for overreacting to Linc’s touch. His gentle caresses hadn’t been inappropriate and yet she’d jumped like a frightened virgin.

The truth was she’d enjoyed being in his arms far more than she’d dreamed possible. He was solid and warm and comforting, which gave her such a deep sense of safety—almost as if she was being protected from the latest of life’s impending storms. More than that, though, he reminded her of a steady rock she could lean on whenever the need arose.

In spite of all that, she’d jumped away from him like a startled rabbit, she thought with disgust.

She might have apologized, but she didn’t see him at all on Monday, although she knew he had come home because he’d left a glass in the sink and a scribbled note on the counter, asking her to pick up his clothes at the dry cleaner’s.
Please
, he’d underlined in thick, bold strokes.

On Tuesday, she saw him at the hospital, but other than a quick “How are the kids?” their conversation had been limited to the status of his patients.

She didn’t see him at all on Wednesday, but once again she’d found a note. This time he’d stated how much he’d liked the oatmeal cookies she’d left for him. She’d seen his distinctive scrawl before and thought nothing of it, but his personal message—his compliment—brightened her day. Because she was off duty and intended to spend her hours on household chores and laundry, she needed that bright spot.

Since the kids were in school, she vowed to tackle household projects. She cleaned furiously, debating for the longest time if she should go into Linc’s room in case he’d think she was invading his privacy. Finally, after she’d cleaned bedrooms and the community bathroom, she caved in to her own arguments. The man hardly had time to breathe, so he certainly wasn’t going to spend his free hours dusting and scrubbing the tub. As neat as he was, he wouldn’t notice she’d been in his domain, anyway.

She, however, certainly did. The masculine scent of his bath soap hovered in the bathroom and clung to his towels. Even his bed sheets retained his personal fragrance.

He left more than his scent behind, though. She found other clues that fit the man she knew him to be. The unmade bed suggested he’d been called out early, but even the rumpled bedding testified to Linc’s control. A faint indentation of his head on the pillow and one corner of the sheet pulled out from under the mattress hinted that he wasn’t a restless sleeper—probably because when he finally closed his eyes, he was too exhausted to move.

Idly, she wondered what he’d be like to sleep with. Would he snuggle up close, like Ria did when it was cold outside, or stick to his side of the bed? Would he pull her toward him or move to the center to meet her?

As she caught herself in her own daydream, she chuckled with embarrassment and was grateful that he wouldn’t walk in and discover her locked within her own wicked imagination.

She stripped the bed, forcing a clinical detachment to complete the job.

His full laundry hamper presented another problem. It seemed a horrible waste of water to ask him to launder his things separately—again, when would he even have time?—so she gathered his washables and added them to her other loads, all the while trying not to notice how wifely it felt for his T-shirts and unmentionables to mingle with her own.

Determined to keep her thoughts occupied, she dusted and scrubbed and vacuumed until Ria fled the house for the quiet safety of the back yard. She left nothing unturned, and had even gone into Ty’s basement weight room where she’d found a few dirty towels. By the time Emma and Derek were out of school, the place was spotless and she was literally exhausted.

They strolled to the park to exercise Ria and came home at dinnertime, but once again Linc didn’t put in an appearance. She didn’t see him until the next day at the hospital and then she was certain it was only because Thursday was his normal scheduled surgery day. One of his patients had just been wheeled to a room after waking up in Recovery and Linc had walked in to talk to the man’s wife, wearing his green scrubs.

After they’d dealt with the usual order of patient business, he pulled her aside. “When can you get away for lunch?”

“It’s hard to say,” she admitted. “We’re swamped today.”

“Make time.”

She was tired enough to bristle at his demand—between keeping up with two busy children, a house, and working a short-staffed twelve-hour shift, she now understood why her working-mother colleagues had fragile tempers by the end of the week—but she had to eat and if she didn’t take a break soon, her feet would revolt.

“Maybe by one or so,” she began.

“Okay. I’ll see you then.”

He strode away before she could recover from her surprise. As far as the gossip mill had reported, the man rarely took time for himself between his surgical cases and when he did, he usually ate on the run. Could it be he was finally loosening up and becoming more approachable? She smiled at the thought.

Yet as she watched him pause to talk to a pharmacist, then laugh at whatever she’d said, her self-satisfaction dimmed as an unreasonable combination of curiosity and jealousy flooded over her.

Was this the woman he’d mentioned he’d wanted to get to know? If so, then her plan to convince him to enjoy life’s simpler pleasures might drive him into another woman’s arms.

It was silly of her to consider the possibility. After all, she didn’t have any illusions that she was his type.

But, oh, it was nice to dream…

* * *

Linc’s work schedule for the week hadn’t been that unusual for him, but throughout the day—especially during the evenings—he’d caught himself wondering what Christy and the kids might be doing. Knowing that he was missing out had made him impatient at times and he’d earned a number of startled glances from his staff who obviously wondered what had twisted his surgical gloves into a knot.

Each night as he came home he half hoped Christy would be waiting for him, as she had on that first night. Logically, he knew he was expecting too much. Ten-thirty or eleven was late for someone who went to work at five a.m. Not being accustomed to keeping up with two active children, she probably ended her day as soon as Emma and Derek did.

Illogically, he still hoped.

Whenever he walked into a quiet house, those hopes deflated, although he was pleased by her gesture of leaving the kitchen light blazing so he wouldn’t stumble in the dark in the somewhat unfamiliar surroundings.