Babies in the Bargain (18 page)

Come to think of it, she’d initiated two of those kisses. Frustrated, she pinched her chin, thinking hard and fast.

Be positive.

An invitation to the opera sounded like a date, right? Lips puckered, she tapped her desk.

Unless it was another of his many ways of showing his gratitude. Similar to cooking, or having the house painted, or sending her the neonatology CDs and the flowers. She shouldn’t make a big deal out of it. An evening at the opera with her good buddy Marc would provide a relaxing break from her studies.

But what if he meant it as a real date? Her heart somersaulted.

A date? As in the beginning of some romantic involvement?

She closed her eyes, unable to believe it and yet wanting to give herself a second chance with the new Marc she’d discovered recently, the perfect father and guest and friend.

God, she missed him so much since they last kissed.

Get real. Marc didn’t believe in romantic involvement, and even less in commitment. And she didn’t either. For the last seven years, she’d avoided dating.

Remember, Dr. Collier. “Nothing on earth can distract me from my medical career.”

One date didn’t mean she’d forget her pledge. She’d have gone out if Chris or Jeff had invited her. So why not Marc?

She glanced at her stereo and her collection of favorite CDs. Both tenors. How could she pass up a unique chance to hear both tenors and put some fun in her life?

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Marc led Holly up the stairs of the Kennedy Center for The Performing Arts. The red-carpeted foyer bustled with a sparkling crowd in evening dresses and formal suits. They chatted with Dr. Halsdale and his wife and waved at other couples they knew. He took her wrap to the coat check, turned around to join her and sucked in a deep breath. Under the glittering light, her long, black dress provided a dramatic backdrop for the golden mane cascading down her back. He was partial to blondes, but this one was unique.

A vision. A dream come true.

His gaze rested on her alabaster shoulders crossed by the thin dark line of the spaghetti straps and then skated down to the creamy expanse of flesh offered to his hungry eyes. He clenched his fingers in a fist against his side.

Professional. Be professional
. His mind repeated the mantra he’d been serving himself like a cooling shower for the last month.

Damn the professionalism, his body screamed. With effort, he dropped his head to swing his focus away from her soft curves. He swallowed hard. The view was even better. A long, shapely leg tantalized him through the side-slit skirt. High-heeled sandals added to the elegant allure of the dress.

He summoned every bit of self-control to unglue his gaze from her silk-molded hips. He sauntered toward her and cupped her elbow. “Come, we better find our places.” Was this hoarse voice his?

Holly threw him a bewildered look.

He cleared his throat and rubbed his neck. “It’s so hot here.”

She chuckled. “I guess you are warm in that suit. In contrast, I feel underdressed.”

Wrong sentence, sweetie, too provocative
.

A sidewise glance to his companion raised his body temperature to boiling point. He muttered the few words that could save him from spontaneous combustion, “How are your little patients?”

“My patients?” Her eyes rounded.

How could he be so stupid as to talk about patients now, when they were supposed to relax and forget work? A hostess saved him from another blunder by giving them performance brochures and showing them to their seats.

After she sat and smoothed her skirt, Holly turned her head toward him. “Talking about patients, you mentioned we may be called if there is an emergency.”

“I hope it will be a Q night.” He closed his eyes for a second.
Please let it be quiet at the hospital
.

Holly’s throaty laugh tickled his libido. “Don’t tell me, our eminent anesthesiologist is superstitious enough not to say the Q word.”

He arched his eyebrows. “Usually, I’m not. Let’s hope for a great evening.” And no interruption at a critical moment. “How about a drink and a stroll on the River Terrace after the performance?”

 She frowned, bit her lip, but didn’t say anything. Her gaze narrowed, then flickered away. He expected her to give him a blunt refusal or at best some sort of gentle brush-off.

She turned back to him. “Why not?” A smile spread across her face. “It’d be lovely to stroll on the terrace.”

The lights dimmed and the conductor strolled on to the stage, baton in hand. As the stage curtain rose and the music started, Marc surreptitiously checked his brochure. The performance would last until ten thirty with a short intermission in the middle. He stretched an arm behind his lovely guest’s back, but flexed his fingers and dug his nails in his palm to avoid stroking her silky shoulder.

Domingo started his repertoire with
O sole mio
. Marc shot a sidewise glance in Holly’s direction. Her head tilted, a faint smile on her lips, she listened with rapt attention to the melody of love.

Tonight, he’d have to tell her how much he cared about her. She was the only one for him. His
sole mio
. He sucked in a deep breath and armed himself with patience as Domingo’s bass voice joined in the duet. He’d endured a month of restraint, but the next two and half hours would last an eternity.

* * *

“I can’t decide which one I like better, Carreras or Domingo. They were both fantastic,” Holly repeated for the third time as Marc opened the glass door leading to the terrace of the Kennedy Center. They circled the fountain where lighted jets of water sprayed up into the night in a shimmering cascade.

Marc’s arm slid across her back, and she closed her eyes for a second, relishing the warmth of his fingers pressed against her side. A burning tingle slithered to her bones as he guided her toward the side bench lining the terrace.

Her gaze fell on the silver ribbon of the Potomac River, illuminated by a full moon. “It’s beautiful,” she mumbled. Everything was beautiful tonight. If only it could last.

The breeze tossed her hair against her cheek. Marc inched closer, smoothing the strand away with a gentle stroke. She stiffened and stepped back.

He’d been the perfect gentleman all evening. Actually for the last month, he’d been a well of medical information, limiting their conversations to professional subjects or baby’s reports. And now...

“Easy, honey, I’ve been dreaming of this golden silk for ages.” He twirled a curl around his fingers and trailed it across his lips. She stifled a sigh as his breath fanned her forehead.

An unbearable need to be held again in his strong arms fluttered in her heart as a lump clogged her throat. “Marc,” she murmured, unable to think straight.

His gaze captured hers as he sucked in a deep breath. He released her and stepped back.

Why? She hoped she didn’t push him away. “Let me get us a drink.”

Alone on the terrace, she wrapped her arms around herself and watched the lights play on the National Cathedral and the Roosevelt Bridge. She didn’t need a drink.

Impatience rippled through her. She wanted him to hold her. Now.

Music filled the night. A replay of the tenors’ voices, languorous and soft, reached her from the concert hall.

Relax, she urged herself, enjoy your once-in-a-lifetime evening.

“Relax, Holly.” Marc’s voice echoed in a whisper from behind her. She turned around, and he handed her a flute of bubbling champagne. He had taken off his jacket and bow tie. She glanced dizzily at the black hair curling out of the open collar of his white shirt. All thoughts of relaxation flew away.

He raised his glass. “To you, sweet Holly, and to our first date.”

Their first date? She smiled.

So, it was a real date. Would there be others?

The road to graduation from her fellowship didn’t encompass sharing many dates with her dashing companion.

But tonight... Marc had spread his magic carpet at her feet.

Tonight was special. Just tonight.

Hot, sultry fire burned in his gaze, ready to consume her. She clicked her glass against his and sipped, allowing the liquor to soothe her dry throat. He drained his drink and took her flute to place it on the stone bench. His hand cupped her chin and his eyes bored into hers with an unspoken question. She didn’t dare talk or breathe, afraid of spoiling the moment.

Her entire being tingled with eagerness. He lowered his head, his mouth pausing on her cheek, waiting. She closed her eyes, meeting his kiss with parted lips.

It was better than her recent fantasies. A blazing kiss from this hot-blooded man. He wrapped his arms around her, his hands burning through the silk of her dress. She laced her fingers behind his neck and leaned into him, savoring his lips and his tongue.

He suddenly pulled his mouth away. Through a daze, she heard the drilling of the phone. “Damn.”

His arm still encircling her waist, Marc unhooked his cell phone from his belt and barked, “Suarez...” His voice fell. “What’s up, Barbara? Now? Yes, right away.”

Holly flinched and stepped out of his arms. Snapping the cell phone shut, Marc groaned, frustration etched on his face. “They have an emergency. Sorry, Holly. I have to go.”

She nodded and shivered, already missing the warmth of his body. Her cell phone chirped at that very moment. She grabbed her purse to take her call. “Holly Collier.”

“Dr. Collier, can you come right away?”

“Immediately.”

“Good. You’re flying to Maryland. Eastern Shore Clinic called
. A thirty-seven-week pregnancy with a pre-eclamptic mother that they can’t manage there. The chopper will be ready,” the administrative assistant transmitted in a blank voice.

“No problem, Barbara. I’m on my way.”

Marc draped the wrap over her shoulders and slid into his jacket. “Let’s go.” Hand in hand, they strode toward the parking lot.

Holly didn’t protest when Marc revved the engine of his shiny Porsche and took off at high speed. Zooming along the dark streets in tense concentration, he covered the ten miles from the Kennedy Center to the hospital in less than ten minutes.

“At least, we’re on the same team,” he said, finally breaking the heavy silence as he turned into the hospital and stopped by the main entrance.

She arched an eyebrow. “How come you’re going on a chopper?”

“I’ll go as a moonlighter, not an anesthesiologist. They don’t have docs available for this emergency flight. I told Barbara I was ready to help if she needed me. I want to make up for all the time I’ve missed, and others have subbed for me.” He jumped out of the car and opened the door for her. “See you on the chopper.” He handed his keys to a valet and rushed through the doors. Ignoring the elevator, he took the stairs two at a time.

Holly followed as fast as her high-heeled sandals allowed and called the elevator. She exited on her floor, removed her sandals, and dashed through the hallway to her room.

Back in scrubs, she ran up the stairs and zipped through a maze of corridors to reach the terrace and the helipad where the helicopter waited with engines rumbling. A nurse was already on board. Holly settled in her seat, buckled her seatbelt, and closed her eyes with a sigh. What a dismal ending to her memorable evening at the opera.          

 “Hi, sweetie.” Marc towered in front of her. “Here, I brought you something to munch on.” He handed her a bag of crackers, a chocolate bar, and a cup of coffee.

“Thank you. I was starved.” She smiled.       “Me too. Sorry, we didn’t have time to eat anything after the performance.” Marc dropped in the seat behind her and buckled his seatbelt.

“Ready for takeoff?” the pilot asked.

They plunked their headphones over their ears. The chopper became airborne. While nibbling on her crackers, Holly watched Washington unfold at their feet like a map illuminated with thousands of lights.

It would have been fun to sit on Marc’s lap and continue their interrupted kiss. She bit back a smile. Kissing in a chopper. That would beat her daring dreams. A warm tingle stirred in her belly. She glanced at the nurse’s back with resentment and then shook her head to clear it. Yeah, as if she’d really allow herself to act upon her fantasies.

“We’re landing,” the pilot announced after twenty minutes.

As soon as the helicopter touched ground in the backyard of the Eastern Shore Clinic
,
Marc jumped out and offered his hand to Holly. A nurse wheeled the gurney out of the building while a man in scrubs held the patient’s hand.

Her husband? Or a physician?

A bulky older man, dressed in a suit, followed them. Not the usual team to accompany a patient to the chopper.

“Dr. Spencer Barnes,” the younger man introduced himself, shouting over the noise of the spinning rotors. “My father-in-law, Dr. Carmichael. My partner was going to deliver Joan, but he’s not here this week. I’d rather transfer her now to a bigger hospital while her BP is still relatively stable. Her feet and hands are swollen. The protein in the urine is climbing.”