Harlequin Medical Romance December 2015, Box Set 1 of 2 (3 page)

And what she'd wanted was the very thing Jess had always dreamed of having. A place where she lived in no one else's shadow...where she truly belonged. At one time she'd equated that with having her own home and family.

When that possibility had been ripped away, she'd thrown herself into her job, doing all she could for her patients and their little ones. Maybe her parents were right. Maybe she was too dedicated. Looking at her tiny new niece had made her stomach churn with a longing she'd all but forgotten.

This was Abbie's fourth baby.

Jess had none. And no prospects of a serious relationship or any children in the near future.

She picked up her glass of wine, swirling the liquid to block the direction of her thoughts. Conversation. That was what she needed. Racking her brain, she tried to think of something that would break the growing silence. Something witty. Something that would make her feel a little less dull. Dean's eyes were now on her, a slight furrow forming between his brows.

Say something!

“I've never been here before. Do you come here often?”

Oh, no! Why had she asked that, of all things? A few seconds of silence followed the question before he spoke.

“Often enough.”

His jaw tightened a fraction.

This was definitely where he brought his women.

His women?

She crinkled her nose at that thought. Wow, she was really outdoing herself tonight. Worse, what if someone she knew was here? She sank a little lower in her seat, taking a sip of wine and swallowing it. “Really? It's my very first time.”

Dean, who'd been in the process of lifting his glass to his lips, stopped with it midway to its goal. The furrow between his brows deepened, then he gave his head a slight shake as if clearing it and took a drink. A good-sized one if the movement of his throat was any indication.

Did he think she was flirting with him? She hoped not, because if he did, there was no telling what he might—

“What are you thinking about?”

Caught!

“My niece.”

Those words brought her back to earth with a bump. Her niece's situation was the only reason she was sitting here in this restaurant.

Could the newborn sense the antagonism flowing between her and her sister, even in the SCBU? Abbie hadn't spoken to her since the baby's delivery, despite her mother's attempts at playing peacemaker.

Poor Mum. Some anniversary this had turned out to be.

He set his wine down. “You said it was your fault. You know that's not true.”

“Abbie and I were in the middle of a row. She went into labor. If I'd just walked away...”

Would the outcome have been any different? Abbie had been bound and determined to have her say.

But surely Jess could have changed the direction of the conversation. Maybe. Her sister had always known exactly which buttons to push—which insecurities to choose—to get her going. Today had been no exception.

“Coincidence.”

“Really? Stress can induce labor—you know that as well as I do.” She paused a beat and then let the rest of it out. “She thought I was sending suggestive texts to her husband.”

That got a reaction. Dean's eyes narrowed just a touch. “Were you?”

“No!” She fiddled again with the corner of her serviette. “I mean, Martin and I were engaged at one time, but once he saw Abbie—”

She couldn't finish the sentence.

Instead of pressing her for details, Dean chuckled.

That shocked her. “I don't see what's so funny.”

“Well, not funny exactly. So your sister had her eye on your fiancé, and now that she has his ring on her finger, she's worried you might want him back.”

That was it in a nutshell. It had been six years, but Abbie just couldn't let it go. It was one of the reasons Jess had moved to Cambridge in the first place, to get away from the constant haranguing and jealous questioning.

“I don't want him. At all.”

“I can well imagine.”

Which brought her back to the current dilemma. “I have no idea how to make her believe me.”

The conversation paused when the waiter brought their food. Curried chicken with rice and vegetables served family style. Before she could lift a finger, Dean had taken her plate and dished up some of the fragrant food. Too bad she didn't have much of an appetite at the moment.

Once Dean had served himself, he had no problem picking up where they'd left off. “So you think your sister is going to keep accusing you of trying to steal her husband...aka your ex.”

Using her fork, she speared a piece of chicken. “She lives in London, so, once she goes back, I'm hoping it'll die back down. Or that Martin will be able to convince her we're not communicating behind her back.”

“Mmm... I see.” He popped a bite into his mouth and chewed. Swallowed.

Why was she even telling him any of this? And what was with her watching the man's throat? It had to be the way that sharp edge of his Adam's apple dipped, causing her eyes to want to follow it. All the way down to his... She jerked her eyes back to his face.

Dean continued. “No current love interest to throw her off the trail?”

“No.” She hurriedly stuffed a piece of food into her mouth, even as she felt her face heat all over again. If he only knew how true those words were, he would think she was a complete washout when it came to the opposite sex.

In fact, the two of them should not even be having this conversation. She barely knew the man.

But what she did know of him... He was rumored to have a revolving bedroom door. Women in...women out. Swish, swish, swish turned that door.

“What if you did?” he murmured.

“Excuse me?”

He smiled at that. “You're not going to turn that cute little glare back on, are you?”

“Excuse... I mean, what?”

“That's better.” He set his fork down and reached across to touch his fingers to hers. A shot of electricity arced through her hand and zipped straight up her arm. “I was just sitting here thinking. Maybe you should hand her proof of a conquest or two?”

It was said with a cheeky air that made her laugh. Not because it was funny, but because he said it as though it weren't such a stretch to imagine that she might have a long list of failed romances.

She didn't. She left things like that to her sister. And to men like Dean.

“I don't have any conquests.”

His index finger brushed along hers, sending another shiver through her. “Do you always say exactly what you think, Jessica Black?”

“No.” Although that wasn't quite right. She did tend to wear her heart on her sleeve, which was why her sister had always been able to zero in on what Jess wanted out of life—on which boy Jess liked. Then she turned on her million-kilowatt charm and took it for herself.

“Oh, I think you do.” The low words curled around her midriff, squeezing the air from her lungs. “But maybe we can use that to our advantage.”

“Um...we?”

“Mmm.” He leaned across the table. “How about if we show your sister exactly how her little game is played.”

“I—I have no idea what you're talking about.”

“I think you need to show her you can round up your own men, thank you very much.”

“Men? Plural?”

“Why not?”

Her gut churned. “How can you do that?”

“Do what?”

“Go to bed with hundreds of women as if it's nothing special.”

His gaze hardened. “The hospital grapevine strikes again.”

“It's not like you haven't been seen here. You have. The hostess knows your name, for heaven's sake.” The words just kept pouring out. “I'm not judging. I just don't know how it's possible to have casual sex without feeling something...anything. Do the women just go along with it? Or do you simply stop ringing them after you've gotten what you wanted?”

The bitterness of everything that had happened with Martin came rushing back. The giving of her heart—her body—and then having him stop ringing her one day. Finding out he'd been seen with her sister and to have them show up at her door and spill the beans, that he'd been going out with Abbie while still engaged to her.

“What makes you think that the ‘casual' in casual sex isn't on both sides? That the woman isn't just as interested in keeping things simple? Have you ever tried it?”

“Well, no.” And she hadn't. Maybe that was why it seemed impossible to believe that two people could share a bed and then each go their separate ways the next day with no hurt feelings—no misunderstandings.

“Maybe you should. It's a hell of a lot different when neither party expects anything out of the arrangement other than a single night of pleasure.”

The way his gravelly voice touched that last word sent a ripple through her midsection. What would it be like to have your physical needs met and then not expect anything further?

Maybe he was right. Maybe it wasn't as bad as it sounded.

And it could make her sister finally believe she was over Martin...that she'd been over him for a long time.

“Maybe I should.”

One side of his mouth went up, and he leaned over the table. “Bet you can't.”

She sat up a little straighter. If he could do it, surely she could. Unless he was calling her a prude. “Of course I can.”

“Prove it.”

Oh, no. This was not where she'd seen this conversation heading. “And how exactly am I supposed to do that? Are you going to hide in a cupboard and watch me?”

“No.” A little of the mellowness in his voice had faded and a sharper edge had appeared. “But I can feel out the men. Make sure they're safe.”

Jess could not believe she was even having this conversation. “So you would interview any prospective bed mate to make sure they aren't a serial rapist? Exactly where would this ‘finding my own men' be done? A pub?”

One thing Jess was good at was sizing up personalities. Except how good had she been at sizing up Martin? Not great. Maybe she did need someone to help scope things out. Not that she was actually thinking of doing anything of the sort.

Was she?

Evidently she was.

“A pub is perfect,” he said.

He didn't say it, but she got the distinct impression that that was where Dean picked up some of his prospective one-night stands.

Suddenly Jess was backpedaling like mad. She really didn't think she could go through with it, but, since she'd criticized Dean, she could understand why he'd taken offense. Just because
she
didn't have casual sex once a week didn't make it wrong that he did. “And you would be what? My wingman?”

He tossed his serviette on the table. “Your wingman.” He said it as if sounding it out. “I like it. I think that would work.”

Oh, no, she had no intention of doing anything like what Dean was proposing. But the thought of letting the man see how much it bothered her...

What if she made it look as if she were going along with it? That way, even if she wiggled her way out of the dates, she could still tell her sister she was going out. Maybe it would even ease some of the bad feelings between them.

A thought came to her. What if Dean picked up a woman while she was there? The last thing she wanted was to see him walk out of that pub with someone. She had no idea why, but she didn't. “So let's say I agree to chat up three men—” she was careful not to actually say she would go on to have sex with these men “—then you have to do something as well. How about, you have to promise to leave the pub alone. Go without. See how the other side lives.”

“So basically you would be the only one having fun?”

“Exactly. Think you can handle it?”

Dean leaned forward, one brow raised at the challenge. “Sweetheart, you've got yourself a bet.”

CHAPTER THREE

D
EAN
HAD
NO
idea why he'd goaded Jess into that ridiculous bet. They'd gone to the pub twice so far and she'd easily found herself a partner both nights, slipping out of the place within an hour.

He wasn't sure why he'd done it. Or why he'd been so adamant about going with her. Maybe because it bothered him that she compared herself to her sister. And she did. He heard it in her words, saw it in the uncertain way her fingers twisted together when she talked about her.

And his own part of the bet?

Laughable, because she seemed to think he picked up a different woman every night.

It would be kind of hard to do his job if he spent all his nights having wild sex. Although he could think of one woman he might be tempted to make that sacrifice for.

Not that he would.

Especially since he'd promised that very woman that he would have no sex. At all. At least not for the next several nights.

“Dr. Edwards? Is everything all right?”

Sitting in a rocking chair in the corner and holding a tiny baby to his shoulder, he realized he'd zoned out for a few seconds. “Fine. I'm just getting ready to put her back.”

His job didn't necessarily include cuddling his charges, but there was something about this one. Born to a drug-addicted mum, the little boy was off to a rocky start. But at least the child-welfare people had stepped in and insisted the mother clean up her act before allowing her anywhere near the child.

That was more than he had gotten when he was young. Then again, it was his father who'd had the addiction problem, not his mother.

He rubbed a few more gentle circles across the newborn's back. At least the baby had quieted down. When pregnant women took drugs, there were two victims. The baby's mother...and her child, who was now suffering through withdrawals—through no fault of his own.

Standing to his feet, he gave the nurse a quick smile before tucking the baby back into his cot. “Feel free to page me if this happens again.”

She nodded, smiling back.

Young and attractive with curly brown hair and sparkling eyes, Deidre had made it a point to call him back whenever she had a particularly difficult case. He wondered if that was for the baby's benefit or hers. It didn't matter. He'd decided a long time ago it was better to leave his personal life at home and his professional life at the hospital. It was just better that way.

“You have such a way with them.”

Did he? It seemed that anyone who offered these little guys a bit of love and affection would get the same response. And maybe that stemmed back to his childhood as well. He didn't want any of them to feel as alone as he'd once felt. And this particular baby had quieted down almost as soon as he'd settled into the rocker with him.

“I think it's just the body contact.”

She raised her brows and went over to look at the now sleeping infant. “No, I think you just have the magic touch.”

Not so magic.

He glanced at his watch, his jaw tightening. Tonight was the last night of his and Jess's bet, and suddenly the last thing he wanted to do was watch her walk out of that pub with yet another man. He'd made her ring him at home as soon as she arrived, and again after the man left her house, so that he would know she was safe.

Another thing he was nonplussed about. Of course she was safe. Jess was a grown woman and between the two of them they'd picked out the meekest, mildest-looking men they could.

Okay, that was probably all him, because Jess had talked to a couple of attractive muscular-looking chaps, but they'd made him uneasy.

Or was it just that he couldn't stand the idea of her spending the night with someone she might actually decide to go out with more than once.

Nope. That wasn't it at all. And just to prove it, tonight, he would let Jess pick out whoever she wanted.

And he wouldn't do a thing to stop her.

* * *

Having a wingman was the pits.

On their third and final outing, Jess was glad it was their last. Her days were spent with her niece, and her nights...well, her nights were Dean's. But not in the traditional sense.

As much as she wanted to skip out of the pub and go home alone, Dean was always there. Always checking out the patrons. And, hell, if he didn't always steer her toward men that looked as if they were laced tighter than a corset. It was never the good-looking ladies' man, or anyone who was like Dean himself. No. In fact, whenever one of those types hit on her, somehow Dean was always there with a glare or a sharp word.

Why did he even care? Wasn't this all about the bet—about seeing what it was like to have a few nights of casual sex? That was what it had started out as.

Instead, Dean brooded. Off in the corner, he would nurse a glass of Scotch and watch her sit awkwardly at the bar. If he approved of whoever offered to buy her a drink he stayed put, if he didn't...well, if he didn't, he appeared next to her like an avenging angel and chased the man off.

So for the last two date nights—Jess had faked it. She pretended to leave with one of the pre-approved men and then bolted, feigning a headache or stomach virus. Maybe it was fortunate that the men were as nervous and unsure as she was, because it meant she went home alone.

Her one consolation was that Dean left by himself as well. At least, if he was keeping to his side of the bargain. From his grouchy demeanor at the hospital over the last couple of days, she'd say he really had slept alone.

Why that mattered, she had no idea.

She screwed up her courage for one last run, and went over to the bar, asking for a dark bitter ale—which she hated. Her friend Amy promised Jess would eventually get used to the stuff if she drank it often enough. Right now, she just wasn't seeing it. But it was cheap and Amy swore men were impressed by a woman who drank dark ale. Hmm. Her friend was single and pregnant, so while it might attract them, that was evidently all it did. Which might work in Jess's favor, actually.

She should probably give Amy a call and make sure everything was going okay.

Thank God this was the last night. Even Abbie and her parents had seemed surprised when she told them she had plans again this evening.

“Another date?” The hope in her mum's voice would have been comical had it not been so very far from reality.

She'd mumbled something that she hoped made sense and then slunk from the room and away from Abbie's suspicious eyes.

Sighing, she perched on the nearest stool and forced a sip down, glancing across the space and meeting Dean's eye. This evening he was in a snug black T-shirt and faded jeans, the combination doing a number on her tummy. She'd never seen him dressed this informally. He lifted his own drink—something that looked a whole lot stronger than hers—and gave her a mocking salute before taking a swig of it.

Why was he even here? Surely not to make sure she did what she promised. Because he didn't look particularly happy to be sitting there waiting for her to leave with her next victim. Or maybe he was just irritated that he wasn't going to take someone home himself. Either way, this wasn't fun anymore. Not that it ever had been.

Someone tapped her shoulder, and Jess turned her barstool to meet the smile of a blue-eyed ginger. “You're a fan of ale, I see.”

The Scottish burr gave away his nationality, rolling across her in a way that made her smile right back. “Not actually, but I'm trying to learn.”

The man leaned forward and gave an audible sniff. “Dark Lady. Not a bad choice.”

Okay, so maybe Amy was on to something. “Are you a fan?”

“I am now.” Jess wasn't sure if he was talking about the ale or about her. She sized him up. Just how hard was he going to be to get rid of when it came time to leave?

When he covered her hand with his, she had her answer. She tensed, a trickle of panic beginning to gather in her midsection.

She didn't want to make anyone angrier than necessary. Especially a man like this one. She got the feeling he might be a little more difficult to shake.

Swallowing, she wondered if she could glance back at Dean and get his attention. They hadn't set up a signal in case she got in over her head. So maybe she should...

The back of her neck prickled just as her newfound companion's brows pulled together. His hand tightened over hers.

“I was wondering where you'd gotten off to, Jess.”

Dean.

Had he read her mind? As much as she'd been thinking about sending out an SOS, what she really wanted to do was leave and get this whole bet thing over with. It had been beyond stupid. A time waster. For both of them. She never would be a casual-sex type of girl, no matter how hard he tried to convince her otherwise. It was all fun and games...until someone lost an eye—or their heart.

Not that she was in danger of that from this particular ale aficionado.

But from Dean?

Lord, she hoped not.

She spun around, suddenly deciding she didn't want or need his help. He'd decided he didn't approve of this particular man? Well, she would show him that, from now on,
she
made those kinds of decisions.

Up went her brows. She needed to cut him off before he got started. The last couple of times he'd wanted to get rid of a man who had his eye on her, he'd pretended to be her significant other.

“Mum isn't expecting us home until later.” She smirked up at him, daring him to contradict her.

His response? A slow, knowing smile.

“Mum knows what we're like, when we're out on the town.” He took the ale from her hand and set it in front of the Scotsman. “Enjoy.”

The man let go of her, his possessiveness appearing to change to horror when Dean lifted a brow and said, “Dance with me...sis.”

Then he whirled her into his arms and headed toward the floor where other couples were already moving to the beat of some slow song.

Jess couldn't hold back a laugh. “I can't believe you just did that. You've probably scarred that man for life.”

There was no way she was going to admit she was relieved. Relieved she wasn't going to have to try to wave him off on her own.

“I can't believe you called me your brother.”

“Serves you right for interfering.”

He leaned back to study her face. “Did you want to leave with him?”

No, she didn't want to leave with him or anyone. But she'd gotten herself into a mess and wasn't sure how to get herself back out of it. “I thought we had a deal. I leave with three different men, and you leave with no one.”

“I've changed my mind.”

A warning tingle began at the back of her skull. “What do you mean you've changed your mind? Are you reneging on the bet?”

“Yes.” The word brushed across her, and the tingle became a full-fledged shiver.

He pressed his cheek to hers and drew her closer. If the Scotsman wasn't scarred before at the way Dean had whisked her away, he probably was now.

Jess swallowed. “I'm not sure what you mean.”

“I mean neither of us is leaving with a stranger. Not you. Not me.” His hand tightened on hers just the way the Scotsman's had. The intimate contact filled her with alarm, but a completely different kind of alarm. Because she liked it.

“Well, you not leaving with someone was kind of the point, wasn't it?” Although her voice sounded as shaky as her legs felt, she managed a smile.

“I'm forfeiting. As of now.”

So he
was
tired of frittering his nights away with nothing to show for it in the end. She should be glad. Because that meant she didn't have to pretend to leave with anyone now.

But she wasn't glad. And she wasn't quite sure why. “You're a free man. I assume you already have someone in mind.”

“I do.”

Jess turned her head, trying to figure out who the lucky woman was.

He tucked his fingers under her chin and shifted her face back toward his. “You're wrong. Are you so oblivious about what you do to a man like that?” He nodded in the direction of the bar where she'd sat a few moments ago.

“I'm not sure what you mean.”

“He wanted to take you home with him.”

“Oh.” Of course she knew that, but then again people in places like this probably weren't particularly choosy. After all, they were here for the same reason that Dean probably came here. To find a companion for a night of sex.

He chuckled. “You really don't have any idea, do you?” His fingers left her chin and trailed up the line of her jaw. “There's only one woman I'm interested in leaving with.”

“Who?” The trembling in her legs came back full force.

“Let's just say I'm thinking some
very
unbrotherly thoughts right now.”

Her? He wanted to leave with her. Why?

Wasn't it obvious? Casual sex, remember?

It was on the tip of her tongue to give him a resounding yes and leap into his arms. But whatever had been niggling in the back of her head grew as she thought through the implications. He was tired of playing the wingman...tired of his little hunger strike. And now he was hoping to break his fast. What easier target than the person he'd coaxed into taking this ridiculous bet in the first place? The person he'd dared to have casual sex with three different men. How easy would it be for Dean to be that third man?

It had nothing to do with her at all. She could be a plastic mannequin for all he cared.

Casual sex, indeed. Maybe that was good enough for him, but it wasn't for her. He might think her a prude, but she didn't care anymore.

Hurt surged up from somewhere inside her—a large festering lump that threatened to burst open in front of everyone in the pub.

“I don't think so, Dean. I have no clue what put this idea into your head, but you can put it right back out. If you want someone to pass the night with, you'd better keep on looking. Because this girl is leaving this whole scene. Alone.”