Heart Raider (Heartthrob Series, Book 1) (24 page)

When she recognized Ian’s building, she told the driver, “Stop here. Please. I’m getting off.” She handed him a ten dollar bill and bolted out of the cab.

Inside the building, Natasha gulped air and tried not to look at her wound as she pressed the elevator button. Thankfully, it was empty and she rode up to Ian’s office alone. But the moment she entered the reception area, she panicked at the roomful of patients waiting to be seen. Summoning strength—and courage—she limped toward the counter and tried not to put too much pressure on her injured leg.

“Excuse me,” she said to a gray haired woman whose narrowed gaze was fixed on the computer screen before her. “I need to see Dr. MacGregor.”

“Do you have an appointment?”

“No, but it’s an emergency.”

“I’m sorry. Dr. MacGregor doesn’t take walk-ins,” the woman replied briskly. Her name tag said Carla and Natasha wondered if she was the office manager.

“But I’m hurt,” Natasha said, her voice rising in anguish. She motioned to her injured leg, hoping Carla would take pity on her.

“You’re bleeding! You need to go to an emergency center. Now!” Carla said with a disapproving shake of her head.

A collective gasp sounded behind her and Natasha didn’t need to turn around to confirm that all attention was riveted on her, from the buzzing voices of waiting patients to the concerned faces behind the glass reception counter.

She leaned forward and clutched the counter. “I don’t feel very well. Please tell Dr. MacGregor that Natasha White needs to see him. He knows me.”

“I can’t interrupt him while he’s with a patient,” Carla said firmly.

Natasha closed her eyes and drew in calming breaths. How on earth was she going to get past Ian’s gatekeeper to see him?
Desperate times called for desperate measures.
She swayed on her feet and collapsed, making sure to land carefully on her uninjured side. Good thing her acting classes had included pratfalls, she thought wryly, as she lay on the floor pretending to be unconscious.

Carla rounded the corner immediately. “Good Lord! She fainted. Get Dr. MacGregor. Quick!” she yelled, patting Natasha’s cheek.

Seconds later, Natasha heard a deep male voice say, “What’s going on, Carla?” He reached Natasha’s side in seconds. “Tasha? Oh God. What happened?”

The hairs on Natasha’s arms stood on end and butterflies swarmed her belly at the sound of Ian’s rich voice, resonant with a Scottish burr. She opened her eyes and slowly met his—silver-green wolf eyes densely rimmed with sooty black lashes. Her heart pounded riotously as his arresting gaze locked with hers and a familiar weakness overcame her making it hard to breathe.

Ian’s sheer male force engulfed her, held her in thrall as she lay before him, almost sick with anticipation of his next move. A jumble of potent emotions blindsided her. Longing, excitement, trepidation, despair. She hadn’t realized how much seeing him again would affect her and she needed a moment to pull herself together.

Natasha closed her eyes and let her body go limp again.

Muttering “bloody hell”, Ian lifted her up and carried her down the hallway and into a room. She didn’t dare open her eyes.
Please let him think I’m unconscious,
she thought, mortified she’d had to resort to fainting like a damsel in distress. Before Ian, of all people.

He gently deposited her on the examining table and made short work of removing her jeans with the help of a nurse named Judy. While the nurse cleaned the wound, Ian examined it and Natasha kept her eyes closed the whole time.

“It’s superficial. I’ll take it from here, Judy. Please go to Mrs. Phillips in room six. I’ll be there shortly.”

“Yes, Doc,” Judy said and hustled out of the room.

“Nobody faints for that long. Open your eyes, Tasha,” Ian said in a voice laden with irony.

Tasha
. Hearing Ian’s pet name for her made Natasha’s heart squeeze. Her lashes fluttered as she blinked at the bright lights and focused on Ian’s face. He loomed above her, handsome as ever with a straight, aristocratic nose, a firm jaw and sensual lips that rivaled any Michelangelo statue. Thick dark brows formed straight slashes above narrowed crystal green eyes that raked over her with concern. Ian's vibrant wolf eyes stirred her blood and a tremor coursed through her as his steady gaze held her immobile.

"Ian.” Natasha took a deep breath of the sterile air in a fruitless attempt to calm her racing heart. “I…I…” she stammered.

Ian arched one brow and stared at her meaningfully.

She rubbed her arms against the shivery sensations he aroused, fervently hoping he couldn’t tell how unhinged she felt. She stared back, trapped in his penetrating gaze. For the life of her, she couldn’t think of anything to say. He had to be wondering if she’d lost her marbles.

“I’m sorry I passed out and bled all over your carpet out there. I’ll have it replaced,” she finally managed to say. She held her breath and waited for Ian to do something. A smile, a frown—anything to break the crackling tension between them.

Ian’s mouth tightened. “I don’t care about the bloody carpet. Let’s turn you on your left side so I can tend to the cut.” He placed a supporting hand on Natasha’s upper back and carefully eased her onto her side.

The moment his warm skin touched hers, gooseflesh spread on Natasha’s sensitized skin and zips of excitement shot to her pleasure points. It had always been like this with him. Ian’s touch or a look from his heated eyes was all it took to set her aflame.

She huffed for air before meeting his gaze. “I probably shouldn’t have come here, but I don’t trust anyone else with my legs. You’re the best.” The moment the words left her lips, she regretted it. Where was her filter for God’s sake?

Ian raised a sardonic brow. “Oh?”

This was no time for modesty, but she couldn’t help feeling utterly exposed in nothing but her blouse and bikini panties. A light blanket was draped over her hip, but her legs were bare to his gaze from thigh to ankle. He kept a blank expression, professional as a doctor should, but still…

She gave a shaky laugh. “Wait, that didn’t come out right. I meant you’re the best physician.” She cleared her throat and looked at her thigh. “Is the cut very deep? How bad is it?”

“It’s not deep at all. You’re lucky your jeans were in the way or it would have been worse.” Ian’s angular jaw was set in taut lines and his clipped tone spoke volumes.

Natasha lifted her eyes to meet his steady gaze. She was still reeling from his touch and the electrifying moment their eyes had met after so many years. Now the sexy sound of his Scottish burr and his nearness were making her heart pound and her senses buzz. This wouldn’t do. Ian’s intense gaze wreaked havoc on her composure as she wondered what lurked beneath the stillness.

She shivered inwardly, dropping her gaze to compose herself. He could read her like a book and he wouldn’t tolerate any artifice or acting on her part. He knew her too well.

“Are you going to stitch it up?” she asked, finding her voice.

“No. I’ll close the wound with tissue glue. It should heal without a scar.”

“No scar? Oh good.” She heaved a sigh of relief. No stitches and no scar. Now if she could just get him to smile, she’d feel a lot better.

“Be sure to keep the area clean and dry for 24 hours.”

“I will. Thanks, I appreciate it.” Ian’s expression didn’t soften when she smiled at him. With a sigh, she stared at the unyielding set of his mouth. The same mouth that had once smiled at her with heart-melting tenderness, had crooned Scottish endearments while making love to her, had kissed her
everywhere
into quivering acquiescence. All of it had been wonderful until seven years ago when she’d broken off their engagement and he’d thundered,
“Stay out of my life!”

“How did you get cut like that?” he asked, jarring her from her musings.

“I don’t know. One minute I was rushing home on my lunch break, and the next I felt a tug on my dance bag. When I pulled back, something sharp sliced across my thigh.”

He touched her leg again and she jerked in response.

“Hold still,” he said firmly. One masterful hand held her thigh immobile as the other treated the cut. “Are you in pain?”

“A bit.”

He slanted a sympathetic look her way. “I’m almost done. I’ll give you something for the pain before you leave if you still need it.”

Natasha nodded and bit her lip. It wasn’t so much the pain that was jolting; his touch was making her heart race and awakening every nerve portal of her body. She closed her eyes and cast aside the thrilling memory of his hands caressing her legs when they’d first made love.
Think of him as a doctor, nothing more.

When he finished tending the wound, he straightened and folded his arms over his chest. “When was the last time you ate?” His keen eyes bored into hers.

“I had breakfast this morning. Why do you ask?” She drew aside the light blanket to inspect the large bandage wrapped around her thigh

He studied her with thoughtful deliberation. “You passed out earlier and you’re thinner than I remember. Have you been on some crazy diet?”

“No, of course not,” she said, wincing as she sat up. “It’s all the dancing I’ve been doing.” She wasn’t about to divulge that Simon had rudely told her, “Better not lose those round tits and ass, babe. The role calls for it.”

Ian’s dark brows furrowed. “You used to love food.” His elegant surgeon’s hand turned her face toward him and his eyes settled on hers with the familiarity born of intimacy. Their eyes locked like lovers, electrified by the memory of their ill-fated passion years ago when his mere touch could set her on fire. The feel of his long fingers gently touching her face made Natasha’s heart hurt. His unswerving gaze was fathomless as he stared at her.

“I still do.” She drew in a heavy sigh and broke eye contact as she struggled to tether unraveling emotions. Did he remember how amazing it had been between them? Even in his sterile office, and despite the sharp headache budding behind her eyes, Ian aroused turbulent emotions inside her. She felt hot and cold and shaky at once reliving the memory of their heartbreaking split. He’d been her first and only love. No man she’d dated since had filled his shoes…or captured her heart. Especially not the last guy she’d dated. Tony Martin had been the exact opposite of Ian. Try as she might to forget Ian by dating Tony, it hadn’t worked—especially when Tony revealed his violent personality. After he unleashed his nasty temper on her, she ended things right away.

Natasha’s phone beeped with a text message bringing her back to her present predicament. On the way to Ian’s office, between panicking and fighting nausea, she’d texted the stage manager and alerted Elisha that she’d had a minor accident and would be late.

“Will I be able to dance tomorrow?” she asked, fighting the urge to check the text.

“No. Not for several days.”

“Several days?” Her shoulders slumped in spite of her resolve to be strong.

He frowned. “Do you want the wound to open again?”

“No, but…” How could she tell him this show was crucial to her career, when it was her career that had been the catalyst of their break-up?

“Follow my directions and you’ll be as good as new. When was your last tetanus shot?”

Natasha shrugged. “A long time ago. Just before summer camp.” A vision of Simon’s snarling face suddenly made her frantic to leave. She swung her legs over the side. “I have to get back to rehearsal.”

“You’re not leaving until you get a tetanus shot. And you’re not going to rehearsal today.” Ian’s steely eyes brooked no arguments. He was annoyingly authoritarian, yet a brilliant physician and a born healer. She had a scrapbook filled with newspaper and magazine articles about Dr. Ian MacGregor, the eminent laser surgeon and dermatologist, who worked magic removing disfiguring scars and birthmarks. His recent laser invention had catapulted him into celebrity status and garnered him billions.

But it was his work with underprivileged children and adults that made Natasha’s heart swell with pride. Since she’d last seen him, he had traveled extensively with Doctors Without Borders and The Smile Train, removing the stigma of disfiguring cleft palates and port wine birthmarks for those who couldn’t afford it. Ian would insist on not letting her leave until he could “fix” whatever was wrong with her, but she couldn’t stay a moment longer.

“I don’t want a shot. I have to leave now!” Not going to rehearsal was out of the question.

Ian’s silver-green eyes darkened to gun metal grey as they zeroed in on her with such ferocity she fought the urge to squirm. “What in bloody hell is going on, Tasha?”

She lifted her chin. “I’m starring in a new show and we start previews tomorrow. If I don’t get back to dress rehearsal, I’m going to get fined, and possibly replaced.”

Ian’s lip curled as he shook his head. “Nothing has changed. The show must go on. Comes before everything. Right, Tasha?”

His ironic tone irked the hell out of her. “Yes, that’s right. Just like your patients always come first,” she retorted. His accusation rubbed a raw spot as they faced an impasse. He was right. Nothing had changed—he was as stubborn and narrow-minded as ever when it came to her.

Natasha inched toward the edge, ready to get off the table, when his hand clamped down on her shoulder.

“Don’t get up. Tetanus shot first,” he said, turning to the table beside her.

She twisted her neck to see if the syringe was there, but she couldn’t see over his broad shoulders. “Fine, I’ll take the shot. In my arm and from someone other than you.”

“I wasn’t planning on it,” he said coolly. “Judy will be in shortly.” He turned and stalked away.

Natasha got off the examining table when he shut the door. She promptly called her agent, Marty Cranshaw, only to get the bad news that Simon had replaced her temporarily and called a put-in rehearsal for Lisette.

“No sense in going to the theatre now. Most likely they’ll be there all night. Go home and rest, hon,” Marty said in a caring voice.

“I will, but make no mistake, Marty. I’ll be back on that stage stronger than ever for opening night,” she said fervently.