Playboy Doctor (12 page)

"I understand. Being the doctor in the family can be a big responsibility. Your brothers look up to you and—"

"We're all doctors."

Willows eyes amplified in surprise. "All three of you? How'd you pull that off?"

"When you grow up poor, you have nothing but each other. And your dreams. We'd made a pact. We'd all get through med school or none of us would. We saw to it to that we succeeded."

"That's some determination."

"Hunger does that you."

A quiet settled between them.

"I'm sorry."

"We turned out okay enough." Shayne cracked a smile.

For a fleeting moment, his thoughts stole back to an earlier, happier time when he and his brothers had vowed to take on the world together. All for one. And one for all.

A lifetime ago.

Shayne regarded the woman who stood before him. Willow didn't press for any more. A good thing since he'd given what little he could already. She was the last person he wanted knowing about the troubles of his family being torn apart by a woman's betrayal.

Would Willow ever do such a thing? An inner voice told him no, but he'd didn't know if he could trust it.

"Anything I can do to help?" Willow tilted her head just so. Bright sun blades piercing through the room reflected in those intense irises of hers. He'd never seen a more wanton sight.

His chest filled with longing and he reached out to grip her arms. She leaned into him, her breath escaping in a raspy gasp. Her body language offered an open invitation and he set his lips on hers in a fervent kiss.

Possessively, he kissed her hard. The painful events in his life that led to this minute were all too surreal. But with Willow in his arms, his life here became real. Her physical warmth, her response to his desire, even her breathy words had filled his world and he'd quickly grown addicted. Even more, her care and trust had filled his heart.

After another crushing kiss, he whispered her name,
Willow
. And she whispered back,
yes
. Her breasts pressed against his chest, her feminine form fitting him perfectly. No kiss should be so sweet, no body so pliant, because it only deepened his craving for her.

But the craving went beyond the physical. His need for her became emotional. A need to explore this delicate bond with her, to be one with her, and be sure it was true. To fill an empty void he thought could be filled by no woman. That was, until her.

Somehow his head connected with his heart and for the first time, in a very long time, he felt his own mortality in his need for her.

Simply kissing Willow would never be enough. He wanted her all to himself—wanted to lay claim to every inch of her, right down to her very body and soul—

A voice bellowed a
hello
through the front door left open to allow in fresh air.

Shayne shot back to reality. Willow broke from his kiss and stared at him in surprise. He didn't know if he should explain himself or simply apologize for his bold action.

The moment between them cooled. Willow visibly stiffened. "My landlord's at the door."

The male voice repeated his
hello
into the home.

She pulled from Shayne's embrace and loped toward the entrance.

Shayne hung back to collect himself, startled by his skyrocketing response to her. In the background, he heard Willow's cheery voice, beckoning the visitor. Once composed, he turned to join them.

Willow stood beside the elderly gentleman and made the formal introductions.

After shaking hands with Shayne, Mr. Langdon glanced about the bungalow. "I saw you two come up to the place. I thought I'd come by and check up on you."

"Pipes are holding up well," Shayne announced. "Other than that, some patching here and there and this place will be as good as new."

Mr. Langdon nodded, satisfied with the report. "I'll take care of those other minor repairs, Willow. I'm not as quick on my feet these days. Been a little tired, but it will get done."

"I'd be happy to help anyway I can," Shayne offered.

He felt Willow's stunned eyes on him. He didn't return the look. Didn't want to face her mounting frustration with him—he'd pushed hard enough as it was to come here today. Perhaps his offer crossed the line, some emotional boundary she'd set for him. He didn't care; his offer came naturally. More naturally than he cared to admit.

"I'll take whatever help I can get. Maybe get started tomorrow after a good night's rest and I'll feel like my ol' self again. I'll be in touch."

He took one last solid look around the place, then gave a final nod of approval. He turned to leave, but not before tossing Shayne a knowing look with a glint in his eye. Willow ushered him out the door.

By the time she returned, Shayne prepared for the consequences of imposing himself into her life further. But she said nothing of his bold move. Instead, she looked about the bungalow, apparently distracted.

"Willow, are you okay? What is it?"

"I'm worried about that sweet man. He looked pale for someone who spends his days outside in the Florida sun."

"We can keep an eye on him."

"We?" She drew her expression up to him, searched his eyes for some meaning behind his statement. Something long-term, with deeper meaning, perhaps.

"At least for as long as I'm here," he amended, careful not to trip on his words.

Willow's light features shadowed. "Right, of course. For as long as you're here. But really, your stay here in the States is so short, you shouldn't waste your time here patching baseboards. It really isn't necessary." She spun away from him and slammed the kitchen window closed.

A bolt of heat shot through his chest, somewhere in the vicinity of his heart. Was she rejecting him? Angry at the reality that he presented before her? Yes and yes. He didn't blame her. Here he was behaving like he was part of her life but then saying he'd be out of there just as quickly. Definitely sending mixed messages.

"You don't want me here," he asserted. He followed her to the dining area where she closed off that window, too.

She turned to him.

"Shayne," she began, but the light in her eye didn't sparkle like it usually did when she referred to him. "It's not a good idea for you to be here helping me. Or kissing me. We both know you'll be leaving and going back to," she paused, as if to search for the right words. "Your usual way of life. All the glitz, the glamour. The fundraisers, the black-tie events, the
women
."

She marched into the great room. She slammed shut another window.

Her admission came as a surprise attack on his senses. He marched into the room behind her. "So this isn't just about my leaving. It's about my reputation?"

She brought her eyes up to his. "I don't want to be another conquest to you." Despite the defiant angle of her chin, she lowered her eyelashes now that she finally admitted the truth. She brushed past him like she always did when their conversation became too intense. She left behind a wave of heat—and a smattering of anger—as she marched out the front door.

Was that what she believed about him? That he only saw her as some conquest? He shouldn't be surprised. Shayne damned himself for allowing his reputation to get so out of hand. At first, he hadn't cared about the rumors. A cool playboy façade had given him the room to live his life with unaffected detachment, kept him from getting close to anyone. Kept him from getting hurt.

He deserved Willow's rejection and hated himself for it. He never considered how the falsehood behind his reputation might hurt someone like her along the way. Someone he cared more and more about each day.

He had to do damage control.

Shayne stalked out the front door after Willow. He found her pulling weeds out by the walkway. "A woman in every port, right? Is that what you think?" he asked.

She rose to meet his stare, not once backing down from his demanding question. Nor did she refute the allegation. The high angle of her eyebrow told him that.

"They're nothing but rumors," Shayne continued. "Whatever information you've gathered about me, whatever preconceived notions you've formed, they're based on fallacies."

She continued to stare at him with intense scrutiny, yet not a word came from her.

"Say something, damn it, or I'll kiss you again," he threatened.

Willow huffed. "See? That's the problem with you. You look at me like that and make these demands and say things to get me confused. You are a constant walking contradiction!"

"The stories are not true. Not one," he said.

"Which stories? The ones about your womanizing or the one that you're returning to London, leaving me behind in this port?" She planted her hands on her hips and remained firmly rooted to the walkway.

Shayne stepped back, shaken by the sting of her last question. The hurt and anger on her face couldn't be missed.

"Willow, London is my home."

"And Florida is my home."

"I never know where my tomorrows will take me."

"My tomorrows are right here. And I was perfectly happy with them before you came along."

"Were you?"

"Happy enough."

"Don't you think there's more to me than my reputation? That perhaps I might want more in life? Like being a husband and loving a wife? Having children with the woman I love? Raising a family? My own flesh and blood? What if I told you I wanted those things more than anything in the world? Do those desires sound like a man with a real playboy reputation?"

While he tried to convince her, the hurt only deepened on her face. She looked like she was about to cry. But she didn't. How could telling a woman that he wanted a wife and children more than anything in the world cause pain? Couldn't she believe him?

"I'm glad you want those things, but it doesn't change the facts... it only cements them." She shook her head. Although the fight in her deflated, she remained stubborn in her resolve to accept their circumstances—they were at a geographical and emotional stalemate.

She tried to say something more, but then clamped those perfectly arched lips closed. Her eyes flared with fierce intensity until dampness finally lined them.

"There's more than what you're telling. Talk to me, Willow. Is it about your ex-husband?"

"I, I can't... Look, you might be able to walk in here and fix a baseboard. Or walk into the operating room and fix a heart. But no one, not even you, can fix my situation. And that's something I have to live with the rest of my life."

"Whatever your situation, I can certainly try..."

"No, don't you see—"

"I see a woman who's holding back. Please, Willow."

Before Shayne could demand—or beg—to know what she meant, a low moan came from the side of the house. Willow caught her breath and set her gaze on Shayne. "That's my landlord. Something's wrong."

* * *

Willow bolted around the corner of the house, the sense of dread propelling her legs to pump hard. She found her landlord standing against the side of the house with one hand clutching his chest. Shayne came too, and helped the man sit on the ground. Willow sat on the ground with him to lean the man back at a safe angle against the side of the house.

"Mr. Langdon, what is it? Can you breathe? Are you in pain?" she asked.

The grisly old man took a short breath. "Just some indigestion. Some pressure." He lightly thumped his chest.

Willow shared a worried look with Shayne.

"Have you taken your angina medicine?" she asked the older gentleman.

"I never miss a dose." He rubbed his left arm as he mumbled about his wife's heavy cooking.

"Okay, Mr. Langdon, let's have a look," Shayne announced. "Willow tells me you've haven't been feeling right lately." As Shayne spoke, he stared deeply into the man eyes, seeking out any telltale signs of cardiac distress.

"Been a little run down." The man rubbed his jaw. "Feels like I been punched in the chops."

Willow exchanged another furtive glance with Shayne. Not a good sign. With worried fingers, she checked the man's pulse in time with her watch. "A hundred-twenty, Doctor."

"I'd like for Mr. Langdon to go to the hospital so we can get a handle on what we're dealing with. Just to be on the safe side." Shayne's voice came across soothing and calm, but the words carried a dire weight; her landlord was in distress.

"I'll call a paramedic." Willow pulled out her cell phone to make the call while Shayne continued his assessment of her landlord.

The man scowled. "Oh, now, I'm strong as an ox. I don't need no fussin' or no hospital. I just need more medicine, is all."

"Yes, perhaps," Shayne said to him, "but if you're having trouble despite your medicine, we can't take it lightly."

As Mr. Langdon listened to what the doctor had to say, alarm flared in his eyes. "Fine, fine, I'll go, but I'm telling you, it ought to pass," he huffed, saving face.

"I have medical equipment in my Toyota. I'll get it."

Shayne gave a curt, appreciative nod. He lowered himself to the ground to trade places with Willow. He allowed the old man to lean more comfortably against him in a recovery position. Willow sprinted to her Toyota to retrieve her stethoscope and first aid kit.

Several minutes later, paramedics had Mr. Langdon secured inside the ambulance with Shayne by his side.

"I'll take care of your landlord, Willow. I'm catching a ride back to the hospital with these blokes." With a lopsided smile, Shayne gestured to the two paramedics.

She smiled back despite her concern. "And I'll let Mrs. Langdon know what's going on."

Mr. Langdon responded with a weak salute from his stretcher.

The ambulance doors closed; the vehicle bounded off.

Willow found herself alone with her thoughts and a pounding in her rib cage. Whether her heart raced from the drama with her landlord or from Shayne's magnetizing presence in her life, she couldn't be sure. But one question perplexed her. How had she allowed herself to be attracted to a man with a guarded heart who proclaimed he didn't know where tomorrow would take him?

Chapter 10