Sweet Surrender (4 page)

Jessie bristled. “I explained that I wasn’t informed you were using a new procedure, which required Hohmann retractors.”

“You reviewed the case schedule the day before, didn’t you, as per protocol?”

“Yes, but—”

“Then you knew I was doing a minimally invasive direct anterior approach. It was written on the procedure board.”

“Of course, but Josie—”

“Did you read the new setup I posted last week?”

She hadn’t. In truth, she had no idea he’d posted one. Preoccupied with an upcoming test, the truth was she had only given the schedule a cursory glance and saw total hip replacement and thought it was standard.

“I can see by your expression, the answer is no. It’s hardly fair to blame Josie for your own negligence then, is it, Jessica?”

Negligence…
That seemed rather harsh, although he was right, and it galled her to no end. His patronizing tone wasn’t endearing him to her either. Her irritation quickly turned to worry, though. As vice-chair of the surgery department, he had a lot of influence. He could make a big fuss over her mistake or have her fired. Surely he wouldn’t, but not knowing him well, she wasn’t sure. Therefore, she did the only thing she could do. She apologized—again—as she had done profusely the day of the mistake.

“I’m sorry, doctor. I’m up to speed on the new instrumentation now and won’t make that mistake a second time.”

“See that you don’t, or you might be subjected to my special brand of discipline, Nurse Swanson.”

After that implied threat, he winked at her. She gaped at him. In the span of a few minutes, he’d given her a brusque reprimand that made her feel two inches tall, threatened her and then had the audacity to wink at her. What the heck? Confused over his sudden change in demeanor, she frowned, at a loss as to what to make of him. Hot and cold, fire and ice, yet again! She wished he’d pick one temperature and stick with it.

His soft chuckle jolted her to awareness and she realized she’d been staring at him like an idiot.

“Come along, Jessica. Let’s not add tardiness to your transgressions. If this keeps up, I’m going to have to start keeping a list.”

As she followed him out of the locker room, Jessie knew it was going to be a long difficult day. Oooo! Sometimes she wished she could throttle him, or tell him to go to hell. It would sure make her feel better, but she needed her job, so she tried to pull on her cloak of professionalism. As she walked behind him, her eyes fell to his blue scrubs, which fit snugly across his shoulders and broad back. Although she willed herself not to, her gaze slid lower. She couldn’t help admire the snug fit of his pants that hugged his well-contoured ass quite nicely too.

Then his words sunk in—his brand of discipline—surely he didn’t mean… She jerked her gaze away. No, even his arrogant highness would dare imply a spanking. That would be a reportable offense, sexual harassment being high on the hospital administration radar. But she had to wonder what else he could possibly mean by ‘discipline.’

* * *

Sliding into the booth at The Fifth Tavern, Jessie groaned as she kicked off her shoes under the table. “I’ll have a vat of margaritas and a vodka gimlet, stat.”

Her best friend, Stacy Altman, grinned at her unorthodox greeting. “I don’t know, hon. I’m strong, but I don’t know if I can haul your drunken ass out of here and up the two flights of stairs to your apartment.”

“Don’t worry. Only the gimlet is for me, the vat of frozen slushy stuff is for my feet. They’re killing me.”

Stacy laughed, blue eyes gleaming as she brushed a length of her long blond hair over her shoulder. “Okay, sweetie, but if I were you, I’d drink the vat and soak in the gimlet, the former being much more fun and the latter not nearly as sticky. Your dogs aren’t gonna know the difference, anyway.”

“What do dogs have to do with anything?”

“Your dogs are barking.”

“Speak English, Stacy.”

“I am. You simply don’t understand southern fried English. That’s what my granddad used to say when his feet hurt, although his southern drawl was more pronounced than mine.”

Stacy said that in such a Scarlett O’Hara southern belle accent that Jessie couldn’t help but laugh. The first time all day, she was certain. Since the day they met, she could always count on Stacy for a laugh and a smile. They’d manned a booth together at a fundraiser sponsored by the hospital and the clinic where Stacy worked, hitting it off instantly. Stacy, being new to the area, had been feeling homesick, missing her best friends and roommates from college, and was eager to connect with some local girls. What had started as an occasional lunch soon became drinks at least once a week, more often if Jessie’s schedule allowed. With surgical on-call rotations and evening classes as she worked toward her graduate degree in nursing administration, she didn’t always make weekly, although she tried.

“So, tell me all the gossip that’s running rampant through St. Joe’s this week. It’s better than an episode of
The Bold and the Beautiful
.”

“More like ‘The Lewd and the Lecherous,’” Jessie smirked. “You wouldn’t believe the bed hopping that goes on at that place. It puts
Grey’s Anatomy
to shame and I always thought that was a bunch of hooey. That was before starting at St. Joe’s, that is.”

“Do tell.” Stacy leaned in, eager for a juicy tidbit. “Anything going on with Dr. Molto Sexy you told me about?”

Jessie laughed at Stacy’s attempt at an Italian accent. With her southern drawl, it missed the mark, sounding quite a bit off. “Actually, he’s fallen off the bed hop radar lately.”

“Really? Has some hot nurse caught his eye for real this time?”

Jessie’s heart lurched for some reason. Why it happened, she wasn’t quite sure. Certainly, the fine-looking doctor was sexy, and taller than a Georgia pine, as Stacy would say. He also had the potential to produce excellent hardwood—another Stacy-ism. All the same, other than being pleasant to look at, she didn’t have any feelings for him: nada, zilch, zero. Although ever since his set-down in the locker room nearly a month ago, his attitude toward her had changed. He’d gone from being cool and aloof to teasing. Pestering her about having to use a riser during surgery to come ‘up to his level,’ or calling her short scrub, mocking her ‘vertical deficit’ as he called it. Sure, compared to him she was a shrimp, but statistically speaking she was average, not freakishly tall like him. He plagued her relentlessly and she found out when she spoke to Josie that he had specifically requested that she scrub in on all his cases. The only reason she could come up with for that was that he was a sadist and wanted to torture her more.

“Earth to Jessie!” Fingers snapped in front of her eyes. “Come in, Jessie!” Stacy’s words and the hand she was now waving in her face jerked her out of her musings. “Ah, there she is. Where did you go? One minute we were talking about the sexy doctor’s bed hopping, the next you were gone. You wouldn’t be the aforementioned hot nurse, would you?”

“Me? Seriously? No way. He lives to torment me.” Jessie went on to tell Stacy about her daily abuse, stopping only when she saw the smarmy expression on her friend’s face. “What?”

“Does he pull your pigtails and punch you in the arm, too?”

She stared at her for a moment. “This isn’t kindergarten, Stace.”

“Five or thirty-five, a man’s a man. He likes you.”

“He does not.” Jessie shook her head with conviction.

“Does too.”

“Not.” Realizing she sounded like the kindergartener she professed not to be, she stopped and frowned. Could his teasing be flirting? Was she so engrossed in her work, her studies, and her five-year plan that she had failed to notice? “Do you think that’s possible?”

“It’s highly probable. Flirt back and see what happens.”

“I’m not sure I want to. He’s hot and all, but he’s also a real…” She paused, thinking of a good way to sum up his philandering ways. Before she came up with the perfect label, Stacy jumped in to assist.

“A real horndog? A player? Casanova Pete… stud muffin… man-whore… Stop me when I’m getting warm.”

As Jessie began to laugh, it caught in her throat when at that precise moment, said stud muffin, aka man-whore walked into the tavern.

“Jess. You got pale all of a sudden, like you’d seen a ghost. Are you okay?”

“Don’t look now, but Dr. Horndog just walked in.”

Stacy instantly twisted around.

“I said
don’t
look.” Observing him closely, she knew the moment he spotted her, his dark brows shooting up in surprise. He pushed through the crowd, moving her way; his long-legged stride would have him at their table in a few steps. “Aw, jeez, now he’s coming this way.” Jessie slipped down in the booth, to no avail.

“Well, butter my butt and call me a biscuit,” Stacy drawled as she rotated back, winking at Jessie. “That is one tall thirst-quenching drink of water, sugar.”

Unfortunately, with her slow enunciation, she was still speaking as he arrived at the table. He gave them his patented panty-melting grin as he greeted them. “Evening, Jessica.” He offered a hand to Stacy, his smile near blinding. “And you must be butter biscuit.”

Mortified, Stacy flushed seven shades of red, but still managed to lift her hand. “I do beg your pardon for that unladylike comment.”

“With that accent, you could be forgiven anything.” Dr. Trent turned his charm up another notch before tilting his head as if curious. “Have we met before?”

Jessie stifled a groan, but couldn’t keep her eyes from rolling back in her head at that old, worn out pickup line. This was the flirty Marc Trent that she knew and didn’t particularly like. No way were these the same tactics he used on her at work every day. Stacy was wrong. He wasn’t flirting with her; he merely enjoyed making her life miserable. He also seemed to be enamored with her best friend.

Not having the patience to put up with more of his antics in her free time, she cleared her throat, capturing their attention. “Excuse me. I’m going to call it a night. I’ve got a big mid-term coming up that I need to study for.” She slid out of the booth, her purse in hand, miraculously avoiding contact with the large man taking up an extraordinary amount of space at the end of the table.

“Jess,” Stacy said to her retreating back, “don’t go.”

“I’ll call you tomorrow.”

“Don’t leave on my account, short scrub. I’m meeting a friend to watch the game. I only came over to say hello.”

Yeah, to beautiful blond-haired, blue-eyed, petite-yet-built Stacy Altman. Her eyes flashed, as did her infamous redheaded temper. “I’m working full-time and carrying twelve credits, plus I’m on call every third weekend and one night a week. I was lucky enough to eke out a few moments to have drinks with my friend. What I don’t have is time to watch you flirt with half the women in the bar, so don’t flatter yourself. That you would do it with my friend while I sit two feet away is rude and if I cared a whit about it, I’d tell you what you could do with your account.”

Spinning on her heel, she set off in a huff. She hadn’t taken three steps before he caught her arm. “Hold up,
fiammetta
. Did you drive?”

“Yes, what of it?”

“You said you were here for drinks with your friend, as in plural. Exactly how many did you have?”

“Not that it’s any of your concern, Dr. Trent, but I am perfectly sober.” Pulling her arm from his grip, she was on her second attempt at a grand exit, when her heel caught in a gap on the ceramic tile floor and she stumbled. His strong hands easily caught and held her until she regained her balance. Dammit, she had wanted to storm off and make a memorable exit. Couldn’t he even give her that?

“You have a choice: either I drive you home or I call you a cab.”

“Who named you the sobriety police?”

He pulled her close enough to speak quietly in her ear. “Jessica, you might not like me very much, but I care about you, enough that I refuse to allow you to get behind the wheel while intoxicated. Now, you can act like the sensible young woman I know you to be and let me see you safely home, or you can argue with me, make a scene, and end up embarrassing yourself in front of your friend and the entire tavern. If you choose the latter, I promise you will not find the ride home very comfortable.”

She stared up at him, mouth slackened. After a moment of shocked silence, she found her tongue. “Are you threatening to—” It was too absurd to put into words.

“No, I am promising to deliver a much-needed lesson directly on your delectable behind if you continue on this reckless path. So, what’s it going to be?”

Eyes wide, she stared at him. The determined expression on his face told her he was one hundred percent serious. Catching a glimpse of Stacy, who was motioning wildly from behind him, her gaze shifted to her friend. As dumbfounded as she was, Stacy still had the wherewithal to shake her head vigorously. She mouthed a warning, which Jessie read easily. “Don’t test the big, scary doctor.”

She swallowed before glancing back at Marc, her mouth and throat gone suddenly dry. Aroused, intimidated, and slightly inebriated all at the same time, her better judgment had long since fallen by the wayside. It showed through her imprudent words, which came out slightly slurred as she announced her decision. “I choose the cab, Dr. Evil.”

In spite of her sass, he chuckled. “Smart girl.” To Stacy, he asked, “Do you need a ride as well?”

“No, thank you. I’m going in the opposite direction and will call a cab myself when I’m ready.”

“Tell butter biscuit good night,
fiammetta
.”

“Night, Stacy,” she said over her shoulder. Without giving Stacy a chance to reply, he led Jessie away, his big hand clasping hers firmly. “What is that?
Fiammetta,
I mean. It’s not a nice word, I’ll bet.”

“It means
little flame,
which suits you. I didn’t know you had such a jealous temper.”

“I am not jealous.” She hiccupped inelegantly.

He laughed outright this time, squeezing her fingers tighter while he towed her along, navigating their course through the overly crowded pub. Once they made it to the small lobby, he asked the hostess to call for a cab. As they waited, he smiled down at her. “Did you know you’re even more beautiful when you’re angry?”