The Surgeon's Favorite Nurse (2 page)

Medical equipment was state-of-the art, the latest technology available. This hospital was going to be the jewel in Mercy Medical’s crown and it would do the same for his career. Maybe,
finally,
he could silence the voice inside him that warned he would always be that homeless white-trash kid who would never be good enough for the prom queen.

When he got to the facility’s double glass doors, they whispered open and released the noise from the crowd inside. Men in dark suits and women in cocktail dresses jammed the usually quiet, serene lobby. Waiters in black pants and crisp white shirts circulated with trays of food and glasses of champagne.

Jake scanned the gathering, searching for a blonde, but not just any blonde. There was a certain shade of honey in Hope’s hair and she had the prettiest hazel eyes he’d ever seen.

But it was her mouth that amped up his anticipation. Very defined, full lips curved up at the corners and were just about the most tempting thing he could imagine, and he could imagine a whole lot of temptation. If Hope Carmichael had been as provocative as a potato, he could have put her out of his mind, but his life had never been that simple or uncomplicated.

Jake glanced at his watch. The shindig had been under
way for almost two hours and judging by the crowd concentrated in this area, tours of the facility were complete. So if she wasn’t jumping through hoops for dignitaries, where was she? Before he could decide what to do about that question, the president of the hospital’s board of directors introduced himself over a microphone. Jake located former Congressman Edward Havens on a dais set up for the occasion.

Ed introduced the governor, senator, mayor—blah, blah, blah. Then he ticked off the names of the campus president, department directors, etcetera. Finally he made eye contact with Jake and smiled, before announcing that the contract for trauma medical director was going to Dr. Jake Andrews.

Jake nodded, waved, smiled politely at everyone applauding around him and mentally high-fived himself. He loved it when a plan came together, and in this case the plan was all about his career and long-term financial security. All the hard work had paid off. He would be able to write his own ticket now. No one would ever again look at him like he was something worse than dirt on their shoes.

Searching faces in the crowd, he still didn’t see Hope. Suddenly he had an overwhelming urge to tell her “I told you so.” He wandered the facility and was oddly disappointed when his search didn’t produce the result he wanted. On his way back to the lobby, he passed the closed door of her office and tried the knob. When it turned, he pushed into the room and saw her there.

“Knock, knock,” he said, then softly tapped his knuckles on the door.

She looked startled before her eyes widened in recognition. “Doctor…Jake,” she corrected.

He walked inside and closed the door. Her desk was littered with computer equipment and stacks of folders.
Around the perimeter of the room were moving boxes with flaps opened. The office paraphernalia inside looked as if it had been rifled through but not put away. So she was still settling in.

“How about a tour?” he asked.

“Sorry. You’re too late.”

Her eyes went from surprised to sad and he wondered what would make such a pretty lady unhappy. Then he wondered why he would notice at all. Or why he should care. It could have something to do with her bastard remark earlier. He liked that she didn’t scrape, bow and kiss his ass. That kind of crap got old real fast.

Jake slid his hands into the pockets of his slacks. “You’re missing the party all locked away in here.”

“It’s work to me, and I’m taking a five-minute break.”

“Want some company? I’d like to talk to you about something.”

Her gaze turned suspicious which was better than sad. “You’re not here to pester me about getting Bugs Bunny bandages, are you?”

“Something like that.” He moved closer, near enough that the sweetly sensuous scent of her perfume nearly made his eyes cross. “I was looking over the names and certifications on the trauma team and wondered why there was no admitting specialist in the group.”

She put her hands on her hips and her eyes narrowed. “So you want designer scalpels, Bugs Bunny boo-boo covers
and
a personal assistant?”

“Yes.”

“Are you aware, Doctor, that it takes a hundred and fifty million dollars of up-front money to open a facility like this?”

“I think I heard that figure somewhere.” Although he found her figure in the snug little black dress with almost-
not-there straps far more interesting. Mile-high heels made her legs look incredible. One glance was better than a shot of adrenaline to get his heart pumping.

“Did you also hear that a new facility is expected to lose money at first, because there’s no revenue stream?”

“Makes sense.” Unlike the fact that he couldn’t seem to take his eyes off her mouth.

He knew she was attracted to him because he knew women and this one wasn’t very good at hiding her feelings. Her tone was full of Southern fried deference. She was trying to bow and scrape, but it was more about establishing a safe zone for herself.

She hadn’t wanted to shake his hand earlier and that was to avoid touching him. Because of her attraction. It was incredibly inconvenient that the feeling was mutual.

“My job is to keep expenditures within limits and confine losses to conform to the budget.” She let her gaze run over his pricey suit and tie before asking, “You do understand what a budget is?”

Oh, yeah. He’d learned the hard way, although having money was a prerequisite for learning how to spend it wisely. His mother hadn’t had enough to pay the mortgage after his dad left them. Their house was foreclosed on. A rented roof over your head takes first and last month fees and a security deposit. If his mom had had a chunk of cash like that she’d have been able to make the loan payment. So they ended up homeless. He’d been thirteen.

Memories of that long-ago fear and humiliation rippled through him. “My point is that an admitting specialist will more than make up for the initial salary and benefit costs in revenue recovered.”

“Really?”

“Yes, really.”

He figured she knew her stuff or she wouldn’t have been
hired for this job. So this attitude of hers must be about him personally. He wasn’t sure what he’d done to tick her off, but apparently annoyance was contagious because he was feeling it, too. He’d caught it from her. Now was the time to let her know that she wasn’t the only one who knew their stuff.

“Care to explain how an admitting specialist earns their keep?” she said.

“I’m glad you asked.” He took a step forward, close enough to feel the heat from her body. “I’m sure
you’re
aware that per diem charges mount up fast. And I’m also certain that you’ve heard of DRGs.”

“Of course. Diagnosis-related groups.”

“Give the lady a gold star. So you also know that every medical problem, difficulty, malady or disease has a price tag. Just like a bathing suit at the mall.”

“What’s your point, Doctor?”

“An admitting specialist is necessary to set up protocols for screening every case that comes into the E.R. for insurance information, any secondary financial help the patient might have, anything that will assist in charges. Because without proper billing, codes and patient details, payment can be delayed indefinitely or denied altogether. And that kind of a loss is something your budget can’t absorb no matter how it’s structured.”

“Do you care more about money than medicine?” she challenged.

“And there’s the gray area. Best answer? We can’t afford to care more about medicine than money. You can’t have one without the other. In the end it’s a business and if we can’t meet our expenses we go out of business. If that happens, we can’t help anyone and the people of this community lose a valuable healthcare resource.”

“Maybe my short-term memory is on the blink, but
aren’t you the same doctor who just hours ago, in this very spot, hit me up for pricey precision instruments?”

Hit her up? No way. She’d know if he hit on her because there’d be no question.

Jake was almost certain there was a vein throbbing in his forehead. “I don’t care about that.”

“What do you care about?” She shook her head. “Never mind. I don’t want to know. I have to go.”

She moved too fast when she tried to sidestep him and ended up unsteady on those sexy high heels. He caught her as she stumbled and pulled her into his arms.

He couldn’t say that kissing her hadn’t crossed his mind, but he’d never planned to act on the impulse. Now here she was with her curves brushing against him and the pulse in her neck fluttering as awareness flashed in her eyes.

At that moment he couldn’t think about anything
but
kissing her, and lowered his mouth to hers.

H
ope was pretty sure a kiss had never before made her toes curl, but that changed the moment Jake’s lips touched hers. It was insane. She should back away from the heat. The problem was, insanity and heat had never felt so good. There was nothing aggressive or insistent about the way his mouth moved slowly, seductively, deliciously over hers. It was all lazy, luscious sizzle and simmer. She felt oddly safe and wanted to stay exactly where she was for as long as she possibly could.

He pulled back first and let his gaze wander boldly over her face as a small, puzzled smile curved his mouth. Apparently he saw something that made him thread his fingers in her hair and cup her cheek in his palm, brushing his thumb over her bottom lip. Her heart pounded almost painfully and her chest rose and fell rapidly with the need to draw in air. It felt as if she’d caught fire and the flames fed on every last ounce of oxygen in the room.

“Hope, that was…” He shook his head. “I didn’t mean for that to happen.”

Not what her quivering hormones wanted to hear. She was pretty good with a snappy comeback, a quick retort, witty one-liners. But her senses were in freefall and they’d taken rational thought along for the ride.

“And I didn’t mean to kiss you back. This is a bad idea. The worst. Like kissing common sense goodbye.”

Amusement turned his eyes silver. “Sometimes common sense is highly overrated.”

“That’s probably the first thing you’ve ever said that I agree with.”

She wasn’t sure, what with the blood rushing to her head, but she thought he groaned softly before taking her mouth again. Her lips parted and his tongue slid inside, thoroughly plundering any reserves of willpower she had left.

Their hands were all over each other as they panted and moaned and turned in circles, the intricate choreography of a sensuous waltz. Hope felt the wall at her back and Jake pressing against her front. Want tightened in her belly as need pooled between her thighs.

It was as if their minds and bodies had melded. Jake cupped the backs of her thighs and lifted at the same time she wrapped her legs around him. The harsh sounds of their breathing filled the room and fueled the fire of her wild abandon.

He kissed her neck and brushed away the skinny strap of her dress in his impatience to get to her bare shoulder. Then he trailed his lips down to the very top of her breast just visible over the neckline. He drew his tongue over her skin before blowing on the moistness. The sensation of cool on her heated flesh drove her crazy and she wanted
him inside her more than she could remember wanting anything in her life.

When his cell phone rang, she changed her mind. Now more than anything she wanted to put the heel of her stiletto straight through his SIM card.

He pulled back, breathing hard. “I’m on call.”

“Uh-huh.”

“I have to answer.” His voice was harsh.

“Right.”

As she let her legs slide to the floor, he reached to the holster on his belt and retrieved the phone, turning his back as he answered.

“Andrews.”

Hope smoothed her palms over the skirt of her dress as she drew in a shuddering breath. This was like stubbing your toe and the too-short span of time before the inevitable unfortunate consequences registered in the brain. It was going to be uncomfortable and she wanted to hang out in limbo for just a while longer. Otherwise she’d have to admit that a cell call was the only thing that had prevented her from having sex with a virtual stranger against the wall of her office.

Her only excuse was that she hadn’t had sex for a very, very long time.

“Everything went as expected.” Jake’s voice was surprisingly normal. “Yeah. Not a single hitch in the plan. Right. Thanks.” While listening, he glanced over his shoulder to look at her. Intensity glittered in his eyes as his gaze settled on her shoulder and the dress strap trailing down her arm. “Definitely. Details when I see you.”

She slid her thumb under the strap and righted it as he ended the call. “Emergency?”

It hadn’t sounded that way. But she could hope. Maybe
he would have to rush off and spare her an awkward conversation.

“No.” He raked his fingers through his hair.

She blew out a breath, not quite meeting his gaze. “So…”

“So…”

The corners of his mouth tilted up. Clearly he was amused. Hope was not. Irritation aimed at herself straightened her spine and fueled the need to regroup.

“I take full responsibility for that,” she said.

One dark eyebrow arched upward. “That?”

“You know.”

“Not so much. The receptors in my brain are fried. Put a finer point on it for me.”

He was enjoying this, she realized and started to fume. But she’d be darned if she’d give him the satisfaction of confirming her acute discomfort. Or the fact that he’d majorly turned her on.

“The kiss,” she said, deliberately lifting her chin so their gazes locked. “My mistake. I freely own my part in what just happened.”

“Very generous of you.” He slid his hands into the pockets of his charcoal slacks. The black shirt and tone-on-tone tie fit his trim body perfectly. Dr. GQ wouldn’t have to worry about the fashion police.

“Not generous. Honest.”

“Still… An admission like that could be construed as encouragement. How do you know I won’t stoop to using it to my advantage?”

She refused to give any ground. “That mistake is on me, but the bigger one would be assuming you could use it for your own personal agenda.”

“Agenda? Personal?” A wolfish expression settled on
his handsome face making it an uphill battle to get this conversation back on a professional plane.

“Don’t miscalculate, Doctor. My slip-up will not give you currency in the workplace.”

“Oh?”

“You can’t come up with an unrealistic wish list and expect me to smile politely just because I kissed you.”

Jake’s sinful smile was a clear indication that the message missed its mark. “At the risk of shattering your illusions, Hope, nothing about that kiss was polite, which suits me just fine.”

She groaned inwardly, still living in limbo and guarding herself from the guilt. “You’re deliberately misunderstanding my point.”

He shook his head. “On the contrary. I got it. But you don’t have all the facts.”

“Which are?”

“I actually came to see you tonight to tell you I told you so.”

“I don’t get it,” she said.

“Okay, here’s the deal. My wish list just might carry more weight since earlier tonight I was offered the contract to be the chief trauma surgeon. I’m officially your boss.”

And Hope was officially in trouble.

She’d missed sex.

She hadn’t realized how much until Jake kissed her. Now she missed it a whole lot more.

The next day Jake sat in on Hope’s meeting with the department directors to assess their status regarding the target date for the Mercy Medical West opening. He had the chair to her left and knew she was talking because her lips were moving. The thing was, he was so fascinated by
her mouth that he couldn’t concentrate on what she was saying.

Only last night he’d tasted her just down the hall from this conference room. If Cal Westen, his medical practice partner, hadn’t called to find out whether or not he’d been appointed to oversee trauma services, Jake would have done a whole lot more than just kiss her.

That had never been part of his plan, and he always had one. You didn’t go from living on the street to chief trauma surgeon without a disciplined and detailed blueprint of how to get there. Kissing a colleague wasn’t so much as a footnote on the blueprint, even if she did have a mouth in desperate need of a kiss.

“I’m sure you all know Dr. Jake Andrews.”

The sound of his name yanked him into the moment and he smiled at the directors of radiology, respiratory therapy, the emergency department and the E.R. doc, all gathered around the mahogany conference table. He was acquainted with them all.

“Dr. Andrews was appointed Mercy Medical West’s chief trauma surgeon last night.” A hint of pink creeping into Hope’s cheeks told him she hadn’t forgotten what else happened last night. And what
almost
happened.

Everyone applauded the announcement and seemed genuinely pleased at the news. It was worth the price he’d paid—all work, no play or much pay for more years than he cared to remember. Now that he was at the top, nothing was going to get in the way of his staying there.

“Congratulations, Dr. Andrews,” Hope said. She barely met his gaze, then glanced at the agenda on the table in front of her. “Next I’d like a report from each department, in terms of how we stand in supplying trauma personnel.”

As the directors took turns getting her up to speed, Jake
studied Hope and knew she was aware of him, too. The pulse at the base of her throat beat just a little too fast. He didn’t know whether or not to be pleased about that. The timing of
this
—whatever it was between them—was damn inconvenient.

“All right,” she said nodding. “Now I want to make sure we’re on the same page with identifying the levels of trauma. Mechanical injury—broken bones—is level one. Penetrating wound is level two. Head or traumatic brain injury is level three. Preliminary paramedic evaluation in the field will determine the trauma level of patients transported by ambulance. And walk-ins will have to be assessed by the E.R. doc who will determine the trauma level.”

A murmur of general agreement followed her remarks as the directors took notes.

“Next on the agenda is medical staff. We will apply for a level-three designation since Dr. Gallagher’s group signed on for neurosurgery and agreed to be in-house 24/7. That doesn’t mean on standby or on call. They will be physically on premises. Dr. Andrews can fill us in on whether or not we have adequate trauma surgeons signed on.”

“I’m in the process of interviewing several surgeons right now,” Jake said. “I’ll be ready before the doors open.”

“Good.” She was all business, the polar opposite of the tantalizing temptress of just a few hours ago. “Now for Radiology. Dr. Edwards, about the Nighthawk system…”

Jake knew that radiology used the Nighthawk system to send nonemergency tests to Australia via the Internet for interpretation. But the state of Nevada mandated that an interventional radiologist be in-house for invasive procedures that required diagnostic imaging or guidance for tapping blood buildup in the chest cavity or other emergency situa
tions. Edwards was a hard-ass and not receptive to change, making Hope’s job a challenge.

The heavyset, balding doctor tried to glare her into submission. “It’s cost-effective to use the Nighthawk system.”

“In most cases, yes,” Hope agreed. “But there isn’t a choice about this. We can’t be designated a trauma center without an interventional radiologist in house.”

“And I need to pay the I.R., Miss Carmichael,” he said stubbornly. “They don’t come cheap. I have a budget.”

“Don’t we all.” She glanced at Jake, her hazel eyes narrowing slightly. “But there are other ways to trim.”

“None of them pretty.” He rested his elbows on the table. “What if there are no traumas?”

“It doesn’t matter. We’re a trauma center and have to staff for what could happen.”

“And I still have to pay the staff for doing nothing. My partners will not be happy and neither will I.”

“You agreed to the terms of the contract, Dr. Edwards,” she reminded him.

“Terms can be amended. I think hospital administration should absorb some of the cost.”

Hope stared him down. “I understand that the tendency is for every department to become territorial and insular, but the goal is for all the parts to function as one. Just like the body which can’t sustain life without a brain, heart or liver, a trauma response relies on all the departments for a successful outcome.” She glanced at each department director in turn before saying, “But I’m sure you’re all as aware of that as I am.”

Dr. Edwards shook his head. “When I can’t justify expenditures, it’s my reputation on the line. My ass in a sling.”

“As is mine,” she said.

Jake glanced in the direction of the body part in question which she was currently sitting on. From what he remembered, it was an excellently curved butt that fit nicely in his hands.

“This is not the time or place to be discussing financial arrangements. I suggest you speak to the administrator regarding your concerns. Bottom line,” she said, momentarily glancing at Jake as if she could read his thoughts, “I need your assurance that you’ll be prepared with an in-house radiologist around the clock.”

The radiologist stared at her for several moments, then finally nodded, albeit reluctantly.

“Good,” she said, smiling sweetly. “And last but not least, I’d like to discuss who should respond to a code-trauma page.”

Jake knew how he wanted it to go and was acutely interested in how she’d present this.

After glancing at her notes, she looked around the table. “In my opinion there should be someone from the lab, Radiology, Respiratory Therapy, Admitting and an ICU nurse. Just in case.”

“How about housekeeping and dietary?” Jake asked. “Or lions and tigers and bears, oh my.”

“Excuse me?” She met his gaze.

“You’re aware of the limited space in the trauma bays?”

“I am.”

“If you get all those people in there, it’s like an IV push of adrenaline. Looky-loos show up in droves. It will be a three-ring circus and you might as well sell tickets.”

Around the table everyone laughed and Hope narrowed her gaze on him.

“You didn’t let me finish, Doctor.”

“So you were going to say that the key to an organized trauma team response is…”

“Security,” she finished, one eyebrow raised. “Security will be trained to monitor who should and should not respond to a code trauma.”

He nodded, more than satisfied with her response. She knew her stuff. She was a smart cookie and sexy as hell. Damn inconvenient this thing arcing between them.

“That’s it for me,” she said, glancing at everyone around the table. She looked at him. “Dr. Andrews, it’s your meeting.”

“Gripes anyone?” They all got a chuckle out of that, including the radiologist. It took the edge off the tension of moments before. “Any other business?” Before they could answer, he stood and said, “Hearing none, I call the meeting to an end.”