Doctor And The Debutante. Pat Warren
pointed to a single man. But the most telling thing was the way he looked at her, lingeringly, thoughtfully, heatedly. Not the way a married man in love with his wife would look at another woman, doctor or not.
Laura ran both hands through her tangled hair. Of course, she could be reading more into those looks than was there. But she’d also seen his hand tremble when he’d held out the water and pill. And again when he’d brushed the hair from her face when he’d laid her down on the bed. Later, dozing more than soundly asleep, she thought she’d heard him come into the room and stand looking down at her. She hadn’t stirred, hadn’t moved, yet she’d felt his presence. He hadn’t stayed long and, moments later, she’d heard the other bedroom door close.
Carefully she touched the bandage on her forehead, wondering if the concussion Sean seemed certain she had had affected her mind, as well. She wasn’t one who usually read meanings into every gesture and touch. And she certainly wasn’t looking for a relationship, not after the one she’d barely extricated herself from not long ago.
The short time she’d been involved with Marc Abbott should have taught her a great deal, should have soured her on quick attractions and the consequences that followed. And it had. Sean had commented that she didn’t trust easily, something he’d picked up on after knowing her ever so briefly. An astute observation.
Max sauntered over and began purring, a signal that he wanted to be petted. Smiling, Laura obliged, as her thoughts floated free.
With time and distance, divorced nearly two years, Laura thought she knew exactly why she’d fallen so hard and fast for Marc. He was awfully handsome, utterly charming and knew how to make a woman feel as if she were the only one in the room. Laura had never been one to attract men like Marc.
While not exactly a wallflower, she knew from her teens on that she wasn’t a raving beauty like her college roommate, Tate Monroe. Nor was she smart enough to graduate with a 4.0 like her other roommate, Molly Shipman. Ah, but she had something neither of them had had. She was rich, the only heir to her father’s wealth.
Laura felt a sob build in her throat and choked it down. What a pitiful thing it was to be not the pretty one, nor the smart one, but the rich one. Her fingers drifted through Max’s soft fur as she let her emotions settle. She’d long ago gotten over all that, hadn’t she?
At least she’d thought she had when someone handsome and clever such as Marc Abbott had sought her out and simply refused to take no for an answer. Overwhelmed, believing herself madly in love and gloriously happy, she’d married him.
And lived to regret that foolishly hopeful indulgence.
He’d hurt her, badly. But she’d moved on, took on more work, opened her own studio, became her own person. And she’d vowed to never ever let herself be a victim again. It wasn’t so bad, being alone, once you got used to it. Oh, she’d been asked out plenty, but other than business lunches and dinner meetings, she’d steered clear of letting anyone get close again. She’d never gone in for one-night stands, and everything else required a commitment she was unwilling to make.
And now she was up here, in the Gray Mountains in a snowstorm, marooned in a cabin with an attractive man who, even in her pitiful state, awakened some dormant desire inside her. But, not to worry. She’d tamp it down as she had with other occasional men who’d wandered into her life. Because she couldn’t trust them, could never know if they paid attention to her for the right reasons. If it wasn’t because she was gorgeous or had a personality that everyone gravitated to the moment she stepped into a room, then it was probably…because of her father’s money.
Lowering her head, she nuzzled Max’s fur. “No more feeling sorry for ourselves, Maxie,” she whispered to the cat. “We’re fine, just the two of us.”
Something caught her eye at the foot of the bed, a pile of clothes. She reached for them, examining each piece. Clean sweatshirt and sweatpants, thick socks, white cotton underwear, a chenille robe and an old-fashioned floor-length flannel nightgown. Well, well. About her size, though a tad roomy. His wife’s clothes? Or ex-wife’s? At any rate, it was very thoughtful of him. A shower and fresh clothes would feel good.
Testing her ankle, Laura stood up. Still swollen, still painful, but bearable. She gazed out the window and saw that the snow wasn’t letting up. There had to be several feet already and with the wind blowing drifts, probably higher in places. She’d never been marooned before, never spent time at a place where no one knew where she was. Saturday morning. She’d had no weekend plans, no luncheon dates or business consultations or shopping sprees with a girlfriend.
Would anyone be looking for her? Maybe, but she doubted if someone would actually worry until possibly Monday. Her father only sought her out when he had a decorating problem that needed solving or a favor he wanted from her. Everyone else would assume she’d gone away for a few days. Which, although she never did without informing someone, was a reasonable explanation.
Holding onto the bedpost, she took a step, then another then had to let go. Only three more steps to the bathroom door. Once inside, she could cling to any number of things. Her ankle felt rubbery, though Sean had said it didn’t appear to be broken.
Hugging the clothes to her chest with one hand, the other outstretched to reach for the doorknob, Laura took a step, then another on her sprained ankle. That’s when it went out on her and she went down with a yelp, crashing into a child’s rocker. A huge purple dinosaur fell onto her, the recorded mechanism triggered by the fall.
“I love you,” Barney sang. “You love me…”
Chapter Three
At the sound of the crash, Sean dropped his sketch pad and pencils onto the table and hurried to the bedroom. He found Laura on the floor struggling to free herself from Barney, who was nearly as large as she. He grabbed the stuffed dinosaur and tossed it aside, then bent to her. “Are you all right?” he asked, helping her up and hoping she hadn’t reinjured her shoulder.
“I’m fine,” Laura said, laughing. She teetered within his arms, her sprained ankle refusing to support her weight. “That’s the first time I’ve been attacked by a dinosaur. A purple one, at that.”
She couldn’t be hurt if she’s laughing, Sean realized, smiling as he steadied her. “I should have warned you. This room is booby-trapped.” He noticed Max eyeing him suspiciously from the tangle of bedcovers. Sean doubted that cat would ever trust him.
“I can see that now.” She looked up at him, thinking he should smile more. It softened the hard planes of his face.
Up close against her, Sean was suddenly conscious of her tousled hair, the just-out-of-bed warmth of her, the quick awareness that leaped into her dark blue eyes as her laughter faded. She was fully clothed, as was he, yet he could feel every nerve ending go on alert with just the touch of his hand on her arm.
Laura breathed in the just-showered freshness of his hair, noticing that his broad shoulders blocked everything else from view. She watched sudden heat jump into his gray eyes and felt the reawakening of feelings she’d thought long buried. What was happening here?
Sean was the first to recover. “You’re sure you’re not hurt?” He forced his gaze down to her ankle, saw it was still swollen. “You shouldn’t be walking on that sprain.”
Laura leaned back from him, reaching a hand to brace herself on the bathroom door frame. She needed some distance, a moment to clear her head. “No harm done, really. I was just a little clumsy, that’s all.”
“I’ve got an old umbrella around here somewhere with a curved handle. It’ll help you walk. I’ll look for it.” He had to get out of there, to move away from the womanly scent of her, the sleepy-eyed look of her. Stepping back, he bent to gather up the clothes she’d dropped, then straightened and held them out to her. “These should fit you.”
“Thank you.” Needing to change the subject, she gestured to include the room. “Does this room belong to the little boy in the picture