Cindy's Doctor Charming. Teresa Southwick
beige dress were sexy and so damn hot he needed about an hour in a subzero shower.
He’d have followed her anywhere, but when she sat at his table, he wondered if somehow the god of luck had finally come down on his side. The certainty that he’d seen her somewhere now seemed less important than getting her attention away from the woman she’d been talking to on her right side. All through the endless meal she’d industriously ignored him and that was about to end. A quartet had set up to play music and people were moving to the wooden dance floor in the center of the room.
Finally there was a break in the gabfest. He leaned close and said near her ear, “Would you like to dance?”
She met his gaze for several moments and finally said, “I don’t think so.”
It wasn’t ego that caused his surprise at the smackdown. It was that women simply didn’t do that. He was forever being introduced by matchmaking mothers who were trying to hook up the successful doctor with their daughter or niece. Or a friend’s daughter or niece. Or second cousin once removed. Women liked him. And he liked women.
There was never a challenge involved. He rubbed his neck as that sank in. Maybe there was a little ego mixed in with the surprise.
“Why?” he finally asked.
“Why what?”
“Don’t you want to dance?”
Her eyes narrowed. They were the color of cinnamon and snapping with intelligence. He found himself eagerly anticipating her response.
“I need a reason?”
“It would be polite.”
“Not if I had to explain about a prosthetic leg. Or a pronounced limp from a serious childhood soccer injury.”
Like almost every other man in the room, he’d watched the sexy sway of her hips as she’d glided gracefully to the table. The only imminent injury was the rising level of testosterone threatening to blow the top of his head off.
“Do you have any physical limitations?” he asked.
“No.”
“Okay.” Before she made him navigate more speed bumps, he said, “And you know how to dance?”
“See, that’s the thing. Mumsy and Daddy begged me to go to cotillion to smooth out my rough edges—”
“Mumsy?”
She smiled. “Yes. My über-wealthy parents desperately wanted to be here tonight but they simply couldn’t tear themselves away from the south of France.”
“Über-wealthy?” That’s not what she’d told him before. “Just exactly how much did you pay for that lucky raffle ticket?”
Amusement curved the corners of her full, tempting lips. “So you actually were paying attention.”
“It’s part of my charm.”
“Oh, please. Do women really fall for that line?”
“Yes. Although usually a line isn’t involved.”
“It’s a darn shame.” She eased away, a pitying expression on her face.
“What?”
“You should really do something about your self-confidence. Surgery. Rehab. There must be some treatment. The miracles of modern medicine—”
“Aren’t miracles,” he finished.
“No?”
“It’s science.”
“Really?” There was a spark of interest now.
“Absolutely.”
“You don’t believe in miracles?” She rested her arm on the table as she angled her body toward him.
“I never underestimate the power of the human spirit. But a miracle?” He shook his head. “If I can’t see or touch it, I don’t believe it exists.”
“What about love?”
Oddly enough, he was pretty sure the question wasn’t Cindy being flirtatious. If an invitation to his bed was her goal, she’d be in his arms on the dance floor right now. Instead of having her soft curves pressed against him and the scent of her skin snarling his senses, they were having an existential discussion regarding the reality of love.
“I don’t believe in it.”
“You’re kidding, right?” she asked.
“No.”
In the NICU he’d seen worried parents who almost literally willed a tiny scrap of humanity born too soon, a being that they’d only just met face to face, to live. Was that love? He didn’t know. It hadn’t existed in his life. There’d been buckets of money that his father spent copious amounts of time making. His mother got tired of trying to get her husband’s attention and turned to her “projects.”
Nathan had tried his hand at love. He’d married a woman he liked and respected. But there was no doubt in his mind that if she hadn’t died in a car accident, their trial separation would have turned into an amicable divorce. He missed her, as his best friend. Nothing deeper than that existed in his world. He had no frame of reference for love.
Enough with the self-examination, he thought. He was a doctor, trained to act swiftly and decisively in an emergency. Hesitation could cost lives. And as Cindy had pointed out, his self-confidence needed immediate resuscitation.
He stood, then took her hand and pulled her to her feet. “We’re wasting a perfectly good waltz.”
He’d expected some rebellion in the ranks, but apparently he had surprise on his side. She didn’t pull away but followed almost meekly as he led her through the maze of tables littered with half-eaten cheesecake and hastily abandoned cloth napkins.
On the dance floor he slid his arm around her waist and nestled her against him. She wasn’t as tall as he’d thought. It was probably that big attitude of hers generating the illusion. He was used to willowy women, but he could rest his chin on the top of Cindy’s head and somehow the fit felt just right. Despite her tongue-in-cheek comments about prosthetics and pronounced limps, she was light on her feet and had no problem following his lead. It felt as if they’d been dancing together for years.
Nathan gave brief thought to making conversation, then decided if he kept his mouth shut, he couldn’t put his foot in it. The sweet fragrance of her skin filled his head, more intoxicating than any alcohol he’d ever tasted. Thoughts of her in his arms somewhere private, with the sexy, strapless dress on the floor around her feet was temptation with a capital T. He was already planning the strategy to make that happen because it had been hard enough to get her in his arms for a dance.
The music ended and he was about to make his pitch when she backed away. The almost stricken expression on her face puzzled him.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. I have to go.”
“It’s not late,” he protested.
“It is for me.”
“Don’t tell me,” he said. “Your car turns into a pumpkin at midnight.”
“Something like that.” She did an about-face, then slipped away through the crush of bodies still on the dance floor.
“Wait.” He knew she heard, because she lifted her hand in a wave as she kept going.
The crowd was thinner than when he’d first arrived tonight, but he had trouble maintaining a visual of her. She kept disappearing because almost everyone was taller. Outside the ballroom in the wide, carpeted hall people milled around. Nathan looked left, then right and couldn’t see her.
Instinct had him hurrying toward the bank of escalators leading to the ground level. When he reached the bottom, the crush