Starting with a Kiss. Barbara McMahon
Holding the lobby door for her, Greg watched as she stormed out to the sidewalk. For a moment the image of her saying the words in a different context slammed into him.
Abigail Trent and bed? The thought was ludicrous. She had no interest in him and he certainly could afford no long-term interest in any woman.
When they reached the hotel on Union Square, Greg availed himself of valet parking, wondering if Abby planned to dash into another cab when they’d finished.
“For the record, I’m taking you home,” he said as they entered the St. Francis Hotel. The old San Francisco landmark was centrally located and perfect for the lavish fund-raising ball.
“There’s no need—”
“Actually, there is. I have something to discuss with you,” he said as they entered the lobby.
“About the conference?”
“Sort of.”
“And you can’t discuss it here?” Abby asked suspiciously.
“No.”
They met the events coordinator and soon had a tour of the ballroom and the kitchen that would service the event. They discussed decorations and music, in addition to amenities like the cloakroom, anticipated space needed for valet parking, and rooms for guests who would like to avail themselves of the chance to spend the night after the ball.
Greg noticed Abby’s questions were well thought out, and seemed to cover all aspects of the event. He knew she had never attended one of the balls, but she honed in on the aspects most likely to cause problems at the last minute.
He wasn’t sure why Ben had assigned Abby as co-chair, but she proved she’d do her share.
It was after nine by the time they finished. Greg took her arm in a gentle grip.
“I won’t run away,” Abby said irritably.
“Indulge me,” he said.
“You don’t trust me, Doctor?”
“Not any further than I can throw you. But don’t take it personally, I don’t trust any woman.”
“There’s a comment that begs for elaboration.”
“Not tonight. Here’s the car.”
The ride to her place was silent. Greg wondered what she was thinking—and how best to broach the subject Rose insisted he bring up.
When he stopped in front of her apartment building, he turned off the engine and turned to look at her.
“It’s about the other night.”
Warily she looked at him. “What about it?”
He reached into his pocket for a business card and handed it to her. “Rose suggested you might be in the market for some new clothes.”
Abby made no move to take the card, looking at it as if it would bite.
“There’s nothing wrong with my clothes.”
“I never said there was.” He was handling it all wrong. On the other hand, he couldn’t imagine any way being considered right. Rose should have talked to her. It would have been better coming from another woman.
He dropped the card in her lap. “My sister has a boutique on Maiden Lane. Tell her I sent you and maybe she’ll give you a discount. On the other hand, if it’s a day she’s mad at me, she’ll probably charge you extra.”
Looking at him suspiciously, Abby gingerly picked up the card. “Why are you doing this?”
Greg shrugged, wondering the same thing himself. As a rule he didn’t become involved in other people’s personal lives. “To stop Rose from haranguing me every minute. She’s a terrific secretary. I’d be lost without her. But she can drive me crazy when she gets some idea in her head. She’s convinced there was some hidden message in the way you were dressed the other night.”
Abby fingered the card, taking a deep breath and meeting his gaze. “Thank you.” Opening the door, she stepped out onto the sidewalk. “I’ll think about it.”
Chapter Three
Abby watched as Greg’s car sped away. What was she, some charity case? Crumpling the card in her hand, she headed inside. Entering her apartment a moment later, she tossed it toward the trash. It fell short.
His carefully crafted words echoed in her mind. At least he hadn’t laughed aloud. In fact he’d looked downright uncomfortable.
She almost smiled. Had he really expected her to believe that story about Rose pushing him around? A man less likely to be pushed by anyone she had yet to meet.
Still, it wouldn’t hurt to go shopping and just look.
She picked up the card and smoothed it out. Maybe he’d done it out of the genuine goodness of his heart. She laughed at that. From what she’d heard, Dr. Hastings didn’t have a heart.
The phone rang.
“Hello?”
“I was also supposed to add my sister would be happy to give you any pointers you might like. Like on your hair or something.”
From the background noise, she knew he was on his cell phone. How had he gotten her number?
“Why?”
“The consensus seems to be you are trying to capture some man’s attention.”
“So much for being subtle,” she murmured, sinking down onto the sofa. “Who shares this consensus?” The gossip had been even more widespread than she’d suspected if Greg Hastings was hearing it.
“That’s not important. Is it correct?”
“No.” Honesty nudged. “Well, sort of, maybe.”
“I hope you don’t give diagnoses that way.”
“No, I don’t. And this conversation is over.”
She hung up. If she could turn back the clock, she’d never have agreed to Kim’s outlandish suggestion. But of course if she could turn back the clock, she’d make sure Carol never got into a car that fateful day.
When the phone rang again, she snatched it up.
“Now what?”
“I can’t believe a woman with your looks has any trouble holding on to a man.”
“Your assessment means so much to me.” She couldn’t believe she was having this conversation.
“A problem shared is a problem halved. Want to tell me about it?”
“Not at all, but thank you for your kind bedside manner.”
“Ah, if you’re going to start talking dirty, Doctor, I need to pull over.”
“Huh?”
“Bed and all.”
Abby blinked. Was that teasing note coming from the no-nonsense, dedicated surgeon, super doctor-stud Greg Hastings?
“Let me assure you I haven’t the faintest idea of how to talk dirty or flirt. That’s part of the problem. Not that I need to tell you any more. Good night, Doctor!”
“I’ll call back. Persistence is one of my strong points.”
She could think of a few other things to call it. “Why the interest? To feed the rumor mill?”
“Ah, thanks for your high regard. Actually I’m on a reconnaissance mission for Rose.”
“Who will then feed the rumor mill?”
“I doubt it. She seems to attract information like a magnet does iron filings, but rarely spreads it—except