His Long-Awaited Bride. Jessica Matthews
curtains and no one would see.”
“If the boss walks in, she’ll wonder why the drapes are pulled,” Kristi warned. “And if we get another patient…”
Marissa didn’t need Kristi to finish her sentence. A new admission would only mean she’d have to move her flowers again. The place she chose had to be secure enough to avoid discovery for the entire day.
“What are you going to do?” Kristi asked, her expression a mixture of concern, curiosity and envy.
Marissa glanced at her floral line-up. While she was thrilled by Travis’s grandstand gesture, she wondered what he’d been thinking. Her work environment wasn’t flower-friendly, and even if it had been, how had he expected her to take them home? Her compact two-door car didn’t have the cargo space of an SUV or minivan.
The flowers simply had to go.
“First things first,” she decided. “I’ll move them out of sight before anyone notices.”
“Anyone as in everyone, or anyone as in a certain person who can melt her subordinates with one glare?” drawled a familiar voice from behind a rhododendron, seconds before a man pushed aside the plant to reveal himself.
It took Marissa the length of a heartbeat to identify the visitor, although she almost wished that someone other than Justin St. James had arrived. While he was a good friend from her college days, as well as one of the two internal medicine specialists on staff, he also had an uncanny tendency to stick his nose into her business.
His perfect, aristocratic nose. Then again, everything about him was perfect as far as Marissa could tell. Tall, dark and handsome might be a clichéd description, but it fit Justin like a professionally tailored suit. Strong shoulders, a lean physique, chocolaty brown eyes to match his hair and a smile that melted women’s knees—her own included—made Dr. St. James dream material.
And best of all, his physical appearance notwithstanding, his personality only added to his allure. He had what Marissa called the three Ps—he was polite, patient and persistent, all of which ranked him number one in the bedside-manner department. In fact, if Marissa had to point out a flaw, the only thing she could say was that he worked too hard. And that he looked at her as if she were his younger sister.
More was the pity. Her only consolation was that she’d known for years that she wasn’t his type—sophisticated, blond and beauty-queen gorgeous—and had resigned herself to that fact long ago. It was futile to wish for more, even though she indulged herself on occasion. After all, what was the harm in fantasizing about a tall, dark and handsome fellow with a grin—and gorgeous buns—to die for?
Actually, she knew the harm, which was why she only let her imagination run wild on rare occasions. It was less disappointing that way.
“Anyone as in everyone,” Marissa repeated seriously, “although you’re an exception.”
Justin grinned. “I am? I’m flattered.”
“Don’t be,” she said with a smile. “It’s only because you can be bribed with a home-cooked meal. What’ll it be this time? American, Chinese, Italian or Mexican?”
He stepped into the nurses’ station and, like always, his presence filled the area much like his broad shoulders filled out his blue dress shirt. “Surprise me, but cherry cheesecake is part of the deal.”
“Fine. In the meantime, make yourself useful.” She thrust the vase of roses into his startled grasp, then the rhododendron.
“Hey,” he protested, “since when did the D in ‘MD’ stand for Delivery?”
“Since I need an extra pair of hands and yours are the only ones available. Need I remind you that if Lorraine sees these and reads me the Riot Act, you can tell your taste-buds to think hospital cafeteria tuna surprise instead of jalapeño and melted cheese?”
“All right, all right,” he grumbled good-naturedly. “But make it fast. I have places to go and people to see.”
“Don’t we all?” she answered dryly. “Now, to find a perfect hiding place…” She glanced down the hallway in search of inspiration.
“How about the storeroom?” Kristi offered. “OB borrowed a couple of our wheelchairs so we have some extra space until they bring them back.”
“Good idea.” Marissa left the salmon-colored Gerbera daisy in its yellow ceramic pot on the counter next to the large spray of carnations and baby’s breath and followed Kristi down the corridor. Justin fell into step beside her.
“What’s the occasion?” he asked, his curiosity palpable. “I know it isn’t your birthday.”
Before Marissa could frame her answer, Kristi beat her to the punch.
“They’re from her date last night,” Kristi supplied in a dreamy voice as she unlocked the supply-room door and opened it with a flourish. “Lucky girl. Isn’t it romantic?”
Justin’s jaw dropped in obvious surprise. “From your date?” he said.
Marissa nudged past him to place her armload on an empty shelf. “Yes,” she answered simply as she avoided his gaze, well aware that more questions would be coming—questions that she didn’t want to answer in such a public place. “Let me have those,” she said instead, as she took the arrangements out of his hands and placed them on an empty metal cart.
An instant later, she shooed her two helpers from the room and closed the door with a decided click. “Thanks for your help in buying me some time,” she told them.
“What’re friends for?” Kristi winked. Before anything else could be said, a call light blinked down the hall. “That’s for me,” she said cheerfully, leaving Marissa and Justin alone. As Marissa had suspected, it didn’t take long for the inquisition to begin.
“You got all this after going out with what’s his name?”
The disbelief in his voice, as if it was completely inconceivable that a man would go to such lengths for her, instantly added starch to Marissa’s spine. It was bad enough that Justin had never noticed her, not even during those carefree college days when she had been his study buddy and he had dated what had seemed like every woman in her entire dormitory. The idea that he still couldn’t see her as a woman who might attract a man and enamor him to reckless generosity was enough to raise her hackles.
“Is it completely beyond the realm of possibility for me to receive flowers?” she demanded.
“No, but considering today isn’t your birthday and you’re not celebrating an anniversary, this seems a little…” He stopped short, as if he’d finally noticed her clenched jaw and narrowed eyes, and had decided it was time to tread softly.
“Bizarre? Overboard?” She faced him squarely, daring him to agree with her.
He didn’t. “What is the occasion?”
“Does a man need an occasion to send flowers?” she countered. “Can’t he give a bouquet for no other reason than just because he wants to? Or because he knows it would make a girl feel special?”
“If it was one bouquet, I’d agree with you, but he’s cleaned out the florist’s shop. He either wants something or buddy boy’s a showboat,” he finished, the disgust in his voice as obvious as the look on his face.
“You’re jealous.”
“Jealous? Of what?”
His clueless attitude caused her teeth to grind together painfully. Those three little words only drove home how smart she’d been way back when to accept their platonic relationship and move on to greener pastures.
“That he thought of doing something kind and considerate and you didn’t.”
He rolled his eyes. “Oh, ple-e-ease.”
“It’s true. When was the last time you sent anyone