Sam walked through the E.R.’s double doors when they whooshed open, then went to the information desk. She was relieved to see Rhonda, the nursing supervisor.
The woman smiled warmly. “Hi, Sam.”
“Rhonda.” She was too uptight to return the smile. “Is Mitch here?”
“No. As a matter of fact he left early. Why?”
“He didn’t show up for his scheduled appointment.”
“He probably forgot,” Rhonda said.
Sam knew that couldn’t be. For the last month they’d been meeting several times a week with field observations thrown in. In that time she’d learned Mitch had a mind like a steel trap and forgot nothing. She went from troubled to worried in a heartbeat.
“Is there a reason he left early?” she asked.
“It’s pretty quiet. Now.” The plump brunette hesitated.
“What?” Sam implored. “Did something happen.”
“This is the emergency room. Something always happens.”
“I mean was he too honest? Did he push buttons and stir the pot?”
Rhonda shook her head. “It was just a bad day for him.”
“It would help if I knew—”
“You need to ask Mitch.”
“If I knew where he was, that’s exactly what I’d do. I called the home number on file and his cell, but he didn’t pick up, either. I don’t even know where to start looking.” Sam leaned against the counter, suddenly exhausted as a bad feeling trickled through her.
“If I were you, I’d start looking at Green Valley Ranch.”
“The hotel/casino?” When Rhonda nodded, she said, “The place is pretty big. Can you be more specific?”
“The Whiskey Bar. He’s mentioned it in passing a couple of times.”
“Anywhere else?”
“Besides GVR, here and home are the top two.” Her round face took on a curious expression. “Are you going to look for him?”
“Yeah.”
“Why?” Rhonda’s gaze was direct. “I mean he didn’t show up at his scheduled time. It happens. Most people don’t go out of their way to find out why. They just charge a missed appointment fee. So what’s up?”
“It’s part of the Marshall Management Consultants service.”
“Then you’re practically the only ones on the planet who still make house calls.”
Sam ignored that. “Thanks for the information, Rhonda. If he shows up will you ask him to call me?”
“Sure thing.”
Sam walked into the parking lot where it was dark and a cold wind was blowing, almost as cold as the dread building inside her. She chirped her car open then slid behind the wheel, started the engine and pulled out onto Mercy Medical Center Parkway. After crossing Eastern Avenue she continued to Paseo Verde and turned right.
When she’d gone looking for Mitch, she hadn’t thought about how it would look. Rhonda was right about her behavior being above and beyond the call of duty. But she had good reason. The reputation of her company was at stake, not to mention her own. She was trying to prove to her father that she was smart. Validation of that fact would come when she was successful. Failure with a client, one who could impact her father’s position, was not the way to achieve her career goal.
And if she believed all of that, she could sell herself beach front property in Pahrump. She was worried about Mitch. He wasn’t a flake and in her gut she knew something was wrong.
She made a left-hand turn into the parking lot at the Green Valley Ranch Resort, then followed the signs to the parking garage. She parked on the fourth floor, then went straight into the place without taking an elevator. It was like walking into a wall of noise. Her senses were assaulted by the ringing and beeping of slot machines. Garishly lighted games were everywhere. On her left was the food court complete with places offering pizza, hamburgers, wraps and coffee. As she moved farther inside, she spotted signs for the multitude of drink and restaurant choices. After following the arrows, she found the Whiskey Bar and stepped inside.
When her eyes adjusted to the dim light, she looked around. There were places to sit at the bar, with booths around the perimeter and tables scattered throughout. The wood, leather, glass and chrome conveyed an atmosphere of understated elegance and sophistication. For a weeknight in early November, the place was surprisingly full. Her heart sank when she didn’t spot Mitch, but she decided to walk through just in case.
And there he was at a booth in a dark corner. All alone. Dressed in a dark T-shirt and black leather jacket, he looked more like a rebel bad boy than a doctor. She moved closer and noticed that in front of him was a glass with clear liquid and a lime.
Sam stopped beside him. “Hi.”
He didn’t look up and didn’t say anything.
“Mind if I join you?” she asked.
“Go away, Sam.”
It was the tone in his voice more than the dark, bleak expression in his eyes that made her do just the opposite. She sat in the bench seat across from him. “What are you drinking?”
“None of your business.”
If he was drowning his sorrows, she was making it her business. She signaled the cocktail waitress, a pretty blonde in a low-cut top and short skirt revealing long legs encased in black nylons.
“What can I get for you?” she asked with a smile.
“I’ll have what he’s having,” Sam answered.
“Club soda with a twist of lime. Coming right up.” She walked away.
It was a relief that he wasn’t medicating with liquor. She picked up the cocktail napkin and folded it. “Did you forget that we had an appointment?”
“No.”
So not showing up was deliberate. “You’ve never missed one before.”
He met her gaze. “So bill me.”
This was getting her nowhere. She’d try another tack. “Aren’t you going to ask how I found you?”
“I don’t care. If you were smart, you’d lose me again.”
“You could have called. Explained that it’s been a bad day and rescheduled. I was concerned. This behavior is out of character.”
“This is exactly my character—a loner who doesn’t count on anyone and that works both ways.”
“You’re saying no one should rely on you?”
He just looked at her, his mouth pulled tight as the muscle in his jaw jerked.
Sam was worried before, but now she was borderline frightened. He’d been alternately abrasive, rude, heroic and sexy, but never so dark and wounded. It was as if his soul had imploded and she couldn’t stand to see him like this.
“Talk to me, Mitch.”
“If I’d wanted to do that, I’d have kept the appointment.”
“I’m not your coach, now. I’m your friend. Tell my why it was a bad day.”
He shook his head and for a moment there was bottomless misery in his eyes. A hard, dark, angry look pushed it away. “Rhonda has a big mouth.”
“Not nearly big enough because she wouldn’t tell me what happened.”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“I want to help you, but I can’t if you won’t open up. What was it, Mitch?”
“Just go—”
The cocktail waitress set her club soda with a lime twist in front of her and said, “Anything else I can get you two?”
“No,” Sam said. “Thank you.”
Mitch watched her for a moment, then looked back. “I’m fine, Sam. Go home.”
She toyed with her straw. “Not until I finish my drink.”
He glared at her. “You don’t even want that.”
“You’re right. I want you to let me help with whatever is bothering you. And I’m not leaving until you do.”
“Then I will,” he said.
“I’ll follow.”
“Damn it, Sam—” His voice was harsh with exasperation. “Go away. Please—”
“No. We can sit here and say nothing. Or you can save us both a lot of time and aggravation and just give it up.” She took a sip of her drink. “Why did you have a bad day?”
Their gazes dueled in the silence as he took her measure. Finally he blew out a long breath and said, “I lost a patient.”
“I’m sorry. That must be hard. But why was this patient different?”
“What makes you think that?”
“Patients die in the E.R. It happens. Some are too badly injured by the time they’re brought in. Sometimes they’re just too sick. It’s the nature of what you do and you’re completely aware of that. But this is the first time I’ve seen you disappear into your cave. What’s different?”
“It was a guy. Late thirties. Drug overdose.”
She searched his face and knew there was more. “Why did this one hit you so hard?”
“Because of my brother.”
“Your twin?” she asked.
He nodded. “Robbie. We were always close growing up, always friends. But after my dad was killed—”
“Murdered?” She tried to keep her tone normal when she was horrified by that revelation.
“He was a cop. It’s how he and my mom met. Robbie and I were ten or eleven. This particular day he was off duty and working an extra job in security at a convenience store when some punks tried to rob it. They shot him and he died on the way to the hospital.”
“Oh, Mitch, I’m so sorry.”
“Yeah. Me, too.” He held his glass and turned it in circles. “He had benefits, but my mom still had to support the family. She wasn’t a detective then. Still a patrol cop.”
“That must have been hard. After losing your dad, you must have worried and wondered whether or not she’d come home.”
His look was far away, as if he wasn’t with her any longer. “Every time she went to work she told me to look after Robbie.”
“You were twins. That made you the same age.”
“But Mom always said I was the responsible one. When I gave her a hard time, she played the responsibility card, reminded me he was my brother, and I loved him, so it was my job to keep him safe.”
He’d told her his brother was dead and she had an idea what was coming. As much as she wanted to fill in the blanks and spare him, there was the danger of him shutting down. He needed to say the words.
“What happened to Robbie?” she asked.
He met her gaze and the pain there was palpable. “He started using. After high school. After I went away to college. He abused drugs for years and eventually died at Mercy Medical Center.”
“You weren’t on—”
“No.”
Her heart went out to him. “It’s not your fault, Mitch.”
There was irony and self-loathing in his expression. “Then who’s to blame? I didn’t take care of him. And I didn’t save him.”
“You’re a man. You’re human. You’re a gifted doctor, but not a miracle worker. Robbie made a choice to take drugs, then became addicted. He couldn’t shake it. That’s not your fault. You can’t blame yourself for that.” She could see he wasn’t buying it. “You’re a doctor and you save lives every day. You need to hang on to that. And remember this—in order to be successful one must learn to surmount a fear every day.”
“Spare me the motivational platitudes. I’m not afraid to be a doctor. That’s the easy part.” His mouth twisted. “Do you know why I specialized in emergency medicine?”
“No. Tell me.”
“Because the patients are only in my care for a short time. I’m there for the golden hour. I stabilize them then pass them on for long-term care.” He pushed his glass away.
“Someone has to do the job and it takes a special kind of person to handle the pressure you deal with every day.”
“But I chose to do it for very specific reasons. Don’t you get it, Sam? The message here is that I’m not a long-term kind of guy. I never have been and never will be. In the long term I screw up. You’re wasting your time on me.”
“It’s my time. And I don’t happen to agree with you that you’re a waste.”
She would, however admit to being deflated. He’d just confided a very private, personal pain and it was a breakthrough in her work. She should be exhilarated; this was her “golden hour.” But exhilaration was nowhere in sight. It was missing along with any hint of professional pride. What she felt was a deep empathy for what Mitch had experienced and it crossed over into personal territory.
She’d been straddling this line since meeting Mitch, but tonight she’d inched into a danger zone that put all her goals, including career and personal, at risk.
She’d grown up feeling like nothing more than a duty to her stepfather. But she was a woman now and found a need that bordered on desperation to know what it felt like to be loved for herself, for the unique qualities that made her who and what she was.
Why was fate so cruel? What was it about Mitch Tenney that had gotten her heart’s attention from the first time she’d seen him?
Forget that he was a client. Forget her professional responsibility. It was time to face the fact that she had feelings, intense feelings, for a man who believed loving was another word for obligation. Caring about a client in a personal way was bad enough. Caring about a man who was completely wrong for her was foolish and just plain stupid. The problem was that she simply didn’t know how to smarten up.
Mitch followed the red taillights of Sam’s practical little import until she turned into her complex. His responsibility to see her safely home was effectively complete. But when the security gates swung shut behind her he suddenly felt the need to make sure she got inside okay.
He turned in and stopped at the keypad and punched in her code, hoping it hadn’t changed from the last time he’d been here. Memories of that night were never far from his mind and when the gates opened again, he let out a long breath.
This felt a lot like a B horror movie when some idiot goes into the basement alone and everyone but the idiot knows he’s going to get whacked. Mitch knew being here didn’t make him the sharpest scalpel in the drawer but he couldn’t seem to turn the car around.
He wasn’t sure why he was here. One minute he’d been in the bar, brooding and miserable. He was alone and doing a damn fine job of it. Then he’d seen Sam, looking so incredibly sweet, beautiful and concerned. About him. That big heart of hers had compelled her to come looking when he’d stood her up for his appointment. Then, in the bar, he couldn’t get rid of her. So he got mad, spilled his guts and still she’d stayed, listening and encouraging. Then she’d said it was getting late and she had to go. She had plans the next day. It had been on the tip of his tongue to ask her to stay, but he didn’t. Something got in the way.
In order to be successful one must learn to surmount a fear every day. He was afraid of getting close because love makes you responsible and that was too much to live up to. He wasn’t looking for success. He just didn’t want to be alone.
So he’d insisted on following her home.
Now he was climbing the stairs to see her into her apartment.
When she heard his footsteps on the walkway, she turned. “I didn’t know—You didn’t have to do this.”
He took the key from her hand just as he’d done the last time. “A gentleman always sees a lady safely home.”
The stiff breeze blew strands of hair around her face and he tucked them behind her ears as she clutched her purse in front of her like a shield. When she shivered, he instinctively moved to shelter her from the wind.
“Are you cold?”
“No. Yes,” she amended. “You know how it is in Vegas. One day it’s eighty degrees, the next it’s fifty.”
Her voice was all nerves and the idea that he’d made her edgy was extremely satisfying. He wanted to make her as jumpy as she made him. He wanted to dig beneath her cool coach’s exterior and find the woman who was jealous when he’d flirted with her sister. Better yet, he’d like to be with the sensuous lady who’d taken him to a place he’d never been before.
“I’d be happy to warm you up.” He rubbed his hands up and down her arms.
“Thanks. But it’s best if I just go inside. Thanks for seeing me home, Mitch. Good night.”
He’d have let her go if there’d been any conviction in the words. She was wearing black slacks and a matching jacket, short and perfectly fitted to her small waist. Beneath it was a silky gold blouse that brought out all the highlights in her big brown eyes. The need to take it off and make her eyes light up for completely different reasons was becoming too difficult to ignore.
“Aren’t you going to invite me in for a nightcap?”
Her expression was wry. “Isn’t that just the way? I’m out of club soda and fresh lime.”
“I can be fresh,” he said.
“That’s not breaking news.”
He leaned a shoulder against the door frame and looked down at her. “I’m shocked and appalled. I do believe my sensitivity coach just insulted me.”
“You said it. I simply agreed with you,” she countered. “There’s a difference.”
“I thought you were supposed to spin my behavior into a more positive light.”
“And I thought you liked to be right.”
“I do,” he agreed. “So let me show you just how fresh I can be.”
He cupped her cheek in his hand, then lowered his lips to hers. Half-expecting her to back away, he was pleased and surprised when she didn’t. He forced himself to go slow, kiss her softly, even though he wanted, with an almost desperate intensity, to pull her into his arms and feel every part of her pressed against him. He ached for her in a way he’d never ached for anyone before.
She swayed toward him and he slid his fingers into the hair at her nape, making the contact of their mouths more firm. He sucked on her top lip then bit down gently, before pressing a light kiss there. When he pulled back and looked down, her eyes were closed and there was a dazed and dreamy expression on her face to go along with her unsteady breathing. The look cranked the blood through his veins and sent it points south, ratcheting up his need.
She was as turned on as he was.
Then the haze faded and she looked distressed. “I—I have to go now, Mitch.”
“I’ll go with you.”
She shook her head. “That’s a very bad idea.”
The need throbbing through him said otherwise. “You’re wrong about that, coach.”
“That’s exactly why it’s not good. You’re my client. It’s unethical for me to even kiss you, let alone—You know.”
He did know. And what he had in mind didn’t feel the least bit unethical from where he was standing. If she was using sex to influence him, he could see her point, but that’s not what was happening here. He wanted her and he’d bet everything he owned that she wanted him, too. All he had to do was make her see the wisdom of it.
“You mean this?” he asked, lowering his mouth to hers again.
He slid an arm around her waist and pulled her against him, savoring the feel of her breasts pressed against his chest. For the rest of his life he would be grateful that she hadn’t worn a coat tonight. He kissed her and when he traced her lips with his tongue, she opened for him and he didn’t waste the opportunity. Dipping inside, he caressed the warm sweetness of her mouth. Their tongues dueled in a seductive dance until he thought his chest would explode.
He dropped gentle kisses on her nose, eyes and cheeks, then trailed his mouth across her jaw and down her neck. All the while heat balled in his belly and billowed outward.
Breathing hard, he pulled back. “That didn’t feel unethical to me.”
“Mitch, I can’t—”
He pressed a finger to her lips. “Not what I want to hear.”
Why was he letting her get to him? Letting? That implied control over his feelings and he so wasn’t in control. This thing for her just was and if he was as brilliant and worth saving as everyone thought, he’d walk away and never look back. But he couldn’t make himself U-turn any more than he could in the car. His life would lose the only light and color in it. If he knew anything it was that life was fleeting and fragile and could disappear in a flash. It was a breeding ground for regrets and he had too many already.
She pressed her forehead to his chest, fighting to suck in air. When she looked up, her eyes were pleading for understanding. “You’re a doctor. If anyone should understand, it’s you. I’m ethically bound to maintain my professional distance from a client.”
If that was the only thing standing in their way, he had the perfect solution. “Okay, then.”
“I’m glad you understand.” Regret stood out in her eyes as she turned the knob on her front door and opened it a crack. “I really have to go now—”
“Tell me something, Sam.”
“What?”
“Tell me you don’t want this. Tell me you’re not the least bit interested in me. Not the least bit tempted to throw ethics out the window and burn up the sheets with me.” He curved his fingers around her arm and held her gaze. “Tell me that and I’ll walk away without looking back. And don’t lie to me because you’re not very good at it.”
She caught her top lip between her teeth. “I can’t say that.”
“That’s what I thought.” He let out a long breath. “In that case, you’re fired.”
In one motion, he pulled her into his arms and inside her apartment then nudged the door closed. Sam reached over his shoulder and twisted the dead-bolt lock. He kissed her until she was breathless and he ached with need.
“I want to see what your bedroom looks like,” he said, his voice hoarse.
“Pink.”
“What?”
She took his hand and led him past her beige-and-maroon sofa and the kitchen with the copper stuff on the hutch. In the hall she turned right and flipped a switch on the wall. A brass lamp beside the bed lit the room in a golden glow. It was definitely pink, from the roses on the comforter to the sheets beneath. The walls were a soft shade of pink with white crown molding and door. This was a surprise, a contrast from the living room’s harvest gold with the one red wall that had given him a hint of the passionate side she kept hidden.
He grinned down at her. “It’s a good thing I’m secure in my masculinity.”
“A very good thing,” she said, sliding her hands over his chest to push off his jacket.
That was all the encouragement he needed. In seconds their clothes were in a heap at the foot of the bed and the sheets were as bare as Sam. Without taking his mouth from hers, he backed her toward the bed.
“Wait,” she said.
“What?”
“Do you have—You know.” When he stared blankly, she said, “Protection.”
He did and automatically answered, “Yes.”
Then he reached for the wallet in his jeans to retrieve the condom. The first time she hadn’t mentioned it. Of course he hadn’t, either, because the blood drained from his head, making rational thought impossible. Later he’d figured she was still on the pill, after her broken engagement.
When he turned back and saw her derriere as she crawled onto the bed, rational thought again drained from his head along with the blood pounding elsewhere.
With protection in place, he slid in beside her and took her in his arms. Her bare breasts burned into his chest and he brushed his palm down her back and over her butt, gently squeezing. She curved a hand over his shoulder, up his neck, then traced one finger along his ear. It was like a bottle rocket going off in his head.
He rolled her onto her back, then leaned down to take the tip of her breast in his mouth. The feel of her skin against his mouth and his hands made him feel as if he’d died and gone to heaven. He turned his attention to her other breast as he slid his hand between her legs, dipping one finger into her feminine warmth. She was as ready as he was and he’d been ready for too damned long.
“I need you, Sam—”
“Ditto,” she whispered.
He raised over her, spreading her legs wide with his knee, then pushed gently into her. It was like coming home. He slid his hand between them, and with his thumb found the nub of nerve endings that was the heart of her pleasure. He rubbed it, experimenting with the right amount of pressure until she sucked in a breath and went still, at the same time breathing in a series of harsh gasps that told him she’d found her release.
He thrust in and out until his body tensed. A moment later it felt as if his skull was exploding in the best possible way. When he could move, he rolled to the side, taking her with him wrapped in his arms.
When he could think again, his first thought was that he was going straight to the devil.
His second: hell would be worth it.