Hot Docs On Call: Surgeon's Seduction. Carol Marinelli

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СКАЧАТЬ Born and raised. And where are you from?”

      “Here,” Sam replied, winking at her.

      “Oh, come on. I told you mine, now tell me yours.”

      “Well, I was born in Manhattan, but I was raised in the Highlands by my father.”

      “How interesting.” She took a sip of her wine. “Was he a laird?”

      It was meant as a tease. He knew it. It always was.

      “Aye, he is.”

      Mindy choked on her wine. “You’re not serious?”

      “I am. Very. Did you not hear my ‘Aye’?”

      “I thought that was only saved for when you were tetchy?”

      “Or when I’m very serious.” He winked at her.

      “He’s a laird?”

      “It’s not as romantic as you’re thinking it is. It just means he owns a large bit of land in the Highlands. He doesn’t serve out justice to his lowly tenants. He’s not nobility.”

      “So what does that make you?”

      “Make me?”

      “Or are there other heirs apparent?” She winked as she took a sip of her Merlot.

      Sam laughed. “I’m the eldest, but really it doesn’t make me anything other than what you see here.”

      Mindy cocked her head to one side. “And here I thought I was talking to royalty.”

      Sam chuckled. “Hardly. So what brought you from the warm confines of California to the harsh and bitter environment of Manhattan?”

      “You’re mocking me, aren’t you?”

      “Just a wee bit.”

      Mindy sighed and tucked a long strand of mahogany hair behind her ear. “A new job and a new…start.”

      “I can tell from your tone that you wanted to get as far away from California as possible.”

      “How can you tell that from my tone?”

      “It was tight, like you were in pain.”

      What are you doing?

      As Mindy glanced over at the devilishly handsome man, warmth spread through her, a zing of something she hadn’t felt in quite some time.

       Maybe it’s the wine?

      No, not the wine. Even when she’d still been with Dean, the last few years of their marriage had been detached and they had just been going through the motions. Of course, she’d thought it was their careers that had kept them apart, she’d never suspected someone else and she had certainly never expected that someone else to be her best friend and colleague. Dean and Owen’s betrayal cut her to the quick. She’d trusted Dean. He had been her husband and he betrayed her.

      Trust was something she never gave freely. She’d been burned so many times by so-called friends. She’d thought she’d been able to trust her husband. The one person who’d held her heart. So when he’d done the unthinkable she’d had a hard time believing in any one else, in trusting another person. Intimacy was a huge leap of faith, letting someone see that vulnerable side to you.

      So, yeah, it had been a long time since she’d even contemplated thinking about a man in a sexual way. It had been a while since a tingle of excitement at the possibility of something more had revved her motor, but when his lips brushed against her knuckles suddenly the cold winter temperatures had no longer bothered her.

      Sam’s blue eyes were twinkling mischievously. He was a bad boy. There was no mistaking it, but the way he leaned against the bar, the emotional walls he had in place, the devilry in those blue, blue eyes. Sam was the kind of man her mother had always warned her to steer clear of. Yet it had been the nice man, the respectable one, whom her mother had approved of, who had betrayed her trust.

      Besides, she was just flirting with this handsome heir of a Scottish laird in an upscale Manhattan bar. It didn’t have to go any further than this.

       Why not?

      It might be nice to cut loose and celebrate a new life, at a new hospital. Tonight she didn’t have to be a world-renowned maternal-fetal surgeon. Tonight she just had to be Mindy. She’d never see this guy again. He wouldn’t use her or hurt her.

      She could just be Mindy. Lonely and scared out of her mind Mindy, but still…

      What was he saying? Oh, yes, he thought she sounded in pain. Great.

      She giggled nervously.

      Maybe he sensed she needed a change of topic because he asked, “So, what makes me so funny, then? Is it the accent that amuses you so much? Or is it my boyish charm?” He waggled his eyebrows suggestively, making her melt just a bit.

      “Boyish charm for sure.” She smiled at him, which was easy to do. She couldn’t recall ever smiling and flirting with Dean, but, then, she had always been a wallflower. Shy and meek. This was new, it felt good. She picked up her drink and took a sip, wincing at the burn of alcohol. Honestly, she didn’t know why she’d ordered wine, she wasn’t much of a drinker.

      “Something wrong with your wine?” Sam asked.

      “No, nothing. It’s fine. I don’t usually go to bars.”

      “Then can I ask why you wanted to brave the harsh, bitter environment of winter to come to a bar and suffer through what looks to be a very painful glass of wine.”

      Mindy shrugged. “As I said, I’m new here. I wanted to meet people.”

      Sam leaned over. “Well, you’ve met me.”

      “You’re laying it on very thick now.”

      “It amuses me to do so.” He cleared his throat and then swigged down the last of his Scotch. “There, that’s better. My mellow American accent is back. What do you think?”

      “I prefer the Scottish one.” Then she giggled.

      It was pathetic that she was giggling. It had been a while since she’d dated or flirted, but when you spent your whole career operating on such delicate humans as fetuses you didn’t really have much of a life. Not when their tiny little lives were in your hands. Not when their mothers’ lives were in your hands. She spent a lot of time in research, in ORs, sitting by patients’ bedsides.

      Too many happy families depended on her and being one of the top surgeons in her field meant she was in high demand.

      There was no time for socializing or anything else. She’d met Dean when they had both been interns, learning under the same surgeon. They’d both been maternal-fetal specialists. They’d both been on the same trajectory.

      Or so she’d thought.

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