Taming the Playboy. Marie Ferrarella

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      “I don’t think he’s listening to you,” Georges told her in between beats.

      Mentally, he counted off compressions, then tilted the man’s head back. Pinching his nose, Georges leaned over the man’s mouth to blow his breath into it. Once, twice, a third time, before returning to compressions. The man still wasn’t responding. Georges didn’t allow himself to think about anything except the success of his efforts. Everything else, including the blonde’s voice, became a distant blur.

      “In my left coat pocket,” he told her as he resumed compressions for a third time, “I’ve got a cell phone.” The moment he said it, she galvanized into action, reaching her long, slender fingers into his pocket. He could feel them as they slid in.

      As he fought death for possession of the old man’s life, it struck him that this was one hell of a way to meet a woman. Because even in the midst of the ongoing turmoil, as he struggled to bring the driver back around, it did not escape Georges that she was one of the most attractive women he had ever seen.

      “Got it!” she declared breathlessly, pulling the cell phone out of his pocket. Rocking back on her knees, she began to press the three numbers that popped into everyone’s mind during an emergency.

      Nine-one-one would generate an appearance of an ambulance driven by EMTs. Given where they were, the paramedics could take them to one of two hospitals, most likely County General since it had a contract with the company that most often appeared on the scene. However, Blair Memorial was just as close as County General and it was the better of the two hospitals. It was also the hospital where he put in his hours.

      “Don’t call 911,” he told her, then rattled off the number she should call before he breathed into her grandfather’s mouth.

      The blonde looked at him, confused. “Why should I call that number?”

      “Because that number will get you the ambulance attendants from Blair Memorial hospital and they have the better emergency room staff,” he told her with no hesitation. He spared her a quick glance. “You want the best for him, don’t you?”

      She didn’t bother answering. As far as she was concerned, that was a rhetorical question. So instead, she pressed the buttons on the keypad. Two rings into the call, the receiver was being picked up.

      “Blair Memorial, E.R.,” a calm, soothing voice said.

      Visibly struggling to remain coherent, the blonde clutched the cell phone with both hands as she gave the man on the other end of the line all the necessary details. Finished, she followed up the information with one more instruction.

      “Please hurry.” With that, she let out a shaky breath and closed the cell phone again.

      “I think that’s a given,” Georges told her.

      Her eyes darted back toward the man administering CPR to her larger-than-life grandfather.

      Breathe, damn it, Grandpa, breathe! I’m not ready to live in a world without you in it yet. You promised me that you’d never leave me alone. Don’t break your promise, Grandpa. Don’t break your promise.

      Shaking herself free of the terror that threatened to swallow her up whole, she forced herself to look at the man kneeling beside her grandfather. The savior who had come to their rescue.

      Replaying his last words, she blinked, trying to focus. “What is?”

      “That they’ll hurry.”

      He was sitting back on his heels. A fresh wave of terror drenched her, leaving her shivering. “Why did you stop giving him CPR?” she demanded, an audible tremor in her voice as it rose. The words rushed out of her mouth. “Why aren’t you trying to get his heart going?”

      He curved his mouth into a slight smile. Triumph at this point, he knew, could be tenuous and very short-lived. By no means was the man on the ground out of the woods. “Because it is going,” he told her.

      Her eyes darted back to her grandfather, searching for proof. Staring at his chest. Was that movement? “On its own?”

      Georges nodded. “On its own.”

      Tears suddenly formed in her eyes. He became aware of them half a beat before the blonde threw her arms around his neck.

      Half a beat before she kissed him.

      Hard.

      Like the oncoming tide, she pulled back as quickly as she had rushed forward. Georges realized that he had tasted not only something sweet when her lips had pressed against his, but something moist, as well. Tears. He’d tasted her tears on her lips. They must have fallen there just as she’d impetuously made contact with his.

      They tasted salty and yet, somehow they were oddly sweet, as well.

      “Thank you,” she cried breathlessly. “Thank you.” And then, just like that, her complete attention was focused back on her grandfather. She took the old man’s hand in both of hers and held it next to her cheek. With effort, she controlled the tremor in her voice. “Now you just hang on, Grandpa, you hear me? Help’s on the way.” For a split second, her eyes shifted back to the man who had saved them both.

      Georges felt himself getting lost in her smile as she murmured, “Some of it’s already here.”

      Forcing himself to look back at his patient, Georges thought he saw the old man’s eyelids flutter, struggling unsuccessfully to open. He took the man’s other hand in his and once again felt for a pulse. He found it, albeit a weak one. Mentally, Georges counted off the beats.

      The blonde looked at him quizzically, obviously waiting for positive reaffirmation.

      “It’s still a little reedy,” he told her. “When they get him to the hospital, I think your grandfather should stay overnight for observation. They’ll take some films, do an angiogram.” Georges looked at the man’s face. It was remarkably unlined, but he would still place him somewhere in his late sixties, possibly early seventies. Other than the gash on his forehead and the episode he’d just experienced, the man seemed to be in rather good condition. But appearances could be deceiving. “Does your grandfather have any medical conditions that you’re aware of?”

      The blonde laced her fingers through her grandfather’s hand, as if her mere presence could ward off any serious complications. “I’m aware of everything about my grandfather,” she told him. There was no defensiveness in her voice, it was simply the way things were. She took an active interest in this man who was very much the center of her world. “He has a minor heart condition—angina,” she specified. “And he’s also diabetic. Other than that, he’s always been healthy.”

      Georges focused only on what he considered to be liabilities. “Those are complicating factors.”

      The blonde pushed back a strand of hair that had fallen into her face. She continued holding her grandfather’s hand. “Are you a doctor?”

      He smiled. “I’m a fourth-year resident.” He thought of John LaSalle, the attending physician that he was currently working under. LaSalle regarded residents as lower life forms only slightly higher than lab rats. “In some eyes, that makes me an ‘almost’ doctor.”

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