she didn’t look at Jeb’s table again anytime soon.
Greg studied her for a moment, perplexed with the enigma that was Abigail Trent. He’d been surprised yesterday when Ben had asked him if he would escort Dr. Trent to tonight’s banquet. Used to the ploys of women on the make, he’d instinctively suspected an ulterior motive in the request.
When she’d opened her door tonight, he’d been shocked to see the change from quiet, slightly prickly young Dr. Trent to—to what? He didn’t mind women dressing up for a date, but there was something too much about the way she was dressed tonight. Not that he’d ever mention it. He had two sisters and knew better than to make any negative comment when a woman had taken pains to dress to the nines.
And it wasn’t that he didn’t appreciate the way the dress showed off her figure. Who would have suspected behind those ubiquitous lab coats Dr. Abigail Trent had a tempting femininity that could capture a man’s interest in less than five seconds.
Tempting?
Greg watched her take another deep breath. Did she have any idea what doing that did to the dress?
While her attire suggested one thing, her attitude puzzled him. Had she dolled herself up to make a play for him? If so, she’d lost her nerve. So far he felt more like a fifth wheel than the center of her attraction.
Wryly looking away, Greg wondered if he was starting to believe the hype his secretary told him every day. He did not expect every woman he met to fall for him. He didn’t want anyone to, if the truth be known. He’d been down that road once—and had no intention of ever going again.
But neither was he used to taking a woman out and having her attention focused three tables away!
He frowned at the thought. He didn’t care. He was merely doing his duty as a favor to the chief of staff. When tonight’s event ended, they’d go back to normal. He’d see her a couple of times a month at staff meetings, maybe pass in the hallway. Or consult if she had a patient who needed surgery. That would be the extent of their involvement.
By the time dinner had ended, his companion was definitely displaying signs of nervousness. Amusement began to sweep through him as he studied her, taking in her agitated air, her held breath. She was a doctor, held the power of life and death in her hands, and she was nervous about accepting a check on behalf of the hospital? He hadn’t felt that anxious when he’d diagnosed his very first patient.
Interested in how she’d handle herself, Greg sat back to watch, still trying to figure the woman out. And he glanced to the table she had under observation, trying to figure out which man sitting there was the one she was interested in.
By the time the evening ended, Greg felt almost sorry for Abigail Trent. She’d given a good speech when accepting the endowment. Her voice had broken once, but that had added to the poignancy of the evening. Several colleagues spoke warmly about Carol Walker, about the lost potential, the tragic accident that had claimed her life. The speeches seemed to upset Abigail.
He could tell the entire evening was proving a strain and almost felt her relief when they rose to leave. The next time Ben Taylor asked him for a favor, he’d be sure he had other plans.
A young man from the table she’d been staring at came up to her. Greg suddenly felt Abigail’s tension increase.
“Abby, I nearly didn’t recognize you. What did you do to yourself?” he asked bluntly, frowning as he looked her over from head to toe.
“Hi, Jeb.” She smiled at him almost in relief. “I don’t always wear lab coats, you know.”
From the bright smile and the way she looked up at the young man, Greg suspected he’d been her focus of interest all evening.
“I guess not, but neither do you wear dresses like this.” His gaze held obvious disapproval. “You look like a tart.”
Hot color instantly stained Abby’s checks.
A feeling of protectiveness suddenly and unexpectedly surged through Greg. She might not be dressed as conservatively as she normally did, but there was no reason to insult her! He stepped closer.
“I don’t believe we’ve been introduced. I’m Greg Hastings.” He held out his hand, coming between Abigail and the rude young man as if he could cut the tension by his presence.
“Jeb Stuart. I’m an old friend of Abby’s. And Carol’s.” Jeb held out his hand.
Greg resisted the temptation to annihilate him with a punishing handshake. It was surprisingly hard. He thought that kind of behavior ended in high school. Obviously not.
“We have to be going,” he said to Abby, offering an out.
She took it gratefully. “Yes, of course. Bye, Jeb.”
As they wound their way through the crowd, Greg kept an eye on Abby. Her head held high, she refused to meet anyone’s eye, but walked determinedly toward the door. The deep pink in her cheeks made her blue eyes sparkle. He’d seen that same kind of sparkle once or twice when she became impassioned about a topic in the staff meeting.
He admired her for holding up after Jeb’s insult.
There seemed to be more to Dr. Trent than he’d first thought, even though none of it concerned him. She’d made that abundantly clear during the evening.
Nevertheless, his interest was piqued—he wanted to know about the relationship between her and Jeb Stuart. Were they lovers who had had a falling-out? He frowned, not liking the idea at all.
They had to wait for the parking attendant to bring his car. The air blew briskly down the canyon between buildings, the cool ocean fog already blanketing the city. Abby huddled in her coat, buttoned to the neck, her gaze on her toes.
“You did well in your speech,” he said to break the silence.
“Thanks.”
Another couple from the banquet left, calling goodnights.
Just then a taxi came to a stop in front of the restaurant. Before he could react, Greg watched Abby dart into the cab. Halting before closing the door, she offered a phony polite smile.
“Thanks for being my escort, Dr. Hastings. I’ll see myself home.”
So much for thinking the lady had a hidden agenda, Greg thought wryly as he watched the cab pull away. Two seconds later his car arrived.
“Timing is everything,” he murmured, giving the attendant a tip and sliding in behind the wheel. For a moment he considered following Abby to make sure she got home safely, then discarded the idea. The woman had made her choice clear. But he couldn’t help wondering what her thinking had been—before and after seeing Jeb Stuart.
Who was the real Abigail Trent—quiet, shy doctor? Or budding femme fatale?
Chapter Two
“Rats!” Abby murmured as she rushed down the hospital corridor. She wanted to run, but that was very definitely frowned upon at the hospital unless there was a life-threatening emergency. She was late—again. Which didn’t threaten anyone—except herself. The last staff meeting she’d been
