she hadn’t been such a sucker for a panicky new mom who couldn’t tell the difference between scarlet fever and prickly heat, she’d have been home by now lounging in a hot bubble bath and preparing to sleep through her first day off in a week. Instead, she’d spent the past two hours soothing a frantic Mrs. Martinez, and explaining that a newborn really didn’t need three layers of clothing in an overheated room.
Now Claire leaned against the cool metal locker, weary to the bone. The bubbles beckoned. She could practically smell the steam, feel the sensual slither of silky soap caressing her skin. The image lent momentary buoyance, bestowing enough energy for her to exchange her lab coat for a warm sweater and the lumpy canvas backpack that served as a portable communications center, research facility, office and purse.
The lounge door creaked open. Claire heaved a sigh, spoke without turning around. “Unless it’s an emergency, just page whoever is on call. I’m officially off duty.”
“You’ve been officially off duty since five this afternoon,” came the cheery feminine reply. “That didn’t keep you from coming back in to see the Martinez baby.”
“Personal patients get personal perks.”
“Then you may want to take this call.”
A teasing lilt to Nurse Jeri Jansen’s voice made Claire glance over her shoulder. “Is it one of my patients?”
The young woman sported a taunting grin and a gleam of sheer mischief in her huge hazel eyes. “Nope.”
“Is it an emergency?”
“It doesn’t seem to be.”
“Doesn’t seem to be?”
“It’s a little difficult to tell. All the caller says is that he wishes to speak with a physician.” Jeri lowered her voice, which quivered with a peculiar hint of amusement. “I heard a baby fussing in the background.”
If curiosity hadn’t taken so much energy, Claire might have been intrigued by the gleam in the young nurse’s eye and the sparkle in her voice. She cast a weary glance at the marker board to see whose name had been written in for the evening calls. “Page Dr. Parker. He’s great with fussy babies.”
Jeri’s grin widened. “Are you sure you don’t want to take this call yourself?”
“I’m positive.” Closing the locker, Claire shouldered her backpack, dug out her car keys and displayed them with a provocative jangle. “My bubble bath awaits.”
“Ah, a bubble bath, is it?” Jeri sidestepped neatly as Claire exited the lounge. “Well, no one can say you haven’t earned it,” she called as Claire hurried down the hallway toward the elevator. “Don’t worry about a thing. You just enjoy your evening, and have a nice day off tomorrow.”
A prick of guilt slowed Claire’s progress. Frowning, she glanced over her shoulder just as Jeri returned to the phone at the nurses’ station.
The nurse grinned, winked, mouthed “Good night” before picking up the receiver.
Claire responded with a nod and a smile, then poked the elevator call button before she changed her mind. She could already feel those fragrant bubbles massaging her aching body.
Jeri’s voice filtered down the hallway. “I’m sorry to have kept you waiting, Mr. Winterhawk—”
Claire went rigid. Mr. Winterhawk?
“I’m afraid we don’t have a pediatrician available at the moment. However, I’d be happy to take a message and have Dr. Parker return your call.”
The remainder of Nurse Jansen’s voice floated around Claire in a fog. All she could think about were the images spinning through her mind. Obsidian eyes, shoulders to die for, lips so sensual that the merest curve of a smile turned her knees to water and melted her heart like warm butter.
She spun on her heel, her pulse pounding, to make eye contact with the nurse whose gaze twinkled with amusement. “I understand, Mr. Winterhawk. I will impress upon Dr. Parker the urgency of your situation.”
It was him, the one man on earth who possessed a mystical power to turn a no-nonsense, professional pediatrician into a quivering mass of longing with no more than a quiet gaze, a stoic glance in her direction.
The moment Claire leaped forward, Jeri crooned into the receiver. “Oh, wait a moment. I do believe Dr. Davis is now free to assist you.” With that, Jeri pushed the hold button, uttered a slightly maniacal laugh and held out the receiver.
Claire snatched it out of her hand, stupidly found herself smoothing her hair. Few things on earth were more enticing to Claire Davis than a hot bubble bath. Johnny Winterhawk was one of them.
He loomed in the doorway, not a tall man but a powerful one, bronze and obsidian, copper and jet, so male that every ounce of moisture evaporated from Claire’s mouth and the icy night air steamed against her heated skin.
“Good evening, Mr. Davis. I’m Dr. Winterhawk.” At his blank stare, her smile stuck to her cheeks as if stapled. “I mean, I’m Dr. Davis. You’re Mr. Winter-hawk. Of course, you already know that.” Was that a giggle? Claire felt dizzy. She’d giggled, actually tittered like an idiot schoolgirl. “I mean you know who you are. You certainly don’t know who I am. Except that I’ve just told you—”
Dear Lord, please strike me mute.
“—or at least, I’ve just tried to tell you, but it seems as if my tongue has a mind of its own this evening….” Another giggle.
This was not acceptable, not acceptable at all.
Claire snapped her mouth shut, felt her lips curve into what must have appeared to be a demented grimace. She felt like a raving lunatic, but he was so close, so very close. Close enough to smell him, to see the gleam of bewilderment in eyes so intensely dark that a woman could get lost in them. Close enough to observe sparkling drops of milky moisture on his cheek, damp blotches on his pin-striped shirt, a puff of snowy powder marring his perfectly scissored black hair.
“Thank you for coming, Doctor.” His voice was resolute, but a quiver of tension caught her attention. She regarded him more analytically now, mustering enough lucidity to recognize veiled panic in his eyes. “I know what an imposition this is, but under the circumstances—”
A thin wail emanated from inside the room, barely audible beyond the cacophony of television and radio noise also blaring from inside the house. The fragile cry instantly snapped Claire into physician mode. She straightened, glancing past the impressive man to the interior of a surprisingly lush home. He’d barely stepped aside to allow her access when she pushed past him, following the sound to a tiny infant nested in a blanket-padded car seat that had been placed on a dining-room table amid a clutter of documents and legal briefs.
With her attention completely attuned to the child, the din of music and television chatter grated on her last nerve.
“For heaven’s sake, turn off the television,” Claire muttered. “If I had to listen to that racket for more than five seconds, I’d cry, too.”
Johnny leaped forward to silence the television. A moment later, the music ceased, and a semblance of blessed silence settled over the house, broken only by the pitiful sobs of the fussing
