deep, masculine tone carried over the usual noise of the ward as he spoke to Brooke. “Tell your nurses to get their kids ready by nine.”
Polly was still getting used to the non-stop activities of Angel’s Children’s Hospital. They even had an on-site radio show in the lobby, and often the kids were the subjects of interviews. The play therapists didn’t allow the patients to zone out on video games or too much TV. They kept them interacting with other patients with games and challenges where everyone could participate. If a child was too sick to leave their room, they’d come to them.
Volunteer grandmothers and grandfatherly types regularly came for one-to-one bedside reading, and the children ate it up. Especially with the man who looked like Santa on his day off in a Hawaiian shirt and golf cap reading Harry Potter cover to cover.
Polly snuck a look outside her room just in time to see John turn and walk back toward his office on the far side of the hospital wing. Though not a tall man, his broad shoulders reminded her how strong he was. A quick flash of him naked and carrying her to the bed in the on-call room had her cheeks burning.
“Why’re you red?” the girl with waist-length black hair and a full leg cast asked. “Do you have a fever or something?”
“No. I’m fine. Don’t you ever blush?”
“Not unless I’m embarrassed. Are you embarrassed?” Her insightful, inquisitive eyes made Polly’s skin crawl.
“Maybe a little.”
“Why?”
Polly glanced around the brightly decorated four-bed ward, where stenciled sports equipment and swaths of primary colors made the white walls pop, as she searched for either a dodge or a believable answer. One thing she’d quickly learned working with kids was they could tell when someone wasn’t being straight with them.
“I just remembered something I did over the weekend.”
“Did you get hammered?” The young one’s bright black eyes suddenly seemed far too mature for twelve.
“No. And how do you even know what ‘hammered’ means?”
“My sister goes to college.” She tossed half of her hair over her shoulder, in a gesture that advertised she knew everything about being a grown up and drinking too much in college.
As if that explained and closed the topic, Polly let the subject drop, but not before she noticed John Griffin’s signature on the girl’s cast and she felt her cheeks flush again. Did the man sign every single cast on the ward?
As promised, at nine o’clock sharp a raucous brass quartet blustered onto the ward playing circus music, as if a parade would follow. Polly had gotten each of her patients into wheelchairs and rolled them to the center of the ward just in time. One of her girls wasn’t the least bit interested in the music, instead staring at her cell phone, until the trombone player swung by and hit a low note by extending the slide right under her chin. It shocked and delighted her and Polly laughed along with the patient, especially when the girl glanced up and saw a good-looking college guy, and her eyes brightened.
In mid-laugh, Polly glanced up and caught John’s gaze from across the room. It seemed a trapdoor had opened in her chest, and her heart skidded to her ankles. Maybe it was the circus music.
She couldn’t inhale.
Attempting and falling far short of the mark, she gave some semblance of a smile, and in return he gave that half grimace, half smile he was so adept at then quickly looked away.
Could things get any more awkward?
By Wednesday afternoon, having great sex with John Griffin had started to seem more like a figment of Polly’s imagination than fact. He’d drifted in and out of the hospital ward like a ghost leaving hints of things out of place, or the tell-tale scent of his woodsy aftershave, or an icy chill spiraling down her spine. Not once did he try to confront her, and she’d vowed to steer clear of his office no matter how much she wanted to chew him out for being so cold and inconsiderate for leaving her dangling and insecure since Friday night.
On Thursday morning the pet therapy Dalmatian made rounds, stopping beside Polly’s toddler patient, Eugenia. The child had fallen from a two-story window and broken both arms, and had been taken into protective services after being admitted to Angel’s. She was withdrawn and moody, and Polly didn’t know how to reach her or make her comfortable. But Dotty the Dalmatian brightened the child’s gray eyes with interest, and soon a smile crossed her lips as Dotty licked her fingertips.
Warmth washed through Polly’s down mood, and she grinned at her young charge, then was rewarded with Eugenia smiling back. Simple things. Small steps. This was the way to put a life back together, as Polly only knew too well from her own childhood.
“May I talk to you?” From behind, the familiar voice made her eyes go wide. It was John. Adrenaline sprayed like scattershot throughout her chest. She schooled her expression before she turned.
“Sure,” she said, acting as if nothing, especially her ego, had been flipped sideways since they’d had mind-blowing sex.
Leaving her patient with Dotty and the pet therapy lady, she followed his long and purposeful strides toward the supply room.
When they arrived, he took a deep breath. “I don’t want this to be offensive or anything,” he said in a nearly inaudible voice, “but I think you should take some STD tests.”
So this was all about medical business, about the messy little clean-up committee for being reckless with the new girl. He may not have wanted to offend her but pure insult made her send him a cutting glance. “Why, Doctor? Have you jeopardized me?”
“No!” he rasped. She could see the vein on the side of his neck pop out.
“But you worry I may have...”
“No,” he said, in a strained whisper. “I’m just being practical.”
She latched onto his eyes and stared him down. “For your information, I don’t sleep around. I don’t have any surprises to give you, so I’ll skip. Thanks.” She turned to walk away, trying her best to save what was left of her pride, but he caught her by the elbow and held her back.
“We were completely careless.” He spoke quietly, directly into her ear. Even now, under the worst possible circumstances, the touch of his breath on her neck made her skin prickle. She looked up at him. His dark eyes peered into hers in warning. “As a doctor, I can’t be negligent. I’ve ordered some tests for you.”
“What about you?” she said, hackles fully raised and ready to fight.
He looked thoughtfully at his OR clogs. “I checked out okay.”
“Then what’s the point of me—?”
His flat expression warned she wasn’t about to like his answer. “Because I’m not the one who can get pregnant, even if you’re on birth control pills.”
Stunned by reality, she swallowed around a dry knot. She’d already told him there wouldn’t be a problem—didn’t he believe her? Since he was being such a jerk about everything today, she wouldn’t argue.
Desperate to save face,
