other two candidates for trauma medical director have already stopped by to introduce themselves.”
“Worthy adversaries both.” He moved closer and rested a hip on the corner of her desk, a blatantly masculine pose. “But neither of them is going to get the job.”
Hope refused to give in to the very strong urge to put space between herself and Doctor Dashing because she suspected he would notice. There probably wasn’t much those piercing gray eyes missed and even the slightest retreat would give him more intimidation quotient than he already thought he had.
She remembered his competition for the position—Dr. Robert Denton and Dr. Carla Sheridan, both in their forties. The former was a small, studious man who reminded her of Albert Einstein. The female doctor was all business. If she had charm or a sense of humor, both had been well concealed. Jake Andrews had set both his charm and humor on stun.
“It’s my understanding that the hospital board hasn’t made a final decision about who gets the contract.” She sat behind the desk and looked at him. “How can you be so sure the position is yours?”
“Because the appointment means more to me than it does to either of them. And I’m the best trauma surgeon in Las Vegas.”
The words ignited something in his eyes that hinted at a fire in the belly. A need for victory. Determination to succeed. A passion for power. Hope didn’t remember either of the other doctors exhibiting a similar vibe.
“If it’s what you want, then I hope the vote goes your way,” she said.
“Me, too. Even more now.” His eyes gleamed again as he looked her over with an expression of admiration and approval.
“Are you flirting with me?”
“Not very well, if you have to ask.”
Almost as soon as the words were out she wanted them back. He might think she was fishing for compliments, but nothing could be farther from the truth. Part of her was surprised that the thought of flirting even entered her mind. She’d thought the ability to detect it had died two years ago with Kevin on their first wedding anniversary.
Dr. Andrews hadn’t exactly confirmed or denied flirtatious intentions, but that really didn’t matter. The game required two to play and she wasn’t interested. More important, this conversation had already taken a different tone and direction from her meetings with the other two doctors in line for the top trauma job. It was time to fix that.
To do it, Hope knew she needed to take control, but the shimmy in her belly and the buzz in her head made thinking a challenge.
“Here’s the thing, Doctor—”
“It’s Jake. Remember?”
She was trying not to. This encounter and its ripple of sexual awareness were disturbing, to say the least. The longer he perched on the corner of her desk looking all hot and sinful, the more she wanted to see his bluff, round the desk and raise the temptation factor. That’s what the old Hope would have done. There were a lot of reasons it was a bad idea, not the least of which was that she wouldn’t take the chance of letting a man close to her.
Flirting led to feelings and that equaled a potential for pain. Losing Kevin had hurt. A lot. She’d rather feel nothing than hurt that much ever again.
“Jake—”
His name on her lips stopped her. Jake—a strong, masculine, heroic name. And wasn’t that the stupidest thing that had ever crossed her mind. She didn’t want a man and she especially didn’t want a hero—although hospital gossip didn’t paint Jake Andrews as the type to throw his cloak—or his surgical mask—over a puddle for a lady. He was more rascally rogue than white knight.
“You were saying?” Idly he picked up a supply order list from a stack of papers on her desk and looked it over.
“I’m here to do a job and—”
“You’re from out of state, right?”
She nodded. “Texas. Mansfield, a town halfway between Dallas and Fort Worth.”
“I thought I heard some Southern comfort in your voice.”
Was he flirting again? She couldn’t tell. This was no time for her blarney meter to crash.
“Like I said, I was hired to organize the trauma department and have it ready when Mercy Medical West opens its doors to patients.”
“Tell me about yourself, Hope.” It sounded like he was testing out her name on his lips. “Wait, let me guess. You have sisters named Faith and Charity.”
She had to smile. “As a matter of fact …”
His laugh was rich with humor. “Am I good, or what?”
She refused to comment without her own independent confirmation, and pigs would fly before that happened. “Faith is older. Charity younger. I’m in the middle.”
“What made you want to be a nurse?” he asked suddenly.
“A strong desire to help people and make a difference. From the time I was a little girl it’s all I ever wanted to do.”
“So it was a calling of the heart. Not because it’s a profession with pretty good pay for a woman who might need to support herself and her family?”
Funny that he should zero in on that because it’s exactly what happened. And it was her fault that the man she’d loved had been in the wrong place at the wrong time.
“Nursing is a noble profession,” she said, a little more sharply than she intended. “And there’s a critical need, like so many other causes.”
“Causes? Plural.” He looked thoughtful. “Such as?”
“Feeding the hungry. Houses for the homeless. Teen pregnancy. Global warming. Vaccinating children in third world countries.”
“Saving the spotted owl?”
“If necessary, to preserve an ecosystem,” she said, lifting her chin a notch. “You’re making fun of me.”
“Heaven forbid.” His expression was exaggerated innocence. “Community service isn’t just for criminals anymore.”
“You don’t believe in helping others?”
“I’m a doctor.” Again he hadn’t answered.
“That’s about helping people for money.”
“It’s my job, yes.”
“And what made you want to be a doctor?” she asked, echoing his question.
He glanced at the paper in his hands. “I’m smart. In school I excelled in math and science. And doctors make a lot of money.”
“So it’s not about helping people,” she accused.
“By definition what I do helps people. For doing it I’m well compensated,” he said,
