was she doing? She snatched back her hand, but not before his lips curved in a slight smile and a current landed in her abdomen. “The nurses will take you to your room in about fifteen minutes,” she told him. “You’ll need to wear the knee brace for a few days to keep the leg straight. I also want you to use crutches until you can put pressure on the leg without pain.”
He was having trouble keeping his eyes open. “Can I have some water? Mouth feels dry as Arizona.”
“The recovery nurse will give you a few sips.” For anyone else she would have complied. But there was something about J. D. Sumner that confused her, sent tingles up her arms wherever she touched him. The moment he’d come into the E.R., snow-covered and biting his lip, she had felt that electricity. Thankfully, during surgery her focus had been too intense.
“No, you,” he said. “I want you to—”
“Yolanda can—”
“Please.” He caught her hand in a shocked move. “You.”
“Mr. Sumner, I have other patients.”
“J.D. It’s…J.D.”
In his eyes she saw that same flicker of apprehension she’d noticed before the operation. For some reason NHC’s top man was afraid. But of what—hospitals in general? Was that why he hadn’t had his knee fixed years ago? Oh, yes, she’d noted the old damage, the ‘jumper’s knee.’ Why had he ignored the problem so long?
Again, her heart responded. While fear often accompanied patients and families into the hospital, Ella worked hard to ease their situations. J. D. Sumner was no different.
“All right,” she said and nodded to the nurse tucking a warming blanket around his feet. Within seconds, Yolanda handed Ella a plastic water bottle and straw.
Gently she slid her hand beneath his head—fingers automatically weaving through the density of his hair—and lifted him to the flexible straw. His lips were well-shaped, though dehydrated from the anesthetic. Dark whiskers covered his top lip and obstinate jaw, and flowed down his neck to his Adam’s apple.
As a kid he would’ve had freckles across his cheeks.
Sipping slowly, he watched her watch him and again she felt that prickle in her belly. Gold dusted his irises, but most surprising were his lashes: black and long, curvy as a seashell. To achieve what he grew naturally, she’d need extra-lash mascara.
“Thank you,” he said hoarsely.
She slipped her hand free of his head, set the bottle on the rolling tray. “You’re welcome. Yolanda will look after you now.”
“Will I see you again?”
“In about an hour. Meantime, try and sleep.” She gave him what she hoped was a reassuring smile. “You’ll be up before you know it.”
She turned to go.
“Doc? I’m sorry for last night. What I said. About the throbbing.”
“No offense taken. Sometimes pain will make people say strange things.” Which was true.
“You’re Peter Wilder’s sister.”
“I am.”
His dry lips worked up a semi-smile. “Much prettier to look at. But…this won’t stop me from moving NHC’s agenda forward.”
Of course it wouldn’t. “Mr. Sumner. I have larger issues to worry about than what’s up your sleeve.”
His gaze touched her bare arm. “Cute arm up your sleeve.”
“Later,” she said. But his look felt like a touch of his big hand.
“The pretty lady blushes.”
Shaking her head, she left recovery vexed he could knot her tongue with less than a handful of words. With just a look. Get ahold of yourself, Ella. You’re a doctor and he’s…he’s a patient!
And the most virile man she’d seen in years.
Lord, the mere length of his eyelashes had her heart in arrhythmia. Oh, yes. One look from him and her palms sweated as though she sat behind the hottest boy in ninth grade—instead of being the accomplished doctor she was and a woman of almost thirty.
And still a virgin, Ella. Let’s not forget that.
The thought of celebrating her next birthday in another maiden voyage had her shuddering.
Dammit. Four years ago she should have worked harder to coax Tyler out of his issues of impotency and away from thinking he wasn’t a “whole” man because he sat in a wheelchair. However, she’d been so busy interning she’d let them fall into a platonic relationship. Which in itself was a revelation. She hadn’t truly loved Tyler as a woman should. She’d loved him as a friend.
Perhaps, if they’d had sex… Who was she kidding? She’d chosen him as a safety net—one that kept her focused on her honors status rather than her status as a woman.
Still, had they had some form of sex she’d be more suave today, more adept around the J.D.’s of the world.
Pretty. His word swirled in her mind. She’d never considered herself pretty. Anna, her sister, was the pretty one. No, the beautiful one with the white-blond hair and lovely blue eyes.
If J. D. Sumner saw Anna, he wouldn’t look a second time at Ella with her plain brown eyes, the straight dark hair she hacked off the instant it closed in on the collar of her lab coat.
Be grateful for what you’ve got Ella.
And she was grateful. For many things. Her siblings. This hospital, founded on the ethics and standards of her late father. Her family’s resources to send her to university. Her intelligence.
So…why couldn’t she be grateful and pretty?
She gave herself an inner shake. She didn’t have time for this—this silly vanity. She’d taken the Hippocratic oath, for God’s sake. Nothing mattered but her skill. She had no time to think about J.D. and the experiences he had with beautiful women.
So she told herself…every spare second of her shift.
Chapter Two
At 8:00 p.m. that night she pulled her Yaris into her garage from the back alley and shut off the ignition. Bone-tired, she sat listening to the engine tick. The car had been her father’s last birthday gift, a month before his retirement—and untimely death.
She remembered the massive red ribbon on the hood, the gigantic card with Happy 29th, Ella! Love always, Dad on the driver’s seat.
Her eyes stung. Never again would she see her barrel-chested daddy, hear his kind voice, feel his big bear-paw hands stroke her hair or rub her shoulder affectionately.
That birthday had been the best. Sometime during the night, he’d driven the car into her garage and had her beatup Chevy removed. Then he’d
