was for the best. She was here to work. To be a surgeon. She didn’t need or want love.
When the hubbub of the ER died down and she was scrubbing out of surgery, she saw Nick again. He was rushing down the hall, his surgical gown billowing out behind him as he pushed a gurney to Recovery.
He was a mystery man and she had a thing for mystery men.
Damn.
She glanced at the clock. She still had six hours left on her shift and it was now after midnight. She really needed to get some sleep.
Jennifer headed to the nearest on-call room and collapsed on a cot. As she lay down, she glanced at the nightstand and saw a medical journal.
“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me.” She picked up the magazine and stared at the grinning face of the man who’d left her standing in a white puffy dress while the press had snapped thousands of pictures of the disgraced, heartbroken and jilted senator’s daughter.
The journal was touting Dr. David Morgan’s medical breakthrough and how he was up for an award for excellence.
With a tsk of disgust and rage, she tossed it at the door just as it was opening, thus beaning Nick in the head, right between the eyes.
She held her breath, hoping he wouldn’t get angry with her. Instead, he rubbed his forehead and bent to pick up the magazine.
“Uh, is this your way of telling me you want me to read more medical journals?” He glanced down at the cover. “Ah, I’ve been meaning to read this one. I’m eager to read all about the Morgan method for aortic dissections.”
Jennifer kept her snort to herself and rolled over in the cot. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to catch about thirty minutes of sleep before I’m paged again.”
The door shut and the room went dark, but she knew she wasn’t alone as she heard him move across the room and the mattress creak across the way.
The room was silent, and even though she was dog tired, she couldn’t sleep knowing that he was across the room. Lying there, all mysterious and handsome, and she knew he was a good kisser. She’d experienced it firsthand.
Damn.
“Are there any private on-call rooms in this hospital?” she asked.
“Nope.” Nick yawned. “Is my presence disturbing you?”
“No, I just don’t know if you’re a snorer or not. I’m a light sleeper.”
“I don’t snore. Now, if you don’t mind, I’ve been up for twelve hours.” The mattress creaked again as he moved.
“Good.” She rolled back over and closed her eyes, trying to will herself to fall asleep, but it wasn’t working.
“You know, of all the ways I imagined us sleeping together, this wasn’t how I envisioned it.”
Jennifer’s cheeks heated. “Excuse me?”
There was a chuckle in the darkness.
“What’s so funny?” Jennifer asked.
“I get under your skin, don’t I?”
“No, you don’t.”
“I do.”
Jennifer cursed under her breath and sat up. “I’m going to sleep on a gurney down in an abandoned hall.”
“No, no. I’ll let you sleep.” The bed shifted again and then the room filled with light. “Have a good sleep, Dr. Mills.”
The door shut and Jennifer lay back against the pillow. She didn’t think she was going to fall asleep after her run-in with Dr. Rousseau, but once she closed her eyes again, sleep came easily.
The pager vibrated in her hand and she woke with a start. She flicked on the bedside lamp and saw it was coming from the ER.
It was her first twenty-four-hour shift, and even then she wouldn’t go home after her shift was done. She had something to prove here and she would stay here as long as it took.
This was going to become her second home. Besides, her condo was sparse and empty. If she went home, there would be messages from her father. Invitations for her to go out campaigning with him, to show the voters she wasn’t a pathetic loser like they all believed she was.
She just wanted to escape the stigma of it all.
She wasn’t any of those things. She was a surgeon, for heaven’s sake.
Only the more you listened to the naysayers, those creeping doubt weasels, the more you started to believe it.
And she hated that loss of control.
She hated that her confidence was all shot to heck.
Jennifer clipped her pager back to the waist of her scrubs and headed down to the ER. When she got there, it was relatively quiet.
“Who paged me?” she asked the charge nurse.
“Dr. Rousseau. He’s in Room Three, needs a consult on a patient.”
Jennifer groaned inwardly. “Thank you.”
What patient had he dug up now?
Did this one have a tiger coming out of his chest? Tassels glued to the forehead? Cards embedded in the abdomen?
“Dr. Rousseau, you paged me?”
Nick glanced at her briefly. “Yes, the patient is adamant that they’re seen by the head of trauma.”
Jennifer approached the bed and then froze when she saw her father was on the gurney. “Dad, what happened?”
“Ah, there she is.” Her father grinned. “I had a fainting spell during a speech at the convention center and they brought me here. Or rather I asked them to bring me here. I said I would be in good hands with my daughter.”
Nick’s eyebrows rose.
Jennifer pinched the bridge of her nose. “Dad, that’s all well and good, but as I’ve told you before on numerous occasions, I can’t assess you.”
Her father looked shocked. “Why not?”
“Because you’re my father. I can’t treat family.” She sighed. “You’re in good hands with Dr. Rousseau.”
Her father looked confused. “Why can’t you do it?”
“I don’t have time for this, Dad.” She turned to Nick. “Please keep me informed, Dr. Rousseau.”
“Will do, Dr. Mills.”
Jennifer turned and left the trauma exam room, but Dr. Rousseau was close on her heels.
“Can
