style="font-size:15px;"> “Dr. Mason—”
His brows went up.
Okay, she was weak. Stupid. Would probably come to regret doing this very, very soon. But he was hurting right now.
“Greg,” she corrected, her voice soft. “You can’t save them all.”
He dropped the pen onto the top of his desk, the sharp ping as it struck the wooden surface as loud as a guillotine strike. Off with her head!
Why had she said something he was already well aware of?
“Thank you.”
His answer didn’t track with what she’d just said. Unless he was being sarcastic.
But there was nothing in his face to indicate he was. In fact, his eyes met hers for a second or two before moving lower. Her lips tingled, sending an answering heat washing across her face.
He was not looking where she thought he was.
To cover up her embarrassment, she said, “What are you thanking me for?”
He picked up his prescription pad in one hand and his coffee cup in the other then stood. “For bringing me coffee.” His lips curved up at the corners, sending more heat sloshing around her tummy. “And for saying my name.”
CHAPTER TWO
THANK you for saying my name.
Greg rolled his eyes and scrubbed a hand across his head as he wrote up notes from his last patient of the day. What kind of lame comment was that?
He refused to admit he’d waited with bated breath, wondering if his physician’s assistant would rise to the subtle challenge.
She had, which had shocked him. At first.
But hearing his name uttered in those husky tones had washed away his surprise and done a number on his gut. He’d been hounding her to adopt the informality of the rest of the staff for months now, but she’d steadfastly refused.
Until today.
And now he wondered if the policy he’d instituted hadn’t been the most idiotic idea known to man.
She just felt sorry for you, that’s all.
He slammed the folder shut, hoping to God she’d already left for the day. Unlike the first-name-basis rule, one of his smarter decisions had been to request that the staff leave once they’d finished inputting the last patient of the day, with the exception of his nurse. He might work long hours, but that didn’t mean he should expect them to as well. Most of them had families to go home to.
Except Hannah.
He could still remember her gripping his neck, the softly whispered “Thank you” against his skin when her last set of test results had come back. And, like a fool, he’d returned her embrace … had—
Damn it. Why couldn’t he get her out of his head today?
Maybe because she’d rarely given in once she’d made her mind up about something. Like not leaving his office this morning, until she’d watched him take a few sips of his coffee. He’d learned the hard way not to go head to head with her.
Her determination to make the most out of life had struck him even when he’d been her oncologist. It was still there now that he was her boss.
She hadn’t been able to make the transition from patient to employee as well as some of his other staff had.
And yet that “Greg” had seemed to slip between her lips effortlessly, as if she’d said it to herself hundreds of times before.
That thought made not only his collar tighten but other, more dangerous parts.
As her mouth had formed the word his thoughts had strayed, along with his eyes.
The pink color rushing to her face had told him she’d realized the exact second his gaze had touched her lips. Paused there.
He shook his head. What was wrong with him? He still had work to do and wanted to run by the hospital before it was too late to check on his patients.
Mrs. Brookstone’s case had weighed on his heart like a rock all day. The last time he’d seen her, three of her grandchildren had crowded around her hospital bed, looking up at him with such hope. She’d had a pair of knitting needles balanced in her hands, in the process of making yet another hat for one of his patients.
But the news he’d brought had been anything but good.
Life was fragile. As he’d learned from experience. When Hannah had stood there in his office, all he’d wanted to do was pull her into his arms and relive the warmth of her breath washing across his cheek, the steady beat of her heart.
He’d resisted the impulse. Thank God.
Tucking a few files into his attaché case, he slung the strap over his shoulder and headed out, locking his office behind him. When he got to the closed door of the reception area, a strange blend of scents hit his nostrils. Garlic. Tomato sauce. It smelled like … lasagna.
What the …?
Someone must have brought pasta from home and heated it in the microwave at lunchtime.
His stomach gurgled in sad protest, and he realized he hadn’t eaten anything other than the ham sandwich that had been mysteriously deposited on his desk at lunchtime.
Maybe he’d swing by the hospital cafeteria after making his rounds. He had nothing at home, other than the bacon and eggs he’d bought a couple of days ago. And neither of those sounded very appetizing right now. Especially with his nose still twitching in anticipation.
Pushing through the door, he blinked at the quartet of aluminum containers lining the reception desk. And the lights were still on.
“I was just about to come and get you.” The voice came from his left. He didn’t have to look to know who it belonged to. Hannah.
He turned. Sure enough, there she was, her printed work smock gone and in its place a soft green blouse, cinched at the waist with a belt. The deep V-neckline drew his eyes down. He forced his gaze to stay above her collarbone, which was not quite as prominent as it had been during her treatments a year ago. That was a good sign. She was putting on some of the weight she’d lost. There were now curves that …
Clearing his throat, he met her gaze, noting the pink tinge from earlier was back in her cheeks. The color contrasted with her hair, the deep mahogany locks still fairly short, even after a year’s regrowth. He liked the choppy style she’d adopted. It matched her personality. “I thought you’d left a while ago.” He motioned toward the desk. “What’s all this?”
“I figured you wouldn’t stop to eat before going to the hospital, so I ordered takeout. Manicotti.”
Huh. So his nose hadn’t been too far off the mark. “I don’t pay you to babysit me.”
Her
