Her Texas Rescue Doctor (17 page)

More what? A one-night stand with a woman you know will disappear the next day?

It would be a novel twist in the pattern of his life, at least.

The next gown had plenty of
more
. The skirt was full and fit for a princess, but the plunging neckline was scandalous, revealing Grace's body all the way to her navel. The V was too wide just as it was too deep. Instead of revealing her cleavage, the dress exposed the full curve of each perfect breast, modesty only barely maintained by the fabric strapping that covered the center of each breast.

Alex said nothing. He could hardly think straight. Mere mortals didn't wear gowns like that in the real world. She looked like a movie star.

He was aware, suddenly, that Grace was looking right at him, her unique blend of worry and hope bright in her eyes. What reaction was she looking for?

“That's the one,” Sophia declared.

Alex bit out the phrase the stylist had been using all morning to dismiss Grace from the room. “You can change now.”

Sophia laughed. “No, she can't. I want to take a picture of you two together first. I need to see how this one photographs.”

“You're not wearing that tomorrow, Sophia.”

“Oh, yes I am. Every man who sees me will have the same reaction as you. You can't take your eyes off her.”

He tore his gaze from Grace and rounded on her sister. “If you wear that, the deal is off. This is real life. My real life. I'm not going to introduce you to my coworkers and have them not know where to look while they're trying to eat a damned dinner with their wives.”

“This is about making a statement. And that dress makes exactly the statement I want to make.”

Alex knew what message that dress sent to men, because he was hearing it loud and clear. Grace looked deliberately provocative, yet she looked like a woman who was all the more powerful because she could send men's thoughts in the direction she chose—as if he needed to be provoked to want to take Grace to bed.

He gritted his teeth. “Not tomorrow. That dress says—”

“It says Oscars,” Grace interrupted. “Maybe even Met Gala. But for this week, it's too much, Sophie. You're reestablishing your reputation as a smart, mature—”

“Would you quit using that word? Yo, Alex.” Sophia bumped him with her shoulder. “Stop drooling on the Armani. That's my baby sister you're staring at.”

The stylist thrust a metallic silver gown between them. “I was saving the best for last, but maybe we should try it on now.”

Alex and Sophia waited in frosty silence.

Grace returned to the living room in a column of silver. It covered her from a simple circle at the base of her throat to the tips of her polished toes, skimming over her body without clinging. There was something innocent about it—short sleeves, Alex realized, almost a schoolgirl look. Although the sleeves and the neckline appeared demure at first glance, they were made of silver netting that allowed the warmth of her skin to show through. She didn't look like a sexual fantasy and she didn't look like an untouchable movie star. She looked like an incredibly lovely Grace Jackson.

“That's the one,” Alex said. When he felt Sophia's stare, he realized he'd said it almost reverently. He ignored Sophia.

“Isn't it perfect?” the stylist asked. “An echo of that Audrey Hepburn spirit we captured during last year's award season, but the column dress says modern and smart.”

Alex didn't wait for a request to stand next to Grace. He walked up to her, tuning out the cluster of people who'd invaded his house. “You look very, very beautiful.”

“Thank you.”

Princess Picasso gave an order. “You two should dance. I need to see if I'll be able to move in it. What kind of music are they going to be playing, anyway?”

Grace didn't look away, so neither did he, but she answered her sister. “Some country-western bands. Pretty big names. We have a dance lesson scheduled later today.”

“I know how to waltz and two-step.” Alex stepped closer and picked up her hand. “Do you?”

“I waltz.” They assumed the traditional position of a man and a woman in a ballroom dance, and Alex took the first step.

Grace's voice was as lovely as everything else about her. She counted to three over and over in a little nonsense melody, smiling at him, his beautiful golden girl, silver in his arms, glowing with happiness.

He realized he was smiling back.

So this is happiness.
He recognized it, although it had been a very long time since he'd felt it. It was not equilibrium. There was no balance. He was absolutely at the far end of a scale, a feeling of pure pleasure unadulterated by pain—yet.

There was always pain. He knew that, but at this moment, he couldn't imagine ever feeling pain again, not with Grace in his arms.

“One, two, three. One, two, three.”

“You look wonderful,” the stylist said, clapping. “Sophia, what do you think?”

He and Grace had to stop, or risk looking like fools. She gave his hand a friendly squeeze as she stepped out of his arms. A
friendly
squeeze. Friends. There was pain in being friends with someone he desired so keenly.

“Two things,” Sophia announced. “First, you can cancel the dance lesson. He'll do. Second, as pretty as that dress is, I don't think it's for me. Grace should wear it.”

For once, Alex thought Sophia was absolutely right.

Grace was less sure. “Me? I couldn't. It's too...gorgeous.”

Sophia rolled her eyes impatiently. “Do you have a dress in the suitcase for the ball? No, you do not.”

“But I'm not doing the red carpet. I never do.”

“That doesn't mean you can wear slacks and a beige sweater. Just take that one. It's pretty, but it's not my style. I'm getting too old for that innocent look. You want me to be more mature, remember?”

The stylist protested. “But the designer provided it for Sophia Jackson. It's a courtesy loan with the understanding it would gain some exposure.”

“Tell the designer I'll owe him one next season. Let her wear the dress.”

Chapter Seventeen

T
he dress shone on its hanger, waiting for tomorrow.

Tomorrow.

Time was running out. Tomorrow would be her last day with Alex. He'd traded in this morning's tuxedo for green scrubs and left for the hospital. He was covering someone's half shift in order to have tomorrow off for the Black and White Ball. She could tell he was nonplussed at the concept that it might take an entire day to prepare for five minutes of photographs, but to humor her, he'd traded shifts.

He'd left; Martina had arrived. By the time Martina and the rest of the team had left, Alex's vodka had been poured, declared to be an authentically Russian brand and poured again, and the decision had been made: Sophia and Grace would catch a red-eye back to Los Angeles after the ball. The plan was simple: the press began covering the red carpet at six. Sophia would arrive at seven. The dinner would be served at eight. Sophia would dance with Alex just after nine and then the job was finished. They could strike the set, pack up and go home.
End scene.

“Wouldn't it be easier to come back to the house and spend one more night?” Grace had asked, feeling that stone in her chest once more.

But the stylists volunteered to pick up their suitcases tomorrow after they stitched her and her sister into their dresses. It was no problem at all for them to take back the gowns and give them their suitcases and send the limo to the airport in plenty of time for a late night flight to the West Coast.

Sophia had pulled her aside and given her the real reason for the rush. “Martina says Deezee is flying in to catch the rest of South by Southwest. I'm not going to be here when he arrives. Haven't you been following his Instagram the last couple of days?”

Grace had not. She'd been out in the sun and fresh air, working shoulder to shoulder with Alex on his days off, trimming peach trees and lemons and figs. She'd worn new garden gloves to handle the cactus, and taken them off to return hugs from great-grandmas at the nursing home. After work, she'd loved watching Alex's hands as he'd whipped up omelets with the same easy dexterity that he must use to tie off a stitch at the hospital.

But they hadn't kissed.

It hadn't been for lack of desire. How many times had their laughter faded away as his gaze fell to her lips? In the silence, she would hold her breath, but he'd turn away. Every time, so far.

If they had more time...but Sophia had decided their time was up.

Grace held her phone and flipped through Deezee's public photos, full of exaggerated pouting expressions and his hands making the shape of a heart over his chest, and she'd understood the red-eye flight. They were running. Whether her sister was running from the possibility of more bad publicity or running away from temptation, Grace wasn't sure.

She only knew one thing for certain: she didn't want to go.

* * *

A pane of glass stood between Grace and the man she wanted.

It might as well have been a stone wall.

Alex had returned home from the hospital as darkness fell. Sophia had looked up from her movie and made what was, from her, a friendly overture. “You're going to gag when you hear this medical dialog. Even I can tell it's fake.”

Alex had nodded, walked right past her, and headed for the shower.

For half an hour now, he'd been sitting outside in the dark, his hair shower-damp on an evening that was probably a degree too cold for it. Grace thought about bringing him a jacket, but that might make her seem too motherly. She could offer him a cup of hot coffee, but she didn't want to seem like a waitress—or even a personal assistant. She didn't want him to keep seeing her as a friend.

Grace watched him through the sliding glass door, studying the set of his shoulders. He wasn't sitting at the table, but on the edge of the patio, where it dropped off a couple of feet to the garden beyond. His dark hair almost blended into the night.

“You need to fix that.”

Grace hadn't realized Sophia was next to her. Now that her sister wasn't wearing the plastic boot, she was as quiet as a cat.

“Fix what?” Grace asked.

“He needs to look like the happiest man in the world when he stands next to me in less than twenty-four hours, and he's no actor. Go find out what's bugging him. Cheer him up.”

“I think we've invaded his personal space enough this week.”

In the glass, she watched the reflection of Sophia as she shook her head. “Grace, you're no actress, either. You're dying to go to him. So go.”

Grace knew herself. She was going to need a prop to get through this scene. She turned around to pick up her laptop from the couch. “I did make him a little going-away present. Since this is the last time we'll have any peace and quiet, I could show it to him now.”

“You're going to go out in the dark to see a man and you're bringing your laptop? What did you make for him? A collage of you in that plunging dress, I hope.” Sophia laughed at Grace's scowl. “Take your laptop and do your thing, sis. But trust me—whatever you've got on there isn't what that man really wants. I'm going to bed. See you in the morning.”

With her laptop in one hand, Grace slid open the door with her other. Alex turned his head immediately, his profile highlighted by the light that spilled onto the patio from the living room, the handsome angles of his face defined against the black night beyond.

What a pleasure it had been this week to be able to look at him whenever she pleased. Twenty-four hours from now, she might never have that privilege again.

No, no, no...

She set the laptop on the table with a new feeling of determination. She'd give him her gift, and if it worked, she'd have a connection to him, a reason to contact him after she returned to LA.

“Do you mind if I join you?” She rubbed her arms as she strolled over to where he sat on the edge of the patio. Her gray cardigan and blue jeans were warm enough for now, but he'd been outside for a long while. “I could run back inside and grab a jacket for you.”

That sounded just as motherly as she'd been afraid it would, the impression made worse by the way she was standing over him. He stopped watching her and turned back to his view of the night.

“Or I could bring you a cup of coffee?” There was the waitress vibe.

Alex gave her some kind of negative-sounding syllable.

She might as well go for broke and add
wife
to the mix. “How was your day at work?”

He stood abruptly and walked a pace into the dark.

She twisted her fingers a bit as she remained on the edge of the patio, watching him. “That bad, huh?”

He turned to look up at her. The soft light illuminated his harsh expression. “I can't talk about specific patients.”

“Did somebody die, maybe?”

He shook his head, but it had to have been something almost as bad. The worst thing she'd witnessed in the emergency room had been the violent threats from Mr. Burns to his wife.

That's it.
She'd seen Alex with this sharp edge to him once before, in the kitchen in the ER.

“You had to treat another woman like Mrs. Burns,” she said quietly.

Alex didn't shake his head.

She passionately hated all the misery domestic violence caused. The horror was the worst for the victim, of course, but the effect rippled outward, affecting children and extended family—and the medical personnel who had to deal with the aftermath.

“I'm so sorry. I know you're imagining the best outcome for your patient.” Grace felt a hot anger that Alex had to endure that emotional wringer. “At least we'll get that for real with Mr. Burns. I'm telling you, I hope he doesn't take a plea deal. I want to go to his trial. I can't wait to get called to the witness stand.”

“No.” In one stride, Alex came to stand below her, so intense that he grabbed her hips, his fingers firm through the denim. “I don't want you anywhere near that son of a bitch. If you get called to testify, you tell me. Immediately. Do you understand?”

“Alex.” Her heart beat hard at how fiercely protective he was being. He must care for her. He must.

“Burns won't touch you. Not you.” His face was inches from her stomach, his hands gripping her hips firmly, and she felt the tension in his every muscle as she set her hands on his shoulders.

She had a second moment of intuition. “It was actually Mrs. Burns again, wasn't it?”

Alex bowed his head. He pressed his forehead to her middle, a moment of intimacy that made her catch her breath. He breathed, too, one strong, swift breath, then another.

Grace clutched his shoulders, then jumped off the ledge to land in the darkness with him. She wanted to be the one to soothe him, but it was he who held her protectively, tucking her head against his shoulder, setting his cheek on her hair—and then, he very gently opened his arms, and stepped away.

She felt a little cold, a little confused. “I'm sorry the happy ending you imagined for her didn't come true.”

Alex tucked his hands in the back pockets of his jeans and took another step away from the house. “Everything may still turn out okay for her. It's not that unusual to get pulled back in. Some women get away the second time. Or the third. But they still get away.”

“I told you when I first met you that you were an optimist, do you remember?”

He spared her a small smile. He didn't believe her.

Grace tried again. “I'll bet Mrs. Burns was glad you were the doctor on duty. She didn't have to explain anything or try to find a way to speak to someone alone.”

“One of us is an optimist, Grace. I think it's you.” He kept his hands in his pockets when she wished he would hold her again.

“You don't think she was relieved you were her doctor again?”

There was a beat of silence, barely enough to make her wonder if he was going to answer her.

But he did. “I think she was embarrassed. I know my mother was, when she had to get stitches. Strong women think it shouldn't happen to them, perhaps.” He shrugged, as if he hadn't just told her something momentous.

“Your mother? You lived through that as a child?” She'd thought she'd gotten all the important facts during their little interviews. He had no siblings. His parents were divorced. He and his mother had moved from Russia to America when he was fourteen.

None of that was important.

“It only turned physical that last year. There were a few years of tension before that. When the Soviet Union fell apart, so did my parents' marriage. There was an opportunity for the average person to have more say in government, but it was risky. My mother thought it was worth the risk. My father didn't. The arguments escalated every time my mother was jailed. The government was more of a threat to my mother than my father was, but looking back, I think we were escaping both.”

When Grace had written down the facts of his youth in her notebook, she'd admired his ability to complete high school in the usual four years despite knowing almost no English the first year.

She'd admired the wrong thing.

“Clark Kent.” She sighed the words into the night.

He automatically moved to push up his glasses, but he wasn't wearing them, so he dropped his hand and frowned at her instead.

“It was what I thought when I first saw you. You weren't in awe of my sister. You weren't afraid of Mr. Burns. You even came to the hotel so I wouldn't be intimidated by the police into...into taking an unnecessary risk. Oh, Alex. Thank you.”

She took a step toward him. She was dying to touch him. He'd just held her so protectively, but now he seemed so far away.

“Clark Kent isn't far off, is it? You step in to help a lot of people. I am sorry that you're so good at identifying spouse abuse because you witnessed it, though.”

“All ER doctors are trained to look for the signs.” He put his boot on the ledge and stepped back up to the patio. He turned and offered her his hand to give her a boost up, as well, then smoothly slipped his hand free of hers.

“It must bring up bad memories.”

He was silent.

“What do you usually do, when you're home alone after a bad shift?”

“Brood for a little longer, maybe. You snapped me out of it sooner. Thanks.”

Something was off here. He was too calm. Too fully recovered when she could still feel where his fingers had dug into the denim waistband of her jeans.

He nodded toward her laptop. “Did you come out here to work?”

She had little choice but to go along with the change of subject. Her crutch had become his. She couldn't drag him back out into the dark.

“It's sort of a thank-you gift for this week.” She opened the computer's lid and waited as the screen, too bright in the dark, displayed the first page of her project. “Do you remember that first day when we bought the rocks?”

The day you kissed me like I was the oxygen you needed to breathe?

But there was no sign of that emotion now. No more fierce protectiveness, either. Just...friendliness. Didn't Superman always turn a car right-side up and then fly off alone?

“The manager gave you a couple of extra bags of gravel when he found out what they were for. It started me thinking. If you set up a nonprofit for your landscaping projects, you'd make it easier for a business like that to donate supplies. This is just some brainstorming, but I looked into it, and setting up a nonprofit wouldn't be that complicated.”

“Just brainstorming?” He sank into the chair, eyes on the screen as she scrolled down to the table of contents.

“There are grants you'd be eligible for, too. I listed some of them here.”

He took over, paging through the mission statement she'd composed, the links to the legal requirements, the proposals she'd written for initial and future workflow. He said nothing until he'd scrolled all the way to the appendix, where she'd created sample spreadsheets he could use for tracking finances and labor.