In Good Hands (15 page)

A
MBER STRUGGLED WITH
the emotions clogging her throat. It was hard enough for her to face what had happened two years ago—she sure as hell didn't want to do it now in front of Roger. But she knew that if he hadn't forced this discussion on her, she might never face it. So she girded herself, so to speak, and tried to explain to herself as well as him about what had happened back then.

“Her name was Vera Barker. She was my boss's patient, but she came to me with questions. She was so weak from chemo and she wanted advice on alternative treatments.”

He nodded. “So you gave her some suggestions.”

“Yeah. Nothing drastic. Just diet changes, energy sessions and the like. And it worked. She was getting stronger and healthier every day.”

“That's good, right? That's not killing her. That's kinda the opposite.”

Amber smiled, but the gesture was weak. “Well, my boss saw that she was getting stronger, and since he was going on vacation soon, he upped the timing of her radiation treatments.”

“Oh, hell,” he whispered.

“She was stronger, but not that strong. In the end, she had a heart attack and died.”

“I'm so sorry, Amber. That must have been awful. But I still don't see how that's you killing the patient.”

She shrugged. “It's not really. But I have come to realize that I did play a part in her death.”

He frowned at her. “What? I don't understand.”

“I didn't tell my boss about it. So, according to the administration, I went behind another doctor's back, prescribed something
not
approved by the AMA, and as a result, the patient died.”

Roger pulled back and folded his arms across his chest. “You've got to be kidding me.”

She shook her head. “Look, it's not as cut and dried as it sounds. Hospitals have rules, and I broke a cardinal one. Two actually, prescribing stuff behind another doctor's back and suggesting that New Age stuff had any value at all. Mandolin has a very hard line against both of those.”

“So you got in trouble and left.” She could see the pieces fall into place in his mind. “But you think that they'll take you back now?”

She hedged. “I don't know. According to Jack, my boss has done some more boneheaded things. The director has seen how much of an idiot the guy is, and I could probably spin my previous case as being a victim of his manipulations.”

“I don't see that as spin, Amber.”

“Yeah, maybe. But Bob wasn't the only narrow mind there.” She lifted her hand, then began ticking off thoughts on her fingers. “Pros for going back to Mandolin. I'd be near my family again, I'd make a decent living, I could see a ton more patients than I can as I'm working now, and potentially, I'd be helping to shift the course of American medicine. At a minimum, I would add to the debate of holistic versus traditional medicine.”

“All good things.”

She nodded. “Now the cons. I'd be returning to big-company politics, I don't know that I'd be accepted, and I don't know if I can toe the line if the narrow minds are still in charge.”

“Sounds like you need to go back there and find out.”

She sighed. “Yeah. It does.” But what if she found out she wanted to return? One week ago, that would have been a miracle. She'd stop being at odds with her family, she'd have a bank account again and she would have a place to work that was exciting, dynamic and important. But one week ago, she hadn't known Roger. And now she wasn't at all sure she could give him up.

She was still looking for a way to answer when she felt his arms wrap around her. She hadn't been expecting his touch, hadn't even heard him shift on the futon. But then she felt his arms around her belly, slowly urging her to lean back against him. She couldn't stop herself. She relaxed into him. Then he spoke, his lips right next to her temple.

“It's okay to admit that you want to go back. It's okay to say you miss your old life.”

She started, twisting around to look at him. “But that's the point. I'm not sure I do.”

His expression turned tender, though his eyes verged on tortured. “Really? Except wasn't that how our whole relationship started? You missed sex with the alpha dog.”

“God, I am never going to live that down!” she cried.

“But it's true! You missed that whole high-powered lifestyle. Enough to dress up for me and get me going in an elevator.”

She pushed to her feet, amazed at how he could focus on one thing—one single event—and draw so many wrong conclusions.

“And what since then has led you to think I want to go back
to that? The fact that I parade around in my stiletto boots?” She pointed to her bare feet. “The fact that I'm begging you to take me to high-end restaurants and we're spending so much time in your expensive apartment playing with your expensive toys?” In fact, she hated spending the night at his place. He still had too much clutter in his life. “Or what about the fact that I've been pushing you to get aggressive with your blood pressure by getting echocardiograms and DNA analysis and whatever else modern medicine has devised to explore hypertension?” She'd suggested exactly none of that. “Roger, why would you think I want any of that again?”

“Well,” he said, defeat in every note of his voice. “Mostly because you're not telling me to go to hell.”

“Go to hell, Roger.”

He straightened. “Because you started this as a confession—your word, not mine.”

She threw up her hands. “Roger. Quit playing with words.”

“And finally, the fact that I was curious about what your energy sessions were. I wanted to know more about what you were doing when you stare into space at your desk. And what I found instead right on top was your brand-new résumé. And beside that a series of notes on how to explain what you'd been doing for the last two years. Everything from mental breakdown to a scientific exploration of alternative medicines that ultimately proved useless.”

She blanched. She actually felt the blood drain from her face. “I was exploring, Roger. Making notes on what I would have to say and do to go back there.”

“And what did it tell you?”

“Nothing!” she shot back. “They were just notes.”

He shrugged. “Maybe. And maybe they're you testing out whether you want to go back or not. Whether your vacation in the slums has done its job. Amber, we're arguing an awful lot
here, and I'm not even sure what about. You just seem angry to me. And confused. And maybe a little lost.”

She stared at him, her mind reeling. She was doing a lot of yelling and a lot of accusing. She had started this conversation as a confession, but what had she meant by that? Had she really meant that she was going back to Mandolin? Maybe for real?

“Oh, hell.” She ended up collapsing back onto the futon. “I have no idea what I want.”

“That's okay,” he said, his voice depressed even as he gathered her into his arms. “We'll figure it out together.”

 

H
OURS LATER
, Roger had cause to regret his words. They had spent hours discussing and analyzing and arguing about everything from national health-care policies to the idiocy of having a “buddy with benefits.” He'd learned more about how hospitals
really
worked than he'd ever wanted to know. And worse, he learned that Amber was not only driven and smart, but she was
smart.
As in genius-level brilliant.

He'd assumed that she spent her days much as they had in the last week: reading, relaxing and eating salad. Sure, there was some internet time for her, energy sessions at her desk and of course their marathon sex-capades, for which he was eternally grateful. But he never suspected that their time together had been as much a vacation for her as it had been for him.

So what did she really spend her time on? Exactly what she'd said at the beginning: research into alternate holistic health practices. She was certified in a number of modalities including acupuncture, healing hands and qigong. What was she exploring right now? Something called energy mirrors which she said was extremely promising.

If he thought she was wasting her time before he learned all this, now he was even more convinced that she was
underutilized. Not because of what she was exploring—he didn't understand half of it. But because she deserved to have a team of experts working with her, compiling data, analyzing possibilities, assisting her research the way it could be done with a pile of money. In truth, it was the kind of team that Mandolin was known for. Except, of course, it was not traditional medicine and Amber wondered if she'd get the people in charge to hear what she'd discovered, much less put money behind it.

He had no idea what to think one way or the other. Hospital politics were not even close to his area of expertise, much less the astrophysics or ancient Chinese philosophy that she rattled off with such ease. In this, at least, she reminded him of Sam at his most brilliant. They both would just talk and point and do while everyone around them scrambled to keep up. Roger had given up trying to compete on that intellectual level a long time ago.

Which meant that he had to go with what he knew for sure. First, Amber was brilliant and he could stop trying to tell her what to think. She was well beyond him in that department. Second, he might not have any faith in ancient Chinese secrets or water isotopes that bonded with bad juju, but he absolutely believed in her. All he had to do was follow her suggestions—even if it meant eating chocolate mousse made out of avocado—and he'd end up okay. Or if not okay, at least better than he'd been before. Hell, he'd been on this diet for just over a week and he felt better, thought more clearly and was generally more calm than ever before.

Third and most frightening of all, he realized he was starting to fall for her. The feeling had been creeping up on him for a while now. At first, he'd just thought it was the endlessly wonderful times in bed with her. What man didn't want a woman just as addicted to sex as he was? But tonight, he'd realized it was more than that.

He adored the way she thought. Her mind wandered in endless ways he couldn't always follow, but were always interesting. She listened to him—really listened—and had no problem challenging his logic or conceding to him when he was right.

Then there was the final blow, so to speak. The way he was when he was with her. He hadn't noticed it at first. Of course he felt calmer when he was around her. He was on vacation. But he'd never felt this peaceful with anyone, vacation or not. Worse, she challenged him in subtle ways. She never pushed, well, not hard. But he found himself working to be better because of her.

He wanted to be more patient and a better listener. He wanted to eat bizarre foods, just because it made her happy. He wanted to stay beside her every day of her life just so he could see what she discovered along the way. And she would discover things, because how could she not? She had all the pieces. She just had to have the support—financially and emotionally.

Which left him with two inescapable conclusions. The first was inevitable, given the mountain of evidence. He was falling head over heels in love, and he would do just about anything to stay by her side.

And the second? That she was destined for far bigger things than a converted warehouse in Chicago and marriage to a guy who knew enough to surround himself with geniuses but wasn't one himself. In short, he was doomed. And the minute she stepped back into that life—at the Mandolin in a few days or with whatever huge research grant came her way—Amber would fly on to greener pastures and better men. And he would be left alone with an empty bowl of salad and a broken heart.

A
MBER WAS SURPRISED
to discover that the flight to Phoenix was beyond delightful. She had cleared Roger to go back to RFE two days earlier, provided that he stuck to his living-food diet. He'd agreed, though there were a few grumbles about how his reputation would suffer the moment everyone saw him eating rabbit food.

Always before, her flights had been filled with work. Two years ago, her BlackBerry had never been off except for during takeoff and landing. At which point, she'd pull out articles she ought to read, and paperwork that absolutely had to be done.

This time, she was flying without any work beyond a novel she wanted to read. Her job was to grease the connection between Mandolin and RFE. And if she spent a lot of time looking and wondering if she could fit back into the good parts of her old life without dragging in the bad, well, that didn't take any preparation. That just took open eyes and ears.

What she hadn't expected was how absolutely fabulous it was to talk to Sam. Sure, she'd known he was the genius inventor side of RFE, but she hadn't realized how delightful it was to explore the way a brilliant engineer thought. His brain was quirky. There was no other way to describe it. Downright
quirky in how it leaped from one thing to the next without any obvious pattern except for brilliance. He saw connections that no one else did. And for the first time in a very long time, she sensed a kindred spirit. Someone who thought sideways and had to work to understand normal people.

It was wonderful. She spent the trip talking with him about his latest projects, what he'd just seen on television the day before, his upcoming wedding in a week. Anything and everything was up for grabs, and by the end of the flight she was both energized and completely exhausted.

Right here was a clue as to why she and Jack had never made their relationship work. She'd had this kind of connection with him as well—two lateral-thinking brains spinning off of each other—but after a couple hours, it was exhausting. Her brain just needed to shut up. But she seemed incapable of stopping. At the luggage carousel, she and Sam talked airport design. In the cab ride to their hotel, they talked the ergonomics of car seats. And in the lobby as they were checking in, they started to discuss global warming. Sweet heaven, she was never more thrilled than when she finally waved good-bye to Sam at his hotel room and crossed to the peace of her room with Roger.

Oddly enough, he had been very quiet during the whole trip. She'd tried to include him in the discussions, but he hadn't tried to keep up. Every once in a while he'd throw in something pithy, but generally he let her and Sam spin while he listened with a more and more morose expression.

And now, as she dropped backward onto their king-sized bed, she was able to close her eyes for a moment and cherish the quiet. Blessed quiet. For about three seconds. Her mind was still spinning, her thoughts whirling with possible this and what they'd said about that.

Which meant she had two choices for shutting up her brain. She could meditate it away, sitting in silence and letting all
the noise bleed off of her. The habit was well installed and just thinking about it helped quiet the most neurotic corners of her brain. Or she could descend into a very wonderful, thoroughly satisfying round of mutual pleasure with Roger. The second option was much more appealing. Their meeting with Jack wasn't until tomorrow and they could always order in-room dining. Which meant, they'd have all night long to play if they wanted.

So with her best come-hither look, she rolled onto her side and smiled at her companion. “Hey, studly,” she drawled.

He had his back to her as he set up his laptop, but at her words, she saw his whole body still. He managed one more click of the mouse before turning to her.

She was about to say something obvious like, “Did you bring the handcuffs?” But at the expression on his face, she held back the sexual banter. His face was tight, his body held stiffly. Obviously something was on his mind, so she pushed upright on the bed and faced him square on.

“So, you've been awful quiet.”

He shrugged. “I didn't have anything to add.”

She would have laughed if he didn't seem so serious. “You always have something to add. And usually it's something about staying on topic and following a thought to its logical end.”

He arched a brow. “I don't mean to stifle your creativity.”

This time she did laugh. “Creativity is as much about discipline as it is about thinking bizarrely, and so you have told me time and time again.”

He sighed, spinning his chair around to fully face her. “You know, we've been together for barely two weeks. I'm not sure we can have a time and time again.”

She frowned, wariness chilling her heart. “What exactly are you saying, Roger?”

“Just that we've only known each other a couple of weeks. Nothing more.”

She might have believed him. His voice sounded sincere. Even his body position was steady, if not exactly open, but his gaze didn't quite meet hers. So she scrambled off the bed and touched his face, forcing his eyes up to hers.

“Why is everything weird all of a sudden?” she asked.

He huffed. “It's not weird—”

“God, don't lie to my face. Just tell me. Do you want me to get a separate room? Is it hard to be here working and yet with me? Have you suddenly realized that I talk way too much?”

He pressed his fingers to her lips, and a reassuring smile curved his lips. “Stop! Geez, Amber, it's just a—”

“Don't say ‘mood.' With one notable exception, you don't have moods. And even that one had a reason. So tell me the truth, Roger. What's going on in that very busy brain of yours?”

His mouth opened on a short gasp of surprise. “My brain is busy?
My
brain? Did you listen to you and Sam? Good Lord, Einstein couldn't have kept up with you two.”

She swallowed. “Einstein would have left us in the dust. Have you ever tried to read his
Theory of Relativity?
I'm good at math, but that stuff left me clueless by page six.”

“Page six, huh? Well, I guess you're just a slacker there.” He pressed a long, tender kiss to her lips. She would have made it deeper, would have pushed for more intimacy, but he ended it and slowly straightened. “Most of us don't get beyond page two.”

She looked up at him. “You've tried to read it?”

He nodded. “Sam called me stupid once when we were ten. So I challenged him to a contest. We'd both study something that was incredibly complicated to see if the other could understand it and apply it to the world today. He picked Einstein's theory.”

She smiled, impressed once again by him. What ten-year-old tried to fathom the
Theory of Relativity?
“So who won the bet?”

Roger laughed. “Neither of us. Sam at least made it to page four, though.”

“Roger, I was still playing with my Barbies at ten.”

“And scrubbing in on veterinary surgeries, if I recall.”

Oh, yeah. She had told him that. “Well, that was because I was lucky and my uncle had a soft spot for little girls.”

“Brilliant little girls.”

“Pot calling the kettle black.”

He huffed, his shoulders slumping with the sound. “Amber, look, let's not mince words here. I'm smarter than the average guy. And I've got some pretty awesome leadership skills. Have to if I want to corral the brain trust that Sam has gathered. But that doesn't mean I'm one of you.”

She blinked. “One of us?”

“An Einstein.”

A few years ago, she would have demurred. She would have laughed and pooh-poohed his statement out of modesty. But it was false modesty because, honestly, she did know she was crazy smart. It wasn't exactly a secret. But that kind of brilliance didn't translate well to life skills. She'd melted down but good a few years back. In truth, she often wondered if her medical knowledge put more blocks on her thinking than actually helped.

But how did she say all that to Roger? How did she express something she was only now beginning to understand?

“You hold your own just fine,” she said as she pressed her lips to his. Then she pulled back to look right into his eyes. “We need you to keep us focused. Without you, Sam would have run RFE into the ground years ago.”

He nodded, accepting the statement as the fact it was. “But that's at work with my best friend,” he said. “What
about in a relationship? With a girl whose brain is beyond incredible?”

She smiled, slowly straightening against him so that he could feel every bump and curve on her body. “She wants you, too,” she said.

That was all the encouragement he needed. His hands were on her waist, caressing the flesh there before he stripped her shirt off. She worked equally quickly, pulling off his clothes as fast as her fingers could work. But once they were naked, she slowed down. She tried to show him in words just what she thought of him. Of course, that meant she had to understand her feelings first.

She loved the way he felt beneath her fingertips, all sinuous muscle and broad masculine planes. She loved the way he took time with her body, stroking her skin, sucking her breasts, and making sure she was ready for him before he filled her.

She loved that she could talk to him about acupuncture, chakras and all sorts of weird stuff without ridicule. He didn't believe in any of it, but he listened and he told her clearly—without mocking—when she stepped off the logic train.

And best of all, she loved that she could be quiet with him. She felt grounded around him. As if he were her safety net when the scary in her life got too much to handle. He was there to catch her, to talk to her, to keep her sane.

She loved that about him. But was that love? Did she
love
him? Maybe. Or maybe not. Maybe this was just endorphins and sexual arousal from a really, really skilled lover.

She arched her back as she felt the way he expanded her, thrusting into her body with absolute skill. Her legs tightened around him, urging him deeper, stronger. He accommodated her, his breath coming out in hard gasps as he filled her again and again.

But he didn't come. He didn't drop over the edge until she went first. And she did that with a sudden ripple that became
a wave. Pleasure rolled through her, and only then did she feel him surrender to his own.

Bliss. Absolute bliss.

But was it love?

She was still searching for an answer when her phone rang.