Playboy Doctor (11 page)

How did he ever convince her to agree to this?

Through his wit and persistent charm, that's how.

He'd also used reason and logic; even threw in the welfare of Baby Jack, just for good measure.

His tactic should have sparked ire within her, but it only took the fight out of her. No, she couldn't fight him. For the sake of Baby Jack, she'd go through with it. Today's VSD repair on the teen really hit home. A life of medical situations like the teen's could be in store for the baby. So maybe agreeing to see Shayne tonight after work would turn out to be a good thing. After all, she would have the doctor's undivided attention to discuss the infant's medical care. She'd have Shayne all to herself. In her bungalow. Alone.

She groaned.

Suddenly, a crackling energy filled the air, setting her on edge. She turned to see Shayne entering the reception area. He'd changed from scrubs to jeans and the infamous white shirt. Whether he wore scrubs, a tuxedo, or even street clothes, he looked good.

"Are you ready for me?" he asked with a satisfied look on his face. And what was with the knowing grin?

Triumph
, she realized. He'd won the battle to come home with her.

"If you mean, ready to grab a coffee, discuss Baby Jack's case, and inspect my home, then yes."

His grin tilted further. "Are you always as perfectly organized in the real world as you are in the OR?"

She gave him a confident nod, spun on her heel, and headed toward the exit. She kept her outward demeanor calm, but inwardly, his furtive compliment took her by happy surprise.

She had done everything in her power to be orderly, efficient, and composed for their cases today. And he'd noticed.

"I want you to know that you had nothing to worry about returning to surgery," he told her from behind. "You handled yourself like a pro."

She acknowledged his comment with an unaffected smile, but her heart skipped in delight. A man accustomed to critically analyzing everything and sending residents cowering was also capable of noting a job well done. In each surgery, he'd been demanding, but when it came to instruction, his laser-like precision made it easy for Willow to assist.

As they walked to her Toyota, he spoke not another word about it. Not of punctured arteries, dismissed cocky residents, or VSDs.

Shortly after driving off from the hospital, she allowed Shayne to purchase their coffees at a specialty shop, and then headed toward her bungalow. While she drove, Willow offered a status update on Baby Jack's future, discussing policies, procedures, and LifeLink—if the infant were ever to need a heart donor. Willow's own heart squeezed at the possibility as she informed Shayne of further laws surrounding Baby Jack's case.

"Despite any red tape, Willow, open-heart surgery on the baby must be scheduled and the arterial switch done once and for all," Shayne told her.

Willow ignored her impending concern. The mortality rate of heart surgery on newborns had lowered, but the reality of it still lingered in the back of her mind.

"He'll need a lot of TLC post-op," Shayne continued. "I don't know if any government system would be up for the task. Poor little tyke will need a kind, knowledgeable caregiver more than ever."

"Yes, he will," she told him.

Her heart went out to the tiny infant. Admittedly, she'd bonded with him and dared to say, was falling in love with him. Spending time with Baby Jack and caring for him had helped her forget her own troubles. Nurturing the baby had, in fact, ignited a glow in her heart. If she didn't know any better, she'd say he was helping her heal.

Like a smack to the forehead, the realization hit her. Jack was a baby in need of a loving mother. She was in need of a loving baby. Could a better match be made?

* * *

Willow pulled into the driveway leading to the bungalow on the Langdon Estate. She bit back her excitement over the prospect of Baby Jack in her life. She kept the notion to herself until she could look into the process of adopting an abandoned newborn. For now, she had to focus on the rest of today with Shayne in her bungalow.

As she drove past the landlord's large venerable home, she pointed to the structure. "Mr. Langdon's place needs some work. He and his wife are older and rely on their children to fly in to help sometimes. I do what I can to keep up the bungalow myself." Although today, she didn't know what she was in for when it came to the consequences of a busted water pipe and subsequent flooding.

She pulled up to her small yellow bungalow, and then exited her Toyota. Small pools of sunlight reflected off the walkway. Shayne walked beside her as she sauntered toward the front door surrounded by clay pots bursting with fuchsia and white impatiens.

"Quaint place," Shayne said.

"Quaint is a kind word for small."

"And you can see the ocean beyond the trees." Shayne pointed.

"The view's not as grand as yours, but I'm happy here."

"A Florida-version of an English country cottage," Shayne remarked, "except with palm trees."

Willow took her time unlocking the door. Her tiny home on the estate acted as a protective cocoon, but with Shayne's imposing presence, she readied herself to allow him inside. More than once, Shayne had forced her out of her element. But her home had been her sanctuary. Dare she let Shayne in?

"My landlord said he had the pipe taken care of and most of the sitting-water removed. It's going to take a few days to dry out fully. He did what he could, but he hasn't been feeling good and had to rest."

The moment she opened the door, she was hit with an unpleasant odor left from stagnant water. "Brace yourself," she warned. "I'll have to open some windows and air out the place."

How could her home turn so unpleasant so fast?

Within minutes, Willow, along with Shayne's help, opened various windows and doors, allowing a balmy tropical breeze to billow through. She removed any remaining damp scattered rugs, and then laid them out on the grass to be cleaned later, and left in the sunshine to dry.

"I won't be able to keep the windows and doors open long. I'll have to get the air conditioning cranked soon, so the heat and humidity won't worsen any damage."

She inspected the tiled floor and frowned at the baseboards. Some looked okay, others showed water stains. "Oh, that can't be good."

Shayne retrieved a hammer from a toolbox left in the room by the landlord. "Your tile floor has survived the broken pipe's water leak. As for the baseboards, let's have a look." He bent down and, with the claw of the hammer, eased a baseboard from the wall. Willow watched the surgeon as he wielded the tool, causing the cords of his forearms to swell. A definite sign of strength from someone not afraid of hard work. And she liked it.

While she liked her life as a whole, she had to admit, she liked having a man around the house doing guy stuff. She liked even more that it was Shayne. Some women might enjoy handling a hammer, but handling surgical instruments was enough for her. What she liked most right now? Having Shayne with her. Right here. Right now. In her home.

But he looked too right being here, too at home.

A disheartening thought.

"Baseboards don't look all that bad. Walls behind them look great. The flood didn't go too high at all. Some boards might need a touchup but they can be saved," he said.

Willow's initial trepidation over having Shayne enter her world gave way to a warm curiosity. What would it be like to have Shayne fully in her life? She feared the answer that welled up within her.

It would be wonderful.

A hot blush of discomfort crept along her skin. Having Shayne play house with her clashed with the reality of the surgeon who played with women's hearts. Despite her valiant attempt to remain aloof and even dismissive of her feelings for him, she had to face the truth.

She liked him.

She wanted him.

She hated the fact she was falling victim to his charms.

"It's getting hot in here. I'm going to go shower off the day," Willow blurted, trying to avert her eyes from Shayne's muscled form. He'd become much too attractive. "I promise to be quick. I, I need to cool off."

He rose to his full height and gifted her with a grin. "Go on, I'll be all right. I'll check out the plumber's handiwork in your kitchen."

Willow escaped his nearness in the nick of time, just like she always did when she was about do something foolish, like fall for the guy harder than she already had.

Chapter 9

Shayne did his best to focus on assessing the bungalow, but knowing that Willow was showering several feet away from him was more than his senses could bear.

Judging by the sound of running water through the pipes, the plumbing work had been repaired well enough. But he couldn't think of pipes now. He could only think about Willow's nude body, slippery and soapy, and how he longed have his hands hotly on her, the slick white suds sliding down the length of her. He envisioned the pulsing water beating on her skin as he stood behind her, caressing her. Cupping her breasts. Making her shiver. Dipping his hand low between her thighs. Making her pant, the beads of water coursing down along every curve and hollow of her body.

Despite the appeal of the scenario, the fantasy would only remain a figment of his imagination. Embarking on anything that may lead to a relationship simply could not happen, either physically or emotionally. Such a risk would only lead to heart-wrenching results, just like it had with Fiona.

When Fiona had had his child, he'd pressed for a formal commitment. After all, he had to make it work for the sake of the baby, even if he and the mother had their share of troubles. She'd flatly refused his marriage proposal. She'd admitted that she'd lied about her past and turned her back on him, ripping the child from his life. A true blow to the heart, a heart he kept guarded today.

He still couldn't let go of the memory. Fiona had pulled his child—correction—
her
child from his embrace. And walked out on him forever.

He's not your son.

The words echoed in the back of his mind.

He's not your son.

The child he'd fallen in love with was not his.

Just before Shayne's thoughts took a downward spiral, Willow suddenly appeared. The room brightened with her in it. His sobering thoughts melted away.

She looked fresh and clean, scrubbed shiny new, with a ponytail high on her head. She kept her clothing simple; a formfitting cream tank top, khaki shorts, and flip-flops. The tank top allowed him the pleasure of admiring her curves. The shorts gifted him with the sight of slender legs and he enjoyed the graceful sway in her walk.

Maybe the clothing wasn't as simple as he first thought. After his obsession with mentally exploring her every curve in the shower, how could he handle watching her like this the rest of the day?

He groaned inwardly. It would require a mighty feat of strength.

Willow stood before him. "Would you like something cool to drink after that hot coffee? I'm pretty good at making iced tea. Never too much caffeine, right?"

"Yes," was all he could manage. She brushed past him and sashayed into the kitchen.

Before he could utter anything he'd regret, like, "You look magnificent," his cell phone squealed in his pocket. He pulled it out to look at the caller ID. He frowned.

His brother, Grant, had already left two messages. In the last one, he'd made a point to say that Blake—the youngest brother in the trio—didn't do anything wrong and shouldn't be punished.

Shayne had never dreamed the tight bond he shared with his brother Blake could sever so quickly. And all because of the selfish actions of a woman.

Blake remained firmly rooted on one side of the feud; Shayne held his stance on the other. Grant, in the middle, carried the emotional brunt of the fight.

Willow reappeared and set down two tall glasses of iced tea on the coffee table. She looked at him quizzically. "Aren't you going to answer your cell phone?"

"It's my brother, Grant, again."

"You don't want to talk to him?"

"I already know what it's about."

She crossed her arms in front of her chest, which only accentuated her cleavage. "Let me guess. Grant wants to talk to you about this problem you have with your other brother. Boy, it must be a doozy."

"Blake's getting married," Shayne grumbled. He didn't regret the words, not when the situation hadn't become fully real for him yet. He stuffed the phone into his pocket, annoyed by its incessant ringing. He had to keep his cool because if he did allow his spiraling thoughts to get the best of him—

"Hey, are you okay?" Willow's tender voice pulled him from his brooding.

"What? Yes, I'm alright."

"So, Blake's wedding isn't a good thing, in your opinion," Willow prodded. She stepped closer and set those large curious eyes on him. He hated when she did that because it always made him willing to open up to her.

"I don't want to talk about it," Shayne said. Not when all he wanted to do was pull her into his arms to help him forget.