Lucy Ryder - Falling At The Surgeon's Feet

The residents crowded up the stairs, elbowing each other and muttering curses about slave-driver supervisors as they bolted for the door. In the ensuing scuffle, Dr. Buchanan was roughly jostled aside and Gabe had a brief glimpse of one sexy heel catching on the stair runner. Her arms windmilled in a frantic attempt at regaining her balance…and the next moment she was toppling onto Gabe with a muffled shriek.

His hands shot out to catch her but she landed with a startled “Oomph” right in Gabe’s lap—and hard enough to have him seeing stars. When his vision cleared he had an armful of curvy, fragrant female squirming around like she was giving him a lap dance to end all lap dances. And because he was a red-blooded guy who hadn’t been anywhere near a woman in way too long, his body instantly reacted, waking up to the fact that a beautiful, sexy woman was butt-planted over his groin. He gave a low groan and she whipped around to gape at him like he’d zapped her with his shock stick.

Hey, not his fault. Innocently minding my own business here, lady .

One look into her mortified blue eyes and he realized that she was trying to get away and not turn him on but, damn…sue him, it had been a long time since he’d had sex, let alone been close enough to a woman to catch the heady scent of her skin.

Their gazes connected and she froze; her eyes wide on his. As though realizing her mouth was barely an inch from his, she gave a distressed bleat and tried again to free herself, shoving at him at the same time as she tried to get her feet on the floor.

But the angle was wrong and the more she struggled, the more his eyes crossed and the more mortified she looked until he finally took pity on them both and rose to his feet in one swift move. She gasped at the abrupt change of elevation and clutched at him as though she anticipated being dumped on her ass.

It was probably that unflattering assumption that prompted his next action.

Instead of releasing her and stepping away like a gentleman would have, he kept one arm wrapped tightly around her waist and let her slowly slide down the full length of his body until her feet touched the floor.

He knew by the flicker of her lashes and the wild flush in her cheeks that she could feel more than the hard planes of his chest and thighs. The instant she got her feet under her, she sucked in air and shoved away from him, stumbling back a couple of steps. She would have fallen into the row of seats across the aisle if he hadn’t shot out a hand and yanked her back.

Their bodies collided hard enough to momentarily knock the breath from his lungs and he wrapped an arm around her to keep her from flying off down the stairs. Okay, and maybe because he liked having all those soft curves pressed up against him.

“Careful,” he murmured. “You don’t want any more bruises to add to the ones you already have.”

She froze and stared into his eyes, alarmed to find herself in the exact position she’d tried to escape from a couple seconds earlier.

“Who…who told you I have bruises?” she demanded in a breathless rush that made him wonder about things that he had no business thinking about. Like how she’d sound in the throes of passion. And where else she had a bruise that he could kiss better.

It was an entirely inappropriate thought—not to mention stupid given that his body clearly liked the visuals that popped fully formed into his head—to have about a younger colleague working toward a fellowship in the same department.

Realizing they were still plastered together like glue on paper, she made a sound of distress and eased out of his arms, this time careful not to make any sudden moves that might result in him having to save her.

She cleared her throat. “I mean, how do you know about the bruises?”

Gabe arched a brow and folded his arms across his chest, letting his gaze roam over the delicate creaminess of her face and neck. “You winced when you sat down at Monday’s meeting and I’m guessing that creamy skin bruises easily.”

She continued staring at him warily for a moment longer before she said, “Oh,” as though she’d suspected him of following her into the ladies bathroom and spying on her as she’d checked out her smarting bottom and knees.

Gabe felt his mouth curve. He’d never met a woman whose every thought flashed across her face louder than Dr. Buchanan’s. That they were hardly complimentary was an added bonus to a man who’d spent the last eight years of his life being wooed by women all wanting something from him.

“I’m sorry I disturbed your sleep,” she said in that low, husky voice that seemed to reach out and stroke his flesh in places that hadn’t been stroked in way too long. And when he lifted a brow she hastened to add, “And for…well, nearly flattening you.”

“You hardly flattened me,” he drawled. “Besides, I wasn’t asleep, just resting my eyes. You learn a lot about people when they think you’re comatose. Take the guy trying to get your attention.” He could see she knew exactly who he was talking about when she bit her lip and looked away. “I overheard him bragging about his performance and wondered if he was talking about the OR, ER or someplace more private.” Heat bloomed beneath her skin. “He’s the kind of guy that gives surgeons a bad name.”

Her eyes snapped to his and her face settled into a remote coolness that surprised him but not as much as her words. “The only surgeons who give us a bad name,” she observed coolly, “are those arrogant enough to think they know better than God how to improve beauty.”

Gabe was smart enough to know she was referring to him. He opened his mouth to defend himself but the anger and accusation filling her huge blue eyes stunned him into silence.

What the hell?

He wasn’t to blame for her scars. Was he? He would certainly have remembered if she’d been a patient and there was no way he would have forgotten if he’d ever dated her—even briefly. Firstly, she wasn’t his type and, secondly…well, secondly, he didn’t think any man would be able to forget those big blue eyes or that lush wide mouth. Not in ten lifetimes.

Then he thought about her accusation and his anger died. She was right. For a long time he’d aggressively participated in the Hollywood pursuit of perfection until he’d reveled in the challenge of improving on Mother Nature’s handiwork. A nip here, a tuck there and maybe even a complete body-sculpt to anyone who could afford it.

Thinking about it brought back the shame and disgust at the knowledge that he’d been as culpable as any one of his patients in their futile pursuit of perfection. But that didn’t mean he was going to let her get away with her accusation—or her attitude, which, now that he came to think about it, had changed right about the time Langley had introduced him.

He shoved his hands in his pockets and rocked back on his heels. “Want to know what I learned about you?”

“No,” she said quickly, and took a step toward him, only to stop abruptly when he didn’t move aside because for some idiotic reason he didn’t want to let her go. “I’m sure your insights are simply fascinating,” she continued, frowning at her watch as though she was very busy and couldn’t spare the time. “But I’m not that interesting.”

Gabe smiled, because in the few days—encounters— that he’d known her, Holly Buchanan had been anything but uninteresting. He lifted a hand to scratch his jaw and paused, his eyes narrowing thoughtfully when she sucked in a tiny breath as though the rasp of beard-roughened skin was somehow too intimate in the quiet room.

“You’re intensely focused, keep to yourself and practice with your hands without realizing it. You bite your thumbnail when you’re concentrating and hate being the center of attention. In fact, you mostly present only one side of your face to people you’re talking to.”