Jessica Matthews - His Long-Awaited Bride

And best of all, his physical appearance notwithstanding, his personality only added to his allure. He had what Marissa called the three Ps—he was polite, patient and persistent, all of which ranked him number one in the bedside-manner department. In fact, if Marissa had to point out a flaw, the only thing she could say was that he worked too hard. And that he looked at her as if she were his younger sister.

More was the pity. Her only consolation was that she’d known for years that she wasn’t his type—sophisticated, blond and beauty-queen gorgeous—and had resigned herself to that fact long ago. It was futile to wish for more, even though she indulged herself on occasion. After all, what was the harm in fantasizing about a tall, dark and handsome fellow with a grin—and gorgeous buns—to die for?

Actually, she knew the harm, which was why she only let her imagination run wild on rare occasions. It was less disappointing that way.

“Anyone as in everyone,” Marissa repeated seriously, “although you’re an exception.”

Justin grinned. “I am? I’m flattered.”

“Don’t be,” she said with a smile. “It’s only because you can be bribed with a home-cooked meal. What’ll it be this time? American, Chinese, Italian or Mexican?”

He stepped into the nurses’ station and, like always, his presence filled the area much like his broad shoulders filled out his blue dress shirt. “Surprise me, but cherry cheesecake is part of the deal.”

“Fine. In the meantime, make yourself useful.” She thrust the vase of roses into his startled grasp, then the rhododendron.

“Hey,” he protested, “since when did the D in ‘MD’ stand for Delivery?”

“Since I need an extra pair of hands and yours are the only ones available. Need I remind you that if Lorraine sees these and reads me the Riot Act, you can tell your taste-buds to think hospital cafeteria tuna surprise instead of jalapeño and melted cheese?”

“All right, all right,” he grumbled good-naturedly. “But make it fast. I have places to go and people to see.”

“Don’t we all?” she answered dryly. “Now, to find a perfect hiding place…” She glanced down the hallway in search of inspiration.

“How about the storeroom?” Kristi offered. “OB borrowed a couple of our wheelchairs so we have some extra space until they bring them back.”

“Good idea.” Marissa left the salmon-colored Gerbera daisy in its yellow ceramic pot on the counter next to the large spray of carnations and baby’s breath and followed Kristi down the corridor. Justin fell into step beside her.

“What’s the occasion?” he asked, his curiosity palpable. “I know it isn’t your birthday.”

Before Marissa could frame her answer, Kristi beat her to the punch.

“They’re from her date last night,” Kristi supplied in a dreamy voice as she unlocked the supply-room door and opened it with a flourish. “Lucky girl. Isn’t it romantic?”

Justin’s jaw dropped in obvious surprise. “From your date?” he said.

Marissa nudged past him to place her armload on an empty shelf. “Yes,” she answered simply as she avoided his gaze, well aware that more questions would be coming—questions that she didn’t want to answer in such a public place. “Let me have those,” she said instead, as she took the arrangements out of his hands and placed them on an empty metal cart.

An instant later, she shooed her two helpers from the room and closed the door with a decided click. “Thanks for your help in buying me some time,” she told them.

“What’re friends for?” Kristi winked. Before anything else could be said, a call light blinked down the hall. “That’s for me,” she said cheerfully, leaving Marissa and Justin alone. As Marissa had suspected, it didn’t take long for the inquisition to begin.

“You got all this after going out with what’s his name?”

The disbelief in his voice, as if it was completely inconceivable that a man would go to such lengths for her, instantly added starch to Marissa’s spine. It was bad enough that Justin had never noticed her, not even during those carefree college days when she had been his study buddy and he had dated what had seemed like every woman in her entire dormitory. The idea that he still couldn’t see her as a woman who might attract a man and enamor him to reckless generosity was enough to raise her hackles.

“Is it completely beyond the realm of possibility for me to receive flowers?” she demanded.

“No, but considering today isn’t your birthday and you’re not celebrating an anniversary, this seems a little…” He stopped short, as if he’d finally noticed her clenched jaw and narrowed eyes, and had decided it was time to tread softly.

“Bizarre? Overboard?” She faced him squarely, daring him to agree with her.

He didn’t. “What is the occasion?”

“Does a man need an occasion to send flowers?” she countered. “Can’t he give a bouquet for no other reason than just because he wants to? Or because he knows it would make a girl feel special?”

“If it was one bouquet, I’d agree with you, but he’s cleaned out the florist’s shop. He either wants something or buddy boy’s a showboat,” he finished, the disgust in his voice as obvious as the look on his face.

“You’re jealous.”

“Jealous? Of what?”

His clueless attitude caused her teeth to grind together painfully. Those three little words only drove home how smart she’d been way back when to accept their platonic relationship and move on to greener pastures.

“That he thought of doing something kind and considerate and you didn’t.”

He rolled his eyes. “Oh, ple-e-ease.”

“It’s true. When was the last time you sent anyone flowers for no other reason than ‘just because’?”

He opened his mouth to speak, then closed it.

“Aha!” she crowed. “I knew it. You never have.”

“Hey, if Trevor wants to—”

“You’re definitely suffering from a senior moment,” she interrupted grimly. “I’ll remind you that his name is Travis. Travis Pendleton.”

“Whatever.” He waved his mistake aside with one hand.

She strode toward the nurses’ station, intent on the last of the large floral arrangements still standing on the counter. Although she’d hoped to leave him behind, he caught up to her in spite of her two-step head start.

“This was, what, your second date?” he asked.

“Third,” she corrected.

“Ah, yes. Number three. A regular milestone in a relationship.”

She grabbed the vase before she faced him with narrowed eyes. “What’s that supposed to mean? Just because you don’t date and if you do, it’s never more than twice…”

He held up his hands. “Hey, if Trevor wants to spend a fortune on flowers, I’m sure that Frannie’s Florals will be delighted to get the business. But it might be a good idea if you told him to send flowers to your home address instead of here. I may not be able to bail you out the next time.”

“Bail me out?” she sputtered.

“Not to mention it makes the place look like a damn funeral parlor,” he continued mercilessly. “We’re here to take care of patients, not to smell the roses.”

“I didn’t ask for any of this,” Marissa said defensively. Angry and hurt, not to mention bewildered by his attack, she squared her shoulders and adopted her most professional tone. “But you’re right, Doctor. We’re here for patients, so if you’ll excuse me, I have work to do.”

She regally sailed past the centrally located nurses’ station to room six, leaving Justin behind. With luck, by the time she left Lonnie Newland’s bedside, Justin would have reviewed his charts and left her unit—and her—in peace.