Virginia Kantra - Guilty Secrets

“Doesn’t your paper have some kind of restriction against journalists having sex with their subjects?” she asked.

“Probably. If you were underage, or if I put pressure on you to sleep with me so I didn’t trash your clinic in my column, that would be a breach of conduct.”

Was he serious?

“Are you actually suggesting I have sex with you to get good publicity for the clinic?”

“No.” His eyes were bright and very blue. “Would you?”

Would she? Her mind whirled. She’d slept with men for worse reasons. Not recently, but—

“Of course not,” she snapped.

Reilly smiled. Satisfied with her answer? Or pleased that he’d finally gotten under her skin?

“Then it’s not an issue,” he said. “Once I file the story, I don’t have any rules against taking you to bed.”

Nell sucked in her breath and almost choked on her beer. She should definitely switch to water.

“I do,” she said when she could speak. “Have rules, I mean.”

His gaze dropped to her hands on the tabletop. “You’re not married,” he said.

“No.”

“But you used to be,” Reilly guessed. “To a doctor?”

Nell glared at him. “So?”

The reporter leaned back consideringly. “So you put the jerk through medical school. Right? And then he…what? Wasted your youth? Cut up your credit cards? Broke your heart?”

Worse. Much worse. Her ex-husband, Richard, had ruined her career, violated her trust and smeared her integrity. None of which she was about to explain to a been-there, done-that, wrote-about-it reporter.

“Something like that,” Nell said coolly.

“Figures,” Reilly said.

She lifted her chin. “Why? Do I strike you as some kind of human doormat?”

“Nope. But your ex was a doctor. I don’t like doctors.”

Nell smiled ruefully. “I don’t like them myself sometimes.”

“You have a problem with the doctors at your clinic?” Reilly’s tone was easy. His eyes were sharp.

Oh, no. Nell’s stomach lurched. This is what happened when you let yourself be drawn along on the tide of sexual attraction. Some lean and hungry reporter swam up and bit off your head.

She was not letting herself be pulled into a discussion of problems at the clinic. Not with her purse beside her, stuffed with the evidence of possible drug diversion. She resisted the urge to pat it, to make sure her lists and printouts stayed safely tucked out of sight.

“Our volunteer physicians are dedicated to our patients’ care,” she said.

Reilly grinned, making it personal again, undercutting her best professional facade. “Is that the company line?”

“It’s the truth,” she said stiffly.

“Maybe. Or maybe all you doctors stick together.”

They did. Oh, they did. Nell remembered being called into the chief of staff’s office after he had discovered Richard’s drug addiction. The hospital administrator had been desperate to propose a way to protect his senior anesthesiologist.

And Nell, shaken, guilty, had agreed to…had agreed.

She looked up from her half-eaten French fries to find Reilly still watching her. “I’m not a doctor,” she said.

“You dress like one.”

Here was her chance to turn the conversation, to steer it back to her work and the clinic.

“I wear the lab coat because patients like it,” Nell said. “Nurse practitioners can provide the kind of basic primary care—diagnosing illnesses, treating injuries, prescribing medications—that used to be available only from a physician. But most people are more reassured by a white coat than they are by an explanation of my qualifications.”

“So why not go to medical school yourself? Get the credentials to go with the coat?”

“I have credentials,” Nell said, more sharply than she intended. “I like being a nurse. And medical school costs money.”

“Which you would know, since you put your husband through, right?”

Nell didn’t say anything. She couldn’t.

“Did you two have kids?”

Enough was enough.

Nell pushed her plate away and leaned her elbows on the table. “You said this wasn’t a job interview.”

“It’s not.”

“Really? Because all these personal questions sure sound like you’re interviewing someone for a girlfriend position. And I’m not interested in applying.”

Reilly sat back and signaled for the check. “Do you mind telling me why?”

“You can’t accept I’m simply not attracted to you?”

Unexpectedly, he reached across the table and caught her hand in his. His fingers wrapped around her wrist. His gaze sought hers. Nell forced herself not to pull away, not to show any reaction at all. But he had to see the color that crept into her face. He had to feel her pulse thrum under his touch. His thumb stroked the soft inner skin of her wrist.

He released her abruptly and smiled. “Nope. I won’t accept that.”

Jerk.

“Fine,” Nell said crossly. “There are still those ethical considerations we talked about. You are writing about my clinic. It would be awkward, at the very least, if we became personally involved. But the biggest reason is that my work demands all my energy. I simply don’t have time for a relationship.”

Not now, when her bag was bulging with data that could destroy her and her clinic.

And not with him. The last person she needed screwing up her it’s-all-under-control life was a hardboiled reporter who saw far too much and asked way too many questions.

“That’s reasonable,” Reilly said.

Some of the tension leached from Nell’s shoulders. She even smiled. “I’m glad you agree.”

“I didn’t say I agree,” he corrected. He dropped a bunch of bills on the waitress’s tray. “I said it was reasonable.”

The predatory glint in his eye made her nervous.

The March moon was a clear, cold disk in the sky, its white light lost in the orange glare of the street lamps. Frost glittered on the concrete and tinseled the windshields of the cars lining the curb. Nell’s breath escaped in puffs as they walked.

And walked.

Joe set his jaw. His ankle had started throbbing before they even reached the restaurant. Ice and elevation, the doctors said. Yeah, right. Like Nell wouldn’t have noticed if he’d stuck his foot in her lap during dinner.

He slung an arm around her shoulders for support. She was slight and strong and smelled faintly of disinfectant. Her hair tickled his cheek.

“Warm enough?” he murmured.

“I’m fine,” she said crisply, not turning her head. “Put your hands in your pockets if you’re cold.”

Despite the pain in his ankle, Joe bit back a grin. “Yes, Nurse Dolan.”

She shot him a sharp look and kept walking.

Hell. Sweat broke out on his upper lip. He had to slow down.

Joe made a show of digging in his pockets. “Mind if I smoke?”

Nell slowed her steps to match his. “Not if you don’t mind my reciting statistics linking smoking to lung cancer, heart disease and emphysema.”

“Go right ahead.” He stopped. Thank God. Balancing his weight on his left leg, Joe shook out a cigarette. His third today. He cupped the end and lit it, dragging the blessed smoke into his lungs. Heaven.

Nell narrowed her eyes at him. “You really should quit.”

Joe exhaled slowly, savoring the rush of nicotine. “I’m cutting out one vice at a time, thanks.”

“Really?” She arched one eyebrow. “What have you given up today?”

She was teasing. Maybe even flirting. He couldn’t tell. But her question howled through his soul like the wind through a ruin.

Joe shivered, shaken by the memories of the past twelve months. His mother’s worried eyes. His brothers’ bafflement. His boss’s frustration.