Ann Major - The Secret Lives of Doctors' Wives

“You’re okay? You’re really okay! Oh, honey…” Relief flooded Rosie as she searched her purse for a tissue. Finally. Something good had happened since she’d turned forty.

“You’re squeezing me, Mimi!”

As she hugged Alexis even closer, Rosie slowly became aware of the tall, dark, lean-hipped man writing something on a notepad.

The police! She was in no shape to deal with them. When he strode into the living room and stood over her, tingles of alarm coursed through her. Then her gaze climbed a pair of long muscular legs encased in rumpled black slacks.

Familiar long muscular legs.

For no reason at all she remembered the furious rattle of palm fronds, the sound of a Mexican xylophone, the salty air that smelled of the sea…and the sting of hot skin from that awful sunburn she’d gotten from lying on the beach in the shade too long with Michael.

It couldn’t be him…Not Michael Nash!

Michael wore a brown sport coat that needed an iron. His tie had been yanked loose at his throat. There were shadows under his long-lashed, dark eyes that hadn’t been there when he’d fast-talked and fast-kissed and fast-petted her into riding off on the back of his motorcycle to Veracruz, Mexico, the day after they’d graduated from high school.

Michael. He had a tattoo of a cute little palm tree on his chest over his heart, which matched the one she had over her left breast. Thank God they were both clothed.

With a low moan, she stood up slowly and blew out a mortified breath. She’d dressed in such a hurry at Pierce’s and then at the hospital again that she was sure she looked even more of a mess than Michael did.

Michael turned off the TV and shot her his famous football star grin that back in high school had made all the cheerleaders want to sleep with him. Okay, obviously she’d gone for it, too.

Alexis must’ve fallen for the smile because she ran over to him and lowered her lashes much too fetchingly for Rosie’s peace of mind. And she was all of five.

Oh, my God!

Rosie watched in horror as he knelt. Oh, how she hated how infinitely gentle his voice was when he spoke to the little girl. “You okay, sweetheart?”

Alexis nodded up at him. Holding her blue blanket, she twisted it to and fro shyly.

“Of all the cops in this city—you had to be the one to come.” Rosie ran her hands through her wildly tangled hair. Then she snapped, “Alexis, it’s time for bed!”

The child put her hands on her hips. Her jaw squared mulishly. “I’m not sleepy.”

“I thought you were a homicide detective,” Rosie said to Michael.

“So you remember?” His grin twisted. “I like it that you paid attention. Your babysitter called 911. I heard your name.”

“So you volunteered?”

His eyes darkened, and she felt a little scared.

“Something like that.” He lowered his voice, but not before she caught the edge in it. “Fond memories.”

Why did he look so serious? Why was he studying her so intently with those cop’s eyes of his? As if she’d committed a crime?

She tried not to think about Pierce. “Aren’t there enough bad guys to keep you busy?”

“Maybe I prefer bad girls.”

“I’m a good witch,” Alexis said, and batted her lashes at him.

“Yes, you are, darling,” Rosie agreed, glad of the distraction. “The best little witch ever to ride a broom with her very own Blue Binkie. But it’s time for all good witches to go to bed.”

As Michael continued to watch Rosie, his grin made her feel feverish and anxious.

She was forty, for heaven’s sake. A grown-up. A grandmother. She was too old to get the chills because of him, of all people.

Michael shifted so that he faced her. She grew even warier of his penetrating gaze.

“I thought cops were supposed to be doughnut addicts with weight problems. When are you going to get fat and old?”

“You look good, too, Rosie. So good, you make me remember palm trees and…that night last year.”

She flushed. “Don’t!”

He grinned. “What are you—forty?”

She lifted her chin. “Don’t remind me.”

“Palm trees?” Alexis whispered eagerly. “Can we go to the beach, Mimi? I love the beach.”

“Hush.” She had to get Alexis to bed and Michael out of here fast before he grew bossy or inquisitive, or her hormones started acting up.

“I’ve got some guys outside making sure everything is all right,” he said, in that deep, oddly tense, authoritative tone she’d never liked. “They walked Jennifer home. I stayed inside watching cartoons with Alexis to wait for you.”

He glanced at his watch and then at her again. Maybe it was just her, but she thought his detective eyes glinted suspiciously. “So, where were you…so late?”

“There was an emergency. I’m a nurse. I—I had to go in to work,” she said, finger-combing her hair as he continued to watch her, still in that too-assessing way of his.

“Your babysitter seemed to be expecting you much earlier. I think Alexis and she got nervous…”

“Jennifer knew I had to work.” Rosie felt herself flushing guiltily. Then she bristled. What business was it of his? For a second or two she considered telling him about the break-in two days ago, but that would only prolong the encounter.

She glanced pointedly toward the door. “Well, Alexis is safe and sound now, so, again, thank you.”

A beat passed.

He didn’t budge. Not even when Alexis rubbed her eyes again.

“Look, I really do need to get her to bed,” Rosie said desperately. “You know the way out.”

He was still watching her in that way that so unnerved her when he said, “I called the hospital, and your supervisor said you were off all day and that you came in briefly around twelve-thirty…and that—”

Because of her fear and guilt, Rosie’s temper blazed out of control. She felt her face grow hot. But instead of saying anything, she took Alexis’s hand and hurried her upstairs. But as she ran, she was aware of him standing there, not moving, his keen gaze burning into her back.

In her bathroom, she strained her ears trying to hear the door close behind him. When she thought she’d heard it, she tried to forget him.

Not a chance of that! Not when Alexis turned to her, bright-eyed and curious. “Are you in love with him, Mimi?”

“What?”

“Are you?”

When she shook her head, Alexis, who was clearly in the midst of her first crush, smiled and then gushed in a confidential tone, “Good. Because I am.”

Oh, God…Unwanted memories swamped Rosie—her arms laced around Michael’s young, lean back as they roared toward Mexico, the wind gusting against their skin; his long naked body on top of hers at that secluded beach with the palms after he’d taken her virginity. Last of all she remembered the compassion in his eyes as she’d poured her heart out to him in that bar last year after he’d ticketed her. When she’d finished talking, she’d leaned across the table and kissed him as if he were the only person in her whole life who’d ever really mattered. His answering kiss had been equally tender and hot and all-consuming.

Nobody else had ever made her feel as if she was the only one.

Rosie yanked the brush through Alexis’s hair and then washed her face, but she was too tired and upset to bathe her.

“Tomorrow, first thing in the morning, after a night’s sleep, we’ll bathe together,” she said, forcing a bright smile.

Alexis set Blue Binkie on the counter and squirted a blob of jewel-blue toothpaste on her brush, and for once didn’t argue, so Rosie got to splash cold water on her own face in relative peace.

“I want to sleep with you,” Alexis said when they were finished.