Midnight Hour by Debra Dixon Read Free Book Online Page A

His smile took the sting out of his words. “I’ve done my time in the big hospitals. It wasn’t for me.”
    Mercy curled her legs beneath her. “Why?”
    “Does it matter?”
    “Only when I’m expecting a pop quiz from Sophie.” Mercy grinned in an attempt to lighten his mood. “If you don’t tell me, I’ll have to make up something juicy.”
    “If I answer this, can we go back to fund-raising?”
    “I suppose we can, but how am I going to be any help to you if I don’t know anything about you or what you want? This is a perfectly reasonable line of questioning.”
    “Depends on your definition of reasonable.”
    Mercy heard the teasing note in Nick’s complaint, but she also recognized a reluctance to talk about himself. While she idly traced the rolled seam of a couch cushion, Mercy said, “You hypocrite. You can dish it out, Dr. Devereaux, but you can’t take it.”
    A cocky light in Nick’s eyes disputed her statement very neatly and more strongly than words could have. Unswayed, Mercy refused to drop the subject. She’d managed to find a tiny hole in Nick’s armor, and she intended to poke around a bit. “You love asking other people intensely personal questions, but you don’t like coming under the microscope yourself. Now … why is that?”
    “You really want to know why personal questions aren’t my favorite questions to answer?” Nick asked, pinning her with a serious gaze, warning her that she might not like the answer.
    “Yes. I do.”
    “Darlin’, I’m out of practice at answering them, ’cause I don’t have anyone who asks anymore.”
    Mercy immediately recalled the shadows in his eyes and the weariness she could feel beneath the surface in that brief moment at the kitchen table. She began to wonder why no one cared enough about Nick Devereaux to ask him personal questions. Lightly, she said, “I don’t believe a word of that. I have eyes, Nick. I’ll bet you have nurses swooning at your feet, asking
very
personal questions.”
    “If you believe that any of my nurses would swoon, you’re sadly mistaken.” He jerked forward as if shocked by an interesting thought and then settled into the nook formed by the chair back and wing. “
Bon Dieu
, you probably believe in love at first sight too.”
    “Hardly. I don’t even believe in love at second sight!” Mercy scoffed, and realized her response was delivered much too sharply.
Damn!
How did a personal discussion about Nick end up being about her? Because he was better at this game than she was.
    “Ah, no,
chère
, don’t say that. Everyone believes in love.”
    “Not everyone. Not me. Now, lust I believe in, but love is—you’ll excuse the expression—a pipe dream.”
    Nick templed his fingers over his abdomen and studied her solemnly, finally asking, “So which of the two scares you most? The consummation of lust or the possibility of love?”
    Mercy sucked in a breath and wanted to throw something. Preferably at Nick. He lounged in that damn chair like a cat lazily watching a mouse that would soon be dinner. Surely he didn’t expect an answer? An honest answer?
    If he did, he’d have to wait until Miami averaged winter temperatures below freezing. She didn’t answer, but she silently considered his question. Since she didn’t believe in love, she obviously couldn’t be scared of it, but she did tuck tail and run at the first sign of attraction. Lust scared the hell out of her, because lust invariably fooled people into believing in marriage and love.
    She’d watched enough marriages wash up on the rocks to last a lifetime. Her own parents had significantly contributed to the wreckage piling up on the shore of divorce. Her father had been married three times, and her mother was just about to take the plunge for the fourth time. When this one sank like all the rest, Mercy would have to help her pick up the pieces one more time.
    “You’re stalling again,” Nick told her.
    “I’m thinking again!” she shot