The M.D. Courts His Nurse by Meagan McKinney Read Free Book Online Page A

face them. “Yes?”
    Of all the people to request a favor from, why did it have to be him?
    â€œI, that is, Rick’s truck has a flat tire, and he has to wait for someone to come fix it. Could you—would you mind giving me a lift home? If it’s not too far out of your way.”
    â€œHey, whoa, here,” Rick objected, sensing an invasion of his male territory. “This is still my date with you, not his.”
    The totally unwarranted possessiveness made her flush—she hardly knew the guy. He sure had a lot of nerve.
    Despite her horror at making a public scene, she couldn’t stop herself from saying, “If I could remind you, Rick, I’m not exactly feeling well, remember?”
    â€œLook,” the doctor said with diplomatic politeness, addressing himself to Rick, “there’s a service station a few blocks down the street. Why don’t I run the tire over there and get it patched?”
    It irked her, suddenly, that her employer showed more consideration for this stranger than he did for her. He walkswith kings, she thought scornfully, but never loses the common touch—until he comes to work.
    Rick shook his head at the offer of help. “Even if we could get it off the vehicle, you’d need a truck to haul it.”
    John looked puzzled. Rick pointed out the towering vehicle. At the astonished look on her boss’s face, Rebecca felt her cheeks heat.
    She wanted to go crawl in a hole somewhere. “It’s not quite a monster truck,” she explained lamely, quoting Rick.
    But by now John’s politeness and gentlemanly deference toward her date had calmed Rick down. “Look, Doc,” he said, “Rebecca says she doesn’t feel well, and she’d like to go home. You’d be doing both of us a favor if you drove her, believe me.”
    â€œGlad to help.”
    Oh, that’s great, she thought crossly. You two become blood brothers so I can look like the big bad witch. The doctor could treat a stranger’s pride with such diplomacy, yet look how he acted toward his office nurse, as if her self-esteem meant less to him than killing a fly.
    â€œThank you, Rick,” she said, feeling awkward.
    He simply nodded and turned away, managing to make her feel guilty.
    John Saville said nothing as the two of them approached his long, low-slung Alfa Romeo. But as he opened the passenger’s door for her he said, “You really don’t feel well?”
    She settled into the low leather seat, sensing his gaze on her legs as her skirt rode up high. “It’s what we women call a diplomatic headache.”
    â€œAhh…medical school doesn’t cover that one.”
    He went around, tossed the leather kit behind his seat, then got in and keyed the sports car to rumbling life.
    â€œSorry it didn’t work out,” he told her. “He seems like a nice enough guy.”
    â€œGood,” she retorted as he gunned away from the curb,tires squealing. “You go out with him, then. You two sure seemed to hit it off.”
    She regretted her rudeness almost immediately. After all, he was giving her a lift home.
    They were still in town, and overhead lights illuminated him well. She cast a sidelong glance as he accelerated through the gears, his hair whipping, right hand working the floor-mounted gearshift.
    He caught her watching him.
    â€œNice jacket,” she told him.
    He shifted gears, and his hand brushed against her calf. Did it linger there a moment?
    â€œMy dad gave it to me,” he replied.
    â€œWas he a pilot in the military?”
    A shadow seemed to cross his face, but it might have been something blocking the streetlights for a moment. “No,” he replied curtly, adding nothing else, even though she waited.
    He can’t get personal with the lower class, she reminded herself sarcastically. Daddy was probably a big-time, four-star general, at least, judging from his son’s