Out of His League. Cathryn Parry
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This is my catching hand.” He held it up to her, as if that made a difference.
“I see.” She glanced at the chart. He noted that she wore no rings on her left hand. “And you...play sports?”
The one woman in Boston who appeared not to know who he was. He would have laughed if what he was facing wasn’t so important.
“At a very high level,” he said. “They pay me lots of money to do so.” At least, he hoped they still did after today.
She nodded, still staring at the tablet. “You are worried that the surgeons might cut into your left hand by mistake. Duly noted.”
“You’ve never heard of the New England Captains?” he asked her.
“I...don’t follow sports.”
Even more fascinating. “Do you know anything about baseball?”
“I... No.” She blinked. Again, those eyes were filling up. Eyes that were warm and brown. Like the root beer he’d liked as a kid.
“My nephew likes sports,” she whispered.
His antennae went up. He was absolutely certain she hadn’t meant to divulge this fact, that she was nothing at all like the others—people who knew he was coming into surgery, knew he was good-natured by reputation, and had therefore used the opportunity to provide a gift or a story for their own children.
Not that he blamed them. It was just...refreshing...to meet somebody—especially a single woman his age with a solid career and goals in her own right—who didn’t look at him as public property.
“Please sit down,” he said to her. “I’d like to ask you some questions, if that’s all right.” There was a chair next to his gurney.
She continued to stand. “Certainly. In five minutes, your surgeon will be stopping by, and after that I’ll put a relaxant in your IV drip. Do you have any allergies?”
He’d been through all of this at his last appointment, but he just smiled at her. “No allergies. Tell me what’s upsetting you?”
She wouldn’t meet his gaze. “I’m fine, Mr. Farell.”
“Fair-ell,” he said. “And it’s Jon.”
She licked her lips and stared hard at her tablet. “Have you ever been under general anesthesia? Do you have any concerns about it?”
Dr. Elizabeth LaValley, the name stitched across her white lab jacket said. Her scrubs beneath it were bright turquoise. She was medium height, and she was attractive in a fresh-faced, studious way. Obviously she was smart, or she wouldn’t be a doctor.
“Mr. Farell?” She said the name correctly this time.
He smiled. Look at me, he willed her.
She glanced at him, then blinked, startled and went back to staring at her screen. “I’m sorry,” she said in a low voice, “you’re obviously someone famous, and I’m making you uncomfortable....” Blood seemed to drain from her face.
Usually, he would interject, reassure her and make her comfortable, but...he was genuinely interested in hearing what she had to say. And he got the feeling she didn’t speak her mind too often to people, preferring to keep things to herself.
“I’ve...had a bad morning,” she continued, still not looking at him. “I just got some...difficult news. If you’d like, I’ll have another anesthesiologist called in to assist with your surgery. But I assure you, I’m very capable at what I do, and once I’m with the rest of the team, I will be fine—”
“I want you,” he blurted.
She blinked at him. Her eyes lingered on his, then traveled the length of him very quickly, up and down. She swallowed. “Why?” she asked.
He liked the sound of her voice—soft and calming. And it was completely inappropriate for the situation, but his body was giving a sexual response....
He crossed his arms over his lap. Smiled nonchalantly at her and gave her an uncharacteristic, honest answer. “Because I’m scared as hell at what’s going to happen to me, and I don’t want anybody else but you to know. Okay?”
“Me?” She put her hand on her heart.
“Uh, I figure you’ve already seen me at my worst. I don’t want to have to explain it to anybody else again.”
She nodded slowly. “That’s logical.”
“It is.”
Their gazes held for just a split second too long. There was...something there. An attraction, and on her part, too. And no, it wasn’t as meaningless to him as overcoming a challenge—getting a woman who wasn’t impressed with his celebrity to come to his side. It was...deeper than that.
And it was crazy to think so based on a two-minute meeting. Maybe he was just so scared witless about the cancer talk, it was making him think crazy things.
Carefully, Elizabeth LaValley put down her computer tablet. He got the impression that this action in itself was significant for her.
“Mr. Farell,” she said slowly, “your surgeon is very good. He’s our best, in fact, and I can vouch for him.”
“Not all cancer can be cured,” he murmured. “People die. I’ve seen...people die.”
Again, that pale face. “I know.” Her voice caught, and her hand went to her mouth.
“Tell me, Lizzy,” he said softly. “Uh, is it okay if I call you that?”
“I... Yes. I’m fine, really. It’s fine.” She waved her hand, looking flustered. “It’s just...we had a cancer scare in our family five years ago. My three-year-old nephew had leukemia. Today is the day he gets tested, to see if he’s really cured.”
“And you’re worried?”
“My sister thinks he’s sick again.” She shook her head. “No—we’re supposed to be talking about you. This is your surgery. Your anesthesia. In a minute, your surgeon—the head of the team—will be coming to see you.”
She picked up the tablet again and very carefully sat to read his case notes. There was fresh concentration in her gaze. Her blinking had stopped. Her hands weren’t shaking.
“Lizzy, I’m sorry about your nephew.”
She shook her head again. “He’ll be fine, Mr. Farell. Today, we’ll be removing a tumor from your right ring finger—a growth on the bone—but from your tests, there are no solid indications it’s cancer. Of course, the tumor will be tested as soon as it’s removed, but that is standard procedure.”
He’d lost her. But she needed to prepare for her job performance in the minutes ahead—of anyone, he could understand and appreciate that. “How long will it take to get back the results?”
“Typically, a few days for the lab work,” she said. “But, once the doctor opens up the finger and sees the tumor, he can usually rule out cancer by sight.”
Jon drew in a breath. She was gazing at him, her forehead creased. He got a feeling she didn’t look at too many of her patients like this. Really look at them, really let herself see them as people instead of as medical problems to be solved.
“Thank you, Lizzy,” he said quietly.
She blushed. “It’s Elizabeth.”
“Call me Jon.”
Her teeth bit down on her lower lip.
And because things were looking so much better now, he pushed his luck. “I have another request that I was wondering if you could help me with.”
* * *
TALKING INAPPROPRIATELY to a patient? This was so unlike her; it was surreal.
The