Taming the Playboy. Marie Ferrarella
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he had Philippe to thank for that. Because, left to his own devices, he had to confess he would have been inclined to sit back and just enjoy himself, just as his father had before him, making the rounds on an endless circuit of parties. His father’s money had assured him that he could spend the rest of his life in the mindless pursuit of pleasure.
But Philippe had had other plans for him. At the time, he’d thought of Philippe as a humorless bully. God, but he was grateful that Philippe had happened into his life. His and Alain’s.
Otherwise, the petite woman beside him would now be just a fading memory instead of very much alive.
“I want to go with him,” the blonde was saying to the other attendant, who, as uptight as Nathan was relaxed, clearly acted as if he were in charge of this particular detail.
Her grandfather had already been lifted into the back of the ambulance, his gurney secured for passage. Nathan was just climbing into the vehicle’s cab and he nodded at the woman’s statement. But Howard was in the back with the old man, and he now moved forward to the edge of the entrance, his thin, uniformed body barring her access.
When she tried to get in anyway, Howard remained where he was and shook his head. “Sorry. Rules.”
Reaching for both doors simultaneously, he began to close them on her. But the action was never completed. Coming up from behind her, Georges suddenly clamped his hand down on the door closest to him. It was apparent that Georges was the stronger of the two.
It was also very apparent, especially from the scowl on his face, that Howard did not care for being challenged.
“Let her go with him,” Georges told the paramedic. It was an order even though his voice remained even, low-key. “She’s been through a lot.”
Howard’s frown deepened. This was his small kingdom and he was not about to abdicate so easily. “Look, there are rules to follow. Nobody but the patient, that’s him, and the attendant, that’s me,” he said needlessly, his teeth clenched together, “are supposed to be riding back in—”
Georges’ smile was the sort envisioned on the lips of a cougar debating whether or not to terminate the life of its captured prey—if cougars could smile.
“Have a heart—” his eyes shifted to the man’s name tag “—Howard. Let the lady get into the ambulance with her grandfather.”
Nathan twisted around in his seat, looking into the back of the ambulance. “Listen to the man, Howie,” he advised with a wide, easy grin. “Someday he could be holding a scalpel over your belly.”
It was obvious that Howard didn’t care for the image or the veiled threat.
“If you get any flack,” Georges promised smoothly, “just refer your supervisor to me. I’ll take full responsibility.”
“Yeah, easy for you to say,” Howard grumbled. Drawing in a breath, he blew it out again, clearly not happy about the situation. Clearly not confident enough to back up his decision. His small black eyes darted from the woman’s face to the doctor’s. Survival instincts won over being king of the hill. “Okay.” Howard backed away from the entrance and returned to his seat beside the gurney. “Get in.”
“Thank you,” the blonde cried. It wasn’t clear if she was addressing her words to Howard or her Good Samaritan, or the man in the front seat behind the steering wheel. Possibly, it was to all three.
Taking her hand, Georges helped the woman get into the back of the ambulance.
But once she was inside, she didn’t let go of his hand. She held on more tightly.
“I want you to come, too,” she said to him. When it looked as if he was going to demur, she added a heartfelt, “Please?”
There was no more that he could do. The ride to the hospital was fast enough and once there, there would be doctors to see to the man. Besides, he still had a date waiting for him.
Georges began to extricate himself from her. “I—”
Her expression grew more determined. “You said you worked at—Blair Memorial, is it?” Georges nodded. “Then you’re one step ahead of everyone else there. You saw what my grandfather went through. You treated him. Please,” she entreated. “I don’t want to risk losing him. I don’t want to look back and think, If only that doctor had been there, that would have made the difference between my grandfather living and—” She couldn’t bring herself to finish.
It was the sudden shimmer of tears in her eyes that got him. Got him as surely as if handcuffs had been snapped shut on his wrists. Georges inclined his head, acquiescing.
“I never argue with a beautiful damsel in distress,” he told her. Then he glanced up at the frowning Howard who looked like a troll sitting beneath his bridge, protecting his tiny piece of dirt. “Don’t worry, I won’t crowd you in the ambulance,” Georges promised. He jerked his thumb back at his presently less than shiny sports car. “I’ll follow behind in my car.” Georges shifted his glance toward the woman. “That all right with you?”
Vienna Hollenbeck pressed her lips together to hold back the sob that materialized in her throat. She was a hairbreadth away from breaking down, and it bothered her. Bothered her because it clashed with the strong self-image she carried around of herself.
Surprise, you’re not invulnerable after all.
Nodding, Vienna whispered, “Yes, that’ll be fine with me.”
Georges gave her hand a warm squeeze before withdrawing his own. “He’s going to be all right,” he promised.
With a huff, Howard leaned over and shut both doors in his face. Firmly.
Georges turned away and hurried over to his vehicle. Buckling up, he turned the key in the ignition. The car purred to life as if it hadn’t come within inches of being crushed.
He’d just broken cardinal rule number one, Georges thought, waiting for the ambulance to pull away. Not the one about doing no harm. That was the official one on the books, the one that was there to make people feel better about going to doctors. He’d broken the practical one, the one that was intended to have doctors safeguarding their practices and their reputations. The one that strictly forbade them to make promises about a patient’s future unless they were completely, absolutely certain that what they said could be written in stone and that their words couldn’t somehow return to bite them on the part of their anatomy used for sitting.
But he found that he couldn’t look into those blue eyes of hers and not give the woman the assurance that she was silently begging for.
“So I made her feel better for a few minutes,” Georges murmured out loud to no one in particular. “What harm could it do? Really?”
Besides, from what he could ascertain, the old man didn’t look as if he’d sustained extensive bodily injuries.
Appearances can be deceiving.
How many times had he heard that before? How many times had he learned that to be true? The old man could very easily have massive internal injuries that wouldn’t come to light until after he’d been subjected to a battery of tests and scans.
Still, Georges argued silently, why make the woman worry? If there was something wrong, there was plenty of time for the man’s granddaughter to worry later. And if it turned out that there wasn’t anything wrong, why burden her needlessly? He always tried to see things in a positive light. It was an optimism that he had developed over the years and which had its roots in his mother’s lifestyle and philosophy: never assume the worst. If it was there, it would find you soon enough without being summoned.
Georges realized that he was gripping the steering wheel a great deal more tightly than necessary. He consciously relaxed his hold. It didn’t, however, keep him from squeezing through a yellow light in the process of turning red.
He kept pace with the ambulance, all but tailgating it until it reached Blair Memorial.