Medical Romance June 2016 Books 1-6. Lynne Marshall
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just to see how it would feel. Just once. Once before the strike of midnight—was that so much to ask?
She stared in fascination as he took a sip of his drink and his tongue licked a tiny drop from his lip. And with breathless certainty she knew. The man would be one amazing kisser.
“You probably agree with that, don’t you, Gabriella?”
Rafael had turned fully to her, the slight curve of his lips fading as their eyes met, and she foggily realized the people he’d been talking to had moved on. Several beats passed as they just stared at one another, and Gabby wished she had some idea how to answer him but had no clue.
His lids lowered slightly, and something hot and alive flickered inside that deep green. “You weren’t listening at all, were you, bella?” He stepped closer, his voice a low rumble. “Something else on your mind?”
Yeah. Oh, yeah, but I’m not saying what. Except she had a bad feeling it was written in red neon on her forehead for him to see anyway. Frantically trying to come up with an answer that wasn’t incriminating, she managed one word. “Sweatpants.”
A slow smile creased his face and made his eyes gleam. “Mine too, Gabriella. Let’s get out of here.”
“I don’t believe you even own sweatpants.”
“Not true. I have all the latest designers’ versions in every color, like any prince should.”
“Now you’re making fun of me. I wasn’t saying you wouldn’t have any because you’re a prince, it’s because...because...oh, never mind.” He might have been saying sweet and complimentary things about her all night, but it still felt strange to tell him what she’d been thinking. Which was that he exuded a regal confidence all too well suited by the tuxedo he wore. Then again, that same presence filled any room he was in at the clinic, even wearing scrubs, so clearly it had nothing to do with what he wore.
Or what he didn’t.
Shocked at the sudden fantasy of what he might look like naked, which she sort of, kind of almost knew, she pinched her lips closed so she wouldn’t say anything completely embarrassing as he opened the car door. So focused on her thoughts and, well, truthfully, on him and his sheer, breathtaking masculinity as he held her hand, she barely noticed the dozens of flashbulbs lighting the night. His big body shielded her from the cameras as he tucked her into his car before sliding into the driver’s seat.
“Seat belt on?” The engine roared to life as he turned the key in the ignition, pausing to look at her with one eyebrow quirked.
“Yes.”
“Good.” The car rolled slowly forward for about ten feet, then took off like a rocket down the curve and onto the main road.
THE GROWLING SPORTS car’s sudden acceleration shoved Gabby back into the sumptuously curved leather seat, and she gasped then chuckled. “You must be in a hurry to get into those sweatpants.”
He didn’t answer. Just looked at her with that glint in his eyes. A gaze so unnerving she felt like he might be seeing something clear down in her soul she didn’t want him to see. He was close, so close to her inside the small confines of the car it seemed he’d sucked every bit of oxygen completely out of the space, making it very hard to breathe.
“Um, you’re making me nervous,” she finally said. “If you’re looking at me, that means you’re not looking at the road, and if I have to die, I want equal billing in the headlines.”
“Equal billing?” His gaze finally moved to the road, and she let out a relieved breath. “What do you mean?”
“You know, instead of ‘Prince Rafael Moreno and some other person die in car crash,’ I’d like to at least get ‘Joe Schmoe and Gabby Cain plunge into a canyon to their deaths.’”
He laughed. “And here I would have thought you didn’t crave publicity, like most of our patients do.”
“I’m kidding, of course. Believe me, the last thing I would ever want is my name splashed in the papers for any reason.” Not that it would ever happen to her. But she’d seen enough times when patients got publicity they’d originally wanted, only to have it result in reporters digging deep into details of their lives they didn’t want shared.
“I’ve been in the media since the day I was born. You get used to it.”
“I didn’t get what that might be like, not really, until all those cameras flashed in my face. It may be just a part of life for people like you and Cameron Fontaine, but I bet it’s still not fun.” And suddenly it struck her that someone just might want to put a name to her face. Some unknown woman attending tonight’s party with a Mediterranean prince. Her stomach tightened at the thought, until she remembered that Freya had made a big, public deal out of her being a midwife at The Hollywood Hills Clinic. Surely that’s all they would report. Probably no one would feel a need to look beyond that.
The car ground to a halt against the curb in front of her apartment. Rafael turned off the engine and the sudden quiet seemed to ring in her ears along with her rapid heartbeat. He had that look in his eyes again. The one he’d had all evening, as though he thought she was special. Beautiful, which he’d said, but men so often didn’t mean what they said, she knew. Sometimes their words were a thoughtless, casual compliment, or a tactic to get sex, or a way to distract a woman from starting important conversations.
And yet when Rafael complimented her, it didn’t feel like any of those things. It struck her that, other than the appreciation she often got from her patients, she hadn’t felt special to anyone in a very long time.
The last time she had, it had proven to be a mirage. Evaporating when she’d messed up so badly. Her mistake had broken her heart. Then, along with being heartbroken, she’d been suddenly alone, just when she’d needed support and love more than at any other time in her life.
She drew in a breath, shoved the pain of those negative memories aside, and stomped on them for good measure. Wasn’t she Cinderella, just for tonight? Maybe she didn’t really deserve happiness, but this evening Rafael had made her feel wonderful and carefree, and she wasn’t quite ready for the evening, and those good feelings, to end.
“Would you...like to come in for coffee?”
The eyes that seemed to be studying her with questions in them warmed, crinkling at the corners as he smiled. “I’d like that very much.”
Once inside, she ushered him to sit down, and her belly quivered with a maelstrom of nerves and excitement. She’d lived in L.A. for two years but had never had even one man in her apartment. There’d been good reason for that, and there still was, but tonight was a fairy tale, right? One evening before her life went back to normal at midnight.
“Feel free to change into those sweats so you’re more comfortable,” he said, slipping off his tuxedo jacket and settling himself onto one side of her sofa. “I would if I could.”
She watched his long, tanned fingers pull the end of his bow tie, sliding it off before slowly unbuttoning his top shirt buttons, revealing a bronzed throat. Then realized she was just standing there motionless, practically mooning over the man.
Yep. Tuxedo libido all right.
“I think I’ll do that. Be right back.”
Alone in her room, she felt a twinge of regret at having to take off the dress that had made her feel like she was floating as they’d danced around the ballroom. But it would feel silly, not to mention uncomfortable, to be sitting in her living room in a long gown. As she slid off her clothes, the brief thought of Rafael walking into her room and sweeping her into his arms shortened her breath, but at the same time she laughed at herself. Definitely too much fairy-tale fantasy going on in her head tonight! One thing she was sure of—arrogant or not, playboy reputation or not, he wasn’t the