The Millionaire's Cinderella. Anne Marie Winston
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shoulder toward the board listings. “We have an OB admit brought in by a nurse from the birthing center.”
“Where is she?”
“The patient?”
No, the pope, Rio wanted to say but kept his frustration in check. “Yeah, the patient.”
“In Room 3 with the nurse.”
“The nurse?”
Carl shrugged. “She won’t leave until she knows what’s up. Common practice when midwives are involved.”
That didn’t surprise Rio at all. In fact, he was immediately reminded of his mother.
Forcing himself into action, Rio headed down the corridor and noticed a slight woman dressed in jeans and a sweatshirt standing outside his destination. She studied the toe of her sneaker, her arms folded across her chest.
Although he couldn’t make out her features, Rio was hit with a sense of familiarity. Strange, since he was certain they’d never met, but he couldn’t escape the belief that he knew her from somewhere.
His steps slowed. Something about her reminded him of another woman standing alone in one corner of a crowded ballroom, seeming as if she’d been trying to blend into the background. But Rio had noticed her immediately. When midnight rolled around, and no one had claimed her for the traditional kiss, he’d spontaneously stepped into the role.
Why he’d done it, he couldn’t exactly say. Maybe because she had seemed so lost and out of place among the medical icons and their wives. Maybe because she’d looked so beautiful yet lonely and he could relate to that. But the way she’d responded to his kiss had made him consider taking her to his bed to welcome in the new year—until she ran away. In truth, she’d been in his bed since that night, if only in his imagination.
He studied this particular woman as he continued forward, doubts creeping in with every step. No way this could be her. He couldn’t be that lucky twice. Besides, the woman he’d kissed had been dressed in blue satin, her hair pinned up into a fashionable style, her face carefully made up to suit the occasion, anything but nondescript.
Then the midwife looked up. Dark lashes outlined her vibrant blue eyes devoid of makeup, her fair skin a direct contrast to the dark spiraling curls framing her face. She looked as if she’d stepped right out of a soap commercial, all natural, attractive, appealing in an unpretentious way. Still, he couldn’t get past those expressive eyes that now studied him with only mild curiosity, not surprise or anything that would indicate she knew him. But he got the distinct feeling that he did, in fact, know her.
It didn’t matter, Rio decided. Tonight he had to play the professional. Tonight he was the obstetrician, and she the midwife. It sure as hell wasn’t a good time to get personal, even if it turned out that she happened to be his New Year’s temptress. Even if he did have something that belonged to her. Something he’d been carrying around for the past three days, futilely trying to find its owner. And now he was fairly sure he’d found her.
When she didn’t acknowledge him, he reached around her, slipped the metal chart from the holder and opened it to check the notes. “Are you with Mrs. Gonzales?”
“Yes, I am.”
Rio couldn’t help but react to her floral scent, her closeness, the stubborn memories of a kiss that wouldn’t get out of his head. He looked up from the chart and met her noncommittal expression. “And you are?”
“Joanna Blake. I’m with the birthing center.”
Rio took the hand she offered, noting the smooth texture and how fragile it felt in his palm. “I’m Dr. Madrid.” For some reason he was reluctant to let her go.
She pulled her hand from his grasp. “Nice to meet you.”
He studied the chart again but couldn’t quite focus. The more he looked at her, the more certain he was that this could be his unidentified angel. “Tell me about Mrs. Gonzales.”
“She came to the center and presented with excessive vaginal bleeding. She’s a gravida 2, para 1, abortus 1.”
Rio rubbed his chin. “Three pregnancies and one live birth and this one. What happened with the other pregnancy?”
“First trimester miscarriage about two years ago. This time, she’s had an uneventful gestation. No significant problems.”
“Well, it looks like she has some now.” He flipped the chart closed and held it against his chest. “Did you examine her cervix?”
She frowned. “Of course not. I think we both know that an internal examination could exacerbate her bleeding.”
Her adamant tone, the fire in her eyes, intrigued him. Excited him, even. “Just making sure.”
Frustration passed over her once-guarded expression. “Dr. Madrid, I’m trained to recognize problematic signs. That’s why I came here with her, to make sure my patient receives the best care.”
“I wasn’t questioning your judgment.”
“Yes, you were.”
Actually, he was. He’d seen his share of births go badly in nonhospital settings—one in particular. For that reason, he couldn’t seem to stop his concern over nontraditional methods, even though they were becoming readily accepted in the medical community. “Consider me overly cautious, okay? Now do we stand here in the hall and continue our conversation, or do we go see about our patient?”
For a second he thought she might smile but it didn’t quite take. “Yes. But first I think you should know that Mr. Gonzales knows only a little English and Mrs. Gonzales knows next to none. If you’d like for me to interpret —”
“I can hold my own in the Spanish department, Ms. Blake.”
A slight blush stained her porcelain cheeks. “Okay, then.” She made a sweeping gesture toward the open door. “After you, Doctor.”
He couldn’t resist rattling her chain a little. “I would say ladies first, but I’m thinking you might slug me.”
“I’m thinking you might be right.”
Finally, she smiled, and then he knew for certain. She was the woman who’d marched through his mind for the past three days. The woman who’d run away from him at midnight. His reluctant Cinderella.
Obviously he didn’t recognize her. That shouldn’t matter to Joanna, but for some reason it did. If she looked at it logically, there was no reason why he should remember. It had been dark in the ballroom, and she’d been dressed up. Still, she couldn’t ignore the little twinge of hurt.
But she had to ignore it. Mrs. Gonzales’s well-being should be first and foremost in her mind, not Rio Madrid. At least the doctor seemed genuinely concerned for the woman. He spoke in perfect Spanish, his voice gentle and compassionate as he performed the ultrasound.
While he worked, Joanna took the opportunity to study him. He looked much the same as he had that night—darkly handsome, but his suit had been replaced by a blue scrub top that covered faded jeans, and the diamond stud in his earlobe exchanged for a small gold loop. His slick dark hair was still pulled back and secured at his neck, allowing Joanna to look her fill at his face in the glare of fluorescent lights—a chiseled face with a finely honed nose, high cheekbones and a granite jaw. And oh, that mouth. She recalled his soft lips, how gentle and breathtaking that kiss had been.
Her gaze dropped to his strong hands that had pressed against her back, held her close, made her melt. He might not look like a conventional doctor, but he was one fine masterpiece of a man. Even his name sounded striking. Rio Madrid…
“Okay, that does it.”
The doctor-in-question’s declaration forced Joanna back into the situation at hand, and her thoughts back onto her patient. The fear in Mr. and Mrs. Gonzales’s faces had lessened until Dr. Madrid began to explain the findings from the ultrasound.