In her reluctance to reveal the true purpose of her visit to anyone except Greg Hamilton himself, she had told the receptionist and the nurse she was here for a physical. All she had to do was stick with that story. This would be simple. A piece of cake, really.
She thanked her lucky stars that she and Pricilla had different fathers, hence different last names. The doctor didn’t know her. Had never met her. So there was no reason why he would link the mousy-haired woman sitting in his examining room now with the blond, blue-eyed, gorgeous bombshell that was Pricilla. The logical voice in her head made getting out of this situation unscathed sound so terribly easy.
Nervously running her tongue over her dry lips, Jane tried to make sense of these rash, chaotic thoughts.
Lying is for cheats and swindlers, another part of her brain argued.
Not all liars were bad, the stern voice stressed. Look at poets and song writers, novelists and playwrights. They fabricated stories every single day. They made up people, places, events.
But that was solely for entertainment purposes, her rational side reasoned.
No, the stern voice pointed out, it was for survival. And that’s just what you need to do right now. Survive. So you’d better lie like there’s no tomorrow.
Greg leaned his weight on one elbow, his forehead in his hand, and stared unseeingly at the medical history page in front of him. The woman’s blood pressure was fine. Her weight was perfect for her height. Yet he still continued to stare at the page.
As inconspicuously as possible, he inhaled a huge breath of air, and then expelled it slowly. When he’d entered the room and looked into Jane Dale’s face, it was as if he’d been kicked in the chest by a mule. She seemed so…haunted. He was almost positive her ailment wasn’t physical.
Her gray-blue eyes were clouded. Intense. Desperate.
It didn’t take a medical degree to clearly see that she’d had at least one sleepless night. And from the look of the dark smudges on the porcelain skin under her eyes, she hadn’t slept well for days. Something deep inside him stirred.
Instinct had urged him to reach for her, hug her to him. Give her the comfort she so obviously needed. However, that would have been behavior of the most unprofessional kind. So he’d made an excuse out of studying the few facts he had about her. Height. Weight. Blood pressure. Temperature.
Truth was, he needed to put some space between them. To get a grip on himself. His reaction to Jane Dale had taken him completely by surprise.
He was sure his new attitude about women was to blame. He’d really been shaken when Pricilla had shown up with Joy. The past week with his daughter had been hard. Oh, boy, had it ever been! But being a father had also been like having a small piece of heaven dropped right into his lap.
Yet, it was the situation—his having made Pricilla pregnant over a year and a half ago and him without a clue that it had happened—that had totally altered his thinking where women were concerned. Had he really been so callous, so careless, that he could have made a woman pregnant and not known about it? His whole outlook on life had been shattered.
He gave the woman a surreptitious glance, wondering what on earth was troubling her. Only one way to find out. Straightening his spine, he turned to face her. “So what can I do for you today?”
“A physical.”
Her answer was rushed, her tone curt, and that made Greg all the more intrigued by this delicate-looking woman.
He automatically reached for his stethoscope. “Have you been feeling okay lately?”
“Oh, yes,” she assured him. “I’m not sick or anything. But I need a physical.” Almost as an afterthought, she quickly added, “For a job.”
“Ah, so you’re starting a new job.” A little doctor-patient dialogue might help him find out something about her, something about her life-style…her troubles.
“Well…” She hesitated. “I don’t have a job yet. I’m new in town. But I plan to be working soon. I’ve got to be. To pay for a place to live. The hotel where I’m staying isn’t cheap.”
He smiled. “Welcome to Philadelphia. What type of job are you looking for?”
As he spoke, he moved toward her with the metallic diaphragm of the stethoscope outstretched. And he was taken aback when she leaned away from him.
“I just need to take a quick listen to your heart and lungs,” he explained, hoping to put her at ease.
Those huge cloud-gray eyes of hers slid away from his gaze, but she remained still while he slipped the diaphragm between the facings of her blouse and pressed it to her chest.
Her skin was like warm satin against his fingertips, and the lacy edge of her bra had him averting his own gaze toward the far corner of the small cubicle.
What was the matter with him? He caught glimpses of people’s underclothing all day long. Seeing a bit of lace during an examination had never flustered him before. But he was sure flustered now. In fact, he was so disconcerted by his reaction to this woman that he hoped his hands didn’t begin to shake. This was crazy!
Occupy your mind. Let routine take over.
Conversation. That’s what he needed. Get lost in some small talk.
He realized then that she hadn’t answered his question regarding what kind of job she was seeking.
“I see you as…maybe…an elementary schoolteacher?”
Jane Dale actually smiled at his out-of-the-blue guess, and her whole face was transformed by the expression. The edges of her mouth softened. Even the anxiety in her gaze seemed to relent just a little.
She was pretty. In a natural kind of way. A natural beauty. That’s how Greg would describe her.
However, rather than taking note of her looks, he knew he should be focusing on her physical health. Period.
“I do love kids,” she said wistfully. “But I’m not a teacher.”
“A photographer, then,” he suggested. “Or a bank manager. A nurse. A cement truck driver?”
“A what?” There was laughter in her voice, despite whatever turmoil was plaguing her.
Greg thought he’d never heard a more beautiful sound. “Hey, this is a new millennium. Women can do and be whatever they want.”
Her smile faltered. “Well…if you say so.”
There it was again. That haunted expression shadowing those unusual gray-blue eyes.
Pressing his fingers to either side of her long, slender throat, he felt the left and right lobes of her thyroid gland, and at the same time he wondered what it would be like to press his lips against the silky length of her neck. The thought made his heart trip in his chest.
“So what do you want to be when you grow up,” he asked, his tone unwittingly dropping to a soft murmur as he forced the sexy image of him kissing her from his mind’s eye.
“Does that really matter? What I am is a plain old waitress.”
There’s nothing plain or old about you, Jane Dale. I just wish I could get into your head. Find out what it is that’s troubling you so.
The thoughts came out of nowhere and nearly made him step back away from her. But he quelled the reaction and made yet another silent vow to keep these very inappropriate thoughts at bay.
Being a doctor often meant more than simply finding a cure for his patient’s physical ills. Often, he had to delve into a person’s psyche. Get into the mind to try to discover what worries might be harrying a person and adding to their suffering.
What