He too must have felt that audible little zap because he grunted softly and his eyes narrowed speculatively before he gingerly turned her hand over to inspect her scraped palm. She barely heard him rasp, “You’re hurt,” over the blood rushing through her ears.
The hand engulfing hers was large and tanned with long, surprisingly elegant fingers that drew her fascinated gaze even as they sent tingles rolling over her skin. Then his thumb was brushing gently over her scraped palm and the tingles became a raging firestorm of sensation that shot directly to her breasts and…well…further south.
Her eyes widened. Oh…oh, wow. What the heck was that? “It’s n-nothing,” she managed to croak, both to herself and him, before sliding her hand from his when she realized her mouth had dropped open and she was on the verge of babbling. She scooted back a little and sucked in a shaky breath, averting her face in the hope that he couldn’t read her turmoil. Because, well…darn…The last time she’d been this flustered had been in the seventh grade when Jimmy Richards had caught her drawing hearts and flowers around his name.
Absently rubbing her tingling palm against her thigh, she stared at the jumble of her belongings and wondered what the heck she was supposed to be doing. It was only when she saw a half-eaten candy bar that she snapped to attention and began stuffing everything she could lay her hands on into her purse.
Holy cow. Where had all this stuff come from? She couldn’t even remember having seen half of it before. Certainly not the gold pen or the roll of mints. And how many hairbrushes did one person need, anyway?
She left him to gather up her textbooks, study notes and stethoscope, thinking there was nothing in her briefcase that could embarrass her—until she remembered the old before-and-after photographs of herself that she kept as a reminder of why she was doing P&R.
Whipping around, Holly was relieved to see that the photos were nowhere in sight, but the guy was holding aloft a small foil square she hadn’t even known she had. And if it was hers, it had to be at least two years old. Maybe even older.
Holly tried to look innocent, but it seemed the guy had an evil streak because he lifted a brow over gleaming blue-green eyes and drawled, “Medium?”
Oh, God, really? He was going to comment on the size?
“Keep it,” she croaked. “Most condoms have a shelf life of four years, anyway. As long as you keep them in a cool, dry place.” And nothing could be cooler or drier than the bottom of her briefcase, especially the past couple of years when she’d been focusing on the P&R fellowship and not relationships.
His grin turned wicked, deepening that dimple in his cheek. “Way too small,” he said innocently, as though they were discussing a pair of shoes and not a freaking condom. He tilted his head and squinted at the printing on the back. “Besides, I think this one’s already a year and a half past that four-year shelf-life date you were talking about.”
Her face heated and she mentally rolled her eyes. Way to let a hot guy know your sex life is non-existent, Holly. She groaned silently and reached out with a growled “Just give it here,” before tossing the package in the wall-mounted trash bin. For a couple of beats he stared at the stainless-steel receptacle then turned to her with a level look.
“You know someone is going to find that and use it, don’t you?” He shook his head at her. “How do you think you’ll feel knowing you had a hand—even unwittingly—in an unplanned pregnancy?”
“Ohmigod,” Holly burst out, wondering if the torture of this day would ever end and what she’d done to deserve it. “Fine!” She opened the lid and fished it out, shuddering when her fingers encountered something sticky. She shoved the errant condom into her pocket and glared at him challengingly. The unspoken words Are you happy now? vibrated in the air between them.
Eyes crinkling at the corners, he rose to his feet and offered her a hand but Holly ignored it and scrambled up—all embarrassing items finally hidden, thank God—before accepting her briefcase from him with a strangled mutter of thanks.
She was careful not to let their hands touch. Her body was buzzing with enough electricity to light up Manhattan for a day—and she hadn’t even had her coffee yet.
Fortunately, the elevator dinged its arrival at her floor and when the doors opened she escaped, hoping she never saw him again. Just before the doors slid closed he called out a friendly “Don’t forget to replace that condom, it’s the responsible thing to do.”
A few people heard and sent her curious looks but Holly ignored them, stomping down the passageway and muttering about not being responsible for her actions when it came to hot smartasses. It was only when she passed a startled nurse pushing a bassinet that she realized she was on the twentieth floor and not the twenty-second.
Muttering to herself, she changed direction and headed for the stairs, resigned to the fact that she was nearly fifteen minutes late for her meeting.
The moment she slipped into the boardroom she felt the eyes of every person in the room turn to watch her entrance, including the laser-blue stare of the chief of surgical residents, Professor Gareth Langley. Flushing, she ducked her head and murmured an apology, and slipped into the only open chair around the huge oval table.
Fortunately, with the day she was having, she wasn’t scheduled for any surgery. She’d probably slice and dice her fingers—or worse.
Without looking up, she drew the nearest folder closer and opened it, knowing she would find the new surgical schedule. There were other pages inside but Holly ignored them and quickly scanned the list, sighing her relief when she saw that she was scheduled for a number of procedures with Dr. Lin Syu and two with the head of plastic surgery, Dr. Geoff Hunt.
She lifted her lashes and caught Lin Syu’s quick smile before she transferred her attention to the head of P&R, who was—oh, joy—looking right at her. She flushed beneath his questioning look and bit her lip but after a brief nod in her direction and a dry “Now that Dr. Buchanan has finally joined us…” Geoff Hunt turned away, shoving his hands into the pockets of his perfectly creased pants as he rocked back on his heels. “Perhaps we can get to the real reason Professor Langley is here this morning.”
Now that the heat was off her, Holly let out a silent breath and relaxed into her chair, only half listening as Langley rose and began talking about the proposed expansion of the P&R department and the upcoming charity ball. It was a subject that he’d brought up before and one that Holly’s mother—as CEO of Chrysalis Foundation—was involved in.
The Chrysalis Foundation worked solely for children and young people who needed plastic or reconstruction surgery but had no way of paying for the expensive procedures. It was also an organization her mother had started after Holly’s own traumatic experiences.
Half listening, she let her gaze slide around the table but it came to an abrupt halt the instant she locked on a pair of amused blue-green eyes that were shockingly familiar. For the second time that morning—and it wasn’t even nine a.m.—Holly felt the breath leave her lungs.
Her head went light, her stomach cramped and she thanked God she was sitting down because there in the chair next to Langley’s was none other than…elevator guy.
Oh, God.
Her tongue emerged to moisten suddenly dry lips, and she wished she could grab the nearby water jug and drown herself before anyone noticed.
One eyebrow rose up his forehead and all Holly could think was… Who the heck is he?
Realizing she was staring at him all wide-eyed and open-mouthed, Holly jerked her gaze away to stare unseeingly at the columns of numbers on the screen, her mind racing