Christy groaned inwardly. He would be a big draw because she couldn’t imagine anyone who wouldn’t be willing to fork out money to see the straitlaced, cool, and collected Lincoln Maguire cut loose on the dance floor. More importantly, because it was a known fact that he didn’t date, everyone would want to speculate about the lucky woman he’d chosen to be his partner.
His thoughts obviously ran along the same track because he shot a warning glare in her direction before he spoke to Denise. “You’re giving me far too much credit—”
“Nonsense.” She clapped her hands softly in her excitement. “This is going to be great. The committee will love this idea. I can’t wait to tell them—”
“Stop right there,” he ordered in his most authoritative voice.
No one moved. Christy didn’t even breathe because she suddenly had a feeling of impending doom as he pinned her with his gaze.
“If you’re penciling me on the list,” he said firmly, “I have a couple of conditions. One, if you have more volunteers than you can accommodate, my name will be the first to be removed.”
Denise frowned, but, apparently recognizing his tone brooked no argument, she nodded. “Okay. Not a problem.”
“Second, in the event that doesn’t happen—and I suspect someone will make sure that it doesn’t,” he added dryly, “Christy must agree to be my partner.”
Everyone’s heads turned toward her in a perfectly choreographed motion. Expressions ranged from surprise to curiosity and a few were also speculative.
“You want … what?” Christy asked hoarsely. He might be her best friend’s brother-in-law, but that wasn’t a solid connection to warrant such a request. After all, they’d only been at Gail and Tyler’s house together on two occasions and they’d hardly spoken to each other.
“To be my partner.”
This wasn’t supposed to happen. “Why me?” she asked.
He raised an eyebrow. “This was your idea,” he reminded her. “It’s only fair that you participate, too.”
He had a point, although if she had her choice, she’d pick someone who complemented her, not someone who was vinegar to her oil. While in the hospital they’d dealt with each other amicably over the past two years—he gave orders and she carried them out—but in the private atmosphere of Gail’s home their differences had been highlighted. As a man who prided himself on control and self-restraint, she’d seen how he didn’t appreciate her outspoken and sometimes impulsive nature.
Neither would she delude herself into believing he’d set his condition with romantic motives in mind. According to Gail, her brother-in-law had mapped out his life so carefully that he wasn’t allowing for a wife until he was forty, and as he still had two or three years until then, his work was his mistress.
“Unless, of course, you object,” he added smoothly, if not a trifle smugly, as if he expected her to refuse so she could provide his get-out-of-jail-free card.
She didn’t blame him for thinking that. It was no secret she wasn’t interested in a romance any more than he was, but while his excuse was because his work consumed his life, her reasons were entirely different.
However, he’d issued a challenge and she was living proof that she didn’t back down from one. If dusting off her dancing shoes and practicing her two-step meant the workaholic, type A personality Dr Maguire would participate in a night of fun and frivolity, then she’d do it.
She shrugged. “Okay, fine with me.”
“Good,” Denise said. “It’s settled.”
“I don’t know how settled this is.” He sounded doubtful and hopeful at the same time. “Won’t the committee, as a whole, have to approve the idea first?”
“Trust me, they’re going to love the concept,” the older woman assured him. “I can already think of fifty ways to promote the event and guarantee a brilliant turnout. Now, I’m off. Hold the fort while I’m gone, people, so that means everyone back to work!”
The crowd dispersed, but Christy hardly noticed. Dr Maguire—Linc, as Gail affectionately called him—sat in his chair, arms crossed, as he drilled her with his gaze.
A weaker woman would have quaked under his piercing stare, but she’d stared death in the face and Linc Maguire wasn’t nearly as intimidating. Still, she felt a little uncomfortable as she waited for him to speak. From the way he worked his jaw and frowned periodically, he obviously had trouble verbalizing his thoughts.
“Dancing with the Doctors?” he finally asked, his expression so incredulous she wanted to laugh, but knew she shouldn’t. “Was that the best you could do?”
She shrugged, relieved that he seemed more stunned than angry, at least at this point. “On short notice, yes. However, from everyone’s response, the idea was a hit.”
“It was something all right,” he grumbled. “If I were you, I’d pray the committee thinks it’s ridiculous and dreams up another plan.”
“I don’t think Dancing with the Docs is so bad,” she protested. “You have to admit the concept is unusual. We’ve never done anything like this before.”
“We haven’t had an old-fashioned box supper or a kissing booth either,” he pointed out. “It doesn’t mean we should start now.”
Unbidden, her gaze landed on his mouth. To her, it was perfect with the bottom lip just a little wider than the top. No doubt there was a host of other women who’d agree.
Oddly enough, it only seemed natural for her gaze to travel lower, down his neck to a sculpted chest that even the shapeless scrub top and white undershirt didn’t disguise. His skin was tan, and dark hair covered his muscular arms, indicating that somewhere in his busy schedule he found time to work out on a regular basis.
Oh, my. And she was going to be in his arms, pressed against that chest, in front of hundreds of people? Maybe she should start praying the committee wouldn’t be interested in her idea. Better yet, she could pray for enough physicians to volunteer so the team of Maguire and Michaels would be excused from the lineup.
She swallowed hard. “It’s for a good cause,” she said lamely.
“Tell yourself that when you’re nursing a few broken toes,” he mumbled darkly.
His expression reminded her more of a sullen little boy than a confident surgeon and it made her chuckle. “You don’t dance?”
He shook his head. “Other than a slow shuffle? No.”
She wasn’t surprised. In her view, Lincoln Maguire was too controlled and tightly wound to ever do anything as uninhibited as gliding around a dance floor in step to the music. However, she was curious about his reasons.
“You surely practiced a few steps for your senior prom, didn’t you?”
He blinked once, as if she’d caught him off guard. “I didn’t go. The girl I’d asked turned me down.”
Remorse hit her again. She hadn’t intended to embarrass him, or trigger bad memories. “I’m sorry.”
“I’m not,” he said, matter-of-factly. “We were just good friends and she was waiting for a buddy of mine to dredge up the courage to ask her himself. As soon as I knew her feelings leaned in his direction, I told him and the rest, as they say, is history. In fact, they celebrated their twelve-year anniversary this year.”
“Talk about being versatile,” she teased. “You’re a surgeon and a matchmaker.”
He grinned. “Don’t be too impressed. They