He was still looking at her, seemingly waiting for her to reply, and suddenly—desperately—she wanted to say the right thing; wished she knew what the right response was. Wished she could smile and soothe the hurt she was sure she’d seen in his eyes.
“Well,” she said slowly. “That was patently unfair, but pregnant women—especially those expecting their first child—aren’t always known for their rationality.”
She risked a little smile, and was relieved and unreasonably happy when those stern lips relaxed into an answering tilt: not quite a smile, but enough.
“Hormones running rampant, as you men are quick to point out.”
That brought a wider smile, and Nychelle laughed quietly, before turning away from the magnetic pull of his grin.
“I won’t tell anyone you said something so blatantly sexist, Nurse Cory. It’ll be our secret.”
The laughter in his voice lightened her mood more, even as the rich baritone trickled like liquid sin down her spine. Suddenly she was glad she didn’t have to work with him too often. Now she understood what the other nurses were talking about, why they gazed at him like lost puppies whenever he passed by.
“I appreciate your tact, Dr. Warmington.”
She said it briskly and, her face still warmer than she’d like, she beat a hasty retreat before her own hormones went from simply gadding happily about in her system to having an actual full-on dance party.
He was too sexy for his own good—and hers.
* * *
Still smiling, David swiped a hand through his hair as the door closed behind Nychelle Cory. If anyone had told him he would smile after attending to a patient who might be losing her first child to miscarriage—especially one who seemed determined to blame her husband if it happened—he’d have said they were demented. It cut too close to home, brought the pain and regret that still haunted him after all these years into sharp focus.
If he closed his eyes he knew he’d instantly be able to bring Kitty’s face to mind, see the anger and near hatred glittering in her eyes, hear the blame she’d spewed at him before walking out of their home and his life.
That wasn’t something he dwelled on often; he knew she’d been devastated by the loss of their child, had lashed out at him as the only available target. But to have a patient come in at this time of the year, when the memories were so close to the surface anyway... Usually he’d be hard-pressed not to be overwhelmed by them, but now, instead, he clung to Nychelle’s warmth and kept smiling.
Just seeing the nurse practitioner buzzing around the clinic, dispensing that wide, sunny grin like instant relief medication, always gave him pleasure. This was one of the few times they’d interacted directly, but that was his own fault. When they’d first met, looking into those dark, gleaming eyes, seeing her gorgeous smile, had sent a sensation like an electric shock through his body, and he’d known immediately she was a woman to stay away from.
Agonizing memories were overshadowed by more enjoyable ones, and he closed his eyes, pictured Nychelle as he’d first seen her. Her hair had been pulled back into a simple bun, which had only emphasized the beauty of her oval face, her wide-set eyes and sweet, full mouth. Her smooth dark skin had been set off to perfection by a silky sunshine-yellow top that had done nothing to camouflage the high, rounded breasts beneath it, and her smart linen pants had showcased the rest of her glorious curves.
As far as he’d come from his rural roots, and as many lovely women as he’d met, something about Nychelle Cory had regressed him to the stuttering idiot he’d been in junior high school. She was intelligent and beautiful: the kind of woman men fantasized about finding and cherishing forever.
Making a family with.
But going down that road again wasn’t an option he wanted even to contemplate. Having children was a dream that had died for him, and he didn’t dare reawaken it. So, even if he was feeling that instinctive pull toward her, the smartest thing to do was to stay far away.
Painful memories threatened once more, the agony almost as sharp as it had been all those years ago. With a curse, David pulled his thoughts back from that precipice and reached for the tablet on his desk. He had notes to finish and an appointment due to begin any moment.
Yet his eyes strayed one more time to the door, and he remembered seeing Nychelle wiping away a tear as he came into the office. Apparently he wasn’t the only one affected by their shared patient, and the knowledge of her tenderheartedness tugged at something deep in his chest.
Cursing again, he turned his attention to the digital device in his hand, determinedly putting all thoughts of the delectable nurse practitioner out of his head.
“THIS COUNTRY HAS been so good to me, and it is my pleasure to be able to give back in some small way.”
Crowded around the raised stage at the front of the school auditorium, the assembled doctors, nurse practitioners, RNs, medical and nursing students listened respectfully to Dr. Hamatty’s pep talk.
It was a great turn-out, and Nychelle was cautiously confident that they were fully prepared for the influx of children who, brought by their parents, would soon be streaming in for the pediatric clinic. It had taken months of intense work by all the committee members to pull it together, but with Dr. Hamatty’s connections they had assembled all the equipment and personnel they needed.
She’d been on site the evening before, helping to supervise the setting up of field hospital cubicles and examination tables, and directing the placement of diagnostic machines and dispensary. The Lauderlakes free clinics were famous for their quality of care—a point of pride for Dr. Hamatty, his staff and associates. Even the older, more established doctors turned out to lend their talents when time permitted.
In the middle of the group, Nychelle split her attention between the familiar speech and the conversation scrolling across her phone.
How much longer before you know for sure?
Aliya had added an excited face emoji for emphasis, making Nychelle smile. Anyone meeting her cousin in her guise as a rising young oncology researcher would never guess the depth of Aliya’s silly side.
Already told you, another week and a half. Asking every day isn’t going to speed up the process!
Are you going to cheat?
Nychelle smiled, shaking her head at how well her cousin knew her. The thought of buying one of those early detection pregnancy tests and taking it a couple of days before her next appointment had crossed her mind.
No. It would be like tempting fate.
A quick check found that Dr. Hamatty was at the point where he spoke about coming to the States as a child. His family had been poor, unable to speak proper English, and suffering the effects of the war-torn situation they’d left behind. After telling the story of how he’d got to where he was, he’d wrap it up and they’d all take their places, ready for the deluge of patients. He’d be another five, maybe seven minutes, she estimated.
Just enough time to finish her conversation with Aliya.
Without more than a glance at her phone, she typed her message.
Have you told your mom you won’t be at the gala?
Yes. She’s not amused, but agreed work had to come first.
Pursing her lips, Nychelle replied.
Not surprising at all.
To Dr. Monique Girvan work always came first. There had been a time when Nychelle had resented her mother for rarely being around, for putting her career advancement before everything else, up to and including her children.