Главная страница | Современные любовные романы | Taming the Playboy

Taming the Playboy
Marie Ferrarella
The bachelor and the blonde.When he rescued Vienna Hollenbeck and her grandfather from a fiery car wreck, Georges Armand wasn’t prepared for his reaction to the petite blonde. Vienna aroused his most protective instincts. And that didn’t include the effect she was having on his libido. An accident might have brought the sexy doctor into Vienna’s life, but she was no pushover. Falling for this handsome hero was a prescription for heartache.Unless she could show him that they shared something truly precious: the kind of love that comes along only once in a lifetime…


“I’m very resilient, Doctor.”
He looked at her for a long moment, curbing the desire to lose his fingers in her hair. “That sounds like it has a story behind it.”
She raised her eyes to his. “It does.”
“But you’re not going to share it,” Georges guessed after a beat.
“Not tonight.” And then she smiled, adding, “Not until I know you better.”
They had future stamped all over them. It surprised him to realise that he rather savoured the unspoken implication.
There were no alarms, no warning bells. Instead, he found himself wondering about the woman beside him. Wondering and wanting to know things about her. Wanting to fill in the myriad of blanks dancing in front of him.
“Something to look forward to,” he said to her. It earned him another smile. One that seemed to burrow right smack into the middle of his chest.
To
Patience Smith
and
Gail Chasan
who make writing
the pleasure it should be.
MARIE FERRARELLA
This USA TODAY bestselling and RITA
Award-winning author has written over one hundred and fifty novels, some under the name Marie Nicole. Her romances are beloved by fans worldwide. Visit her website at www.marieferrarella.com.

Dear Reader,
Welcome!
Meet outgoing Georges Armand, a hunky fourth-year surgical resident who is both charming and skilful. Georges comes into our heroine’s life by being a hero. Literally. He rescues both her and her grandfather from a car accident. Then, if that isn’t enough, he performs CPR on her grandfather, whose heart has stopped. He brings Amos’s heart around, but nearly stops Vienna’s because he seems to be just too good to be true. And that, dear reader, is what makes our heroine just a bit leery and keeps her from falling head over heels for the handsome young surgeon. Getting her to intimately trust him, and discovering that perhaps he has finally met his once-in-a-lifetime woman, is the journey of self-discovery Georges finds himself on. With very satisfying results.
As always, I thank you for reading and I wish you someone to love who loves you back.
Marie Ferrarella

Taming the Playboy
MARIE FERRARELLA

www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
Chapter One
The piercing screech of brakes with its accompanying teeth-jarring squeal of tires had Georges Armand tensing, bracing for what he thought was the inevitable impact.
His breath stopped in his lungs.
The unpredictability of life was something that never ceased to amaze him. Given his background and his present vocation, the opposite should have been true.
Georges Armand was the second son of the colorful, exceedingly flamboyant Lily Moreau, a living legend in the art community, both for her talent and her lifestyle. To say that his formative years had been unorthodox was like referring to the Civil War as a slight misunderstanding between two sections of the country. It was true, but a vast understatement. With his mother flittering in and out of his life like warm rays of sporadic sunshine, the one stable thing Georges could always count on was his brother, Philippe Zabelle. The rest of his world seemed to be in constant flux.
A fourth-year medical resident at Blair Memorial, his choice of career, general internal surgeon, also placed him in that same quixotic mix. It was never so clear to him as during his present stint in the hospital’s emergency room. One moment, life was quiet, progressing on an even, uneventful keel. Then within the next rotation of the second hand, all hell was breaking loose.
And so it was tonight.
After putting in a double shift at the hospital, rather than electing to sleep for the hours that he was off duty to do his best to recharge his very spent batteries, Georges decided to go out. He was his late father’s son and loved to party.
Handsome, with magnetic blue eyes, hair the color of the underside of midnight and a smile that pulled in all living females within a twelve-mile radius, Georges had not experienced a lack of female companionship since the year he turned ten. From the moment he first opened his eyes twenty-nine years ago, he had been, and continued to be, a lover of women. All women. Tall ones, short ones, rounded, thin, old, young, it didn’t matter. To Georges, every breathing woman was beautiful in her own way and each merited his attention.
For a short time.
Of the three brothers, Philippe, three years his senior, and Alain Dulac, three years his junior, Georges was the most like Lily, who, by her own admission had said more than once that she had never met a man she didn’t like—at least for a short time.
Tonight he was off to see Diana, a woman he’d met in the E.R. a month ago when she came in complaining of acute gastrointestinal distress. It turned out to be a case of bad sushi. He prescribed medication to help her along and discharged her. And once she wasn’t his patient, he dated her. Brunette, brown-eyed, Diana was vivacious, outgoing and said she was definitely not interested in any strings to their relationship. She was the kind of woman you could have a good time with and not have to worry that she was misreading the signs and mentally writing out wedding invitations. In other words, she was perfect.
As he drove his bright red sports car—a gift from Lily on his graduation from medical school—Georges was mentally mapping out the evening that lay ahead. A little dinner, a little dancing and a great deal of romance.
But all that changed in an instant.
The horrifying sound behind him had Georges swerving to the right. The nose of his vehicle climbed up against the hillside embankment. The maneuver was just in time for him to avoid being hit by the vintage blue sedan behind him. The latter was not so lucky. The black Mercedes behind the sedan slammed right into it.
His heart pounding against his rib cage, Georges looked into his rearview mirror. He saw the dark blue sedan spinning around helplessly, like a badly battered pinwheel in the center of a gale. Out of his car in an instant, Georges ran toward the car to see if he could help the passengers.
It wasn’t the doctor in him that made Georges bolt out of his barely stilled sports car; it was the Good Samaritan, the instinct that had initially been instilled, fostered and nurtured by his mother. But it was predominantly Philippe who’d taught him that standing on the sidelines, watching, when you could be in the midst of the turmoil, helping, was never a truly viable option. Philippe believed in commitment, and Georges believed in Philippe.
He attributed all his good traits to his older brother, his looks to his mother and his money, of which there was more than a considerable amount, to his late father, Lily Moreau’s second husband, Andre. Andre Armand was a self-made millionaire who owed his fortune to the production of a seductive yet affordable perfume. A scent, despite all her money, that Lily still wore.
The instant Georges opened the driver’s-side door and was out of his vehicle, he found himself having to flatten his back against it to get out of harm’s way. The Mercedes that had rammed into the sedan and had initiated this lethal game of metal tag now whizzed erratically by him. Had he not jumped back, Georges was certain that he would have wound up being the black Mercedes’ new hood ornament. Or, if not that, then permanently sealed to the vehicle’s shiny grill.
The figure of a dark-haired, middle-aged man registered at the same time that the vehicle zoomed by him. Blessed with incredibly sharp vision and presence of mind, Georges focused on the license plate even as the vehicle disappeared around one of the many curves that typified Southern California’s winding Pacific Coast Highway.
The entire incident took place in less than a heartbeat.
Georges was running toward the blue sedan, which had finally stopped spinning. Its front end was now pointed in the opposite direction of the flow of traffic.
The driver’s side was mashed against the hillside.
Now that the brakes were no longer screeching and the tires no longer squealing, Georges became aware of another noise, one that had been blocked out by the first two. Screams. The woman within the sedan, in the front passenger seat, was screaming.
Just as he reached the passenger side, Georges saw thin orange-and-yellow tongues of fire began to lick the front of the hood.
From what he could tell, there was only one other occupant in the car, the driver. The gray-haired man was slumped over the steering wheel. Georges tried to open the passenger door, but the impact from the careening Mercedes had wedged the door shut.
Desperate, afraid that any second the engine might explode, Georges tried to break the window with his elbow, swinging as hard as he could. The impact reverberated up and down his arm and shot into his chest, but the window remained a solid barrier.
The woman inside the car looked at him, their eyes meeting as shock pressed itself into her young features. Frantically, she tried to open the window on her side, working the buttons on the armrest. It was useless. There was no power fueling the buttons. The window remained in place, sealing in both her and the unconscious driver.
He needed something solid, such as a tire iron, to break the glass, but there wasn’t enough time to run back to his car to get one. Georges knew that the sedan could blow up at any moment.
The Pacific Coast Highway wove its way along the coast with the ocean on one side, a sprawling hillside pockmarked with exceedingly expensive real estate on the other. Searching the ground for something heavy to use, Georges spotted a good-sized rock and quickly picked it up. Hurrying back to the passenger door, he knocked on the window until the woman looked at him again.
“Duck your head,” he shouted at her, lifting the rock.
The woman did as she was told, turning her body so that she was shielding the man in the driver’s seat. Pulling back his arm, Georges threw the rock as hard as he could at the window. The surface of the glass cracked and splintered in half a dozen places. Wrapping his jacket about his right hand, he punched through the shattered glass and cleared away as much as he could.
“C’mon,” he ordered the woman, “You have to get out of there.”
The blonde shook her head emphatically. Her arms were still around the old man. “I can’t leave him,” she cried.
Georges looked from her to the driver. He was old, too old, he judged, to be her husband or even her father. There was blood on the man’s forehead and he seemed to be unconscious, but breathing. Georges couldn’t be sure of the latter.
He was sure that if he spent time arguing with the blonde, they could all suffer the consequences. Leaning in, Georges grabbed the woman by her waist. Surprised, she began to resist.
“First you, then him,” Georges told her firmly. Before she could say anything, he was pulling her through the opening he’d created. He felt the jagged edges scratch at his skin. The blonde weighed next to nothing, even as she struggled against him.
“My grandfather!” she cried as Georges deposited her on the ground.
He examined the other side of the car. It was pressed against the hillside, leaving no room for him. No way could he snake his way in and open the door on that side to get the man out. Without stopping to take into consideration that the car could blow up at any moment, Georges relied on the luck that had seen him through most of his life and crawled in through the window.
The old man’s seat belt was still on. Georges hit the release button and pulled the man over toward his side. Moving as quickly as he could, he angled his body so that they could switch places. He needed the old man next to the opened window.
The blonde realized what he was doing. “Push him through,” she urged. “I can hold him up.”
He had his doubts about that. The blonde didn’t look as if she could hold a twenty-pound sack of grain without stumbling beneath its weight. But he had no other option. Putting his shoulder against the man’s lower torso, Georges pushed the old man’s upper body through the opening.
To his surprise, the woman slipped her arms beneath the old man’s arms and moved backward, pulling the deadweight as he pushed him out. He heard her groan and utter a noise that sounded very much like a battle cry.
The next moment, between the two of them, they’d managed to get the old man out of the vehicle.
The second the unconscious driver was clear of the door, Georges dove out, headfirst, tucking down and into his torso just before he hit the ground so that he rolled. In an instant, he was back up on his feet again. Quickly shoving his shoulder down beneath the old man’s, he wrapped his arm around the man’s waist.
“Run!” he shouted at the blonde.
Instead of dashing before him, the woman mirrored his movements, getting her shoulder beneath the old man’s other shoulder so that both he and the old man could get away from the fiery vehicle faster.
Georges thought he heard the old man mumble, “Leave me,” but he didn’t know if he’d imagined it or not. In any case, he wasn’t about to abandon the man, not after all the trouble he’d just gone through to rescue the driver.
They barely made it back to the front of his sports car before the blue sedan burst into flames.
Georges threw his body over the old man and the blonde just as their car exploded. After several moments had elapsed, he pulled back, suddenly aware of another problem. On his knees, Georges felt the man’s throat and then his chest for a pulse. There was none.
The blonde stared, wide-eyed, barely holding fear at bay. “What is it?”
In response, Georges threaded his hands together over the man’s chest and began to administer CPR. He hardly glanced in her direction, concentrating on only one thing: getting the man’s heart to beat again. “I think he’s had a heart attack.”
“No.” The word escaped her lips like a shell being fired, aimed not at Georges as a denial of his statement but at the old man lying on the ground. “No! Grandpa, do you hear me?” She scrambled closer to the man, moving in on his other side. “No, you can’t do this,” she told him urgently. “You can’t have a heart attack.”
There was absolutely no response from the driver.
“I don’t think he’s listening to you,” Georges told her in between beats.
Mentally, he counted off compressions, then tilted the man’s head back. Pinching his nose, Georges leaned over the man’s mouth to blow his breath into it. Once, twice, a third time, before returning to compressions. The man still wasn’t responding. Georges didn’t allow himself to think about anything except the success of his efforts. Everything else, including the blonde’s voice, became a distant blur.
“In my left coat pocket,” he told her as he resumed compressions for a third time, “I’ve got a cell phone.” The moment he said it, she galvanized into action, reaching her long, slender fingers into his pocket. He could feel them as they slid in.
As he fought death for possession of the old man’s life, it struck him that this was one hell of a way to meet a woman. Because even in the midst of the ongoing turmoil, as he struggled to bring the driver back around, it did not escape Georges that she was one of the most attractive women he had ever seen.
“Got it!” she declared breathlessly, pulling the cell phone out of his pocket. Rocking back on her knees, she began to press the three numbers that popped into everyone’s mind during an emergency.
Nine-one-one would generate an appearance of an ambulance driven by EMTs. Given where they were, the paramedics could take them to one of two hospitals, most likely County General since it had a contract with the company that most often appeared on the scene. However, Blair Memorial was just as close as County General and it was the better of the two hospitals. It was also the hospital where he put in his hours.
“Don’t call 911,” he told her, then rattled off the number she should call before he breathed into her grandfather’s mouth.
The blonde looked at him, confused. “Why should I call that number?”
“Because that number will get you the ambulance attendants from Blair Memorial hospital and they have the better emergency room staff,” he told her with no hesitation. He spared her a quick glance. “You want the best for him, don’t you?”
She didn’t bother answering. As far as she was concerned, that was a rhetorical question. So instead, she pressed the buttons on the keypad. Two rings into the call, the receiver was being picked up.
“Blair Memorial, E.R.,” a calm, soothing voice said.
Visibly struggling to remain coherent, the blonde clutched the cell phone with both hands as she gave the man on the other end of the line all the necessary details. Finished, she followed up the information with one more instruction.
“Please hurry.” With that, she let out a shaky breath and closed the cell phone again.
“I think that’s a given,” Georges told her.
Her eyes darted back toward the man administering CPR to her larger-than-life grandfather.
Breathe, damn it, Grandpa, breathe! I’m not ready to live in a world without you in it yet. You promised me that you’d never leave me alone. Don’t break your promise, Grandpa. Don’t break your promise.
Shaking herself free of the terror that threatened to swallow her up whole, she forced herself to look at the man kneeling beside her grandfather. The savior who had come to their rescue.
Replaying his last words, she blinked, trying to focus. “What is?”
“That they’ll hurry.”
He was sitting back on his heels. A fresh wave of terror drenched her, leaving her shivering. “Why did you stop giving him CPR?” she demanded, an audible tremor in her voice as it rose. The words rushed out of her mouth. “Why aren’t you trying to get his heart going?”
He curved his mouth into a slight smile. Triumph at this point, he knew, could be tenuous and very short-lived. By no means was the man on the ground out of the woods. “Because it is going,” he told her.
Her eyes darted back to her grandfather, searching for proof. Staring at his chest. Was that movement? “On its own?”
Georges nodded. “On its own.”
Tears suddenly formed in her eyes. He became aware of them half a beat before the blonde threw her arms around his neck.
Half a beat before she kissed him.
Hard.
Like the oncoming tide, she pulled back as quickly as she had rushed forward. Georges realized that he had tasted not only something sweet when her lips had pressed against his, but something moist, as well. Tears. He’d tasted her tears on her lips. They must have fallen there just as she’d impetuously made contact with his.
They tasted salty and yet, somehow they were oddly sweet, as well.
“Thank you,” she cried breathlessly. “Thank you.” And then, just like that, her complete attention was focused back on her grandfather. She took the old man’s hand in both of hers and held it next to her cheek. With effort, she controlled the tremor in her voice. “Now you just hang on, Grandpa, you hear me? Help’s on the way.” For a split second, her eyes shifted back to the man who had saved them both.
Georges felt himself getting lost in her smile as she murmured, “Some of it’s already here.”
Forcing himself to look back at his patient, Georges thought he saw the old man’s eyelids flutter, struggling unsuccessfully to open. He took the man’s other hand in his and once again felt for a pulse. He found it, albeit a weak one. Mentally, Georges counted off the beats.
The blonde looked at him quizzically, obviously waiting for positive reaffirmation.
“It’s still a little reedy,” he told her. “When they get him to the hospital, I think your grandfather should stay overnight for observation. They’ll take some films, do an angiogram.” Georges looked at the man’s face. It was remarkably unlined, but he would still place him somewhere in his late sixties, possibly early seventies. Other than the gash on his forehead and the episode he’d just experienced, the man seemed to be in rather good condition. But appearances could be deceiving. “Does your grandfather have any medical conditions that you’re aware of?”
The blonde laced her fingers through her grandfather’s hand, as if her mere presence could ward off any serious complications. “I’m aware of everything about my grandfather,” she told him. There was no defensiveness in her voice, it was simply the way things were. She took an active interest in this man who was very much the center of her world. “He has a minor heart condition—angina,” she specified. “And he’s also diabetic. Other than that, he’s always been healthy.”
Georges focused only on what he considered to be liabilities. “Those are complicating factors.”
The blonde pushed back a strand of hair that had fallen into her face. She continued holding her grandfather’s hand. “Are you a doctor?”
He smiled. “I’m a fourth-year resident.” He thought of John LaSalle, the attending physician that he was currently working under. LaSalle regarded residents as lower life forms only slightly higher than lab rats. “In some eyes, that makes me an ‘almost’ doctor.”
The blonde looked back at her grandfather and, for a moment, watched the way the man’s chest rose and fell in grateful silence. She was aware that she might not be watching that if it hadn’t been for the efforts of the man beside her.
“There’s nothing ‘almost’ about you,” she replied softly.
It took Georges a second to realize that those were not bells he was hearing in his head but the sound of an approaching siren.
Chapter Two
One of the paramedics, Nathan Dooley, a tall, black, muscular attendant who seemed capable of carrying the patient with one hand tied behind his back, recognized Georges the minute the man climbed out of the passenger side of the ambulance’s cab. He flashed a wide, infectious grin at him, even as he and his partner, a somber-faced man in his thirties named Howard, swiftly worked in tandem to stabilize the old man.
Doubling back to retrieve the gurney from the back of the vehicle, Nathan returned and raised a quizzical eyebrow in Georges’ direction. “What, you don’t work enough hours in the E.R., Doc? Going out and trolling the hills for business now?”
“Coincidence,” Georges told him, carefully watching the other EMT work. The other man knew it, too, Georges thought, noting the all-but-rigid tension in Howard’s shoulders.
“Destiny,” Nathan corrected. He was still grinning, but it sounded to Georges as if the paramedic was deadly serious. He moved back as the two attendants transferred the old man onto the gurney and then snapped its legs into place.
His mother believed in destiny. In serendipity and fate, as well as savoring the fruits of all three. As for him, Georges still didn’t know what he believed in. Other than luck, of course.
He supposed maybe that was it. Luck. At least, it had been the old man’s luck in this case. Georges was fairly certain that if he hadn’t been on this road, right at this time, traveling to see his latest—for lack of a better word—love interest, if he’d given in to the weary entreaty of his body, he would have been home in bed right now. Most likely sleeping.
And the old man on the gurney would have been dead. He and his granddaughter would have been trapped in a fiery coffin.
It was satisfying, Georges thought, to make a difference, to have his own existence count for something other than just taking up space. Moments like this brought it all home to him.
Again, he had Philippe to thank for that. Because, left to his own devices, he had to confess he would have been inclined to sit back and just enjoy himself, just as his father had before him, making the rounds on an endless circuit of parties. His father’s money had assured him that he could spend the rest of his life in the mindless pursuit of pleasure.
But Philippe had had other plans for him. At the time, he’d thought of Philippe as a humorless bully. God, but he was grateful that Philippe had happened into his life. His and Alain’s.
Otherwise, the petite woman beside him would now be just a fading memory instead of very much alive.
“I want to go with him,” the blonde was saying to the other attendant, who, as uptight as Nathan was relaxed, clearly acted as if he were in charge of this particular detail.
Her grandfather had already been lifted into the back of the ambulance, his gurney secured for passage. Nathan was just climbing into the vehicle’s cab and he nodded at the woman’s statement. But Howard was in the back with the old man, and he now moved forward to the edge of the entrance, his thin, uniformed body barring her access.
When she tried to get in anyway, Howard remained where he was and shook his head. “Sorry. Rules.”
Reaching for both doors simultaneously, he began to close them on her. But the action was never completed. Coming up from behind her, Georges suddenly clamped his hand down on the door closest to him. It was apparent that Georges was the stronger of the two.
It was also very apparent, especially from the scowl on his face, that Howard did not care for being challenged.
“Let her go with him,” Georges told the paramedic. It was an order even though his voice remained even, low-key. “She’s been through a lot.”
Howard’s frown deepened. This was his small kingdom and he was not about to abdicate so easily. “Look, there are rules to follow. Nobody but the patient, that’s him, and the attendant, that’s me,” he said needlessly, his teeth clenched together, “are supposed to be riding back in—”
Georges’ smile was the sort envisioned on the lips of a cougar debating whether or not to terminate the life of its captured prey—if cougars could smile.
“Have a heart—” his eyes shifted to the man’s name tag “—Howard. Let the lady get into the ambulance with her grandfather.”
Nathan twisted around in his seat, looking into the back of the ambulance. “Listen to the man, Howie,” he advised with a wide, easy grin. “Someday he could be holding a scalpel over your belly.”
It was obvious that Howard didn’t care for the image or the veiled threat.
“If you get any flack,” Georges promised smoothly, “just refer your supervisor to me. I’ll take full responsibility.”
“Yeah, easy for you to say,” Howard grumbled. Drawing in a breath, he blew it out again, clearly not happy about the situation. Clearly not confident enough to back up his decision. His small black eyes darted from the woman’s face to the doctor’s. Survival instincts won over being king of the hill. “Okay.” Howard backed away from the entrance and returned to his seat beside the gurney. “Get in.”
“Thank you,” the blonde cried. It wasn’t clear if she was addressing her words to Howard or her Good Samaritan, or the man in the front seat behind the steering wheel. Possibly, it was to all three.
Taking her hand, Georges helped the woman get into the back of the ambulance.
But once she was inside, she didn’t let go of his hand. She held on more tightly.
“I want you to come, too,” she said to him. When it looked as if he was going to demur, she added a heartfelt, “Please?”
There was no more that he could do. The ride to the hospital was fast enough and once there, there would be doctors to see to the man. Besides, he still had a date waiting for him.
Georges began to extricate himself from her. “I—”
Her expression grew more determined. “You said you worked at—Blair Memorial, is it?” Georges nodded. “Then you’re one step ahead of everyone else there. You saw what my grandfather went through. You treated him. Please,” she entreated. “I don’t want to risk losing him. I don’t want to look back and think, If only that doctor had been there, that would have made the difference between my grandfather living and—” She couldn’t bring herself to finish.
It was the sudden shimmer of tears in her eyes that got him. Got him as surely as if handcuffs had been snapped shut on his wrists. Georges inclined his head, acquiescing.
“I never argue with a beautiful damsel in distress,” he told her. Then he glanced up at the frowning Howard who looked like a troll sitting beneath his bridge, protecting his tiny piece of dirt. “Don’t worry, I won’t crowd you in the ambulance,” Georges promised. He jerked his thumb back at his presently less than shiny sports car. “I’ll follow behind in my car.” Georges shifted his glance toward the woman. “That all right with you?”
Vienna Hollenbeck pressed her lips together to hold back the sob that materialized in her throat. She was a hairbreadth away from breaking down, and it bothered her. Bothered her because it clashed with the strong self-image she carried around of herself.
Surprise, you’re not invulnerable after all.
Nodding, Vienna whispered, “Yes, that’ll be fine with me.”
Georges gave her hand a warm squeeze before withdrawing his own. “He’s going to be all right,” he promised.
With a huff, Howard leaned over and shut both doors in his face. Firmly.
Georges turned away and hurried over to his vehicle. Buckling up, he turned the key in the ignition. The car purred to life as if it hadn’t come within inches of being crushed.
He’d just broken cardinal rule number one, Georges thought, waiting for the ambulance to pull away. Not the one about doing no harm. That was the official one on the books, the one that was there to make people feel better about going to doctors. He’d broken the practical one, the one that was intended to have doctors safeguarding their practices and their reputations. The one that strictly forbade them to make promises about a patient’s future unless they were completely, absolutely certain that what they said could be written in stone and that their words couldn’t somehow return to bite them on the part of their anatomy used for sitting.
But he found that he couldn’t look into those blue eyes of hers and not give the woman the assurance that she was silently begging for.
“So I made her feel better for a few minutes,” Georges murmured out loud to no one in particular. “What harm could it do? Really?”
Besides, from what he could ascertain, the old man didn’t look as if he’d sustained extensive bodily injuries.
Appearances can be deceiving.
How many times had he heard that before? How many times had he learned that to be true? The old man could very easily have massive internal injuries that wouldn’t come to light until after he’d been subjected to a battery of tests and scans.
Still, Georges argued silently, why make the woman worry? If there was something wrong, there was plenty of time for the man’s granddaughter to worry later. And if it turned out that there wasn’t anything wrong, why burden her needlessly? He always tried to see things in a positive light. It was an optimism that he had developed over the years and which had its roots in his mother’s lifestyle and philosophy: never assume the worst. If it was there, it would find you soon enough without being summoned.
Georges realized that he was gripping the steering wheel a great deal more tightly than necessary. He consciously relaxed his hold. It didn’t, however, keep him from squeezing through a yellow light in the process of turning red.
He kept pace with the ambulance, all but tailgating it until it reached Blair Memorial.
The hospital was an impressive structure that was perched at the top of a hill and that seemed, according to some, to be forever under construction. Not the main section, which only underwent moderate renovations every ten to fifteen years, but the outlying regions.
Beginning as a small, five-story building, over the last forty-five years, Blair Memorial Hospital, originally called Harris Memorial, had tripled in size. It owed its name change and its mushrooming growth to generous donations from the Blair family, as well as from myriad other benefactors. None of it would have been possible, however, if not for its glowing reputation, attributed to an outstanding staff.
No one was ever turned away from Blair Memorial’s doors and the poorest patient was given the same sort of care as the richest patient: excellent in every way. Its physicians and surgeons thought nothing of volunteering their free time, both at Blair and in outlying regions, rendering services to people who otherwise could not afford to receive the proper medical attention that often meant the difference between life and death, permanent disability and full recovery. Georges was proud to have been accepted at Blair to complete his residency.
The ambulance made a left turn at the light, then an immediate right. Easing around the small space, it backed up to the emergency room’s outer doors.
Georges was right behind it. As he brought his car to a stop beside the vehicle, a volunteer valet came to life behind his small podium and quickly hurried over toward the red sports car.
“I’m sorry, I’ll have to park that for you in the other lot. We need to keep this clear for emergency vehicles.” The words were hardly out of his mouth before he saw the hospital ID that Georges held up for his perusal. The valet flushed. “Oh, sorry, Doctor. I thought you were with them.” He nodded at the ambulance. It wasn’t unusual for family members to accompany ambulances.
“I am,” Georges replied amicably. “There was an accident on PCH. I just happened to be there in time to lend a hand.”
Nodding meekly, the valet faded back to his podium.
The back doors of the ambulance were already opened. Georges waited for the gurney to be lowered. Once it was, he offered his hand to the blonde to help her out of the vehicle.
Her fingers were icy, he noted.
“Thank you,” she murmured, her eyes meeting his and holding for a long moment.
Georges knew the woman wasn’t referring to his helping her out of the ambulance. She was thanking him for coming.
“Part of my job description,” he told her.
“Trolling for patients?” she asked, repeating the words that Nathan had used earlier. She tried to force a smile to her lips.
The small, aborted attempt hinted at just how radiant her smile could be once fully projected. He found himself looking forward to seeing it in earnest.
“Helping where I can,” he corrected.
The gurney was pushed through the electronic doors that had sprung open to admit it and the attendants. Georges placed his hand to the small of her back, guiding her in behind the gurney.
Warm air came rushing at them, a contrast to the cool night air outside. The next moment, the on-duty E.R. physician was coming toward the paramedics and their patient.
“What have we got?” Alex Murphy asked, pulling on plastic gloves as he approached. The next moment, he stopped, looking at Georges in surprise. The two men had crossed paths a couple of hours ago, with Murphy arriving as Georges was leaving.
“Friend of yours, Dr. Armand?” Murphy assumed.
Georges shook his head. “Hit-and-run,” he replied. “Accident happened right behind me on Pacific Coast Highway. Driver of the car never even stopped.” He didn’t add that he had almost been hit by the same driver. Dramatics were his mother’s domain; they’d never interested him. “The man had a cardiac episode. His heart stopped for less than a minute,” he added when Murphy looked at him sharply. “I applied CPR.”
Georges rattled off the rest of the man’s vital signs. When it came to his blood pressure, Georges glanced toward Howard, who supplied the missing piece of information. The paramedic looked annoyed that he had been reduced to the role of a supporting player.
Taking it all in, Murphy nodded. “Okay, we’ll take it from here.”
Georges felt the woman’s eyes on him, as if silently urging him to take the lead. There was no need. Murphy was an excellent physician, but to allay her fears, he turned to the doctor and said, “I’d appreciate it if you did an angiogram on him right away. He has diabetes and a heart condition.”
“And this is a stranger, you say?” Murphy glanced from him to the young woman beside him. And then nodded knowingly. “Angiogram it is.” Murphy turned toward the nurse and orderly who had taken the two paramedics’ places. “You heard Dr. Armand.” They began to wheel the old man away, but Murphy stopped them. “I want a full set of films done, as well.” He fired the names of the specific scans at them. Finished, he backed away.
The nurse and orderly resumed pushing the gurney down the hall, passing through another set of double doors. The blonde began to follow behind them. Hurrying to catch up, Georges placed a restraining hand on her arm.
Startled, she looked at him, a puzzled expression on her face.
“You can’t go there,” he told her, then added with a reassuring smile, “Don’t worry, they’ll bring him back as soon as they’re finished.”
Murphy stripped off the plastic gloves and crossed his arms before him. “Anything else?” he asked, mildly amused.
Georges nodded. He knew how territorial some doctors could be. It was always best to ask permission rather than assume. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to hang around.”
Murphy glanced at the woman, who in turn was looking down the hall. Georges Armand’s reputation had made the rounds and he, like everyone else, was well aware that the young surgical resident attracted women like a high-powered magnet attracted iron. “Hang all you want, Georges.” He smiled wistfully. Married five years, his own romancing days were well in his past. “I’ll keep you apprised,” he promised.
Murphy addressed the words toward the young woman, as well, but for the moment, she seemed oblivious. With a shrug, the physician left to attend to the next patient on his list.
“Thanks. I appreciate that,” Georges called after him. Turning toward the blonde, he caught himself thinking that she seemed a little shaky on her feet. Small wonder, considering that she’d been in the accident, too.
“You know,” he began, moving her over to one side as another gurney, this time from one of the E.R. stalls, was pushed past them by two orderlies, “you really should get checked out, as well.”
If she stopped moving, Vienna thought, she was going to collapse. Like one of those cartoon characters that only plummeted down the ravine if they acknowledged that there was no ground beneath their feet.
She shook her head. “I’m fine. Just shaken. And worried,” she added with a suppressed sigh, looking over toward the double doors where her grandfather had disappeared.
“In that case, maybe we should get your mind on other things.” He saw her eyebrows draw together in silent query. “There’s an anxious administrative assistant over at Registration eager to take down a lot of information about your grandfather. Here.” He offered her his arm. “I can take you over to the Registration desk so you can talk to her.”
Vienna nodded, feeling as if she was slipping into a surreal dreamlike state. She threaded her arm through his in what seemed like slow motion, and allowed herself to be directed through yet another set of swinging double doors.
She tried desperately to clear the fog that was descending over her head. “You know,” she said, turning to look at the doctor, “I don’t even know your name.” The other doctor had called him by something, but she hadn’t heard the man clearly. “What do I call you?” She smiled softly. “Besides an angel?”
He laughed then, thinking of what several women might have to say about that. He also caught himself thinking that he’d been right. When she smiled, it was a beautiful sight to behold. “I don’t think anyone’s ever accused me of being one of those.”
“Well, you are,” she told him. “I don’t…I don’t know what…I would have done if…you hadn’t stopped to help.” Tears stole her breath, blocking her words.
“Don’t go there,” he told her. “There’s no point in thinking about the worst if you don’t have to.” He stopped walking and gave her a small, formal bow, the way he used to at his mother’s behest when he was a small boy. “My name is Georges—with an S—Armand.”
She shook his hand. “Well, Georges with an S, I won’t think about the worst but only because I know you saved me from it. Saved my grandfather from it.” She paused to take a deep breath. She wasn’t going to cry, she wasn’t. Tears were for the weak and she was strong. She had to be strong. “My name is Vienna,” she told him, putting out her hand, “Vienna Hollenbeck.”
Her skin felt colder than the last time, Georges thought. “Vienna? Like the city?”
“Like the city.” The smile on her lips was just too much of an effort to retain. It melted as she felt herself turning a ghostly shade of pale. Perspiration suddenly rimmed her forehead and scalp. “Would you—would you mind if we postponed seeing the administrative assistant for a minute?”
“Sure. Are you all right?”
His voice was coming to her from an increasing distance. Vienna felt her knees softening to the consistency of custard. The deep baritone voice had nothing to do with it.
“I’m not… I don’t think…”
She didn’t get a chance to finish. Rather than sit down the way she’d wanted to, Vienna felt herself dissolving into nothingness as the world around her became smaller and smaller until it had shrunk down to the size of a pinhole.
And then disappeared altogether.
Just before it did, she thought she heard the doctor calling to her, but she couldn’t be sure. And she definitely couldn’t answer because her lips no longer had the strength to move.
The darkness that found her was far too oppressive to allow her to say a word. With a last rally of strength, she tried to struggle against it, to keep it at bay.
But in the end, all she could do was surrender.
Chapter Three
Georges managed to catch her just before her body hit the floor.
Scooping Vienna up in his arms, he looked around the immediate area for an open bed. He saw the nurse and the bed at the same time.
“Jill,” he called out to a heavyset woman he’d met during his first day at the E.R., “I’m putting this woman into bed number seven.”
Mother of four boys, grandmother of seven more, Jill Foster liked to think of herself as the earth mother of the E.R. night shift. Pulling her eyebrows together, she looked at the unconscious woman he was holding and gave him a penetrating, no-nonsense look.
“Getting a little brazen with our conquests, aren’t we, Dr. Armand?”
They had an easy, good rapport, although he knew the thirty-two-year hospital veteran wouldn’t hesitate to tell him when she thought he was wrong.
“She fainted,” he told her, crossing over to the empty stall.
“Probably not the first time that’s happened to you, I’d wager,” Jill commented dryly.
On her way to answer a call from another patient, she paused to pull aside the white blanket and sheet on the bed for him. When Georges deposited the unconscious woman on the bed, Jill took off her shoes. After putting them into a plastic bag, the nurse placed it beneath the bed, then pulled the blanket up over the young woman.
“Need anything else?” she asked him. “Other than privacy?”
Sometimes, Georges thought, his reputation kept people from taking him seriously. Usually, it didn’t bother him, but he wanted to make sure that the nurse understood this was on the level. “Jill, the woman’s been in an accident.”
Jill raised her hands to stop him before he could go on. “I know, I know, I saw her grandfather being wheeled out of here to X-ray. Orderly almost popped a wheelie moving by me so fast.” Sympathy crinkled along her all-but-unlined face as she looked down at Vienna. And then the next second, she regained her flippant facade. “Well, you know where all the doctor tools are.” She patted his back. “Call if you need me.” As she began to walk out of the stall, Vienna moaned. Jill paused to wink knowingly at him. “Sounds to me like she’s got the sounds down right. You don’t want people talking. I’d leave the curtain open if I were you.”
Jill left to see about her patient.
Moaning again, Vienna stirred and then opened her eyes. The second after she did, she realized that she was in a horizontal position. She would have bolted upright much too fast, but firm hands on her shoulders pushed her back down onto the mattress.
She blinked and looked up at Georges. Breathing a sigh of relief, she shaded her eyes. “Oh God, what happened?”
“You almost had a close encounter with the hospital floor.” Her eyes widened. He found it incredibly appealing. Innocent and vulnerable and somehow sensuous all at the same time. “I caught you just in time.”
Well, at least she hadn’t made a complete fool of herself, Vienna thought. “That’s twice you’ve come to my rescue.”
He did his best to look serious as he nodded. “Third time and you have to grant me a wish.” Again her eyes widened, but this time, he thought he saw a wariness in them. Was she afraid of him? he suddenly wondered. Or had his teasing words triggered a memory she didn’t welcome? “I’m kidding,” he told her.
“I know that.” Digging her knuckles into the mattress on either side of her, Vienna tried to get up for a second time. With the same outcome. He pushed her gently back on the bed. This time, it required a little more force than before.
She was a stubborn one, he thought. “You’re not going anywhere until I check you over,” he told her.
She began to shake her head, then stopped when tiny little devils with pointy hammers popped up to begin wreaking havoc. Pressing her lips together, willing the pain to go away, she looked up at him. “I’m all right,” she insisted.
His eyes swept over her. Georges couldn’t help smiling in appreciation. Now there’s an understatement.
“Be that as it may, I’d like to make sure for myself.” Reaching for an instrument to check her pupils, he turned on the light and aimed the pinprick directly at her right eye. “Look up, please.”
She resisted, drawing back her head. “This really isn’t necessary.”
He pointed up to a spot on the ceiling and tried again. “Humor me.”
Vienna sighed and stared up at the imaginary spot where he pointed. When he switched eyes and pointed to another area, she complied again.
Georges withdrew the instrument, shutting off the light. “Well?” she asked impatiently.
He returned the instrument to its place. “You don’t appear to have a concussion.”
“That’s because I don’t.”
“But you did faint,” he reminded her. And that could be a symptom of a lot of things—or mean nothing at all. He liked erring on the side of caution when it came to patients. “I could order a set of scans done—”
Vienna cut him off at the pass. “Not on me you can’t.” She said the words with a smile, but her tone was firm. She knew her own body and there was nothing wrong. Besides, if she was in the hospital as a patient, she might not be able to be with her grandfather and he was all that mattered. “I just got a little frazzled, that’s all.” Throwing off the covers from her legs, she swung her legs over the side of the bed. As she slid off the bed, she looked down on the floor and her bare feet. There were no shoes in sight. “Now if you could just tell me where my shoes are, I’ll be all set.”
For a moment, he thought of pleading ignorance, but he had a feeling that being barefoot would not be enough to keep her here. Bending down, he retrieved the plastic bag from beneath the bed and handed it to her.
“It wouldn’t hurt for you to stay overnight for observation, either.”
Vienna took out her high heels and, placing them on the floor, stepped into the shoes. It struck Georges that he’d seldom seen anyone move so gracefully.
“Maybe not,” she allowed, “but it would be a waste of time and money. I didn’t even hit my head.”
The hell she didn’t. “Then what’s this?” Georges asked as he moved back wispy blond bangs from her forehead. A nice-sized bump had begun to form above her right eye. He ran his thumb ever so lightly across it.
Vienna tried not to wince in response, but he saw the slight movement that indicated pain.
She feathered her fingers just on the outer edges of the area and shrugged. “Okay, maybe I did hit my head, but not so that I saw stars,” she insisted. “It was my grandfather who got the brunt of the impact.” Even as she said it, she could see the events moving in slow motion in her mind’s eye. It was a struggle not to shiver. Her expression turned somber. When she spoke, her voice was hushed. Fearful. “How is he?”
“You haven’t been out that long,” he told her. “Your grandfather’s not back from X-ray yet.” Pausing, he studied her for a second.
She shifted slightly, trying to stand as straight as she could. She did not want to argue about getting more tests again. “What?”
“Just before you took your unofficial ‘nap,” ’ he said tactfully, “you were about to go to the registration desk to give the administrative assistant your grandfather’s insurance information.”
Now she remembered, Vienna thought. Edging over to the front of the stall, she inadvertently brushed up against the doctor and instantly felt her body tightening.
Reflexes alive and well, she congratulated herself.
Taking a deep breath, she announced, “Okay, let’s go.”
But he didn’t seem all that ready to take her where she needed to go. Instead, he regarded her for another long moment, as if he expected her to faint again. “You’re sure you’re up to it?”
In response, she left the curtained enclosure. He quickly fell into step beside her, indicating that she needed to turn right at the end of the hallway. Vienna noticed several nurses watching them as they passed.
“Do you take such good care of all your patients?” she asked.
He appeared to consider her question, then deadpanned, “Only the ones I rescue from a burning car.”
“Oh.” A smile flickered across her lips, teasing dimples into existence on either cheek. “Lucky thing for me.”
They walked through a set of swinging doors. As he brought her over to the first available space in the registration area, his cell phone began to ring.
“She has insurance information about a patient who was just brought in to the E.R.,” he told the young girl behind the desk, then turned to Vienna as the phone rang again. “I’ve got to take this.”
Vienna nodded. “Of course.”
Taking the cell out of his jacket pocket as he moved away from the desk, Georges glanced down at the number. And winced inwardly.
Diana.
He’d completely forgotten about her. And about his date. He supposed if he hurried, he could still salvage some of the evening.
Georges was considering the option when he saw two policemen entering the E.R., coming from within the hospital rather than via the back entrance the way they had. By their unhurried demeanor, intuition told him the patrolmen were here to see Vienna. Since he’d seen everything that had gone down, that made him a material witness. Which meant that he was going to have to stick around to give his statement, as well.
That made his mind up for him.
Flipping the phone open on the fifth ring, he turned away from the desk. “Diana, hi. I am so sorry. I know I’m late, but I was involved in an accident—”
“An accident?” the voice on the other end repeated breathlessly. “Are you all right?”
“Yes, but the police just got here and I’m going to have to give them my statement. I’ve got no idea how long this is going to take.” He caught himself looking over toward Vienna, wondering if she was going to be up to this. “I’m afraid that I’m going to need a rain check.”
“This is Southern California. It doesn’t rain here this time of year,” Diana reminded him. But she didn’t sound angry, just disappointed.
“We can do our own rain dance,” he promised, lowering his voice.
He heard her laugh and felt a sense of satisfaction. She’d forgiven him. “That I’d like to see. All right, call me, lover, whenever you’re free.”
“Count on it,” he told her. Ending the call, he flipped the phone closed and pocketed it again. Georges turned around just in time to see the two policemen position themselves on both sides of Vienna’s chair. That same protective instinct that had had him throwing his body over hers when the car burst into flames stirred inside his chest.
He quickly crossed back to her, but he was looking at the patrolmen as he approached. “Can I be of any help, officers?” he asked easily.
The younger of the two policeman gave him a once-over before speaking. “That all depends. You have any information about this car accident on PCH that was reported?”
Boy, have I got some information for you, he thought. Out loud, he said, “As a matter of fact, I do. But first, how did you find out about it?” he asked. He’d given Vienna the number to the hospital to summon an ambulance, not 911.
The younger of the two looked reluctant to divulge any information at all. When he remained silent, his partner said, “Paramedics called it in. Someone named Howard. Told us where to find you.” The last statement was directed to Vienna.
Howard. He should have known, Georges thought. The EMT wasn’t kidding when he talked about adhering to the rules.
Georges glanced over toward an alcove. E.R. doctors typically retreated there to write their reports without being disturbed. The area was empty at the moment.
“Why don’t we move over there, out of the way?” he suggested, indicating the alcove. Not waiting for the policemen to agree, he put his hand beneath Vienna’s elbow and helped her up from the chair.
“You a doctor?” the other policeman, older than his partner by at least a decade, asked as he followed behind them.
Taking out the badge that was still in his pocket, Georges hung it about his neck. “Yes.”
“Lucky for the people involved,” the older patrolman commented. As the tallest, he stood on the outer perimeter of the space, allowing his partner and the other two to assemble within a space that normally held no more than two.
The patrolmen left half an hour later, satisfied with the report they’d gotten and armed with the make and model, as well as license plate number, of the hit-and-run driver’s vehicle. The younger patrolman had even cracked a slight smile. The older one promised they would be in touch the moment there was something to report.
Vienna had held up well during the questioning, Georges thought as the two men in blue took their leave, but now she looked drained. Concern returned.
The moment the policeman walked away from the alcove, Vienna turned toward him and put her hand on his arm, securing his attention. He thought she was going to ask if she could lie down again.
Instead, she asked, “Could you go see how my grandfather’s doing?”
“Sure.” Glancing to the side, he saw the administrative assistant they’d initially been talking to standing in the corridor, shifting her weight from foot to foot. Rather than ask the woman if anything was wrong, Georges crossed to her and used his body to block her view of Vienna. And vice versa.
“Something wrong?” he asked, his voice low enough not to carry back to the alcove just in case the assistant had come to say something about Vienna’s grandfather.
The assistant looked uncomfortable being pushy, but her job demanded it. “I still need that insurance information. All I’ve got is the guy’s name and half an address. I need more.”
Relieved that it wasn’t anything more serious, Georges nodded sympathetically. “Sure you do.” But in his opinion, Vienna needed a break. She’d been answering questions steadily for twenty minutes. He’d given his statement to the older of the policemen while she had been grilled by the younger one. “Look, how about I get the insurance information to you in a little while?”
The assistant hesitated, wavering. “Technically, you’re not supposed to start any work on him until I have something for his record.”
“You have something,” he told her smoothly, placing his hand on hers and turning her away from the alcove and back toward her own area. “You have my word.” Covertly, he read the name on her tag and added, “Amanda.”
The personal touch, he’d found time and again, always helped to move things along in the right direction.
Amanda seemed flustered now, as well as uncertain. “You sure you’ll get that information to me?”
Georges nodded. “Just as soon as I can, Amanda,” he promised, then winked as if that made it their little secret.
Amanda was already backing away to return to her desk. “I guess it’s okay.”
He flashed a grin. “You’re a doll.” The blush that rose to the woman’s cheeks told him that he had sealed the bargain.
Going back into the rear of the E.R., it didn’t take him long to find Murphy. The latter was dealing with a screaming infant with colic. The first-time parents both seemed at the end of their collective emotional ropes. Flanking both sides of the raised railings of the baby’s bed, they peppered Murphy with questions, one dovetailing into another.
When he approached Murphy, the physician looked relieved to see him.
“Excuse me for a moment,” he said, extricating himself from the circle of noise. Moving toward the side, Murphy shook his head. “I’m going to have to have my hearing checked after tonight. I think I’ve lost the ability to hear anything at a high frequency.” Blowing out a breath, he glanced up at Georges. “You’re going to ask me about the old man, right?”
Georges saw no point in wasting time, even though he knew Murphy wasn’t anxious to get back to his tiny patient and his overwrought parents. “Are his films back yet?”
Murphy nodded. “Just. I’ve put out a call for an internal surgeon and I want a consult with Dr. Greywolf,” he added, mentioning one of Blair’s top heart surgeons.
“What’s wrong with him?” Georges pressed.
Murphy rattled off the important particulars. “His spleen’s been damaged, his liver was bruised in the accident and several ribs were cracked, not to mention that he did have a minor heart attack. Nice work bringing him around, by the way.”
It never hurt to have one of the chief attendings compliment your work, Georges thought. “Thanks.” But right now, he was more interested in the answer to his next question. “Who’d you call for the surgery?”
“Rob Schulman. He’s on call for the night. I’m trying to get Darren Patterson to act as assistant on the procedures, but so far, Patterson’s not answering his page.”
Georges didn’t even have to think about it. “I can assist,” he volunteered. Murphy eyed him skeptically. All surgical residents were eager to operate whenever possible, but this went beyond wanting to put in time in the O.R. He felt an obligation to the old man to see things through. “I’ve assisted Schulman before. If Patterson doesn’t answer by the time Schulman gets here—”
“You scrub in,” Murphy concluded, agreeing. The night shift was always down on viable personnel, and they worked with what they could get on short notice.
The baby’s screams grew louder again. Murphy gritted his teeth. “Any chance you want to fill in for me until Schulman shows up?”
Georges laughed and shook his head. “Not a chance. I put in my eighteen hours today.”
“Then why aren’t you dead on your feet?”
Georges grinned as he spread his hands innocently. “Clean living.”
“Not from what I hear,” Murphy responded. He turned around to walk back to the shrieking baby’s stall. “Into the Valley of Death rode the six hundred,” he muttered under his breath.
“A doctor who quotes Tennyson. That should look good on your résumé,” Georges commented.
Murphy said something unintelligible as he disappeared into the stall.
Georges made his way back to Vienna.
The second she saw him, she was on her feet, her eyes opened wide like Bambi.
“My grandfather…”
Her voice trailed off. She couldn’t bring herself to complete the question, afraid of being too optimistic. Afraid of the alternative even more. She held her breath, waiting for Georges to answer her.
“Is going to need surgery,” he told her, saying only what they both already knew. “He got a little banged up inside and we’re going to fix that,” he assured Vienna in a calm, soothing voice.
Relief wafted over her. Her grandfather was still alive. There was hope. And then she replayed the doctor’s words in her head.
“We?” she questioned. “Then you’ll be the one operating on him?”
“Dr. Schulman will be performing the surgery. He’s one of the best in the country. I’ll be assisting him if they can’t find anyone else.”
She took hold of his hand, her eyes on his, riveting him in place. “I don’t want anyone else,” she told him with such feeling it all but took his breath away. “I want you. I want you to be there.”
“They’re trying to locate another surgeon to assist, but—”
“No,” she interrupted. “You. I want you.” Her fingers closed over his hand. “You’ll help. I can feel it. It’s important that you be there for him during the operation. Please.”
Georges heard himself saying, “All right,” but, like a ventriloquist, she was the one who was drawing the words from his lips.
Chapter Four
The next moment, Vienna suddenly pulled back.
Georges probably thought she was crazy, she thought, and she didn’t want to alienate him. But she was certain that he had to be in the operating room.
It wasn’t that she thought of herself as clairvoyant, she just had these…feelings, for lack of a better word. Feelings that came to her every so often.
Feelings that always turned out to be true.
She’d had one of those feelings the day her parents were killed.
Vienna had been only eight at the time, still very much a child, but somehow, as they bid her goodbye, saying they would see her that evening, she instinctively knew that she was seeing Bill and Theresa Hollenbeck for the last time. She’d clung to each of her parents in turn, unwilling to release them, unable to make them understand that if they walked out that door, if they drove to Palm Springs to meet with her mother’s best friend and that woman’s fiancé, that they would never see another sunrise.
God knew she’d tried to tell them, but they had laughed and hugged her, and told her not to worry. That she was just held captive by an overactive imagination. And her grandfather’s stories. Amos Schwarzwalden, her mother’s father, was visiting from Austria at the time and they left her with him.
And drove out of her life forever.
The accident happened at six-thirty that evening. It was a huge pileup on I-5 that made all the local papers and the evening news. Seven cars had plowed into one another after a drunk driver had lost control of his car. A semi had swerved to avoid hitting the careening vehicle—and wound up hitting the seven other cars instead.
Miraculously, there’d only been two casualties. Tragically, those two casualties had been her parents.
It was the first time Vienna could remember ever having one of those “feelings.”
After that, there were other times, other occasions where a sense of uneasiness warned her that something bad was going to happen. But the feeling never came at regular intervals or even often. It didn’t occur often enough for her grandfather, who was the only one she shared this feeling with, to think she had some sort of extraordinary power. She didn’t consider herself a seer or someone with “the sight” as those in the old country were wont to say.
But her “intuitions” occurred just often enough for her not to ignore them when they did happen. And even though they had not warned her of the car accident that had nearly stolen her grandfather from her, they now made her feel that if this man who had come to their rescue was not in the O.R. when her grandfather was being operated on, something very serious was going to happen. Something that would not allow her grandfather to be part of her life anymore.
Her eyes met Georges’ and she flashed a rueful smile that instantly took him captive.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to sound as if I was coming unhinged,” Vienna apologized, but all the same, she continued holding on to his arm. “But I really do feel very strongly about this,” she emphasized. “You have to be in the operating room with my grandfather.”
Georges could all but feel the urgency rippling through her, transmitting itself to him. The woman was dead serious. They were running out of time and as far as he knew, Patterson had still not been located.
“All right,” Georges agreed gently. “I’ll go talk to the surgeon.” Placing his hand over hers, he squeezed it lightly and gave her an encouraging smile. “You sit tight, all right?”
Vienna was barely aware of nodding her head. She forced a smile to her lips.
“All right,” she murmured. “And thank you. Again.”
He merely nodded and then hurried away.
In the locker room, he quickly changed into scrubs. As he closed the locker door, he felt as if he was getting a second wind. Or was that his third one? He wasn’t altogether sure. By all rights, at this point in his day—or night—he should have been dead on his feet, looking forward to nothing more than spending the rest of the night in a reclining position—as he’d planned with Diana.
Instead, as he headed to scrub in, he felt suddenly invigorated. Ready to leap tall buildings in a single bound. The prospect of facing a surgery always did that to him. It put him on his toes and, Georges found, instantly transformed him into the very best version of himself.
He all but burst into the area where the sinks were and after greeting the surgeon, began the laborious process of getting ready to perform the procedure—in double time.
Rob Schulman was carefully scrubbing the area between his fingers with a small scrub brush. Every surgeon had superstitions. Schulman’s was to use a new scrub brush for every surgery. He glanced over toward Georges.
He seemed mildly amused at the energy he witnessed in the other man.
“Someday, Georges, you’re going to have to tell me what kind of vitamins you’re on.” When Georges looked over toward him quizzically, he elaborated. “I saw you eight hours ago and they tell me that except for two hours, you’ve been here all this time. What kind of a deal with the devil did you make?” Schulman asked. He paused to rotate his neck. Several cracks were heard to echo through the small area. The surgical nurses, waiting their turn, exchanged smiles. “Why is it you’re not falling on your face?”
“I scheduled that for after the surgery,” Georges replied with an easy air that hid the electrical current all but racing through him. Done, he gave his hands another once-over, just in case. “I want to thank you for letting me scrub in.”
Schulman laughed softly to himself, the high-pitched sound incongruous with man’s considerable bulk. “You’re welcome, but this time, it’s more of a matter of supply and demand, Georges. Murphy told me that they can’t find another assistant in time.”
They could have opted to wait. Or, in an emergency, Murphy could have scrubbed in. Carefree to a fault, Georges still knew better than to take anything for granted. He inclined his head toward the senior internal surgeon. “I’ll take what I can get.”
Schulman concentrated on his nail beds, scrubbing hard. “They tell me you brought him in.” He raised his brown eyes toward Georges for a second. “Hunting down your own patients these days?”
Georges pretended he hadn’t heard that line twice already this evening and flashed an easy smile at the man.
“I was on Pacific Coast Highway,” he told Schulman “The accident happened right behind me.”
“Lucky for the driver you were there,” Schulman commented. Finished, he leaned his elbow against the metal faucet handles and turned off the water. Bracing himself, he looked toward the swinging double doors that led into the operating room. “All right, let’s see if I can keep that luck going.”
Georges nodded. Finished with his own preparations for the surgery, he followed Schulman into the O.R., his own hands raised and ready to have surgical gloves slipped over them.
An eerie feeling passed over him the moment he’d said the words. Exactly one moment after he had pointed out to Schulman that an artery the latter had cauterized wasn’t, in fact, completely sealed.
With the old man’s organs all vying for space, it had been an easy matter to miss the slow seepage. The surgeon was focused on what he was doing, removing the spleen and resectioning the liver by removing a small, damaged portion no more than the size of a quarter. As all this went on—not to mention the presence of various instruments, suction tubes and clamps within the small area—the tiny bit of oozing had almost been overlooked. Would have been overlooked had something not caught his eye in that region.

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.
Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».
Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию (https://www.litres.ru/marie-ferrarella/taming-the-playboy-42459035/) на ЛитРес.
Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.