The Doctor's Secret Son. Janice Lynn

clarified.

      He chuckled. “Make no mistake, my ultimate goal is to physically ‘know you’ again. But for the moment, I am talking get to know each other as in not biblically.”

      She wanted to say yes, but knew she’d be toying with dynamite. “I’m not sure.”

      “It’s obvious you’re attracted to me,” he pointed out.

      “Okay, fine, you’re an attractive man and I’m not blind.” If not for Joss, would she even be hesitating?

      “You’re saying any attractive man would do?”

      “That’s not what I’m saying.”

      “Then that makes me special?”

      More so than he knew.

      His look of triumph made her nervous. “Are you fishing for compliments, Trace? Because, if so, you grabbed the wrong woman from the medical tent. Dr. Gianakos would be more than happy to be your fluffer.”

      At her comment, he grinned and shook his head. “I got the right girl and want her complimenting me. Come on, no more serious talk. Let’s go have fun for a few minutes then we’ll get back to work.”

      “Okay.” This time she met his hand halfway when he reached for hers and tried not to overanalyze how amazing it felt to simply hold his hand.

      * * *

      Chrissie had never seen such a huge area of bubbles before.

      Agnes had set up a special non-slip floor and then had machines create mountains of bubbles. Currently, hundreds, maybe thousands, of children and adults alike danced and played in the bubbles to the directions of the emcee in a bubble-a-thon fund-raiser.

      “Put your right hand in. Put your right hand out,” he instructed.

      “You have extra clothes?”

      Her head jerked toward Trace. “What?”

      “Did you bring extra clothes?” he repeated, taking off his tennis shoes and raising her feet one at a time to do the same to hers.

      “I’m a prepared kind of girl, but stop that,” she demanded, attempting to pull her foot free and instead just helping him accomplish his goal. “I’m not going into—”

      But he wasn’t listening. He’d tugged her to the outskirts of the bubble floor and she was mid-chest-high in bubbles.

      “Oh, my,” she exclaimed, unable to resist lifting a handful of the foamy white stuff to her mouth and blowing it.

      Joss would love this, she couldn’t help but think.

      “Put your left hand in. Put your left hand out,” the emcee continued.

      She wiggled her toes, letting the bubbles tickle her feet and bare legs beneath her shorts. A giggle escaped. A happy giggle. Oh, my. She didn’t want to feel happy.

      Chrissie frowned. What was she thinking? Of course, she wanted to feel happy. Besides, when was she going to have the opportunity to play in bubbles with hundreds of other people ever again?

      Probably never.

      This was fun. She was allowed to have fun.

      “If we’re going to do this, we’re going to do it right,” she informed Trace, holding her left hand out and shaking it.

      “That was the plan.” His grin was lethal and gave her more giddiness than the bubbles.

      “I know what your plan is,” she accused, trying to “splash” him, but the bubbles didn’t cooperate, sticking to her hand instead and plopping back onto the sea surrounding them.

      He laughed. With a wicked gleam in his eyes, he scooped up an armful of bubbles. “I’m not denying it.”

      “Which doesn’t make it any better.” Instinctively knowing what he was about to do, she took a few steps back, but only managed to plop down in the midst of the bubbles.

      Laughing, he held out a hand and pulled her to her feet. She sputtered, clearing the bubbles from her face.

      “You look good covered in bubbles.” His eyes glittered with all sorts of mischief.

      “Trace.”

      “What?” He gave her an innocent look. “You do. I like it.”

      Truthfully, she liked how he looked waist deep in bubbles, too. There were too many people around for her mind to go to romantic bubble baths, but seeing Trace laughing out loud had cracked something inside her.

      Something that had been vital in protecting her from how she felt about him. How dared he break down her defenses with bubbles and laughter and talk of getting to know each other? Who did that?

      Then again, nothing about Trace had ever been typical, so of course he’d use bubbles to knock down the barriers she’d erected between them. Bubbles.

      No one could be standoffish when surrounded by bubbles.

      “Shake your leg and be quiet,” she ordered, but was unable to keep the smile from her face.

      Maybe it was her inner child coming out. Maybe it was all the happy laughter around her. Maybe it was the happy gleam in Trace’s eyes as he stood in bubbles. Maybe it was feeling alive and desirable and amazing because she was his focus. Maybe it was all of the above.

      Regardless, she laughed and played along with whatever the emcee had going. They hokey-pokeyed through the rest of the song, then participated in a couple of the other bubble games.

      When the emcee announced a bubble-snowman-building contest for kids ten and under, they made their way out.

      “Admit it, you had fun.”

      “I had fun.” No point in denying it. She was still smiling.

      A teenaged boy came up and handed Trace two towels. Chrissie glanced around, amazed by the boy’s appearance since towels weren’t provided and they should have brought their own.

      “Why did he bring us these?”

      He waggled his brows. “I’m a resourceful man.”

      “Apparently,” she agreed, taking the towel from him, and wiping off the bubbles clinging to her skin and clothes. “We weren’t dressed for this.”

      “We were fine,” he countered. “Most everyone is wearing T-shirts and shorts, except for the kids.”

      “Thank you.”

      His smile was amazing. Brilliant. Beautiful.

      “You’re welcome, Chrissie. Making you smile is my pleasure.”

      * * *

      There were a dozen or so people on the medical crew. More than they’d needed tonight, but that would change with sun-up.

      There were a few two-man tents at the back of the medical area so there would be medical staff close in case middle-of-the-night care was needed. Chrissie was rooming with one of the nurse-practitioner volunteers, a pretty woman in her late forties who worked with a local children’s hospital and said she’d been volunteering with CCPO for the past couple of years, after one of her patients’ family had mentioned how the organization had helped with expenses.

      Chrissie liked hearing how the organization was making a difference out in the real world, rather than just through the testimonies given on stage at the event. Somehow, hearing Bernadette say CCPO had helped one of her patients made it all so much more real.

      She and Trace had checked to make sure the medical area was still slow, then she’d slipped off to her tent to grab her toiletries where she bumped into her roommate.

      “I’m headed to the shower truck to wash the bubbles off myself,” she told the smiling woman.

      “I’ll be heading that way before the rush, too,” Bernadette