Playboy Doc's Mistletoe Kiss. Tina Beckett

were usually centered around this particular restaurant—as in he’d been spotted here. More than once, and always with a woman in tow.

      She swallowed. With soft lighting and half walls that divided the space into smaller clusters of diners, she could see why. The restaurant fostered an atmosphere of quiet intimacy.

      For what? Discreet affairs?

      Jess wasn’t sure what madness had her sitting across from the playboy of Cambridge Royal, but something had obviously addled her brain. And from the way the hostess greeted him by name, eyes journeying over his tie and dress shirt—and the way he filled it out—as they came through the door, he’d been here many times before.

      That brought up another question. The tie. Where had he come up with that? Did he keep one in his office just for spur-of-the-moment dinner dates? If so, it evidently got a lot of use. It would seem those rumors were true.

      Which brought her back around to the insanity of being here. With him.

      That argument with her sister and its aftermath had left her heartsick. Even her mum had shot her a couple of disappointed glances as they’d waited for the doctors to check Abbie over.

      Had she done enough to avoid that confrontation? She’d tried to shut it down, but, in her desperation to get away, she’d been much harsher than necessary.

      But the idea that she’d been engaging in some long-distance pillow talk with Martin while he was away on business trips was so ludicrous, she hadn’t been sure how to answer her. Abbie didn’t even have proof that Martin was engaging in anything of the sort. With anyone. Just some vague messages on his phone that could have meant anything.

      Why hadn’t Jess just walked away the second she realized her sister’s temper was beginning to flare out of control? Instead, she’d stood there and defended herself in front of a roomful of guests. Moving the venue of the anniversary party to Cambridge had already made for a tense atmosphere, and by fighting with Abbie in the middle of their celebration she’d made things worse for everyone. Including that little one hooked up to machines in the Special Care Unit.

      God. Her eyes closed as another shard of guilt stabbed through her stomach.

      “Hey. You okay?”

      Dean’s voice had a gruff soothing quality as it drifted over her. One she’d never noticed before this second.

      She blinked back to awareness. Exactly what did that mean? She only crossed paths with the man in those odd moments when their jobs intersected, which wasn’t all that often. Her midwife duties kept her in one section of the hospital, while Dean’s kept him in another.

       But you noticed him. You know you did. How could you not with all that gossip about his exploits?

      Yes. She’d heard those stories. Time and time again. Only no one she knew had actually claimed to have made it into Dean Edwards’ bed. Or anywhere else, for that matter. But he’d been seen around Cambridge. And never with the same woman. The descriptions varied, but the pattern didn’t.

      “I’m fine.” She toyed with her serviette. It was on the tip of her tongue to ask for the fifth time if he was sure it was all right to leave the baby, but she clamped down on it just in time to stop the question from emerging. The hospital would ring if there was any change.

      The waiter arrived with a bottle and a question on his face. When Dean nodded, the man poured white wine into both of their glasses. Not that she needed to be drinking at a time like this. But it was only one glass, and, since she didn’t keep any kind of alcohol in her house because of her dad, she didn’t get to indulge all that often. Maybe it would stop the mad pounding in her chest at sitting across from the first attractive man in … well, since she and Martin had broken it off. Her sister might as well have poisoned the entire male species. Or at least made Jess feel like the consolation prize to anyone who might show some interest. Because when she was set side by side with her sister, Abbie was the one they’d chosen. Every. Single. Time.

      She and Abbie might look alike, but their personalities were at opposite ends of the spectrum. Jess was the socially awkward one, the one who had trouble forming and keeping deep friendships, while Abbie was vivacious and outgoing, able to charm anyone she came in contact with. And her sister always got what she wanted.

      And what she’d wanted was the very thing Jess had always dreamed of having. A place where she lived in no one else’s shadow … where she truly belonged. At one time she’d equated that with having her own home and family.

      When that possibility had been ripped away, she’d thrown herself into her job, doing all she could for her patients and their little ones. Maybe her parents were right. Maybe she was too dedicated. Looking at her tiny new niece had made her stomach churn with a longing she’d all but forgotten.

      This was Abbie’s fourth baby.

      Jess had none. And no prospects of a serious relationship or any children in the near future.

      She picked up her glass of wine, swirling the liquid to block the direction of her thoughts. Conversation. That was what she needed. Racking her brain, she tried to think of something that would break the growing silence. Something witty. Something that would make her feel a little less dull. Dean’s eyes were now on her, a slight furrow forming between his brows.

       Say something!

      “I’ve never been here before. Do you come here often?”

      Oh, no! Why had she asked that, of all things? A few seconds of silence followed the question before he spoke.

      “Often enough.”

      His jaw tightened a fraction.

      This was definitely where he brought his women.

       His women?

      She crinkled her nose at that thought. Wow, she was really outdoing herself tonight. Worse, what if someone she knew was here? She sank a little lower in her seat, taking a sip of wine and swallowing it. “Really? It’s my very first time.”

      Dean, who’d been in the process of lifting his glass to his lips, stopped with it midway to its goal. The furrow between his brows deepened, then he gave his head a slight shake as if clearing it and took a drink. A good-sized one if the movement of his throat was any indication.

      Did he think she was flirting with him? She hoped not, because if he did, there was no telling what he might—

      “What are you thinking about?”

       Caught!

      “My niece.”

      Those words brought her back to earth with a bump. Her niece’s situation was the only reason she was sitting here in this restaurant.

      Could the newborn sense the antagonism flowing between her and her sister, even in the SCBU? Abbie hadn’t spoken to her since the baby’s delivery, despite her mother’s attempts at playing peacemaker.

      Poor Mum. Some anniversary this had turned out to be.

      He set his wine down. “You said it was your fault. You know that’s not true.”

      “Abbie and I were in the middle of a row. She went into labor. If I’d just walked away …”

      Would the outcome have been any different? Abbie had been bound and determined to have her say.

      But surely Jess could have changed the direction of the conversation. Maybe. Her sister had always known exactly which buttons to push—which insecurities to choose—to get her going. Today had been no exception.

      “Coincidence.”

      “Really? Stress can induce labor—you know that as well as I do.” She paused a beat and then let the rest of it out. “She thought I was sending suggestive texts to her husband.”

      That got a reaction. Dean’s eyes narrowed just a touch. “Were you?”

      “No!”