One Night That Changed Everything. Tina Beckett

provided by the restaurant. Besides the manicotti, there were two kinds of sauce, white and red, as well as a Caesar salad and garlic rolls. She’d expected him to eat all this himself?

      “I see I owe you some money.”

      She shook her head, spooning white sauce over her own portion. “I took money out of the petty-cash drawer.”

      His brows went up. “We keep that much in there?”

      “Fifty bucks.” She dropped the spoon back into the container. “But this pretty much cleaned it out.”

      He couldn’t remember the last time he’d spent that much money on a meal for himself. The warmth in his chest grew, bringing with it the uncomfortable awareness that he was in a deserted medical building with a woman he couldn’t begin to understand. One he found dangerously attractive.

      She was also one of his employees. Asking her to stay and eat with him had been a big mistake. Huge!

      But he couldn’t very well ask her to leave now.

      So he sat on one of the brown leatherette chairs in the waiting room next to her, balancing a flimsy plate across his knees.

      Hannah, on the other hand, looked perfectly at home, cutting into her manicotti with a plastic fork and popping a piece into her mouth. “Mmm.” Her lids came down for a brief second as she seemed to savor the food.

      He swallowed, despite the fact that he had nothing in his mouth other than the lump that was currently stuck in his throat.

      Incredibly long lashes swept back up, and green eyes regarded him. “Aren’t you going to taste it?”

      The only thing he wanted to taste were her lips.

      Ah, hell.

      He forked up a big bite and shoved it past his teeth, dumping the food onto his tongue before he could do or say anything stupid. He chewed. Swallowed. His stomach gave another fierce rumble.

      Okay, so she’d been right. He was hungry. And evidently that fact was going to trump any other urges for the moment. He relaxed into his seat, figuring he could eat and then get the hell out of there before his belly figured out it was full and let his other instincts out of their cage. “It’s good.”

      “I know. It’s my go-to place for takeout. I order from there at least once a week.”

      He didn’t like to think of Hannah at home alone, eating from disposable metal containers. But it wasn’t much better than what he did day in and day out. He was content with it, so why would he assume someone else wouldn’t be?

      Greg just couldn’t imagine her having weekends free, figuring she’d be out making up for the year she’d lost. There was something inside her that burned brightly. That glow could have been snuffed out in an instant. Not something he wanted to think about right now.

      He covered by saying, “I normally just grab something from the hospital cafeteria.”

      “I know.”

      She did?

      Before he could ask, she added, “I used to see you walking down the corridor with a sandwich container in your hand.”

      “When …?”

      “When I was getting my chemo infusions. I saw you sometimes.” Her hand went to her collarbone area and fingered the pale scar where her port had once been. Greg was so used to seeing those that he hadn’t even noticed it.

      He also hadn’t realized she’d been in that treatment room. Had seen him. How many other patients had he walked by without noticing? Another brick of guilt settled into place. “I’m sorry. I’m normally so busy, I don’t stop in there all the time.”

      Putting her fork into her bowl, she reached out and touched his hand. “I wasn’t trying to make you feel bad. I’ve just learned how important it is to eat a balanced meal.”

      She was right. Again. He often preached to his patients that they needed to strengthen their bodies as much as possible to help during the chemo treatments as well as to aid in the fight of their disease. That meant making healthy choices when it came to food. And yet, just like a pulmonologist who indulged in the occasional cigarette, Greg was unwilling to abide by his own advice.

      “I don’t have cancer, but I also don’t cook.”

      She picked up her fork again, avoiding his eyes this time. “That’s why there are places like Piazza Toscana.” The comment, unlike her lighthearted ones from a few moments ago, was tight, as if …

      I don’t have cancer.

      How damned insensitive could he be? She’d spent a year undergoing chemotherapy. Hadn’t known for sure if she’d live or die.

      Maybe she was right. He worked so hard that he no longer paid attention to social conventions or cared how his words might affect someone else.

      No, that wasn’t right. He did care.

      Setting his plate onto the chair next to him, he shifted sideways to face her. “Hey.” He waited until she looked at him before continuing. “I’m sorry for saying that. There’s no good reason, other than I’m tired and not thinking straight.”

      She blinked, and he wasn’t sure whether the light was playing tricks on him or if there’d been a trace of moisture rimming her lower lids. But when he looked closer, it was gone.

      “How long will you be at the hospital tonight?” she asked.

      “About an hour.”

      Glancing at her watch, she set her own plate to the side and went over to the low sofa and picked up one of the leather pillows. Coming back, she lowered herself to the padded loop carpet at his feet.

      His mouth went dry as she set the pillow down and patted the area next to her. “It’s only seven. Why don’t you stretch out for a while? Take a quick nap. I promise I won’t let you sleep longer than an hour.”

      Was she crazy? After the thoughts that had just gone spinning through his head? There was no way he was going to lie down on the floor and—

      Even as the words slid through his mind, a wave of exhaustion washed over him, staggering him with its force.

      It was the food. The heavy meal was making him sleepy.

      What would it hurt? If his eyes were shut, he could block out her face. No more trying to make small talk. No more worrying about how he was looking at her. About what her kneeling on the floor with that pillow had made him imagine.

      Before he was fully aware of what he was doing, he’d done as she’d suggested and stretched out on his back, his head on the pillow she’d laid next to her hip. Every muscle in his body seemed to go boneless, and he glanced up to see her leaning over him with a smile. Her fingers brushed across his forehead, the touch light. Comforting.

      He pulled in a deep breath. Let it out.

      “Close your eyes, Greg. I promise I’ll be right here.”

      Even as his lids seemed to obey her every command, a tired sense of triumph went through him.

      He’d been right. She’d said his name. Again.

      CHAPTER THREE

      THE trill of Hannah’s watch alarm registered in her ears, but it took her brain a little more time to place the sound.

      Opening her eyes, she punched a button before noticing Greg’s dark, mussed hair, his even darker eyes regarding her with a slight smile. He was upside down. No, wait. She was. Hadn’t she been sitting up while he’d slept? Why were they now reversed?

      Ack. Because she’d fallen asleep, too. Had evidently just keeled over sideways and was lying on the floor, looking pretty much like she’d looked sitting up. Bent at the hips, legs straight out.

      Greg’s lips curved