The Surgeon's Favourite Nurse. Teresa Southwick

He might think she was fishing for compliments, but nothing could be farther from the truth. Part of her was surprised that the thought of flirting even entered her mind. She’d thought the ability to detect it had died two years ago with Kevin on their first wedding anniversary.

      Dr. Andrews hadn’t exactly confirmed or denied flirtatious intentions, but that really didn’t matter. The game required two to play and she wasn’t interested. More important, this conversation had already taken a different tone and direction from her meetings with the other two doctors in line for the top trauma job. It was time to fix that.

      To do it, Hope knew she needed to take control, but the shimmy in her belly and the buzz in her head made thinking a challenge.

      “Here’s the thing, Doctor—”

      “It’s Jake. Remember?”

      She was trying not to. This encounter and its ripple of sexual awareness were disturbing, to say the least. The longer he perched on the corner of her desk looking all hot and sinful, the more she wanted to see his bluff, round the desk and raise the temptation factor. That’s what the old Hope would have done. There were a lot of reasons it was a bad idea, not the least of which was that she wouldn’t take the chance of letting a man close to her.

      Flirting led to feelings and that equaled a potential for pain. Losing Kevin had hurt. A lot. She’d rather feel nothing than hurt that much ever again.

      “Jake—”

      His name on her lips stopped her. Jake—a strong, masculine, heroic name. And wasn’t that the stupidest thing that had ever crossed her mind. She didn’t want a man and she especially didn’t want a hero—although hospital gossip didn’t paint Jake Andrews as the type to throw his cloak—or his surgical mask—over a puddle for a lady. He was more rascally rogue than white knight.

      “You were saying?” Idly he picked up a supply order list from a stack of papers on her desk and looked it over.

      “I’m here to do a job and—”

      “You’re from out of state, right?”

      She nodded. “Texas. Mansfield, a town halfway between Dallas and Fort Worth.”

      “I thought I heard some Southern comfort in your voice.”

      Was he flirting again? She couldn’t tell. This was no time for her blarney meter to crash.

      “Like I said, I was hired to organize the trauma department and have it ready when Mercy Medical West opens its doors to patients.”

      “Tell me about yourself, Hope.” It sounded like he was testing out her name on his lips. “Wait, let me guess. You have sisters named Faith and Charity.”

      She had to smile. “As a matter of fact …”

      His laugh was rich with humor. “Am I good, or what?”

      She refused to comment without her own independent confirmation, and pigs would fly before that happened. “Faith is older. Charity younger. I’m in the middle.”

      “What made you want to be a nurse?” he asked suddenly.

      “A strong desire to help people and make a difference. From the time I was a little girl it’s all I ever wanted to do.”

      “So it was a calling of the heart. Not because it’s a profession with pretty good pay for a woman who might need to support herself and her family?”

      Funny that he should zero in on that because it’s exactly what happened. And it was her fault that the man she’d loved had been in the wrong place at the wrong time.

      “Nursing is a noble profession,” she said, a little more sharply than she intended. “And there’s a critical need, like so many other causes.”

      “Causes? Plural.” He looked thoughtful. “Such as?”

      “Feeding the hungry. Houses for the homeless. Teen pregnancy. Global warming. Vaccinating children in third world countries.”

      “Saving the spotted owl?”

      “If necessary, to preserve an ecosystem,” she said, lifting her chin a notch. “You’re making fun of me.”

      “Heaven forbid.” His expression was exaggerated innocence. “Community service isn’t just for criminals anymore.”

      “You don’t believe in helping others?”

      “I’m a doctor.” Again he hadn’t answered.

      “That’s about helping people for money.”

      “It’s my job, yes.”

      “And what made you want to be a doctor?” she asked, echoing his question.

      He glanced at the paper in his hands. “I’m smart. In school I excelled in math and science. And doctors make a lot of money.”

      “So it’s not about helping people,” she accused.

      “By definition what I do helps people. For doing it I’m well compensated,” he said, putting a finer point on it.

      “Wow,” she said wryly. “Let’s all pause and feel the love.”

      He looked up and met her gaze. “Medicine is a business. Surgery is invasive intervention to save or improve a patient’s life. But still a business. You know that as well as I do because in addition to your nursing credential and working as a trauma nurse manager, you have a master’s degree in healthcare administration.”

      “How do you know all that?”

      “I made it my business to know.” He let that sink in, then added, “I checked up on you because we’ll be working together. People will be watching when this facility opens. If we fail, it will be very public and with a direct impact on my reputation. I don’t take chances with my career.”

      So a successful launch of this campus was all about him. How was he arrogant? She needed more than the fingers on two hands to count the ways. “There’s certainly a lot of bastard in you.”

      “Thanks.” He stood away from the desk and straightened to his full and impressive height. “Coming from a Birkenstock-wearing, granola-munching, bleeding heart liberal like yourself, that’s high praise.”

      “I’m glad you think so.” Could they possibly be more philosophically opposed? She hadn’t meant to call him names, but it just popped out. The guy pushed her buttons, all the wrong ones. Apparently her diplomacy meter had also crashed. “I have a lot of work to do. If you’ll excuse me—”

      “About your work—I asked for a particular type of surgical instruments. They’re from a German manufacturer and are specifically calibrated. Is there another list?” He pointed to the paper he’d replaced on her desk. “I don’t see what I requested on that one.”

      She knew the brand he meant and it was out of the question. “You don’t see them because they weren’t ordered.”

      “Just like that?”

      “Too expensive.” She blew out a breath. “Every surgeon has a favorite, but it’s my job to whittle down the list to the most commonly used.”

      “Even if the most common ones result in limitations that prevent the patient from getting the best possible results?”

      Was this his way of pushing back, being difficult, punishing her for the bastard remark? It had been out of line, but so was his flirting. And it had provoked her own fight-or-flight response. She wasn’t running, unless you counted taking this job in Las Vegas to avoid painful memories back home.

      “If you’re half as good as you think you are, Jake, you can use a potato peeler and a watermelon scoop to get a positive outcome.”

      “And what if that doesn’t fly with me?”

      “Then I might have to conclude