Dante's Shock Proposal. Amalie Berlin

that he’d only scowled because he’d given her The Look, and she was a coworker. That was all it could be, she hadn’t done anything to earn his ire. Could he look at her with unhidden interest then hold it against her because she’d shared it?

      Nah... It was consternation over a case of mistaken identity.

      But if she trafficked in lies, now would be the time to claim to not have recognized him. The fact that she even considered lying showed how far away from him and his sexy looks she should stay. Lying was a slippery slope. Lies that started out hard to tell became easier, became reflexive... This was just the power of a sexy dress and mojitos mixed with her lusty crush. It made her react uncharacteristically, and she’d own it.

      If it came up.

      She would not become her parents.

      As soon as the lights lowered at the end of the set, his gaze found her again and she did the only thing she could think to do: lift her now-empty glass in a socially ludicrous toast.

      He stood, no sign of the scowl, hopped down from the stage, and made a beeline directly for her.

      “Another drink, Bradshaw?”

      Last names. Yes. Good. Like at work.

      “I wasn’t asking but, sure, if you like. I was just apparently trying to wave or toast you with an empty glass because I wasn’t paying proper attention, Dr.—”

      “Dante.” He cut her off as he sat, gesturing to the server, to her, and then back to himself. Two mojitos ordered, he focused on her. “When I’m here, it’s Dante.”

      “Dante...” she repeated, but her tongue felt woolly and unequal to the task of calling him anything other than what she always called him. Having his first name in her mouth felt dangerous, like she could break all her rules. “Thank you, Dante, for the mojito.”

      * * *

      Dante inclined his head. “It’s just a drink,” he said. It was in him to say more, but he had time, and her phone started to buzz. Instantly, he picked it up and checked what was incoming. Text. Jefferson.

      Dante knew he tended toward suspicion—he’d learned young that suspicion kept him sharp and alert—and sometimes that alertness was the only thing going for him. If her being there was what it looked like, he just didn’t want to have to handle it. Who knew where he’d find another place to relax in peace if his connection with The Inferno was discovered?

      “Do you usually answer other people’s phones?” she asked, a hint of irritation in her voice and a billboard of irritation on her eyes. As she spoke, she leaned toward him across the small round table, making it hard not to look down that amazing cleavage.

      “When they show up at my club, unannounced, on a night I’m playing. Did you take pictures?” Not recognizing the name Jefferson, he didn’t immediately open the message, but he did pull his eyes back to the screen and flipped to photos.

      Focus on the facts, not the astoundingly luscious body she’d kept hidden in baggy scrubs.

      “Your club?” she asked, then his questions seemed to sink in and the confused look morphed into a scowl, shadowing her incredibly pretty features. “No, I certainly didn’t take any photos of you.”

      The words out, she snapped her fingers and held out her palm for the phone, the jerky arm movements making her jiggle in her well-filled dress.

      Which he would ignore.

      Stick with the plan. Handle this. If it was something innocent, he could entertain entertaining her after.

      The photos tab contained lots of sunset skies and ocean, along with progress photos on a yellow-painted duck-themed nursery.

      Huh.

      But no pictures of him or the club. “Call or text anyone to say you’d found me here?”

      “Why would I do that? Are you in the witness protection program or something? Just give me my phone, Dante.” Her frustration...or her drinks...made her practically sing his name, but in a manner he’d not heard since high school. Annoyed. A bit too pointed. Sarcastic.

      He ignored it, but had to remind himself who he was speaking to—the best surgical nurse he’d ever worked with. Not someone usually prone to...well, any displays of emotion.

      “I don’t like my professional and personal lives to cross. No one knows about The Inferno, and I plan to keep it that way. If it’s truly coincidental that you’re here, you don’t need to speak of it with anyone at Buena Vista.”

      “Don’t tell anyone you’re in a boy band. Got it.”

      Boy band. He laughed despite his intention to intimidate her into following through with his demands. Bradshaw always seemed so calm and professional at work—this smart-mouthed and angry version really shouldn’t tickle him.

      “You know I don’t sit around waiting to gossip about you anyway.”

      Her squinting eyes got nowhere close to convincing him. How many drinks had she had?

      The message. If she was reporting to someone...

      He lifted the phone again and read the message. “Who’s Jefferson?”

      Lise, I’ve heard many good things about you, and that was the reason I initially agreed to our date. But I’ve had second thoughts. It seems unfair to lead you on when I’ve just never been into Large Women.

      Unknown name, frankly horrible message—she was telling him the truth. It was only coincidental that she’d happened to come into his club.

      “He’s no one important,” she said, but held her hand out for her phone again. Something stabbed him in the gut—he’d say it was guilt, but, with the things he’d done in the past, only one thing had the power to shame him. No, more like vicarious embarrassment. He hit the back arrow to clear the message from the screen and placed the phone in her upward-turned palm.

      “You know, you only ever have to ask me for anything once.”

      If that. She was his favorite surgical nurse for good reason. He scheduled his most difficult surgeries on Mondays and Thursdays—the days he’d been able to claim her from the surgery rotation. He’d even once bribed another surgeon to get her on a Tuesday.

      Even without medical school, he wouldn’t be surprised to hear of her conducting surgery on the side. With her in the OR, it was almost like having a second surgeon on standby. She anticipated his needs.

      It was hard to think of this sexy, sarcastic creature as the same person. Even when she got quiet and the embarrassment he’d known was coming wiped the sass right off her face.

      “He stood you up?” Dante asked, more gently than anything else he’d said to her.

      “He was supposed to be here an hour ago, but it seems he magnanimously bowed out after leaving me to wait for over an hour, so I didn’t meet him and fall helplessly in love...because he’s never been attracted to Large Women. Capital L on that.”

      Like he hadn’t read it already.

      Large with a capital L. Yeah, that had to hurt.

      The mojitos arrived and she took a deep drink. He followed suit, for once not sure what to say. Stood up by someone she’d never met, and she’d worn that dress? That’d have made an impression on the man.

      She hit the drink hard and eyed the dance floor again. “They make great mojitos...”

      Uncomfortable. Speaking to fill the air with words, any words.

      “I always hire good people.” He tried again. “Why were you meeting a man you didn’t know wearing that dress?”

      “You haven’t heard the rumor mill?” She leaned forward, elbows on the table, to speak closer. “I’m surprised. Someone questions or lectures me about it nearly every day now.”

      “I