Taming The Beastly MD. Elizabeth Bevarly

forward.

      The second gift had arrived in her note slot last month, on her birthday. Again, it had been wrapped in white, glossy paper with a gold ribbon, and again, it had appeared without a card or note. When Rita had opened that one, hoping perhaps it might offer some clue as to the identity of its giver, she had found inside an inexpensive silver charm bracelet with a dozen delicate little charms related to the nursing field. She’d been reluctantly pleased by it, too, but hadn’t quite been able to halt the feeling of foreboding that had accompanied her pleasure.

      She’d told herself her apprehension was silly, that obviously she did have a secret admirer—and hey, why was that such a bad thing? Then she’d donned the charm bracelet, as well, hoping again to “out” the giver.

      But again, no one came forth to claim the identity of Rita Barone’s secret admirer. No one came forth for any reason at all.

      Now, as she eyed this latest gift with a mixture of hesitant pleasure and growing dread, she lifted her right hand to stroke the bandaged heart pin fastened, as it always was, on the pocket of her scrubs. When she did, the charm bracelet clinked merrily on her right wrist.

      Now the mysterious giver had struck again, had left her a third gift—on the third anniversary of her having started work at Boston General.

      Whoever it was, she realized then, was commemorating special occasions and events—first Valentine’s Day, then her birthday, and now the anniversary of her first day at work. It must be someone who worked at the hospital, she thought. And it must be a secret admirer—for lack of a better ID. There were too many romantic overtones for it not to be. Still, she couldn’t begin to imagine who might be leaving her gifts like this. She’d noticed not one hint of interest from anyone of the opposite sex, absolutely no clue that there was a man out there who regarded her as anything more than another human being who inhabited the same planet. Not at work, and not anywhere else, either.

      Not unless she was overlooking any hints and clues a man might be giving out, which she supposed was possible, since she’d really never been much interested in the opposite sex. Her sisters Gina and Maria often told her she was so focused on her work that she was missing out on everything else life had to offer, including romance.

      Of course, Rita didn’t necessarily disagree with that. Her work was very important to her. More important, she admitted, than anything else. Except for family, of course. The Barones were a close-knit bunch, and family would always come first for all of them. But Rita had never wanted to be anything but a nurse, ever since she was a child, and the job gave her more satisfaction and fulfillment than she could imagine receiving anywhere else. She helped save lives here at the hospital. What could possibly be more important than that?

      Well, there was saving her own life, Gina would always argue when Rita pointed that out, seeing as how Rita didn’t much have one outside work. And there was living her life, Maria would chime in, the one outside work, anyway. Whenever her sisters offered their opinions in such a way, Rita would blithely remind them that her work was her life, and she enjoyed it very much, thanks. And she truly did believe it was enough. She had a full, and very satisfying, life without having to wade through all the politics and games of a romantic relationship—especially a workplace romance.

      Still, she thought now as she gingerly fingered the third little white package, it would be nice to discover who was leaving the gifts for her. If nothing else, she could rest easy knowing there was nothing more to it than someone having a bit of fun. Because she just couldn’t quite shake the sensation that there was something a bit sinister about all this anonymous gift-giving, even if the gifts in question had been totally benign.

      Rita checked one more time to see if there was a card or note to accompany the gift but, not surprisingly, she found none. So, inhaling a deep breath, she tucked her finger under the gold ribbon and slowly slid it off. Then she carefully peeled back the white paper. Just as it had been with the previous two gifts, the box was plain and white, too, with no markings that might identify where the gift had been purchased. Placing it cautiously on the desk, Rita lifted the lid, then pushed aside a fold of tissue paper.

      “Oh, my,” she said softly, reverently, when she saw what was inside. A small, cut-crystal heart winked merrily at her from its cushion of tissue in the box, shattering the harsh fluorescent overhead light into a billion kaleidoscopic colors. It was meant, she supposed, to be a paperweight. Somehow, though, it was much too beautiful for so functional a purpose.

      A crystal heart, she remarked again. Was it a symbol of what she did for a living, caring for a fragile organ? Or a symbol of the giver’s fragile feelings for her? And how would she ever know if the giver never came forward? And why wouldn’t he? It had been two months since that first gift had appeared. Surely, by now, he was ready to make himself known. Unless…

      Unless his intentions were less than honorable.

      “Have you nothing better to do with your time, Ms. Barone, than enjoy an extended coffee break?”

      Rita jumped at the gruffly offered question, not so much because of the question itself—unfair as it was—but because the voice belonged to Dr. Matthew Grayson. In addition to his medical skills, he was renowned for his no-nonsense approach to his work.

      And also because of his complete intolerance for anything bordering on fun.

      Tall, dark and brooding, that was Dr. Grayson. All the nurses and other doctors thought so. And most steered clear of him whenever they could, because they didn’t want to get caught in the storm swirling in the dark clouds that always seemed to surround him. Rita, though, had always thought him rather intriguing. Nobody was born grouchy and aloof, she reasoned. Something had to happen in a person’s life to make him that way. And Rita couldn’t help wondering what had happened in Matthew Grayson’s.

      She also couldn’t help wondering if it had anything to do with the scars he bore on his left cheek and neck. The worst of them were a trio of nearly straight lines that ran from his cheekbone to his jaw—three parallel stripes, roughly a half inch apart and three inches in length.

      Automatically she slammed the lid back down on the box she had just opened. For some reason, she didn’t want Dr. Grayson to know about her secret admirer—if admiring was indeed what was behind the mysterious gifts. As discreetly as she could, she slid the box back into her note slot, tossed the white wrapping paper and gold ribbon into the wastebasket beneath her desk, and then turned in her chair to face him.

      Big mistake, she realized immediately. Because being seated while he was standing left Rita gazing at a part of Dr. Grayson she really shouldn’t be gazing at.

      “Dr. Grayson,” she said as she abruptly stood, telling herself she was only imagining the breathless quality her voice seemed to have suddenly adopted. “I didn’t hear you coming.”

      “Obviously,” he replied wryly.

      “And I wasn’t enjoying a coffee break,” she assured him.

      He gazed pointedly at the cup sitting before her chair.

      “Okay, yes, I was having coffee,” she conceded. “But I wasn’t enjoying it. It’s from the vending machine,” she added meaningfully.

      Dr. Grayson, however, evidently didn’t catch her meaning, because he only continued to scowl at her. Granted, it was kind of a handsome scowl, what with those dreamy green eyes and that full, luscious-looking mouth, but it was a scowl nonetheless. So Rita countered with the most dazzling smile she could conjure from her ample arsenal. She knew it made him uncomfortable to be smiled at. Probably, she thought, because he didn’t know how to smile back. In fact, she’d never seen him smile. And, true to her supposition—and his own personality—Dr. Grayson only deepened his scowl. So Rita smiled even more dazzlingly, this time batting her eyelashes playfully.

      There, she thought triumphantly. Take that, Dr. Grayson.

      But instead of being immobilized by her mischievous warfare, Dr. Grayson only looked more ferocious. So, with an imperceptible sigh, Rita surrendered.

      Point to Dr. Grayson.

      “Rita,”