Hot Single Docs: Meeting His Match. Susan Carlisle

about striking another person in anger. She clenched her teeth. Hitting him was the least of what she’d like to do. Run him over with a car, set him on fire, pull his fingernails out with pliers. Ooh, the man!

      She was through being the peacemaker, the one who bent over to make everyone happy. “Look, you egotistical, arrogant man, I don’t expect you to be my best friend but what I do expect is for you to be civil.

      “The staff has noticed how you treat me. I’ve been asked what I did to make you mad. For some reason, not obvious to me, you’re well liked. Your attitude towards me makes my job more difficult because the staff assumes I have done something wrong. I’m the new kid on the block so they’ll side with you.” She stopped long enough to take a breath.

      When he opened his mouth to speak she held up a hand, stalling him. “What I want—no, demand—is that you show me the professional respect that I deserve. I will never make the mistake of believing that I’m anything other than a colleague you are forced to work with. Until we are told differently, I will do my job in the most professional manner possible and I expect the same from you.”

      He took a step toward her. “Are you finished?” he said between clenched teeth.

      She hesitated. “No. Actually, I’m not.” Her voice rose, which she almost never allowed to happen. “Fear not, I’ll never confide anything of a personal nature again to you.”

      With that said, she turned and stalked out the door. Her hands shook and her knuckles had turned white where they were balled beside her. The clacking of her heels on the tile hallway matched the beat of her racing heart.

      Boy, that had felt good. Liberating. She’d had no idea how much pain and anguish she’d kept bottled up. Maybe Ryan didn’t deserve the full blast of the emotions she’d kept in check over the last few months. Heck, yeah, he did. He’d been a real jerk. The release had been freeing. She’d been stupid to ever think they could be friends.

      It had been empowering. To let go for once. To fight for herself.

      She would’ve dealt with her feelings about him backing away from her in private, but when it came into the patient care area she’d had to draw a line. Then she’d had to say something. She smiled. She’d lectured, more like.

      Heading for her office, she passed a nurse who said, “Hi, Lucy.” She gave her a bright smile. The nurse gave her a funny look but returned Lucy’s smile. She was relieved to find her office empty. She didn’t want to discuss what had just happened with anyone while she was still feeling mad. If she did, the other person would be so surprised to know she had just told off the wonderful, charming, friend-to-all-the-nurses-and-patients Dr. Ryan O’Doherty. Haw!

      That was, everyone but her.

      Was she jealous because he didn’t treat her the same? No, that couldn’t be. Maybe it was. He had at least made it known that he appreciated her contributions in the last week. She had just read him wrongly. He didn’t like her. She could deal with that. What really annoyed her was that she liked him.

      The light on her computer blinked, indicating she had a message. Tapping a key with more force than necessary, her email inbox opened. She scanned it. The message was from Mr. Matherson in HR. He requested that she and Ryan attend Jack Carter’s going-away party together as a sign that the co-ordinated patient care program was working.

      “Great. Just great.” She was starting to agree with Ryan’s negative view of this program.

      A new message came up. The address indicated it was from Ryan. She clicked. His terse message read: “Assume you received same email. Will pick you up at seven.”

       CHAPTER FOUR

      RYAN STEPPED ONTO the landing of the third floor above Volpentesta’s Restaurant and studied the glossily painted doors. Lucy’s response to his email had been “Third floor, red door.” That had been the sum total of their personal communication since she had stalked out of his office.

      During rounds she’d made it a point not to stand near him. To make the Siberian, dead-of-winter, glacial temperature between them worse, she seemed even sunnier and happier to see the patients and the other staff members than usual. None of that sunshine fell on him.

      If she’d had a question about a patient she’d turned to his clinical nurse for answers. Even when Miguel had had a high fever while still in ICU and Ryan had had a real concern that the boy might require another trip to surgery, it hadn’t been him Lucy had turned to for information in order to reassure the parents.

      He’d been concerned about her reaction to Miguel’s downturn but he wouldn’t let himself ask her about it. He wasn’t going to that place he’d been during his father’s illness. But, still, he cared.

      Lucy couldn’t have made it clearer that she had no use for him if she’d shouted it over the intercom. It had been the longest week of his life.

      Wasn’t that the way he’d wanted it? Yeah, but living in exile hadn’t turned out to be as easy as he’d thought.

      For heaven’s sake, he did brain surgery for a living, on children no less, and the quiet, unassuming woman had rattled his world. He suspected this would be the least agreeable date he’d ever been on. With resigned steps he approached her door and paused for a second before knocking. He’d not been this nervous since he’d done his first solo surgery. This woman wouldn’t intimidate him, he refused to allow it.

      Taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly, he tapped on the door. It opened with a suddenness that startled him.

      “I’m ready,” Lucy said in a snippy voice.

      Her anger hadn’t cooled. Instead of making him mad, she’d managed to make him feel guilty. He didn’t like that feeling at all.

      Lucy stepped out into the landing and pulled the door closed behind her. Her coat was already on and buttoned. A scarf in shades of pink orbited her neck. There was a faint smell of wildflowers about her.

      Recovering from the shock of her sudden appearance, he found his breath caught in a stranglehold with the realization that Lucy’s hair was down. He’d never seen it anything less than under control. Tonight it hung in honey-gold ringlets around her face and down her back. Way down her back. He’d imagined, more than once, what the mass would look like set free but none of his ideas had come near the reality. Her hair was outstanding, glorious, mesmerizing. If he could only touch...

      He lifted a hand. She jerked back as if burnt.

      That hurt. Could the little boy caught with his hand in a cookie jar have felt any more humiliated? Disappointed? “After you,” he mumbled as he moved back to let her precede him.

      He watched in fascination as her wheat-colored mane bounced across her back as she went down the stairs. Her hair stood out in contrast against the chocolate color of her coat. He’d always thought of himself as a leg man but in this case that might not be accurate. What would it be like to have that curtain of gorgeous hair hanging above him while her eyes twinkled at him and her mouth lowered to his? He groaned low in his chest.

      She glanced back at him. The unwelcoming look on her face said Don’t you dare before it continued down. The woman couldn’t possibly know his thoughts, could she?

      He had to get control of his libido or the night would be even more difficult than he’d originally assumed. Lucy was already angry with him and lusting after her wouldn’t make her happier. Grateful for the cold blast of wind that met him straight on when he stepped out of the building, he squared his shoulders. He could do this. If he had to, he’d walk outside when the need to touch her became too strong. Maybe they could get away with putting in an appearance then leaving.

      Lucy turned and looked at him as if asking what came next.

      “This way.” He stepped toward the restaurant valet attendant, resisting the urge to cup her elbow. She walked beside him but not