Finding Her Prince. Robyn Donald

him. Somehow the nicknames just seem to stick.”

      “Rocky. A fighter.” That tugged at her heart big time and she needed her space, stat, before she bought into him being a bona fide hero even after yesterday when he’d made her feel like the lowest of the low. He fought for the most defenseless and delicate of God’s creatures. How long could she sustain this weak, borderline unjustifiable case of self-righteous indignation? How did she protect herself from him?

      “Okay, then,” she said, starting to turn away. His hand on her arm froze the movement. She could feel the warmth of his fingers and it had nothing to do with the protective suit keeping in body heat.

      “Wait. There’s one more thing.”

      There always was. How many ways did she not need this in her life? She forced herself to meet his gaze and braced to repel the reaction. “What?”

      “Your phone number.”

      “What about it?” That was a stall. By definition one needed a number to dial to contact someone else on a telephone.

      What she didn’t know was why he wanted hers. Surely he didn’t really want to call her. She’d admit to having the tiniest little crush on him after last night. Sleep had finally come when she’d realized that it wasn’t really something to worry about because they were on completely different rungs of the hospital social ladder. But now he knew exactly who she was and had brought up the subject again. What was up with that?

      “I’m asking for your phone number,” he patiently explained.

      “I don’t give out that information,” she said.

      “Why?”

      “Why do you want it?”

      Now he rolled his eyes. “I’d like to call you sometime.”

      “So you can yell at me after hours, too?”

      “Of course not.” His gaze narrowed. “Has anyone ever talked to you about this acute flair you have for the dramatic? And holding a grudge?”

      “Not recently.”

      “Look, I’d like your number so I can ask—”

      “Don’t say it.”

      He moved in a completely different orbit and she existed in the real world. Under normal circumstances there wasn’t a chance in hell that their worlds would collide, but that changed last night and an alternate reality was initiated.

      Now he was trying to change the order of the universe. When the last man in her life cleaned out her savings and maxed out her existing credit cards and ones he took out in her name, she learned the hard lesson that men have ulterior motives. The only unknown was how much it would cost her. She absolutely would not be a victim of whatever it was that Nathan Steele was planning.

      “Why shouldn’t I say it?” There was a charming, confident look on his face.

      “Because yesterday you only made me feel like an idiot. If I gave you my number now, that would make it true.”

      She walked into the NICU before he could respond. There was nothing left to do except work through the bittersweet, wistful feeling inside that made her wish a man hadn’t screwed up her life. Then she might be tempted to take a chance that another man wasn’t going to do the same thing.

      Nathan wasn’t sure why he cruised the cafeteria at lunchtime instead of going to the doctor’s dining room. Then he saw Cindy Elliott sitting by herself and the motivation for his detour became clear. It was an excuse to talk to her. Damage control for his unreasonable behavior, he told himself. But himself wasn’t quite buying into that story. After her over-the-top reaction to his apology for unreasonable behavior, he’d turned over the unreasonable behavior crown to her. Yet he couldn’t stop his own curiosity at her response.

      He grabbed a tray and stepped into line, then picked up a ready-made turkey sandwich and a bottle of water. After paying for the items, he looked around, half-expecting her to be gone. She had a way of running out on him. This time she was still sitting alone at a table for two by the wall. Convenient.

      “Here goes nothing,” he mumbled to himself.

      Sunshine leaked through the windows from the hospital’s dome tower above this room, allowing the light in. The hum of voices buzzed around him. Balancing the rectangular green tray, he snaked his way through the Formica-topped tables and metal chairs with orange plastic seats.

      He stopped beside her and did a replay of what he’d asked last night. “Is this seat taken?”

      Her eyes narrowed on him when she looked up. “What if I said I was expecting someone?”

      “Are you?”

      “No.”

      Without waiting for permission, he set down his tray and sat in the chair opposite her. He sort of missed the “bunny suit.” Now she was wearing the work uniform of cotton pants and dark-blue scrubs top with Environmental Services embroidered on the breast. In this light, her eyes were even more interesting—darker brown with flecks of gold. Definitely cinnamon. Spicy. Interesting. Not unlike the lady herself.

      “So, how’s it going?” He unwrapped the plastic on his sandwich and took a bite.

      “Until now there was only one black mark on the day. In the last five seconds that just doubled.” She set her spoon down. “Why are you here?”

      “I’m hungry?”

      “You know that’s not what I meant. You could be having lobster, caviar and truffles in the doctor’s dining room.”

      “Actually I think it’s pheasant under glass and baked Alaska day. I’m not a big fan of either,” he said.

      “Again, not my point. You’re here with the peasants. Why is that?”

      “Maybe I find the environment here more interesting.” He finished the first half of his sandwich and glanced at her empty bowl with wrappers piled up in it. “Soup and crackers isn’t much for lunch.”

      “I’m on a diet.”

      “Why?” Nathan twisted the top off his water bottle and took a drink.

      “By definition diet implies trying to drop a few pounds.” Her tone was conversational, but mistrust lurked in her eyes.

      “Again I ask—why?” He wagged a warning finger when she opened her mouth to answer. “Don’t give me the snarky, sarcastic response that I know is on the tip of your tongue. You’re not overweight.”

      “Why else would I go on a diet?” She leaned back and folded her arms over her chest. The classic stubborn, you’re-not-getting-anything-out-of-me pose.

      “All well and good for someone who needs to shape up, but you don’t.”

      “How do you know?”

      “Because I saw you in that dress last night.”

      The sexy, sensuous image would be imprinted on his mind forever. And he’d held her in his arms. She had curves in all the right places and not one of those places needed to slim down. The memory of her body pressed against his sent a flood of testosterone surging through him. And it wasn’t the first time he’d reacted to her that way.

      “Why are you really eating this?” he asked.

      “Why do you care?”

      “Good question. Humor me.”

      “Would you believe I have irritable bowel syndrome and this is a bland diet?”

      “No.”

      She was irritable, but that wasn’t a medical diagnosis. It had something to do with him personally. Just a feeling, but he was pretty sure this snappish attitude had a lot to do with him not recognizing her, especially after coming down on her for something