Heartbreaker. Laurie Paige

heart in a woman’s body. How old are you?” he demanded, a frown furrowing a deep groove between his eyes.

      “Twenty-seven,” she replied, then was annoyed with herself. His forceful manner caused her to answer before she had time to consider that her age was none of his business.

      “Hmm.” He spoke to her mother. “It’s a wonder she’s lasted this long.”

      “I beg your pardon,” Susan spoke up. “My health is none of your concern. I have a competent doctor of my own.”

      “Who?”

      She was alert to his probing ways now. She paused as if considering, then told him the man’s name, a very prominent internist in Houston.

      “He’s good,” the surgeon admitted. “Did he refer you to anyone for a checkup?”

      This was a question she didn’t want to answer. She tried to think how to do that without lying.

      “Susan?” her mother probed, her worry obvious.

      “He referred me to you, if you must know.” She raised her eyebrows loftily. “I haven’t had time to make an appointment.”

      “Why are you determined to stay in denial about this?” he asked softly. “It isn’t your fault.”

      “I know that. Other than that one little dizzy spell, I’ve been fine. I just overdid it that week.”

      “Could you make time to see her?” Kate asked.

      “Mother, I’m sure Dr. O’Day doesn’t carry around an appointment book with him. His office would handle that.”

      “Michael,” he told her almost sternly. “My name is Michael.”

      “To your patients?” she challenged.

      Her mocking tone didn’t seem to bother him at all. He simply nodded, his eyes studying her again. He made her uncomfortable, as if he could see all her doubts, her weaknesses, her furious questioning of God that she should have to give up the only thing in her life.

      No. She wouldn’t give up dancing. Never! She would, quite literally, rather be dead.

      “I’m heading back to Houston Monday morning. I could see you that afternoon, get an idea of how serious a problem you have.” He leaned close and looked her in the eye. “Isn’t it better to know the truth? Then you could deal with a certainty rather than an unfounded fear.”

      She glanced at her mother, not wanting to upset her. “I’m not afraid. I’ve never been afraid of anything.”

      He leaned back in the chair. She noticed his hands when he lifted his glass. They were incredible, the fingers long and very slender, like a world-renowned pianist’s hands, dexterous, capable of performing minute movements very fast and accurately.

      She thought of those hands on her—and not in a medical context. Her heart suddenly pumped hard, and for a second, she was frightened. For a second, she thought of accepting his offer to see her.

      But only for a second, then reason reasserted itself. She’d lived for twenty-seven years with her heart doing everything she demanded of it. She was fine, just fine.

      “If you want a ride back to Houston, be at the airport Monday at nine.”

      “Oh, how nice,” her mother cooed, fawning over the man. “Isn’t that convenient?”

      “Very,” Susan agreed, with absolutely no intention of accepting either the ride or the examination.

      His lazy smile said he knew every idea that flitted through her head. She understood him, too. He thought she was a silly, stubborn female refusing to face facts.

      It would be a cold day in you-know-where before she’d get within a mile of him, his plane or his office.

      “Excuse me,” her mother said. “I see a friend.”

      Susan shifted warily at being left alone with him.

      “Don’t worry. I’m not the big-bad-wolf type,” he murmured, again reading her accurately.

      She forced herself to relax. She’d played these games before. It meant nothing. “What type are you?”

      “Honest. Sincere. Basically harmless.”

      To her surprise, she laughed. “No conceit in your family, right?”

      His smile disclosed white teeth, even on top, but with one slightly out of line on the bottom. It made him more real, she observed, not quite so movie-star perfect.

      She gasped when he laid a hand on her wrist.

      “Easy.” He proceeded to take her pulse, then looked at her gravely. “Almost a hundred beats per minute.”

      Jerking away from the incredibly gentle touch that spread fire through her skin, she informed him, “It’s none of your business. You aren’t my doctor. I’m not going with you Monday—don’t expect me to be at the airport.”

      “So, you like causing your family concern. Because it keeps you the center of attention?”

      “Oh,” she muttered. “You…you…”

      “Baboon?” he supplied, lightly tossing the word out, his ego obviously not dented in the least.

      Refusing to dignify the situation with an answer, she stared out at the eighteenth green where two couples completed their game.

      A mist blurred her vision for a second. She swallowed hard as agony, which she could usually hold at bay, rushed over her.

      “There are other things in life besides dancing,” he said softly, his fingers gliding along her forearm as if to soothe the troubling emotion.

      She recoiled from any possible pity he might feel toward her. “Not for me,” she stated, staring him straight in the eye.

      He shrugged and rose. “It’s your life. But my offer still stands.” He walked off.

      Two

      Sunday morning, Michael arrived at the country club with fifteen minutes to spare before tee time. He grabbed his golf bag and joined Flynt Carson and Tyler Murdoch in front of the pro shop.

      “Spence can’t make it,” Flynt informed the other two. “He’s tied up on a case.”

      “The Carl Bridges case, I assume,” Tyler muttered.

      Michael didn’t know Tyler all that well, but he liked and respected what he’d seen of him. The man was an engineer of some kind for the military. There was a darkness about him, a fierceness that could be intimidating in his hawklike glance. He played one hell of a game of golf and had the lowest handicap of any of them.

      “I would guess so. Matt is going to join us,” Flynt continued. “If he can tear himself away.”

      Michael grinned along with the other two men. He wondered what it was about newlywed bliss that mellowed out men. Both Flynt and Matt showed signs of going soft in the head since their marriages. It wasn’t something he and Tyler were apt to experience. They were dedicated career men.

      “I heard Michael here isn’t a possible father to Lena,” Tyler continued. “I finally grabbed a minute and went over to the clinic for the test. We’ll know in a few days if I’m a match.” He snorted in obvious disbelief.

      Flynt checked his watch, then peered down the road with a frown. Matt was late. Michael glanced at the clock behind the desk where the golf pro looked over some papers. They had two minutes until they were supposed to tee off.

      Tyler yawned and stretched. “I’ll give you ten to one that the unknown daddy is ol’ Luke.”

      “You think?” Flynt questioned affably.

      “Damn right,” Tyler affirmed. “He’s probably off with