Falling At The Surgeon's Feet. Lucy Ryder

Alexander was about as harmless as a tiger in a supermarket and had most likely perfected the art of seduction before he could walk.

      “No? Coffee, then?” he suggested in that deep hypnotic voice that invited women to do things they wouldn’t normally do. Things she wouldn’t normally do, but was suddenly tempted to try. “Besides being starving, I thought I might be useful.”

      Useful? Holly licked her lips. Completely against her wishes, her thoughts turned recklessly to just how useful he could be—to her exercise plan, of course—and then wondered if she was advertising her thoughts like a neon sign in the desert when his teeth flashed white in his handsome, tanned face. And because the notion flustered her, she blurted out, “Did you know that silicone is a better choice than rubber for medical purposes because it is more heat- and UV-resistant?”

      Realizing what she’d said, she squeezed her eyes shut and prayed for death. Ohmigod. Wouldn’t it be easier to just walk into the nearest wall? Or maybe step out into traffic? Because clearly the man just had to look at her and her mouth disconnected from her brain.

      “It’s also better at resisting chemical and fungal attacks, which makes it more durable,” she finished miserably and when he made a noise that sounded suspiciously like a chuckle she glared at him, only to find him looking back at her with polite interest—as if blurting out random stuff was normal.

      “Now, that I do know,” he revealed, hitching a shoulder in a smooth, boneless move that she envied. “I spent most of the eighth grade water-bombing the girls’ locker room. The fact that latex is so flexible means it’s more prone to breaking when stretched beyond its limits.” His teeth flashed. “But don’t worry, you’re safe. I’ve grown out of the urge to hear girls scream at the sight of latex.”

      Yeah, right, Holly thought a little hysterically. Safe, my eye. He was probably still making women scream—before wreaking havoc with their hearts.

      And when she felt queasy at the thought of him making some faceless woman scream, she turned away from his appealing smile before she gave in to the urge to return it—or maybe smack him for making her forget her plan.

      Just then the automatic doors opened to reveal a uniformed porter and Holly could have kissed the older man in sheer relief.

      On seeing her, the porter’s face broke into a wide, craggy smile. “Evening, Doc,” he greeted her in his heavy Brooklyn accent. “No big date tonight?” Holly shook her head as she did every time he asked and he clicked his tongue, sending the man beside her a reproving look. “It’s a sad day when a beautiful girl doesn’t have someone to wine and dine her at one of those fancy downtown restaurants. What is the world coming to?”

      Dr. Alexander sent her a silent look and shrugged as if to say, I did offer. Narrowing her eyes, Holly was seriously tempted to lie. Besides, she did have a date. Sort of. That it was probably takeout from the pizza place around the corner from the brownstone she shared with a couple of other surgical residents, along with a bottle of wine and a gallon of ice cream, was beside the point. A date was a date.

      Conscious of blue-green eyes watching her, Holly flushed. “Dating isn’t in my plan,” she told the older man. “At least, not right now,” she hastened to add when a soft snort reached her, and she wished she carried a stun gun in her purse because he now also knew that she didn’t date. And found it amusing. The jerk.

      “Plans change, Doc. Besides, you’re not getting any younger,” the porter advised, and Holly ground her back teeth together when Dr. Hollywood’s snort turned into a cough. “Want me to call you a cab?”

      “I’m fine, thank you.”

      She was tempted to add that she wasn’t entirely opposed to dating. Just not right now, thank you very much. Besides, the last guy she’d been serious about had taken one look at her sister Paige and decided perfection was better for his image than scarred and brainy.

      That Holly had thought to surprise Terrence Westfield one night and had found Paige already there—in his bed—was beside the point. The two of them had been discussing Holly like she was a freak and laughing about how naive she was to think a handsome guy like him could be interested in her. It had been even more devastating to discover that Terrence had only dated her to get her father’s attention in the hope that he could get an internship at her father’s law firm.

      She could have told him that Harris Buchanan only had time for his son and couldn’t care less whom she dated.

      When—if—she found a man who was either blind or could look beyond the surface flaws to the woman deep inside, she might risk it, but she first wanted to prove to herself that she didn’t need to be perfect or beautiful to succeed.

      Sighing, she turned to see Dr. I-Can-Make-Women-Scream watching her silently.

      “What?”

      His mouth turned up at the corners but his gaze was unreadable.

      “Wanna share a cab?”

      Holly quickly shook her head. She was suddenly eager to get away from him before she made a bigger fool of herself—which would be difficult after…well, everything that had happened.

      “No. Thank you.”

      He studied her silently for a couple of beats until headlights lit them up like they were on Broadway, signaling the cue for them to launch into a heartrending duet. But this wasn’t a Broadway musical and she couldn’t carry a tune to save her life.

      He casually lifted his arm like a born-and-bred New Yorker and like magic the empty cab slid to a stop. Holly ground her teeth together. She usually had to step into traffic and risk serious injury before a cabbie deigned to stop. And then it was mostly to yell abuse at her for being a “crazy chick with a death wish.”

      “You sure?”

      She swallowed an odd sensation that felt very much like disappointment—but couldn’t possibly be—at his imminent departure, and nodded before she changed her mind. “I’m sure.”

      After a moment he shrugged. “Suit yourself.” And leaning forward, he opened the cab door. Half expecting him to move aside so she could get in, Holly was momentarily distracted when he propped his arm on the top of the door and looked back at her, eyes dark and unreadable.

      “See ya, Doc,” he said, and slid into the cab, leaving Holly to gape at the departing vehicle.

      Chivalry, it seemed, even California celebrity style, was well and truly dead.

      The following week Holly had nearly double the number of scheduled procedures and didn’t have a lot of time to brood. Her life was right on track with the plan and her goal was within sight. There wasn’t time—or the inclination, she reminded herself—to be thinking about wicked blue-green eyes, let alone getting the opportunity to scream.

      But that was easier said than done, especially when she happened to look up during a breast reduction plasty to see a familiar figure in the observation room. Only this time he wasn’t sprawled bonelessly across the seats, head tipped back and eyes closed as his headphones pumped music into his ears.

      With his long legs planted wide and his folded arms testing the seams of his black T-shirt, he looked like a modern-day pirate on the deck of his ship as he challenged the sea. And although his expression and his eyes were in shadow, Holly knew he was looking right at her.

      She could feel the weight of that cool, assessing gaze and froze in familiar panic. It was only for an instant and scarcely noticeable by the people around her, but it sent her pulse racing and made her thighs tingle.

      “Dr. Buchanan?” The calm voice of Lin Syu made her blink and suck in a fortifying breath. She dropped her gaze briefly to the attending surgeon, who was waiting for Holly’s next move with a raised dark brow.

      Altering her grip on the miniature scalpel, Holly prepared to make the inverted T incision that would both lift and reduce the size of the breast once the excess