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“Well, aren’t you going to say something?” Lily asked him, circling an arm around his shoulder and pulling him close for an affectionate hug.
“Frankly, Lily, I’m not quite sure what to say,” he told her honestly. “Who’s minding the store? There must be countless women in labor wondering what’s happened to the staff.”
“They’ve all been nice enough to time their contractions to convenience our little party. Besides, there’s just been a shift change. What you’ve got here is the first shift on their way out.”
“Yet you all made time to wish me a happy birthday,” Jonas remarked, honestly flattered by their gesture. “Thank you,” he added. “I’m not sure how you knew it was my birthday....” His voice trailed off as he offered Lily a look of mock censure. “And it might be best if I don’t find out, but...” He didn’t know what else to say, so he simply repeated, “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” Lily told him. “Now hurry up and blow out your candles before someone calls the fire marshal.”
As Jonas approached the cake, he glimpsed Zoey from the corner of his eye trying to make a discreet exit. There was no doubt in his mind that she had been pressed into attending this party against her will, and suddenly feeling inexplicably devilish, he called out after her, “Give me a hand here, will you, Zoey? I’m not sure I can do this by myself.”
She paused, her long, fiery ponytail shivering like liquid copper as she clearly tried to control what was at best her pique—and at worst her rage, Jonas was certain—at being singled out from the others.
“Sorry, Dr. Tate, but I’m kind of pressed for time,” she said as she spun around quickly. “I’m pulling an extra shift later tonight for Jeannette, and I’ve really got to get home and catch a little shut-eye before I come back.”
Her long hair kept moving even when she stopped, cascading over one shoulder in a ruddy stream. Jonas’s fingers twitched at his sides. Normally she wore her hair confined in a tightly woven French braid or wound into a bun. This was the loosest he’d ever seen it, and he was helpless to deny that, at the moment, he wanted nothing more for his birthday than to bury his fingers in the silky tresses. He wondered if her “little shut-eye” after work included a man, and if that was why she was wearing her hair almost loose like that. Her green eyes flashed at him as he formed the thought, as if to demand what business it was of his if she were.
“Oh, come on,” he cajoled her. “This will only take a minute.”
Zoey Holland glared at Jonas Tate with all her might, willing him to spontaneously combust so that she could go home and soak in a hot bath. It was no secret to anyone in the east wing that she and Jonas Tate did not, to put it politely, get along with each other. Yet here he was, in front of God and everyone, daring her to be nice to him. His challenge didn’t sit well with Zoey, and she wondered what he was setting her up for.
On top of that, she’d had a lousy day. The only thing that had made it bearable was that it had looked as if she would see it through to its completion without running into the infuriating Dr. Tate. She had been this close to grabbing her coat and leaving the floor when she’d been corralled by Dr. Forrest.
Only because Zoey had such enormous respect and admiration for Lily Forrest had she conceded to the woman’s request that she attend this surprise party for Jonas Tate. She didn’t have to stay long, only a few minutes, Lily had promised her, knowing as well as everyone that Zoey didn’t get along with the good doctor. But maybe, Lily had suggested further, Zoey’s appearance would help mend the rift that seemed to be growing wider everyday between the two.
Zoey knew the only thing that would mend the rift between herself and Dr. Tate would be to erect a wall three feet thick between the two of them. But, nonetheless, she had promised Lily she would come. What would a few minutes hurt? she had reasoned. She could hang back in the corner and sneak out when no one was looking. Besides, Lily had said there would be cake. Chocolate cake with white icing, without question the most favorite culinary treat Zoey could name. She’d grab a piece and take it home, and have it with her coffee after dinner.
A few minutes, she repeated to herself now. That was how long Lily had said Zoey would have to stay. Well, a few minutes were up, and she wanted to go home. Still, Jonas Tate’s eyes glittered with the light of combat as he awaited her reply, and she had never been one to back down from a challenge. Especially when she’d been challenged by an overblown, egocentric, self-important, male chauvinistic—
“Zoey?” he asked again, his deep, rusty-sounding baritone grating on her nerves. “Better hurry. This cake’s going to set off the sprinkler system if we don’t put it out soon.”
She wasn’t sure when or why she decided to play along, but Zoey suddenly found herself moving slowly toward the good doctor. He looked like hell, she noted absently. His hair, normally a little longish, but nonetheless neat, was becoming pretty shaggy, and he clearly hadn’t shaved that morning.
She wondered idly if he had overslept at the house of a female companion after spending the night practicing all kinds of sexual gymnastics, and simply hadn’t had the time—or the energy—to make himself presentable for work. Come to think of it, he did look pretty exhausted, she thought as she drew nearer. Just what kind of women did he date, anyway?
He smiled at her when she halted beside him, and she wondered why she even cared about the type of woman who would interest Jonas Tate. She already knew the answer to that—someone coy, petite, demure and submissive. Which, of course, left her completely out of the running. At five foot ten, she stood nearly eye-to-eye with him, fewer than two inches shorter than he was. She was big boned, too, her hands strong and capable and not much smaller than his. And as for the coy, demure and submissive part, well... Zoey Holland had never been accused of being any of those things. She spoke her mind when it suited her—and often when it did not—and no one, no one, ever told her what to do.
Except for Jonas Tate, a little voice in the back of her head taunted. He can get a rise out of you faster than a thoroughbred through the gate.
Zoey doubled her fists at her sides when she realized how easily she had fallen into the trap. Just by succumbing to his dare that she do something he knew she otherwise wouldn’t, she’d played right into Jonas Tate’s hands. Once again, he’d told her what to do.
“On the count of three,” he instructed her softly, his voice coming from dangerously near her ear.
She turned to find his face scant inches away from her own and started to back away. But his fingers circled her wrist and held her close, a cryptic smile that curled his lips her only indication that he’d known how she was going to react before she’d even formed the thought in her head. Reluctantly, she stayed put in her position beside him, but she couldn’t quite shake the shivery sensations that spiraled up her arm and through her heart to pool in a tightly wound coil in her stomach.
She scarcely heard him count the numbers, but reacted accordingly when he reached three. Zoey and Jonas both inhaled deeply, bent forward at the waist and expelled their breaths in a long gust of wind. The candles sputtered and went out, every last one. The group surrounding them laughed and applauded, and even Zoey felt oddly pleased by their accomplishment.
“Guess this means my birthday wish will come true,” Jonas said, his voice low and suggestive and once again closer to Zoey’s ear than she found comfortable.
When she turned to face him this time, his eyes were lit with a bold fire, and she got the unnerving feeling that he was trying to tell her something.
“Yeah, well, that’s what they say, isn’t it?” she replied, her own voice sounding breathless and weak.
His fingers on her wrist tightened, not painfully, but insistently. “Don’t you want to know what I wished for, Zoey?”
The light in his eyes took on a new dimension, now becoming undeniably libidinous. She felt his thumb stroking over the pulse in her wrist, felt her own heart racing. Was this some kind of joke? she wondered. What was he trying to do to her?
She shook her head feebly as she replied, “No. I don’t think I do.”
One corner of his mouth lifted in a wry grin. “Well, since my wish is destined to come true, you’ll find out about it soon enough, seeing as how it includes you, too.”
She tried to laugh off the odd sexual tension that had suddenly leapt up between them, but her laughter came out sounding hollow and false. Finally, she tugged her wrist out of his grasp, circling it with her free hand as if she’d been burned.
“Oh, I get it,” she said with a flip shake of her head, regaining enough of her senses to issue a chuckle that was almost convincing. “I know what you wished for.”
The gleam in his pale brown eyes brightened, and he took a step closer to her. “Do you?” he asked.
Zoey nodded and took a step in retreat. “You want me gone. You’re either going to demand my resignation, or you’re expecting me to foul something up so badly you’ll have the perfect excuse to fire me.”
This time Jonas Tate was the one to chuckle, a single, solitary sound that lacked all humor. “Is that what you really think?” he asked her.
Zoey nodded harder. “It’s what I know.”
She took another—giant—step away from him, and the distance seemed to give her more strength, more energy, more conviction that he would not throw her off balance. She glanced quickly around to make sure the others in attendance were occupied elsewhere before she continued, somehow managing to keep her voice low.
“Well, don’t hold your breath, Dr. Tate,” she continued. “Because I’ve been at Seton General for too long and like it too well to give up my position just because some doctor finds me an annoyance. And all modesty aside, I’m too good at what I do to ever make a mistake that would end my career here.”
She waited to see how he would respond, and wondered if maybe in speaking to him so boldly she had just made precisely the kind of mistake she’d sworn not to. But instead of retorting angrily or threatening to fire her, Jonas Tate just smiled.
“Touché, Zoey,” he finally said quietly. “Touché.”
And with that he turned to the cake that Lily had finished slicing and was now passing out to everyone present. He didn’t look back at Zoey once, didn’t even seem to notice she was there. For just the briefest of moments, she felt jealous indignation that the man had the nerve to slight her in such a way. Then she realized how ridiculous a reaction that was. She wanted Jonas Tate to ignore her, she reminded herself. And if that meant she had to be dismissed by him, so be it. It was better than being singled out for his full attention.
Wondering why she should suddenly feel cheated that she wasn’t the center of his universe when she had been trying for months to steer clear of him, Zoey backed away. Someone pressed a paper plate with a generous slab of cake into her hand, and she looked down at it blindly. Then, making her way to the LDR room door, she quietly slipped outside. Sleep, she repeated to herself as she went. She needed to catch a few z’s. That could be the only reason for her odd reaction to Jonas Tate just now. By this evening, she wouldn’t even be able to remember what his careless touch had done to her.
Two
Zoey stretched her arms high above her head and watched the clock at the nurses’ station, smiling as the minute hand reached toward the twelve and brought her another hour closer to a long weekend. She had forgotten how pleasant the third shift could be sometimes, when it was quiet and slow moving and passed without incident. In a little over an hour, she’d be heading home to enjoy a leisurely Friday, followed by an even more leisurely Saturday and Sunday. Normally she would be rushing around to get ready for work right now. It was nice how occasionally an otherwise inconvenient scheduling change worked out just right.
Nonetheless, she had been quite happy to leave the eleven-to-seven shift for regular daytime hours three years ago, having grown weary of living her life upside down. Back then, she hadn’t been able to manage any kind of social life, because she had worked while most people slept and slept while others were out enjoying the day. Of course, back then, she’d also had an excuse for why she seldom dated. Now that she was working more regular hours, she still went out with men infrequently. And now she was hard-pressed to figure out why.
Because most men were jerks, she answered herself immediately. Case in point: Dr. Jonas Tate.
Just who in the hell did he think he was? she asked herself for perhaps the hundredth time since yesterday afternoon. He could have caused a nuclear meltdown with those boiling magma glances he had tossed her way. She felt her temperature rise at the simple recollection, telling herself the heat was a result of her anger and nothing more. She had not found his suggestive comments intriguing, she assured herself. Insulting, yes; infuriating, yes; incendiary, okay, maybe. But intriguing? Uh-uh. No way. Absolutely not.
Zoey was still telling herself this when seven o’clock rolled around and Jeannette came in to relieve her. Instead of feeling tired, however, she felt oddly reenergized by her late night’s work and looked forward to a day of play. Olivia would be working, but Sylvie’s bartender hours left her free during the day. Maybe she and Sylvie and Gennie could have an adventure, Zoey thought with a smile. March was still kind of cold to be out and about, but maybe they could take in a movie or do some shopping.
When she’d gathered her things and shrugged into her parka, she exited the nurse’s lounge and punched the button for the down elevator. With a tinny-sounding ding, the doors unfolded, and Lily Forrest stood ready to exit in much the same way Zoey was poised to enter. For some inexplicable reason, when she saw the doctor on the elevator, Zoey suddenly felt the urge to run. There was just something about the expression on Lily’s face that made her feel a little wary.
“Zoey!” the doctor cried when she saw her. “Are you on your way out?”
She nodded, edging closer to the elevator, stretching her arm across the open door, instinctively preparing herself for a hasty retreat. “Hi, Lily. Yes, I’m leaving. Jeannette and I switched shifts, so she’ll be working my hours today. I’m on my way home. Sorry.”
“No, don’t be sorry,” the other woman assured her. “This is perfect. I couldn’t have arranged it better if I’d tried.”
Zoey gazed at Lily warily. The elevator door banged against her arm insistently, as if to urge her, Run! Run while there’s still time! “Arranged what?” she asked, feeling somehow that she was going to be sorry for asking the question.
“You live in Haddonfield, don’t you?” Lily asked.
Zoey nodded. “Uh, yeah, I do. I rent an apartment there.”
“Wonderful,” Lily said with a smile. “I really hate to ask, but since you’re on your way out and headed in that direction, anyway, I wonder if you might do me a favor?”
“What’s that?”
“Would you mind dropping off a patient file for me in Tavistock on your way home?”
Zoey released a breath she hadn’t even been aware of holding and smiled in relief. “Sure, no problem.”
“It was left here inadvertently yesterday and it’s vital to a doctor’s presentation at the National Institutes of Health in Maryland later this morning. If he has to drive all the way to the hospital to get it before heading down to Bethesda, he’ll never make it on time.”
She extended a manila folder toward Zoey, who tucked it under her arm. “Here’s the address,” she added, jotting it down on a small pad of paper she retrieved from the pocket of her lab coat. “It won’t be too far out of your way, will it?”
Zoey shook her head as she glanced at the address. “Don’t worry about it, Lily. Tavistock is close enough to my apartment that I take my evening strolls there every night.”
And it was a very nice neighborhood, she thought as she tucked the scrap of paper into the inside pocket of her parka. Huge homes, many of them lovely Victorians, with perfectly manicured lawns and gardens, and huge trees that stretched to the sky. It was the kind of place she loved—quiet, peaceful, beautiful. After some of the experiences Zoey had suffered in her life, serenity and beauty were two things she strove to embrace in every waking moment.
“I appreciate it,” Lily said as she rushed past Zoey and down the hall toward neonatal, her flat heels clip-clopping merrily on the tile floor. “I owe you one,” she called over her shoulder just before she disappeared around a corner.
Zoey waved her off and turned back to the elevator. When she’d taken the address from Lily, she’d released the door, which had closed on a car that was now gone. Oh, well, she thought. She was in too good a mood to let it bother her. She had a three-day weekend before her, with nothing specific she had to do and no one to bother her. Best of all, she thought further with a smile, she was guaranteed seventy-two hours without the specter of Jonas Tate hovering over her. With a satisfied sigh, she punched the button again and settled in to wait.
* * *
Jonas Tate stared down at the sleeping baby in the nursery across from his bedroom, thinking about a redheaded nurse and wondering what on earth had made him behave so peculiarly the afternoon before. He had come on to Zoey Holland in a room full of people, had all but undressed her with his eyes while a dozen of his co-workers looked on. No, that wasn’t true, actually, he corrected himself. He had indeed undressed her with his eyes. And dammit, he’d liked what he’d seen.
Oh, God, how could he have done that? he asked himself. How could he find such an infuriating woman attractive? Zoey Holland was an overbearing, stubborn, know-it-all loudmouth, a woman more suited to inciting prison riots than caring for infants. There was absolutely no reason why she should turn him on so thoroughly, he told himself. None at all. Yet if that were the case, why had Juliana’s cries of an hour ago awakened him from one of the most erotic dreams he’d ever enjoyed, a dream whose focus had been none other than Nurse Zoey?
He just wasn’t getting enough sleep, Jonas thought. That was the only explanation he could come up with for behaving so strangely at the hospital yesterday afternoon and for the unsettling fantasies he’d been indulging in lately about Zoey. Total exhaustion did strange things to people. And there was no chance he was going to catch up on his sleep tonight.
Tonight? he repeated to himself. Hell, it was already morning again. And once again, he felt more tired upon waking than he had upon falling into bed the night before. He was disoriented and dazed and clutching a half-empty bottle of formula in his hands, but Juliana was sleeping peacefully for a change and he was terrified of moving away from the crib lest he disturb her and set her to crying again.
All around him, his house was silent. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d experienced such a lack of sound. When he’d first moved into the rambling old Victorian in Tavistock, he had loved it—loved its big, airy rooms and wide windows, the rich jewel-toned colors of the walls and dark mahogany trim, the huge trees growing outside and what had seemed a steady, constant quiet. The house, the neighborhood, everything, had been perfect for the first several months he was in residence. Then on New Year’s Day, Mrs. Edna Caldecott of International Children’s Services had arrived at his front door with a bundle of bad news and a baby in her arms.
As if inspired by his memories, the doorbell buzzed loudly downstairs, and the baby started. For one hopeful moment, Jonas thought Juliana was going to slide calmly back into sleep again, and he cautiously lifted one foot to step away from the crib. Then her eyes snapped open, and her chin began to crumple, an expression he knew meant she was about to start howling. As if cued by his thoughts, Juliana opened her little mouth and belted out a high-pitched scream that nearly shattered his eardrums.
Jonas reached into the crib, but hesitated before touching her, still completely uncomfortable holding the baby even after more than two months of performing the task. Of course, he tried to avoid touching her unless he absolutely had to, leaving that aspect of child care to the countless sitters he’d hired to watch Juliana during the day.
He’d been through a half-dozen since January, dismissing most of them because he didn’t trust something or other about them. Mrs. Howard had been too stern looking, while Mrs. Cather had seemed too indulgent and likely to spoil. Evan had been nice enough, but he just wasn’t sure a nineteen-year-old boy had the knowledge necessary for caring for an infant. And Melissa... Well, the moment he’d come home from work to find her waiting for him in his bed wearing little more than a smile, he’d known she wasn’t right for the job, either.
He’d been very pleased with Mrs. Garrison, the most recent one, though. At sixty-two, she’d raised four children of her own and had the nicest blue eyes Jonas had ever seen. He’d begun to look forward to a long and healthy relationship with her as Juliana’s nanny, but she had informed him yesterday afternoon that she wouldn’t be back. She was scheduled to be arraigned on armed robbery charges the following day, and there was a good chance she was going to be occupied elsewhere for the next five to ten years. Although with time off for good behavior, she’d told him, she might be available again before then, if he was still interested.
The doorbell buzzed again and Juliana cried more loudly, jerking her tiny arms and legs in a silent demand to be held.
“All right, all right,” Jonas muttered, lifting the baby gingerly from the crib and positioning her awkwardly against his shoulder.
He made his way carefully downstairs, deciding not to worry about the fact that he wore only purple silk pajama bottoms and nothing more. He couldn’t imagine who would be ringing his doorbell at seven-thirty in the morning, but he sure as hell wasn’t going to make himself presentable for them. Juliana’s howling increased about ten decibels with every step he took down the stairs, so by the time he reached the door, she was red faced and screechy and almost out of control.
Which was pretty much how Jonas felt, too, when he saw Zoey Holland standing on his front porch.
“What are you doing here?” they chorused as one.
“I live here,” Jonas replied.
“Lily Forrest sent me,” Zoey said at the same time. Then, before he could say more, she demanded, “What on earth are you doing to that poor baby?”
In spite of the fact that her career consisted of being surrounded by moody infants, Zoey couldn’t bear to hear a baby crying in anguish. Instinctively, she reached for the child in Jonas Tate’s arms, tamping down all the questions that swirled in her head at his appearance. She noted only that he surrendered the baby willingly, and she pushed past him into the house, nudging the door shut with her foot before the cold morning air could chill the infant. She rocked the baby carefully, murmuring soothing, meaningless sounds. The tiny thing stopped crying almost instantly, focusing intently on Zoey’s face, blinking her teary, red-rimmed eyes.
“There’s my good girl,” Zoey said quietly, knowing immediately that the child was female. She placed a soft kiss on the baby’s forehead, inhaling the sweet aroma of powder and soap, and she smiled. “Here,” she added to Jonas, jerking the patient file out from under her arm and thrusting it toward him without looking at him. “Dr. Forrest asked me to drop this off on my way home. She said you’d need it today.”
When he didn’t take the file from her right away, Zoey glanced up. Now she had no choice but to take note of him, and she didn’t like what she saw. Well, she liked what she saw, she amended reluctantly, taking in the expansive chest covered with dark hair and corded muscle, the broad, steely shoulders and the pajamas dipping low on trim hips beneath a flat abdomen. She just wished the attributes she was appreciating belonged to someone other than Jonas Tate. When her gaze traveled up to meet his, he had arched a dark brow in question, and she realized he knew full well how closely she’d been inspecting his wares. She felt herself blush.
Unwilling to trust her voice just then, she shook the file in her hand to bring his attention to it. When he still did not take it from her, she cleared her throat discreetly and said, “Dr. Forrest seemed to think it was important.”
Jonas took the folder from her hands and tossed it onto the sofa without looking at it. Instead, his attention seemed to be focused completely on Zoey and the baby, who still stared solemnly up at her. And because she felt infinitely more capable of dealing with a baby than a nearly naked man, Zoey dropped her gaze back to the infant in her arms.
“What’s your name, sweetheart?” she asked in a soft, breathless voice, rubbing her bent knuckle gently against the baby’s cheek. “Hmm? What’s your name?”
The baby gurgled and smiled, making Zoey laugh in response.
“Juliana,” a deep, husky voice said beside her. “Tate. Her name is Juliana Tate.”
Zoey feared that if she looked up, she would find Jonas standing much too close to her, and then she would no doubt do something really foolish. Like reach out to touch him, which was what she definitely wanted to do. So she kept her gaze trained tightly on the baby and spoke to her instead. “Well, that’s an awfully big name for such a little baby, isn’t it, Juliana? Yes, that’s an awfully big name for you to grow into.”
Juliana cooed and smiled again.
“How did you do that?” Jonas asked.
Zoey glanced away from the baby and up at Jonas and, sure enough, regretted the action completely. Up close this way, she could see that his shoulders were deliciously freckled, and could make out every smooth plane of muscle from his neck to his waist. She swallowed with some difficulty before asking, “Do what?”
“You made her stop crying,” he indicated. “Just by holding her, you made her stop. And now she’s actually smiling at you. She’s never smiled at me.”
“I...I don’t know,” Zoey said honestly. “You can’t ‘make’ babies do anything. They choose whether to smile or to cry or to stop, and usually they have very good reasons for doing all three.”
His lips thinned into a tight line, and he settled his hands on his hips, an expression and pose Zoey had seen often enough to know what it meant. It meant she’d made him mad.
“So you’re saying I made Juliana cry,” he said in a deceptively calm voice.
“Not necessarily,” she replied quickly. “You’re her father, after all. Why would that make her cry?”
