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QUINTON STARED at the touching scene through the glass wall of Carly’s room. Since no one had bothered to draw the privacy curtain, he had a perfect view.
“Carly freely admitted taking the medicine,” Elaine said.
Quinton nodded. Whereas Beth Johnson was guilty of being irresponsible with her purse, she wasn’t guilty of any type of child abuse. During his residency, he’d seen it all, including the mother who’d deliberately overmedicated her child, causing massive ulcers in her daughter’s stomach lining that had eventually started to bleed. The child hadn’t even been two.
No, Beth Johnson had made a mistake, and she was a far cry from a Division of Family Services case. He could sum up a person’s character in a heartbeat, and he knew without a doubt that she was devoted to her child. She’d confirmed it in the conference room with her passionate plea for his understanding. He frowned, remembering. He hadn’t liked his reaction to her.
He stared at the ink pen he held, which was emblazoned with some drug manufacturer’s logo. Maybe tonight he was simply caving in from all the family pressure he was under. Perhaps he was still a tad burnt out from the holidays. He watched as Beth helped her daughter sit up. Beth Johnson was a natural nurturer. It was as if she’d never lost that proverbial glow from pregnancy that he saw on women’s faces when they interviewed for their unborn child’s future pediatrician. But Beth Johnson was somehow different, somehow more. He couldn’t put his finger on it. Suddenly, the call button flashed and Elaine was on a run. Within moments, all three women had rushed to the bathroom.
Quinton sighed. That meant one thing: soon he’d be signing Carly’s release papers and she and her hauntingly attractive mother would disappear into the night. They would fade into the faceless masses he treated when in the pediatric ER.
He turned and went to check on a new patient.
Chapter Two
“Come on, Quinton. Don’t be such a fuddy-duddy. At least stay for the stripper.”
Quinton lowered the half-empty bottle of beer. He really wanted to go home. Bachelor parties weren’t exactly his thing, and worse, they reminded him, that, unlike most of the men in the room, he wasn’t married. Not that Quinton was in a hurry to settle down and get married. That was what his family wanted him to do. But Quinton wanted the whole fantasy of love ever after, and was prepared to spend his life alone if he didn’t find it. A man didn’t marry because he was afraid of being alone. A man married because he’d found his perfect mate for life.
Unlike Bill, age forty-five. His bachelor party was for his second marriage. The first Mrs. Webber now enjoyed a house and a new BMW courtesy of her wealthy ex. The bride-to-be was twenty years younger than Bill. No, that type of relationship wasn’t for Quinton.
He wanted a woman who loved him for him. He wanted the whole heart and soul, for better or worse, for richer or poorer, death-do-us-part thing. He wanted the fairy tale. Hell, he wanted what, in reality, probably didn’t exist.
Quinton twisted the bottle in his hand. Maybe he shouldn’t have been a doctor, especially one with ER duty. Doctors experienced too much negative reality. Jaded, Quinton knew the fairy tale was fake.
Unlike Carly Johnson. At four years of age, she had confused him for a prince. He was no prince. Quinton shook his head. Eight days had passed since Carly left the ER, and her small face still haunted him. She’d been pale but undeniably brave after her body had begun to purge itself of the liquid charcoal.
She’d even hugged him as she left, her small arms finding and tugging at the heartstrings he kept safely hidden. At that moment he’d looked into Beth Johnson’s blue eyes and seen tears. Not tears of happiness, but of something else he hadn’t been able to catch before she’d lowered her lashes and hidden the emotions. Images of Beth had haunted him, too, and that had never happened before. They remained as fresh as on the day they met—
“She’s here,” Larry said, interrupting Quinton’s thoughts. “At least stay for this. Bill won’t understand if you walk out early.”
“Fine.” Quinton tossed the empty bottle into a trash can. He could use the time to sober up a bit. Although he’d only had two beers, he rarely imbibed any alcohol, and he could definitely feel its effects. Besides, even though he disliked strip shows, maybe the tawdriness of it would help dispel his memories of the Johnsons. Quinton followed Larry into the family room and both men took a seat on the sofa.
“Everyone here?” Mike, one of the senior doctors in the practice, glanced around the room. “Great. Well, Bill, this little show’s just for you, to give you a hint what you’re giving up by being dumb enough to tie the knot again!”
Hooting and hollering followed as a woman entered the room. The large-brimmed hat she wore shadowed her face, and a tan trench coat covered her body. She set a boom box down, pressed a button and the music began. Catcalls resounded as she rotated her hips sensually. At the same time, she began to peel off her gloves, then tossed one of them over the head of the guy nearest to her. He responded with a loud whistle.
Quinton reached forward and, from the dish on the coffee table, grabbed a handful of peanuts. He should have left. He just hated these displays, they always embarrassed him. His highly moralistic mother had ingrained in him a sense of gentlemanly dignity and appreciation of a lady. Thus, he’d never been able to understand how a woman could sell her body to make money.
Deciding to take a clinical approach to the stripper, Quinton leaned back against the sofa and studied her as he had those pornographic films years ago during a six-hour-straight pornographic films desensitization exercise in med school.
Her hat still hid part of her face, but the trench coat had been loosened to reveal her black lace outfit underneath. She did a maneuver in which she dropped to sit without a chair, and Bill grinned widely. The beer Quinton had had suddenly tasted old and pasty in his mouth. She stood up, flashed the crowd by opening and closing her trench coat, then simply opened the coat and let slip off her shoulders.
The words to the song were something about leaving the hat on but she tilted it up and away from her face. Once she turned around Quinton would be able to see her. But she arched her back and pivoted.
The trench coat fell to her feet and all the men except for Quinton hollered. Instead, he swallowed. Despite his clinical aloofness, the body underneath the black lace outfit appealed to him. The woman didn’t have a perfect body, but her warm full curves made his fingers itch to touch them. She unhooked a garter belt and Quinton felt himself strain against his jeans. She straightened, and with a flick of her wrist, she finally sent the hat flying. Dark blond hair tumbled from beneath the hat and spread over her shoulders. Then she turned.
And Quinton froze.
Those lips. That nose. Those blue eyes. They’d stayed with him for the past two weeks.
He was on his feet in a second, next to her in maybe one more. She began to loosen a strap. “Stop,” he said. He placed a hand on her arm.
For her to register that he wasn’t just some drunk frisking a feel took a moment. Beth swatted Quinton’s hand away. “What are you doing?” She kept her voice low, so only he could hear.
“I’m getting you out of here.” He couldn’t believe the force behind his words. To hell with the boos from his friends and acquaintances. They were married or about to be. They didn’t need a peep show, especially of her. Hell, most of them wouldn’t remember her face five minutes after she left.
What kind of a mother was she, anyway? He could still picture Carly’s innocent eyes.
“Cut it out, Quinton. Whatcha doing?” someone called.
He really didn’t know, nor did he answer, but like a possessed man, he circled Beth’s wrist with his fingers and dragged her toward the kitchen.
“Let go of me,” Beth said as she wrenched herself away. “I don’t appreciate what you think you’re doing. I have to finish my job—”
At that moment she recognized him. “Oh.”
“‘Oh’ is right. Your job’s finished.”
“Quinton?” Larry poked his head around the cabinets. “Is everything okay?”
“Move on to the porno flicks or something. She won’t be finishing. And bring me her stuff, will ya?”
“What do I tell Bill?”
“Make something up.”
“You can’t do this,” Beth said.
“I just did,” Quinton said, as Larry returned with Beth’s things. “You had me so fooled.” He shook his head savagely as he tossed her trench coat at her. “Let’s go.”
“I’m not going anywhere until you tell me…”
She must have seen the look in his eyes, for she headed toward the door. After telling Larry to make his excuses, that he’d explain later, he was right on her heels.
“Where’s your car?” he demanded as they exited the building, his gaze roving the street.
“I took the L,” she said.
“Then get in mine,” he said. One hand still on her arm, with his free hand he fumbled for the remote and unlocked his Mercedes. When he reached for the door handle, she pulled away.
“Stop this. I’m not going anywhere with you. You’ve screwed everything up! Don’t you get it? I had a job to do and—”
“Job’s over. I’m taking you home. You won’t go back inside.” He glared at her, and she glared right back.
She must have believed him, though, for she said, “I can get home by myself. I don’t even remember your name.”
“I’m Quinton Searle. You can call me Quinton.” His jaw set in a stubborn line. “And I’m taking you home.”
Her chin came up as she held her ground. “I can take care of myself. You are not my keeper. I got here, didn’t I?”
More possessiveness swept over him, even surprising him. “That’s irrelevant. I’ll drive you. In that getup at this time of the night you won’t even make it to the L station without being accosted.”
“Isn’t that what you’re doing?” Her ice-blue eyes blazed, and Quinton felt something inside him stir.
Damn, but she did things to him. Exactly what he wasn’t certain, but he’d never yanked a woman out of a party before, much less a stripper. “I’m not attacking you. I’m saving you.”
“Yeah, right,” she said, but to his relief she complied and got in the car.
His respite from her verbal attack lasted mere seconds.
“You do realize that you just cost me five hundred dollars.”
Quinton gripped the leather steering wheel tighter. Was that all her display was worth? His boat slip at Belmont Harbor cost more. Her chest heaved and the coat parted slightly. Quinton forced himself to keep his eyes on the road.
“You shouldn’t be stripping. You have a child. You have a moral example to set.”
“Oh thank you for that lecture, Mr. Moral Majority. How dare you accuse me of being a bad parent!”
He hadn’t thought so in the ER. There, her love and tenderness for her child had impressed him. Seeing this side to her tarnished that earlier image and he lashed out.
“In two weeks I’ve observed two examples of your unfit parenting! Your little girl gets into your purse and eats medicine, and then I find you at a bachelor party shucking your clothes. That’s pretty cut-and-dried to me, lady.”
“You’re a jerk and I’d never be your lady! Hell, I wouldn’t even want to be your sister.”
“That’s good. My sister’s a lawyer and getting married to a banker in four weeks. I doubt Shelby’s ever taken off her clothes before multiple men in her life.”
“‘Ye who are sinless toss the first stone,’” Beth said.
“I will,” Quinton replied, then snapped, “Where do you live?”
She rattled off an address. His eyebrows rose and he glanced at her. “You must do well. Pretty high-end, isn’t it?”
Bitterness etched her features. “So high-end they’re converting to condos and tossing out all the trash like me. And thanks to your interference tonight, I won’t have the money to afford a security deposit for something else.”
“Maybe you should get a real job.”
“Maybe you should mind your own business.”
He should. He shouldn’t care, but the objectivity he had cultivated his whole life had fled. “I did once already. I could have hotlined your daughter’s drug ingestion. Gotten Social Services on your tail. Hell, if I’d known you stripped for a living I would have.”
“I don’t strip for a living. I have a job!”
“You have a real job?” Even he heard how sharp he sounded, but he couldn’t contain himself. “So tell me about your real job. Convince me why I shouldn’t call Social Services anyway.”
“You double-standard…uh! You think you’re so high and mighty being a doctor and all, and there you were at a bachelor party! How many drinks did you have? Maybe I should flag down a cop. Have you tested for DWI.”
“You do that.” The effects of alcohol had fled and Quinton knew he was well below the legal limit. He never even would have considered driving otherwise. To his satisfaction, she settled against the leather seat with a thump. “Didn’t think so.”
“I realized it would mean more time in your undesired presence.” Her voice, although lowered in volume, still had an edge to it.
Despite himself, he grinned. “Touché.”
He parked the car by the curb outside her apartment building, right next to a sign announcing that the building was ninety-percent sold. She hadn’t been lying about it being converted to condos, pricey ones at that.
“I’ll walk you up so that no one sees you. Your neighbors don’t know of your occupation, do they?”
Beth’s blue eyes flashed as she held her temper in check. “For the last time, I am not a stripper. This was a one-time job that a friend arranged. I would have received five hundred plus any tips or bonuses.” Defeat filled her voice. “You’ve messed everything up.”
She stormed ahead of him, and he noted that the outer door wasn’t locked. Not a very secure building. He followed her up to the second floor, and when she began to open her apartment door, the neighboring one opened. An elderly lady stuck her head out.
“Hi, Beth. You’re home early.”
“Yes,” Beth said. She kept her back to Quinton as she spoke to the woman.
“Well, Carly’s fast asleep. Why don’t you just leave her until morning? Oh. That annoying Mr. Anderson came by tonight and dropped an official-looking letter under your door.”
“Great.” Beth threw her hands up into the air. “I asked him for more time, at least until the end of the month. Obviously not.”
The neighbor looked sympathetic. “I told you that I’d store your stuff for you and that you can stay with me for a while. I told you I’d help you out any way I can.”
“No. That’s really sweet of you, but I can’t. Really.”
“Beth…”
“How about we talk about this tomorrow, when I get Carly?” Beth glanced at Quinton, and the elderly lady’s eyes radiated understanding.
“Okay, dear.” The woman closed her door.
As Beth opened her front door, Quinton glimpsed an envelope on the floor. As she stooped to grab it, impulse made him lean forward and snatch it first.
“Give me that!”
He held it up out of her reach. “I will when you tell me what’s in it. The papers your neighbor mentioned?”
“Of course you would be the type to listen to other people’s conversations. Yes, as a matter of fact, they’re my eviction papers. Now, you’ve done more than enough tonight. Hand me that and go away. Please.”
She held out her hand and Quinton reluctantly placed the envelope in her outstretched fingers. She pressed it to her chest as if afraid he might change his mind.
“How long do you have?” he asked.
“None of your business,” she snapped.
“How long?”
She shifted her weight to the other foot. “By noon Tuesday.”
Could a landlord do that? “That’s only three more days.”
