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He shoved his hands in his pockets and rocked back on his heels. “Want to know what I learned about you?”
“No,” she said quickly, and took a step toward him, only to stop abruptly when he didn’t move aside because for some idiotic reason he didn’t want to let her go. “I’m sure your insights are simply fascinating,” she continued, frowning at her watch as though she was very busy and couldn’t spare the time. “But I’m not that interesting.”
Gabe smiled, because in the few days—encounters— that he’d known her, Holly Buchanan had been anything but uninteresting. He lifted a hand to scratch his jaw and paused, his eyes narrowing thoughtfully when she sucked in a tiny breath as though the rasp of beard-roughened skin was somehow too intimate in the quiet room.
“You’re intensely focused, keep to yourself and practice with your hands without realizing it. You bite your thumbnail when you’re concentrating and hate being the center of attention. In fact, you mostly present only one side of your face to people you’re talking to.”
She bit her lip and looked away. Zeroing in on the move, he was suddenly tempted to lean forward and bite that plump lip too. But she was carrying her briefcase again and he didn’t want to tempt her to use it as a weapon. This time her aim might just reach ground zero.
“How am I doing so far?”
He was rewarded when she rolled her eyes and pressed her lips together as though her silence would discourage him. He’d spent enough time strutting around California beaches during his adolescence to know when a woman was disinterested. He’d bet his entire surfboard collection that Holly Buchanan had been just as affected by their little skirmish as he had. Her dilated pupils, wild rosy flush and that soft gasp she’d given when she’d realized how close he was—and how hard—were as telling as the shiver that had gone through her.
She was attracted but determined to fight it. The question was why. What had he done to offend her?
“Okay,” he mused, studying her through narrowed eyes. “My guess is you did all the girly-girl stuff, like ballet, piano and deportment. You probably feel like you have to excel at everything you do…maybe to make someone happy. Mother? Father? Boyfriend?” Her mouth dropped open and he grunted with displeasure at the notion. “Is it a boyfriend?”
“As if!” she practically squawked, and he smirked, strangely pleased by her reaction. Seeming embarrassed by her outburst, Holly pressed her lips together and tried to look bored.
He scratched his jaw again before sliding his gaze over her face, touching briefly on those silvery white scars. “I’d say your interest in plastic surgery stems from your own experiences or maybe some deep-seated need to fix other people’s mistakes.”
Her hand rose swiftly and then froze in mid-air, as though she was fighting an instinctive reaction to hide her face, and Gabe felt his gut clench as though he’d been carelessly insensitive.
Fighting the urge to wrap his arms around her and pull her into the safety of his arms—which was shocking enough—he let his gaze slide over her classically classy outfit, lingering overly long on her breasts, covered but not hidden by the expert fit of her jacket. He suddenly knew exactly how to put that spark of rebellion in her eyes and get the stubborn tilt back to that Irish chin.
“Or maybe I’ve got it completely wrong,” he drawled smoothly, making no secret of the direction of his gaze. “Maybe I’m not the only one into cosmetic surgery?”
For a moment she stared at him like he’d uttered an obscenity before she huffed out a breath and crossed her arms beneath her breasts, making Gabe wonder if it was to hide from his gaze or keep from taking a swing at him.
“That’s just insulting,” she snapped, and Gabe grinned. He kind of liked the idea that she was struggling with some pretty intense feelings and he didn’t mind the idea of getting into a tussle with her if she did take a swing at him.
In fact, he would enjoy it. Probably more than he should.
He expected a scathing response—or maybe a request for him to get the hell out of her way. What he didn’t expect was for her to open her mouth and say, “Did you know that women with breast implants are three times more likely to commit suicide or develop drug- and alcohol-related dependencies?”
Gabe tore his attention from her breasts with a “Huh?” and wondered if he’d heard correctly. She flushed and sucked in air before continuing and he struggled to connect the random facts with what they’d been discussing.
“Two-thirds are repeat clients.”
“O-o-okay….” Well, he could certainly attest to that fact. But what the hell did that have to do with—?
“In fact,” she continued peevishly, as though she held him personally responsible for women’s dissatisfaction with their bodies, “more than five million Americans are addicted to plastic surgery, spending about thirteen billion dollars annually on a variety of procedures. That’s enough to rival the national debt of a small country.”
She stared at him as though waiting for his response but he wasn’t sure what he would say if he did. Instead, he studied her silently for a couple of beats, his mouth slowly curling up at one corner. “Uh-huh. That’s quite fascinating but doesn’t really answer my question.”
She rolled her eyes and muttered something that sounded like “Never mind,” before taking a bold step toward him, no doubt hoping good manners would prompt him to move out of her way.
“I have mace,” she announced when he remained blocking her escape.
“No, you don’t,” he disputed, his grin growing into a chuckle when she blew out a frustrated breath. Her eyes narrowed to dangerous slits and her hand tightened on her briefcase as though she contemplated whacking him with it. “I know exactly what you have in there, remember,” he said, angling his shoulders just enough for her to slip past but not enough that she could avoid touching him.
But Holly Buchanan was obviously no pushover because just before she stomped from the room she sent him a level stare all women seemed to develop in the womb that said he was lower than slime for behaving like a jerk.
But, really, he didn’t know of one guy who wouldn’t have.
For a long moment he admired the straight spine, slender, curvy hips twitching with annoyance as she headed down the passage. The strappy heels that had caused at least one of her accidents this week tapped out an irritated beat on the tiled floor that for some odd reason he found damn sexy.
“By the way,” he called out, “did you know that the world’s largest condom is two hundred and sixty feet long with a base circumference of three hundred and sixty feet?” And when she paused in her stride and sent him a what-the-heck? look over her shoulder, he shrugged. “I’m just saying. Mediums are only good as water bombs.”
CHAPTER THREE (#ulink_bdd81b3c-5fca-563f-9905-f71c36ae666d)
HOLLY ROLLED HER eyes and set off down the passage at a fast clip, muttering to herself about men never growing up. While it was mostly true and not worth losing sleep over, it certainly beat thinking about her humiliating tumble into the lap of the one man she wanted to avoid. Or his physical reaction to her squirming around on his lap like a second-rate stripper hoping for a big tip.
Her face burned. And, boy, had she been given the biggest tip of her life. Before she could stop it, her skin prickled and heated and her heart set off like a vampire bat scenting warm blood. Oh, God. And to think that humiliating little incident had actually turned her on. Maybe this all-work-and-no-play plan of hers was making her a little crazy. Maybe all she needed was a few hours of hot, sweaty, heart-pumping exercise—at the gym, she added hastily—and she could get back to focusing on her plan to get the fellowship.
Besides, she was so close that she couldn’t let herself get distracted. Not now and certainly not by a guy who either nipped and tucked women into physical perfection or made the backs of their knees sweat.
Groaning inwardly, Holly increased her pace, as though she could outrun the memory of hard thigh and belly muscles pressed firmly against her bottom and then from chest to knee—and everything between—as she’d slid down the front of his hard frame.
She got a full-body tingle just thinking about it. A gasp of horror burst out. Full-body tingle? Oh, God.
Absolutely no freaking way. And not with him.
Focus on the plan, Buchanan, and not on the way he makes your knees wobble or the fact that medium was too small. No. Not too small, she corrected a little hysterically. Waa-aay too small.
Oh, boy. And since she’d inadvertently stared at his package, she would probably agree. She got another full-body shiver and muttered a curse when it slid down her spine like a delicious thrill.
Stop that, Holly, she ordered sternly, he’s the guy that turned Paige’s respectable B-cups into C pods. And for what? So he could make a few thousand bucks? So her sister could flash a bigger cleavage to all her adoring “fans” when she appeared on the latest magazine cover? Or went topless on Bimini?
Big deal. Especially when there were people out there scarred by life-altering events who didn’t have access to even basic medical care, let alone cutting-edge plastic surgery.
Weren’t there enough butchers willing to slice and dice in the name of vanity that West Manhattan could focus on building the best P&R center in the world? Besides, everyone knew that most women would never be satisfied with their looks, no matter what.
She was trying so hard to convince herself that there were no redeeming qualities about Dr. Hotshot from Beverly Hills that she failed to realize the man himself had caught up with her until a flash of movement drew her attention.
Her stride wobbled for an instant but she sucked in a fortifying breath and marched on, determined to ignore him. Besides, she needed all her concentration to keep upright or she might end up breaking something the next time she took a tumble.
She grimaced. She’d seen him a total of three times and managed to embarrass herself each time. Despite her klutzy childhood, it was probably a new record.
She clenched her jaw and sent him a narrow-eyed look out the corner of her eye but he appeared oblivious to her presence, loping along beside her with an easy, loose-limbed stride that was deceptively indolent, as though he was alone and liked it that way.
Holly rolled her eyes and ignored the pinch in her chest. Yep, story of my life. The hot guys always ignored her—especially when they discovered she wasn’t perfect, like the rest of her family. That she wasn’t as outgoing as her famous sister or as warm and beautiful as her mother.
Not that she wanted him to notice her, she amended quickly, especially if it meant she didn’t have to make conversation.
“Are you following me?” she asked coolly, rolling her eyes at the faint huskiness in her voice.
So much for not wanting conversation.
He turned his head and their eyes met for a couple of beats until Holly felt the soles of her feet tingle. “I’m headed home,” he said mildly. “Although… I could probably be talked into dinner somewhere dark and smoky.”
She caught his harmlessly hopeful smile, which did absolutely nothing to reassure her—especially when his eyes gleamed all wickedly amused and challenging. But it was the smoldering heat in them that stole all her bones right along with her breath and common sense.
Gabriel 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 tissue had been removed.
She carefully followed the guidelines already drawn onto the skin. The patient, a thirty-four triple-D, with back, neck and shoulder problems, couldn’t join her sports-crazy fiancé in outdoor pursuits because her heavy breasts caused discomfort, chronic pain and embarrassment. Kerry Gilmore had admitted that she’d spent her entire high-school years hiding her body and being unable to do things other girls did. Normal things like horseriding, swimming or joining the cheerleading squad. But it was the chronic pain that had finally made the decision for her.
She wanted her life back and Holly was preparing to do just that.
Exchanging the scalpel for surgical scissors, Holly carefully began separating the sectioned dermis from the breast tissue. The aim was to maintain a healthy blood supply to the nipple or it would turn necrotic. The drawback to any reduction was that large amounts of tissue were fed by a lot of blood vessels. Each time she nicked one of them, she waited while the OR nurse cauterized it and mopped up the blood.
Once the dermis had been properly detached from the breast tissue, Holly transferred it into the waiting hands of the attending nurse and went to work on excising the glandular and adipose tissue as per Lin Syu’s murmured instructions.
By the time they’d removed five hundred grams of tissue from each breast, Holly was ready for the next stage. She and Dr. Syu made several complicated knots around the areola before gently lifting the nipple into its new position and nudging the remaining parenchyma into place.
She then temporarily closed and stapled the skin flaps so she could assess the size, shape and position of each breast. The specialized operating table lifted the patient into a sitting position while Holly used the sizer to check the positioning before gently removing the staples and peeling back the skin flaps.
She attached strips of acellular mesh to the upper breast substance to strengthen the weakened muscles then patiently reconnected the mass to the dermal layers using a resorbable intradermal suture. This would reduce the pull of gravity and wound tension, speeding up recovery. It would also help keep scarring to a minimum.
She sutured the areola to the surrounding flaps before reaching for the staple gun for the final stage of the dermal resectioning procedure. When it was over she stepped back to allow the nurse to swab the wound sites with iodine in preparation for the daisy strips that would be applied around the areola in widening circles. They would serve a double function of protecting the wound from infection as well as provide additional support while the patient healed.
Five hours after the patient went under; Lin Syu supervised the insertion of the twin drains while Holly stripped off her mask, gloves and headgear.
“Excellent work, Dr. Buchanan,” the older woman said, finally lifting twinkling black eyes to Holly. “We’ll have you doing all our cosmetic procedures before long.”
Holly grimaced, as Dr. Syu had known she would, and moved away from the table—her part of the procedure currently over. She sent a quick look up to the observation-room window and wasn’t surprised to find it empty. Breast reductions weren’t that interesting unless you were considering specializing in plastic surgery. And since Dr. Hot Celebrity was rumored to have done hundreds if not thousands of boob jobs, he had probably only wanted to rattle her.
