Playboy Doc's Mistletoe Kiss

“Oh, Lord.” She tipped her head back against the wall and closed her eyes. “I’m sorry. I just … I thought …”

Yeah, sweetheart. I know exactly what you thought. And she was partially right. With a roomful of sick babies, and after a particularly exhausting shift, bed was exactly where his mind was heading.

As in falling into it. To sleep. By himself.

“Supper,” he confirmed. “I’ll stay on my side of the table the whole time.”

If anything, her color deepened. “It’s been a difficult day. It was my parents’ anniversary. And with Abbie going into labor in the middle of it, I’m not thinking straight.”

All my fault.

Wasn’t that what she’d said when he first came over to talk to her?

Suddenly he wanted to know why she blamed herself. “Which is why you need to get away for a bit. I know a great little place just around the corner that serves wonderful Indian cuisine. And it leans a bit to the fancy side, so you won’t be overdressed.” He allowed the side of his mouth to kick up again to reassure her.

She didn’t smile back. Instead, her glance went to her dress and then back toward the row of special-care cots. “Are you sure she’ll be okay?”

Instead of answering her, and since he couldn’t give her any long-term prognosis at the moment, Dean took his stethoscope from around his neck and dropped it into his pocket. After washing his hands, he went over to the baby’s incubator. He could feel Jess’s eyes on him the whole time as he slid his hands through the holes on the side of the bed and stroked a tiny hand, checking the readouts on the stand next to the cot.

“She’s stable.” For the moment, although he knew that could change at any time. “She’ll be watched carefully, but I can leave a call number for us at the desk if it’ll make you feel better.”

“Yes. It would. Thank you.”

Dean wasn’t sure why she wanted them to ring her rather than the baby’s own mother, but he knew better than to ask.

Snapping off his gloves and discarding them, he motioned toward the door. “I’ll just go hang up my coat and sign out. Do you want to meet me by the front door of the maternity unit?”

She nodded. “I’ll let my sister know where I’m going.” Without another word, she slid through the door of the SCBU and headed down the hallway, her red dress swishing around her hips in a way that made him rethink just how tired he was.

Too tired.

And she worked at the hospital.

A combination that had “do not touch” written all over it.

Dean had never been one to play by any set of rules except his own. But this was definitely one of them: don’t get involved with any one female … and especially not one he worked with on a regular basis. Even though Jess didn’t work on his floor and he didn’t see her every day, it still counted. Getting too involved could get tricky. And ugly.

If ever he needed to stick to the game plan, it was now. He’d been able to abide by his inner rules in the past. And he could damn well do it now.

Jess recognized the place. All those rumors about Dean were usually centered around this particular restaurant—as in he’d been spotted here. More than once, and always with a woman in tow.

She swallowed. With soft lighting and half walls that divided the space into smaller clusters of diners, she could see why. The restaurant fostered an atmosphere of quiet intimacy.

For what? Discreet affairs?

Jess wasn’t sure what madness had her sitting across from the playboy of Cambridge Royal, but something had obviously addled her brain. And from the way the hostess greeted him by name, eyes journeying over his tie and dress shirt—and the way he filled it out—as they came through the door, he’d been here many times before.

That brought up another question. The tie. Where had he come up with that? Did he keep one in his office just for spur-of-the-moment dinner dates? If so, it evidently got a lot of use. It would seem those rumors were true.

Which brought her back around to the insanity of being here. With him.

That argument with her sister and its aftermath had left her heartsick. Even her mum had shot her a couple of disappointed glances as they’d waited for the doctors to check Abbie over.

Had she done enough to avoid that confrontation? She’d tried to shut it down, but, in her desperation to get away, she’d been much harsher than necessary.

But the idea that she’d been engaging in some long-distance pillow talk with Martin while he was away on business trips was so ludicrous, she hadn’t been sure how to answer her. Abbie didn’t even have proof that Martin was engaging in anything of the sort. With anyone. Just some vague messages on his phone that could have meant anything.

Why hadn’t Jess just walked away the second she realized her sister’s temper was beginning to flare out of control? Instead, she’d stood there and defended herself in front of a roomful of guests. Moving the venue of the anniversary party to Cambridge had already made for a tense atmosphere, and by fighting with Abbie in the middle of their celebration she’d made things worse for everyone. Including that little one hooked up to machines in the Special Care Unit.

God. Her eyes closed as another shard of guilt stabbed through her stomach.

“Hey. You okay?”

Dean’s voice had a gruff soothing quality as it drifted over her. One she’d never noticed before this second.

She blinked back to awareness. Exactly what did that mean? She only crossed paths with the man in those odd moments when their jobs intersected, which wasn’t all that often. Her midwife duties kept her in one section of the hospital, while Dean’s kept him in another.

But you noticed him. You know you did. How could you not with all that gossip about his exploits?

Yes. She’d heard those stories. Time and time again. Only no one she knew had actually claimed to have made it into Dean Edwards’ bed. Or anywhere else, for that matter. But he’d been seen around Cambridge. And never with the same woman. The descriptions varied, but the pattern didn’t.

“I’m fine.” She toyed with her serviette. It was on the tip of her tongue to ask for the fifth time if he was sure it was all right to leave the baby, but she clamped down on it just in time to stop the question from emerging. The hospital would ring if there was any change.

The waiter arrived with a bottle and a question on his face. When Dean nodded, the man poured white wine into both of their glasses. Not that she needed to be drinking at a time like this. But it was only one glass, and, since she didn’t keep any kind of alcohol in her house because of her dad, she didn’t get to indulge all that often. Maybe it would stop the mad pounding in her chest at sitting across from the first attractive man in … well, since she and Martin had broken it off. Her sister might as well have poisoned the entire male species. Or at least made Jess feel like the consolation prize to anyone who might show some interest. Because when she was set side by side with her sister, Abbie was the one they’d chosen. Every. Single. Time.

She and Abbie might look alike, but their personalities were at opposite ends of the spectrum. Jess was the socially awkward one, the one who had trouble forming and keeping deep friendships, while Abbie was vivacious and outgoing, able to charm anyone she came in contact with. And her sister always got what she wanted.

And what she’d wanted was the very thing Jess had always dreamed of having. A place where she lived in no one else’s shadow … where she truly belonged. At one time she’d equated that with having her own home and family.

When that possibility had been ripped away, she’d thrown herself into her job, doing all she could for her patients and their little ones. Maybe her parents were right. Maybe she was too dedicated. Looking at her tiny new niece had made her stomach churn with a longing she’d all but forgotten.

This was Abbie’s fourth baby.

Jess had none. And no prospects of a serious relationship or any children in the near future.

She picked up her glass of wine, swirling the liquid to block the direction of her thoughts. Conversation. That was what she needed. Racking her brain, she tried to think of something that would break the growing silence. Something witty. Something that would make her feel a little less dull. Dean’s eyes were now on her, a slight furrow forming between his brows.

Say something!

“I’ve never been here before. Do you come here often?”

Oh, no! Why had she asked that, of all things? A few seconds of silence followed the question before he spoke.

“Often enough.”

His jaw tightened a fraction.

This was definitely where he brought his women.

His women?

She crinkled her nose at that thought. Wow, she was really outdoing herself tonight. Worse, what if someone she knew was here? She sank a little lower in her seat, taking a sip of wine and swallowing it. “Really? It’s my very first time.”

Dean, who’d been in the process of lifting his glass to his lips, stopped with it midway to its goal. The furrow between his brows deepened, then he gave his head a slight shake as if clearing it and took a drink. A good-sized one if the movement of his throat was any indication.

Did he think she was flirting with him? She hoped not, because if he did, there was no telling what he might—

“What are you thinking about?”

Caught!

“My niece.”

Those words brought her back to earth with a bump. Her niece’s situation was the only reason she was sitting here in this restaurant.

Could the newborn sense the antagonism flowing between her and her sister, even in the SCBU? Abbie hadn’t spoken to her since the baby’s delivery, despite her mother’s attempts at playing peacemaker.

Poor Mum. Some anniversary this had turned out to be.

He set his wine down. “You said it was your fault. You know that’s not true.”

“Abbie and I were in the middle of a row. She went into labor. If I’d just walked away …”

Would the outcome have been any different? Abbie had been bound and determined to have her say.

But surely Jess could have changed the direction of the conversation. Maybe. Her sister had always known exactly which buttons to push—which insecurities to choose—to get her going. Today had been no exception.

“Coincidence.”

“Really? Stress can induce labor—you know that as well as I do.” She paused a beat and then let the rest of it out. “She thought I was sending suggestive texts to her husband.”

That got a reaction. Dean’s eyes narrowed just a touch. “Were you?”

“No!” She fiddled again with the corner of her serviette. “I mean, Martin and I were engaged at one time, but once he saw Abbie—”

She couldn’t finish the sentence.

Instead of pressing her for details, Dean chuckled.

That shocked her. “I don’t see what’s so funny.”

“Well, not funny exactly. So your sister had her eye on your fiancé, and now that she has his ring on her finger, she’s worried you might want him back.”

That was it in a nutshell. It had been six years, but Abbie just couldn’t let it go. It was one of the reasons Jess had moved to Cambridge in the first place, to get away from the constant haranguing and jealous questioning.

“I don’t want him. At all.”

“I can well imagine.”

Which brought her back to the current dilemma. “I have no idea how to make her believe me.”

The conversation paused when the waiter brought their food. Curried chicken with rice and vegetables served family style. Before she could lift a finger, Dean had taken her plate and dished up some of the fragrant food. Too bad she didn’t have much of an appetite at the moment.

Once Dean had served himself, he had no problem picking up where they’d left off. “So you think your sister is going to keep accusing you of trying to steal her husband … aka your ex.”

Using her fork, she speared a piece of chicken. “She lives in London, so, once she goes back, I’m hoping it’ll die back down. Or that Martin will be able to convince her we’re not communicating behind her back.”

“Mmm … I see.” He popped a bite into his mouth and chewed. Swallowed.

Why was she even telling him any of this? And what was with her watching the man’s throat? It had to be the way that sharp edge of his Adam’s apple dipped, causing her eyes to want to follow it. All the way down to his … She jerked her eyes back to his face.

Dean continued. “No current love interest to throw her off the trail?”

“No.” She hurriedly stuffed a piece of food into her mouth, even as she felt her face heat all over again. If he only knew how true those words were, he would think she was a complete washout when it came to the opposite sex.

In fact, the two of them should not even be having this conversation. She barely knew the man.

But what she did know of him … He was rumored to have a revolving bedroom door. Women in … women out. Swish, swish, swish turned that door.

“What if you did?” he murmured.

“Excuse me?”

He smiled at that. “You’re not going to turn that cute little glare back on, are you?”

“Excuse … I mean, what?”

“That’s better.” He set his fork down and reached across to touch his fingers to hers. A shot of electricity arced through her hand and zipped straight up her arm. “I was just sitting here thinking. Maybe you should hand her proof of a conquest or two?”

It was said with a cheeky air that made her laugh. Not because it was funny, but because he said it as though it weren’t such a stretch to imagine that she might have a long list of failed romances.

She didn’t. She left things like that to her sister. And to men like Dean.

“I don’t have any conquests.”

His index finger brushed along hers, sending another shiver through her. “Do you always say exactly what you think, Jessica Black?”

“No.” Although that wasn’t quite right. She did tend to wear her heart on her sleeve, which was why her sister had always been able to zero in on what Jess wanted out of life—on which boy Jess liked. Then she turned on her million-kilowatt charm and took it for herself.

“Oh, I think you do.” The low words curled around her midriff, squeezing the air from her lungs. “But maybe we can use that to our advantage.”

“Um … we?”

“Mmm.” He leaned across the table. “How about if we show your sister exactly how her little game is played.”

“I—I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“I think you need to show her you can round up your own men, thank you very much.”

“Men? Plural?”

“Why not?”

Her gut churned. “How can you do that?”

“Do what?”

“Go to bed with hundreds of women as if it’s nothing special.”

His gaze hardened. “The hospital grapevine strikes again.”

“It’s not like you haven’t been seen here. You have. The hostess knows your name, for heaven’s sake.” The words just kept pouring out. “I’m not judging. I just don’t know how it’s possible to have casual sex without feeling something … anything. Do the women just go along with it? Or do you simply stop ringing them after you’ve gotten what you wanted?”

The bitterness of everything that had happened with Martin came rushing back. The giving of her heart—her body—and then having him stop ringing her one day. Finding out he’d been seen with her sister and to have them show up at her door and spill the beans, that he’d been going out with Abbie while still engaged to her.

“What makes you think that the ‘casual’ in casual sex isn’t on both sides? That the woman isn’t just as interested in keeping things simple? Have you ever tried it?”

“Well, no.” And she hadn’t. Maybe that was why it seemed impossible to believe that two people could share a bed and then each go their separate ways the next day with no hurt feelings—no misunderstandings.

“Maybe you should. It’s a hell of a lot different when neither party expects anything out of the arrangement other than a single night of pleasure.”

The way his gravelly voice touched that last word sent a ripple through her midsection. What would it be like to have your physical needs met and then not expect anything further?

Maybe he was right. Maybe it wasn’t as bad as it sounded.

And it could make her sister finally believe she was over Martin … that she’d been over him for a long time.

“Maybe I should.”

One side of his mouth went up, and he leaned over the table. “Bet you can’t.”

She sat up a little straighter. If he could do it, surely she could. Unless he was calling her a prude. “Of course I can.”

“Prove it.”

Oh, no. This was not where she’d seen this conversation heading. “And how exactly am I supposed to do that? Are you going to hide in a cupboard and watch me?”

“No.” A little of the mellowness in his voice had faded and a sharper edge had appeared. “But I can feel out the men. Make sure they’re safe.”

Jess could not believe she was even having this conversation. “So you would interview any prospective bed mate to make sure they aren’t a serial rapist? Exactly where would this ‘finding my own men’ be done? A pub?”

One thing Jess was good at was sizing up personalities. Except how good had she been at sizing up Martin? Not great. Maybe she did need someone to help scope things out. Not that she was actually thinking of doing anything of the sort.

Was she?

Evidently she was.

“A pub is perfect,” he said.

He didn’t say it, but she got the distinct impression that that was where Dean picked up some of his prospective one-night stands.

Suddenly Jess was backpedaling like mad. She really didn’t think she could go through with it, but, since she’d criticized Dean, she could understand why he’d taken offense. Just because she didn’t have casual sex once a week didn’t make it wrong that he did. “And you would be what? My wingman?”

He tossed his serviette on the table. “Your wingman.” He said it as if sounding it out. “I like it. I think that would work.”

Oh, no, she had no intention of doing anything like what Dean was proposing. But the thought of letting the man see how much it bothered her …

What if she made it look as if she were going along with it? That way, even if she wiggled her way out of the dates, she could still tell her sister she was going out. Maybe it would even ease some of the bad feelings between them.

A thought came to her. What if Dean picked up a woman while she was there? The last thing she wanted was to see him walk out of that pub with someone. She had no idea why, but she didn’t. “So let’s say I agree to chat up three men—” she was careful not to actually say she would go on to have sex with these men “—then you have to do something as well. How about, you have to promise to leave the pub alone. Go without. See how the other side lives.”

“So basically you would be the only one having fun?”

“Exactly. Think you can handle it?”

Dean leaned forward, one brow raised at the challenge. “Sweetheart, you’ve got yourself a bet.”

CHAPTER THREE

DEAN HAD NO idea why he’d goaded Jess into that ridiculous bet. They’d gone to the pub twice so far and she’d easily found herself a partner both nights, slipping out of the place within an hour.

He wasn’t sure why he’d done it. Or why he’d been so adamant about going with her. Maybe because it bothered him that she compared herself to her sister. And she did. He heard it in her words, saw it in the uncertain way her fingers twisted together when she talked about her.

And his own part of the bet?

Laughable, because she seemed to think he picked up a different woman every night.

It would be kind of hard to do his job if he spent all his nights having wild sex. Although he could think of one woman he might be tempted to make that sacrifice for.

Not that he would.

Especially since he’d promised that very woman that he would have no sex. At all. At least not for the next several nights.

“Dr. Edwards? Is everything all right?”

Sitting in a rocking chair in the corner and holding a tiny baby to his shoulder, he realized he’d zoned out for a few seconds. “Fine. I’m just getting ready to put her back.”

His job didn’t necessarily include cuddling his charges, but there was something about this one. Born to a drug-addicted mum, the little boy was off to a rocky start. But at least the child-welfare people had stepped in and insisted the mother clean up her act before allowing her anywhere near the child.

That was more than he had gotten when he was young. Then again, it was his father who’d had the addiction problem, not his mother.

He rubbed a few more gentle circles across the newborn’s back. At least the baby had quieted down. When pregnant women took drugs, there were two victims. The baby’s mother … and her child, who was now suffering through withdrawals—through no fault of his own.

Standing to his feet, he gave the nurse a quick smile before tucking the baby back into his cot. “Feel free to page me if this happens again.”

She nodded, smiling back.

Young and attractive with curly brown hair and sparkling eyes, Deidre had made it a point to call him back whenever she had a particularly difficult case. He wondered if that was for the baby’s benefit or hers. It didn’t matter. He’d decided a long time ago it was better to leave his personal life at home and his professional life at the hospital. It was just better that way.

“You have such a way with them.”

Did he? It seemed that anyone who offered these little guys a bit of love and affection would get the same response. And maybe that stemmed back to his childhood as well. He didn’t want any of them to feel as alone as he’d once felt. And this particular baby had quieted down almost as soon as he’d settled into the rocker with him.

“I think it’s just the body contact.”

She raised her brows and went over to look at the now sleeping infant. “No, I think you just have the magic touch.”

Not so magic.

He glanced at his watch, his jaw tightening. Tonight was the last night of his and Jess’s bet, and suddenly the last thing he wanted to do was watch her walk out of that pub with yet another man. He’d made her ring him at home as soon as she arrived, and again after the man left her house, so that he would know she was safe.

Another thing he was nonplussed about. Of course she was safe. Jess was a grown woman and between the two of them they’d picked out the meekest, mildest-looking men they could.

Okay, that was probably all him, because Jess had talked to a couple of attractive muscular-looking chaps, but they’d made him uneasy.

Or was it just that he couldn’t stand the idea of her spending the night with someone she might actually decide to go out with more than once.

Nope. That wasn’t it at all. And just to prove it, tonight, he would let Jess pick out whoever she wanted.

And he wouldn’t do a thing to stop her.

Having a wingman was the pits.

On their third and final outing, Jess was glad it was their last. Her days were spent with her niece, and her nights … well, her nights were Dean’s. But not in the traditional sense.

As much as she wanted to skip out of the pub and go home alone, Dean was always there. Always checking out the patrons. And, hell, if he didn’t always steer her toward men that looked as if they were laced tighter than a corset. It was never the good-looking ladies’ man, or anyone who was like Dean himself. No. In fact, whenever one of those types hit on her, somehow Dean was always there with a glare or a sharp word.

Why did he even care? Wasn’t this all about the bet—about seeing what it was like to have a few nights of casual sex? That was what it had started out as.