Falling At The Surgeon's Feet

“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

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.

And succeeded. Darn it.

“As long as the patient is satisfied with her new size,” she said, stretching out cramped back and shoulder muscles as she moved toward the doors. She knew that she would have to perform cosmetic procedures but in this case it helped knowing she could restore someone’s self-confidence while alleviating their pain.

Dr. Syu followed, stripping off her gloves. “You just saved her from a lifetime of pain and discomfort, Holly. That she wants to wear a bikini on her honeymoon doesn’t make cosmetic procedures wrong.”

Holly stifled a yawn. “I know,” she mumbled, feeling somewhat chastened. “Besides being the object of curiosity and ridicule, Kerry Gilmore said she was tired of men making lewd comments about her breasts.”

“Well, that’s just juvenile and typical,” Lin said in disgust. “Anyway, as long as she follows medical advice and wears the support garment, she’ll be wearing her string bikini on her honeymoon come summer.”

She untied Holly’s surgical gown and waited while Holly returned the favor before saying over her shoulder, “You don’t have to like them but you also shouldn’t forget that cosmetics procedures—especially the big-bucks ones—help fund the reconstructions.”

Holly sighed. Dr. Syu was right. Besides, she had first-hand experience of the emotional trauma caused by others’ perceptions to be reminded of why she’d chosen to specialize in plastic and reconstruction surgery.

She’d spent her entire childhood struggling against the stereotype of beauty-versus-brains and was tired of people judging her by her looks or her family’s accomplishments.

As a child she’d often thought she’d been adopted, switched at birth or maybe dumped on their doorstep by a wicked witch. It was only much later that she had accepted she was dark like her father and brother. At the time, though, she’d felt like an alien—a thin, scrawny, ugly duckling that her father couldn’t possibly love.

She’d been clumsy, awkward and—she’d be the first to admit—cripplingly shy, geeky and snotty as hell. She’d hated being compared to her incredibly beautiful, blonde outgoing mother and her famous photographic model sister. And because she couldn’t compete with her brother or sister for their father’s attention, she’d tried to be the smartest so he could be proud of her too. And just when she’d begun filling out and growing into her large eyes, big mouth and long legs, she’d fallen a couple of stories when the cable on a glass elevator had snapped.

She’d been forced to undergo countless surgeries to repair the damage caused by flying glass, once again becoming the object of ridicule and pity. Boys who hadn’t known about her accident had even called her The Scar, like she was some kind of comic-book villain or something.

“So,” Lin Syu said casually, jolting Holly out of disturbing memories of her past. “What do you think of the new guy?”

Holly froze. “The new guy?”

“Yep.” Dr. Syu dropped her soiled surgical gown into the hamper. “Our new celebrity hunk. I hear the nurses are all fighting to get on the surgical roster with him.”

Holly rolled her eyes as heat crept up her neck. “I really hadn’t noticed.” Lin eyed her levelly, expression wry as though she could see right through Holly’s lie. “What?” Holly asked, trying to look innocent. “I’ve been busy.”

“So the looks that day at the meeting were my imagination?”

“What looks?”

“Everyone paying attention saw the looks, Dr. Buchanan.” She grinned and waggled her eyebrows. “I just wondered if you two already knew each other or if it was lust at first sight.”

Holly’s head shot up, eyes wide with shock. “Wha-at? I don’t…Ohmigod!” she spluttered, feeling her face burn with mortification as she thought back to those oddly intimate moments in the elevator and then again when their eyes had met across the boardroom. She hadn’t thought anyone had seen. Clearly she hadn’t been as discreet as she’d thought.

Her body instantly reacted to the memory of that weird sensation of the earth wobbling off its axis and she shivered and huffed out a breath.

“That’s…um…” She gulped and cast around for something intelligent to say but all that emerged from her mouth was a strangled gurgling sound that Dr. Syu seemed to find hilarious.

Struggling to get her emotions under control and stall for time, Holly busied herself by carefully folding her soiled surgical gown and placing it neatly in the hamper.

“It’s n-not what you think,” she finally murmured, huffing out a couple of breaths like she was about to give birth. “But we…um, did meet in the elevator on the way up.”

The surgeon pulled off her mask and cap and waited patiently for Holly to elaborate. When she didn’t, Lin’s brows rose up her forehead. “That must have been some meeting,” she drawled, snorting out a laugh when Holly uttered a sound of distress. “I think he likes you.”

Holly averted her head and wished she could sink through the floor. “That’s…that’s ridiculous,” she denied a little too hastily. “Guys like him aren’t…well…interested in people like um…” She gestured vaguely to her face. “Like me.”

“You’re a beautiful—yes, Holly,” Lin insisted when Holly opened her mouth to argue, “beautiful and graceful woman. Not to mention a skilled and talented surgeon. Why wouldn’t he be interested? He’s a man, isn’t he?”

“I wasn’t always graceful,” Holly admitted dryly, recalling how elegant she must have looked on her hands and knees. “It took a lot of hard work on my mother’s part. Even now when I’m flustered… I, um…” She broke off, flushing when she realized what she was about to reveal.

“You what?

Holly sighed. “My…inner klutz emerges,” she mumbled, then grimaced when Lin snorted. “It’s like I’m fifteen again and have no control over my feet or my mouth.”

“And he flusters you? Hmm.” Lin’s mouth curved and her eyes twinkled with wicked humor. “I sense a story there,” she said, just as her pager went off. “Which will unfortunately have to wait. Damn. Just when I thought I could finally get to know my kids again. They probably think I’m just the woman that comes in at night to sleep with their father before disappearing again in the morning.” She sighed and threw “Great job in there, by the way,” over her shoulder as she hurried off.

Holly took a moment to savor the senior surgeon’s praise and went off in the direction of the locker rooms to change before heading home. She knew she should go to her office and catch up on paperwork but she’d promised her housemates that she’d be home for dinner.

It had been kind of weird since Kimberlyn Davis had moved in after her cousin Caren had left and then Tessa Camara, another surgical resident at WMS, had moved out, leaving Holly in a house of strangers. Okay, Sam Napier wasn’t exactly a stranger but, then, the hot brooding Scot wasn’t all that easy to get to know.