My Sister's Boyfriend (The Trouble With Twins 1) (5 page)

"Hey, Ace, could you be any more obvious about speeding?"

They passed the cop and continued down the pine-tree-laden road.

He took his eyes off the highway, glanced over at her and smiled, obviously pleased that he hadn't been stopped. "That wasn't too smooth, was it?"

"Hardly," she said, pleased that he could admit a mistake. "How fast will this car go?"

His lush green eyes twinkled with a mischievous glint. "I've taken it all the way to one hundred and ten before I backed her down. Top speed is one hundred and twenty-eight according to the manufacturer."

"Maybe you should let me drive us home," she said, wondering if he would trust her with the car. He raised his brows. "I bet I could get it to at least one fifteen."

His eyes widened with surprise and he gazed at her as if she was crazy. "You want to drive my car at that speed? No way."

She laughed, not at all offended. "Can't hurt to ask."

They pulled into the restaurant parking lot. Within minutes they were seated in the elegant dining room, close to the large stone fireplace.

"You must come here often," Jennifer noted. "We didn't have to wait."

"I like this place, so they know me."

The waiter came by to take their drink orders.

"Iced tea," he said with a shrug.. "I'm on call tonight."

"Iced tea is fine. I'm not one for drinking much, especially when I want to drive your car."

He smiled. "Not at a hundred and fifteen."

She looked around at the elegant white tablecloths and recessed lighting illuminated by candles flickering at each table. Couples sat leaning close and talking intimately while piano music played softly in the background. Tall windows faced a dense forest of majestic pine trees.

"Why did you bring me here?" she asked, suddenly curious about why he'd chosen this particular restaurant.

"As I said, the drive is great and I enjoy this place." He paused before picking up the menu. "Don't you like it?"

Jennifer smiled to put him at ease. "Very much. It just seems romantic."

He smiled and leaned in closer to her. "Does that mean that the atmosphere is working?"

She raised her brows at him. "Hardly. It means you're more dangerous than I'd first anticipated."

"Dangerous…" he paused, considering the word. "I like that description. Young, tall, incredibly handsome doctor with a flair for romance and danger."

"Oh God, now I've fed your ego. I think you’d better pick up your menu and consider feeding your stomach, Dr. Dangerous."

Picking up the menu, she glanced at the items listed, giving her a moment to let the heat in her cheeks cool. The man was incorrigible and fun, and he didn't have to worry about the atmosphere working, because from the moment she'd opened the door this evening her hormones had been at DEFCON 1. She needed to remember the purpose for this dinner, the reason she'd agreed to come.

When their waiter approached, she quickly ordered a small steak filet and salad.

After Brent ordered she reminded him, "You promised to tell me who else knows that I jumped out of the coffin at your birthday celebration."

"You didn't waste any time getting to the point of our dinner."

She glanced down at her watch. "I waited forty-five minutes."

"Wow," he said, mocking her. "If I tell you, are you going to jump up and run home?"

"And let all this atmosphere go to waste? Hardly," she replied, her stomach fluttering like butterflies. How could she eat? "I just thought I'd find out, and then we could move on to other, more pleasant subjects."

"I see," he said, though she doubted that he did. "I'd say only three, maybe four, doctors on staff were there. Plus several of my old friends from high school."

"Just great," she said. "As the new development director, I really don't want to be acknowledged as the woman who delivered your birthday message in a dress likely sold at Frederick's of Hollywood."

"I don't know why you're worried," he said matter-of-factly.

"And when it gets around the hospital, what would you have me tell the chairman of the board? Sure you can entrust me with millions of dollars. I'm of sound mind and good moral character. I only occasionally jump out of coffins."

He laughed. "That is a picture, but yes, I'd be honest and tell him about your sister's business."

She sighed, wishing she'd never agreed to help her sister. "In this small town, my credibility could be completely ruined if the hospital board finds out."

"You're overreacting," he replied. "It's not like you were dancing naked, though that would have been a very entertaining sight."

Her mouth turned up in a smirk, though the thought sent a current of desire racing through her. "In your dreams."

"Not my first choice, but even there would be okay."

Her fingers touched her lips and she shook her head at the very idea. The thought of dancing naked for Brent was somehow liberating and arousing and something she'd never done for any man before.

He picked up her hand. "So you're new to the hospital board. Unless someone says something, don't worry about the other night. If I hear anything being spread, I'll let you know, though I may embellish the rumor with visions of you wearing nothing but a thong."

"I don't wear thongs," she replied.

His eyes widened. "Okay, should I ask what you do wear, or do you go commando?"

"No, you may not ask what I wear."

Brent released her hand and tilted his head as if he were looking under the tablecloth. "Hmm…you don't seem the granny type."

"And you don't seem the briefs type, so I would suggest we talk about the weather," she said.

"Clear to partly undies," he teased.

She couldn't help but laugh. "No, windy with gusts of hot air up to twenty miles an hour. Ladies will need to hang on to their skirts to keep from exposing themselves."

He swallowed and stared at her, his eyes dark and intense. "Commando. Wow. That gives me a dangerous mental picture that I'm more than happy to pursue, but I just don't know if you want to go there."

Warmth pervaded Jennifer, and she glanced away, needing to regain control. When she looked back at Brent, she bit her lip and fidgeted with her silverware. "So even the weather is a perilous topic. What do you suggest we discuss? I noticed that you're not wearing a wedding ring, so I hope that means that there's no significant other waiting at home for you tonight."

The waiter interrupted the conversation as he delivered their glasses of iced tea and set down a wooden slab with a loaf of freshly baked bread. The aroma of warm yeast wafted through the air as Brent sliced off a piece and handed the bread to her.

He shrugged. "You're a little late in asking, but I can safely say no. Marriage is an institution I'm choosing to skip."

She laughed. "Another commitment-phobic male. How original."

"I have good reason to be," he defended.

She raised her brows. "That's what they all say."

"Marriage number five is on the rocks for my father, and my mother is busy working on marriage number three. So I'm not anxious to get to the church and pledge ‘until one of us gets bored and looks around for greener pastures’."

Jennifer swallowed, not knowing what to say. Her parents had been faithfully and happily married for over fifty years before they died only months apart. How awful to watch your parents flit from partner to partner.

"The word pledge makes it sound like you're committing to public television," Jennifer tried to joke as she leaned forward with her chin in her hand, her elbow propped on the table. "Until the next pledge drive, I'm all yours."

He laughed, his green eyes dancing in the candlelight. "In my father's case, he doesn't understand the concept of one man and one woman." Brent frowned. "I seriously worry about him catching a sexually transmitted disease or his secretary suing him for sexual harassment. His last three wives were his secretary at one time in his life."

His brow furrowed, and she knew that their light conversation had suddenly taken a serious turn. She reached out and took his big hand in hers, the need to comfort him overcoming her doubts. His hand felt large and warm tucked inside hers.

He looked up at her, his green eyes dark. "I'm sorry," he said. "I didn't mean to tell you that. Just before I left, my father called to tell me his fifth marriage is ending. So now you know my secrets and why I don't want to marry. Is there some dark secret as to why neither you nor your sister have ever married?"

Jennifer let go of his hand and pushed her blonde hair away from her face. She leaned forward and whispered. "We're trying to make being an old maid popular once again and have started a club with free lifetime membership for anyone over thirty."

At first he looked startled and then he laughed, releasing the tension she'd felt gathered within him.

"Not really. Julia has spent way too much time getting her business going instead of dating." She paused and glanced at him, noticing the way he seemed intent on her response. "Me, I was engaged once, but it didn't work out. My fiancé didn't seem to understand when I told him that yes, I did consider him sleeping with another woman before we married a serious violation of my trust."

He shook his head and smiled. "Sounds like he has the same infidelity disease as my father. Sorry. For some men there's no cure."

"Yes, his indiscretion I refer to as the proposal breaker."

"And no one since then has made you want to run to the altar?" he asked.

"Nope. I decided to focus more on my career and less on my personal life." She paused, letting the soft, warm bread melt in her mouth. "And I've never been happier."

Brent nodded in understanding.

A shrill beeping noise interrupted their conversation, alerting Brent to the cell phone strapped to his waist. He let go of her hand, reached down, and took the call.

"Dr. Moulton," he said, his voice all business. He sat holding the cell phone, his face changing to a frown.

"I'm twenty minutes away. Tell the parents to meet me at the emergency room. I'm leaving right now. "He slipped his phone back into the case at his waist.

"I'm sorry to cut this short, but I need to get to the hospital."

"I'll go with you," she replied, grabbing her purse.

Brent threw more than enough cash down on the table, and they hurried out the door, telling the majordomo that they had to leave.

They jumped into the sleek sports car and spun gravel as they left the parking lot. She watched Brent maneuver the little car, driving quickly but safely as they hurried to their destination.

"So what's the emergency?" she asked as she observed him focused on his driving.

"An eight-year-old patient of mine who has severe asthma collapsed while playing baseball, which is usually an exercise I allow my asthmatic patients to participate in," he said, a concerned expression on his face.

Jennifer watched the way his hands tightened on the steering wheel as the car accelerated. A worried frown creased his forehead, and he didn't seem interested in conversation.

In less than fifteen minutes, they reached the hospital, the car rumbling up the drive outside the emergency room. He threw the car in park and jumped out.

"Would you mind parking the car?" Brent asked, not waiting for her response as the professional Dr. Moulton hurried through the emergency room doors.

Jennifer got behind the wheel of the sporty car, the temptation to take a joy ride swaying her, but she parked the BMW in the doctor's lot.

When she walked through emergency, she was amazed at the number of families waiting. Crying babies clung to their mothers or lay limp, barely breathing, waiting their turn. The walls were lined with people standing, their faces anxious.

No wonder they needed another wing added to the hospital.

The nurses showed her to the back of the ER to a curtained-off room where she saw Brent talking to a young boy still in his baseball uniform.

The boy wheezed.

"Relax as much as possible, Eric. I'm going to give you a steroid shot, which will decrease the swelling in your bronchial tubes and ease up your breathing. But I need you to relax and breathe as much of that albuterol into your lungs as possible."

The boy's breathing sounded more like that of an old man than a young boy. Quickly Brent gave him the injection and then checked the boy's vitals. When he finished, he attached an oxygen monitor onto the child's finger. The boy's parents hovered close by, worried looks on their faces.

Brent stood and faced the parents. Gone was the carefree man on a date, and the professional doctor was firmly in place. "Eric's asthma has been under control. What triggered this attack?"

The mother held onto her husband, her face ashen. "Eric was running, and suddenly he just collapsed," she said tearfully. "I was so frightened."

The father put an arm around the woman and comforted her.

"Has he been sick? Complained of chest pain or coughing more than usual?"

"No," his mother said. "I don't think he should be playing any sports."

Eric tried to protest, his voice coming out in a wheeze. "No, Mom."

She watched as Brent reached over and patted the boy. "Keep breathing the albuterol, Eric." He tried to reassure the child. "Let's not jump to any conclusions, Mrs. Schwab. Let me examine him before we start curtailing his activities."

Brent faced the child. "Eric, I want you to answer my questions by shaking your head yes or no. Don’t stop breathing that medicine down into your lungs, okay?"

Eric nodded.

With an otoscope he looked in the boy's ears. "Any ringing in your ears, Eric?"

The boy nodded his head again.

Brent placed his hands around the boy's neck and felt the glands around his ears. "Is your throat scratchy?"

The boy nodded once more, and Brent pulled the mask away and quickly shined a light up the kid’s nose and then replaced the inhaler. He picked up a thermometer and placed it in the child's ear. The instrument beeped, and Brent frowned.

"Big game today, Eric?"