Sizzling Nights with Dr. Off-Limits (6 page)

She and Richard walked back to her apartment in silence. She turned to him. “I'll just say good night down here.”

“You're not letting me come up?”

She shook her head. “It really has been a long day.”

“This isn't working for me, Emily.”

She blinked at him. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, you going on dates with other men and then sending me home. I'm supposed to be the man in your life.”

He was right. He was supposed to be the man in her life. Only, she wasn't sure she wanted him to be. Surely she deserved better than just the status quo.

“I think you need to reconsider or we need to consider taking a time-out from our relationship.”

What? “If I don't invite you upstairs, we're through?”

He didn't answer, just stared at her with an expectant look on his face that was answer enough.

Well, at least he was making this decision easy.

“You're right. We do need a time-out from our relationship.”

Surprise flittered across his face. He'd thought his ultimatum would result in an invitation into her bed?

“If you've set your sights on that doctor, Emily, you're wasting your time. You're throwing away a good thing for a man who's never going to take someone like you seriously.”

“Someone like me?” He made it sound as if she weren't good enough for Lucas, as if she were lucky Richard found her appealing.

He shrugged. “You're not in his league.”

Ouch.

Emily's lips curled into a forced smile. “Thanks for an enlightening evening and for making what could have been a difficult moment into an easy one. Goodbye, Richard.”

* * *

Emily was assigned to Cassie and to Jenny the following day. Cassie had continued to decline, but Jenny was holding her own. It would probably be a couple of days before the four-year-old regained consciousness, which was probably a good thing. Perhaps some of her injuries would have subsided a little.

“Her vitals remained good during the night.”

She turned to the man entering the room. The man she'd lain in bed and thought about way too much the night before. Shouldn't she have been thinking about the man she'd just ended things with instead?

“Yes, she's stable.”

“That's good news.” He examined the unconscious little girl, then turned to Emily. “Give me more good news.”

“Pardon?”

“Tell me you didn't make plans for tonight.”

Emily sighed. “I'm not going to go to dinner with you, Lucas. There's no point.”

“Is there a point to you going to dinner with the pharmacist?”

“Richard has nothing to do with why I won't go to dinner with you,” she answered honestly. “I'm no longer seeing him.”

Lucas's gaze shot to hers and he studied her so long that she found her feet wanting to shuffle beneath the weight of his stare. Instead, she found the strength to step away from him.

“I'm going to check on Cassie.”

“I'll be there when I've finished my chart notes on Jenny.”

“Take your time.” Maybe she'd be finished and not have to see him again.

* * *

“Are you going to go out with Dr. Cain tonight, since you and Richard are history?” Did Meghan have listening devices hidden in the patient rooms or what?

“No, I'm not going out with Dr. Cain. We had our auction date. Tonight, I'm going to stay home and cook.”

Meghan wrinkled her nose. “You're crazy, you know.”

“I enjoy cooking.”

“You could go to the movies with Amy and me.”

“No, thank you. I'm cooking because I want to.”

To keep her mind occupied she'd enrolled in cooking lessons not long after her divorce was final. Yes, she'd burned more than a few meals prior to figuring out what she was doing wrong, but she had learned. Excelled even. Cooking had been great therapy. Mainly, she'd discovered, as long as she didn't get lost daydreaming about Lucas, her meals had turned out decent. Decent had gone to good. Something she'd detested had gone to something she enjoyed and found therapeutic. As time passed, she'd quit dreaming about Lucas altogether.

Emily left the nurses' station and checked on her patients. Lucas stopped her just outside Jenny's room.

“Are you really going to cook your dinner tonight?”

He sounded so incredulous that she winced. Okay, so she hadn't been able to cook when they got married. That wasn't a sin. There had been lots of things she could do. She'd just grown up in a house where the majority of meals had been takeout and she'd never mastered much more in the kitchen than use of a microwave.

“I can cook.” She glared at him, hoping no one was in the hospital hallway to see them, but afraid to look around to check. “I'm not a stagnant person, you know.”

“I didn't think you were.”

“Then you shouldn't sound so surprised that I've learned to do things I couldn't do so well a few years ago.”

“You always were a quick learner.” He didn't say more, didn't say to what he referred. He didn't have to.

Emily's brain went there anyway.

Or maybe it wasn't her brain, but her body.

Her body seemed unable to not go there when Lucas was near.

“Prove it.”

“Prove what?” she asked, not following him.

“That you can cook.”

“I know what you're trying to do. You're just trying to get me to invite you to dinner.”

“You're right. That is what I'm trying to do. What are we having?”

“Chopped liver,” she said without thought, hating that he was once again keeping pace beside her.

“Chopped liver?”

She almost let a laugh escape from her lips. Almost.

“Oh, yeah.” She knew he didn't like liver, that he hated it. “Plus broccoli.”

“I see you remember all my favorites.”

Glancing toward him, she smiled sweetly. “But of course.”

He stared at her a minute, then surprised her by the easy smile that slid onto his face. “I'll come hungry.”

“I didn't invite you to dinner,” she reminded him.

“But you're going to because you want to prove to me what a great cook you are now.”

He had her there. She narrowed her gaze at him in dislike. She did want to impress him with the fact that she wasn't the same person she'd been five years ago. Stupid pride.

“I'm eating at nine. I'll eat without you if you're late.”

CHAPTER SIX

L
UCAS
COULDN
'
T
SAY
the smells that greeted him were the best he'd ever smelled, but they weren't bad.

Immediately after letting him into her apartment, Emily disappeared. She didn't tell him to make himself at home, just opened the door, motioned him in without a smile or a look that said she was glad he was there, then disappeared.

He assumed to the kitchen.

She probably wasn't glad he was there. He'd practically begged for the invitation. Something he didn't quite understand. He'd only wanted to make peace with Emily, to be able to function at the hospital without undue awkwardness between them. Now he wanted to be with her because he liked being with her. Which wasn't in his plans at all, but that didn't seem to have stopped him from pushing for an invite to taste her cooking.

Or from feeling ecstatic that she and the pharmacist were history.

He closed the apartment door behind him and checked out her living room. The comfortably decorated room was a far cry from the hovel where they'd lived when they'd been married. It had taken everything she'd made for them to scrape by.

He'd looked at things differently than she had. He'd been in school, not some lazy bum seeking handouts from his family. Sure, his family hadn't been pleased that he'd married Emily, but they'd never cut off his funds. Plus, he'd had his own money from his trust his grandparents had left him. Maybe he'd taken that for granted. But the reality was, the money had been his and there'd been no reason for him and Emily to struggle financially.

Only, Emily had insisted she made more than enough for them to get by and had refused any help. He'd given in, for the most part, because he'd thought she'd eventually see sense. She hadn't and he'd resented the change she'd imposed upon him.

Or, more likely, he'd hated that she'd been the one supporting them financially. He'd wanted to take care of her, but she'd refused to let him help to the point of being unreasonable, in his opinion.

All because his parents had accused her of being after his money and she'd been determined to prove them wrong, even if it had meant cutting off her nose to spite her face.

How much had the stress of carrying the financial load played into her depression?

He walked over to a shelf, picked up a photo of her parents. He wasn't sure how old the photo was, but they looked exactly the way he remembered. Then again, just because it seemed as if it had been forever since he and Emily had been married, really it hadn't been that long ago.

Five years since a judge had decreed their divorce final.

His hand shook as he set the frame back onto the shelf.

Her living room color pattern was very neutral, very pleasing to the eye. Creams, earth tones, with a few jewel-toned throw pillows tossed on the sofa. She had a few knickknacks scattered about the room, but overall it was a clutter-free look.

Without one trace of her former life.

Not that he'd expected there to be. Just that he noted there wasn't.

Then again, did his own living quarters boast anything of his life with Emily?

No. At least, they hadn't before a few weeks ago when he'd dug out a box of things he'd been unable to bring himself to throw away. Inside the box had been a photo-booth strip they'd had taken in Atlantic City on their one and only trip there. They'd labeled the weekend as their honeymoon.

He'd wanted to take her on a real honeymoon, somewhere exotic, but instead they'd stayed in a cheap budget motel, eaten junk food, lain around on the beach, played in the water, ridden rides and had sex as if they'd been in heat.

Not the honeymoon he'd wanted to give her or that he'd ever imagined, but he could recall few times in his life he'd been happier. When Emily had been happier.

Once upon a time, being with him had made her happy.

His stomach clenched at the memories.

Tired of being in the living room by himself, he followed his nose to where he'd find Emily. The apartment wasn't very big, so it was easy to find where she stood at a stove.

She still wore her apron, but that was where her resemblance to a fifties housewife ended.

Her hair was pulled up high on her head with a few loose tendrils that hung past her shoulders. Her makeup was subtle but perfectly accented her big green eyes, high cheekbones and pouty, all-too-kissable pale pink lips. Beneath the apron was a pair of jeans that showed off long, slender legs and a T-shirt that matched her eyes. All she needed was a television crew filming her and she'd be a cooking show megastar.

He'd certainly tune in week after week to see what new concoction she'd dreamed up.

“It's almost done,” she told him, picking up a glass of wine and dumping its contents over a dish on the stove top. “I was just finishing.”

“You didn't have to go to any trouble. I really wouldn't have minded takeout.”

“I cooked for me, not you.”

He glanced around the small but efficient room. A vase with a few colorful flowers sat in the middle of a table. Two expensive-looking plates with ringed napkins in the center and perfectly laid out silverware to the sides sat opposite each other. He'd have bet money she couldn't properly set a table back when they'd been married. Had she looked up how to on the internet or was this another newly acquired skill?

“What are we having?” he asked, eyeing what she was doing. “Liver, broccoli, asparagus and peas?”

“You always were a good guesser.” Her eyes twinkled with merriment.

“That's a lot of greens.”

“You're a doctor,” she reminded him with a sugary sweet fake smile. “I figured you liked eating healthy. Greens are good for you. If you'll have a seat—” she gestured to the round table that sat four “—I'll serve dinner.”

Something about the idea of sitting at her table with her waiting on him struck him as wrong. “I don't want you to serve me, Emily.”

“It's no problem. You're my guest.”

Reluctantly, he sat down in the indicated chair and watched as she picked up his plate and piled on large portions of each dish, put a sprig of green to the side of the meat and set it before him.

She then prepared the second plate, a much less full one, and put it on the table opposite where he sat. “Can I get you something to drink?”

“I should have brought us a bottle of wine.” He hadn't brought anything. No wine. No flowers. No anything. He hadn't been thinking. Not about anything but the person's company he wanted. Emily's.

“It's just as well you didn't,” she assured him. “I have no desire to drink something that lowers my inhibitions and makes me not think as clearly.”

“Especially around me?”

“Lowering my inhibitions was never something you had a problem with.”

“You said no that first night and quite a few after.”

“Barely.” She laughed, a low sound that was more self-derision than humor.

He regarded her for long moments. She didn't look at him but stared at her plate. Her cheekbones had the slightest bit of blush on them, accenting their height and the beauty of her face. When her gaze lifted to his, the intense color of her green eyes beneath darkly fringed lashes stole his breath.

“You want me to tell you I'm sorry I wanted you so much?”

“I don't want you to tell me anything.” Her voice was too calm. “I just want you to eat your food.”

“Fair enough,” he agreed, wondering at the ache that had settled deep into his gut when he'd yet to even take a bite of her specially prepared meal. “Let's talk about work, then. What's your favorite thing about Children's?”

“The kids.” She forked a piece of meat, liver no doubt, and popped it into her mouth. “Mmm, that's good.”

Lucas would never believe that anyone could make eating liver look sexy. Emily had. Who knew it was even possible?

He picked up his fork, but, rather than take a bite, he toyed with the food. He really didn't like liver. “What about the kids?”

“Everything about them.” She gestured to his plate. “Not hungry?”

“Not very.”

Her eyes sparkled. “A shame to let good food go to waste.”

He agreed. He didn't believe in being wasteful, but he wasn't mentally psyched up to take a bite of liver just yet, either.

So he forked some broccoli and took a tentative bite.

The garlic and butter flavor lightly coating the vegetable surprised him. “This isn't bad.”

Her brow arched. “Did you think it would be?”

“Broccoli has never been my favorite dish.”

She blinked innocently. “Really?”

“Really.” He ate all his broccoli, then eyed the asparagus and liver.

“Sometimes in life we learn to like things we once didn't and vice versa.”

“Are we talking about food or how you feel about me?”

“You tell me.” She pointed her fork at his plate. “Try the asparagus. It's delicious.”

No doubt.

He cut a piece of the long green stalk with his fork. “Here goes.”

The butter cream sauce on the asparagus really was delicious. He ate every bite she'd put on his plate.

“Now, for the main dish,” she encouraged. “The meat is exquisitely tender and flavored with my own special sauce.”

Based on the other two dishes, no doubt he'd have to revise his lifelong claims that he didn't like liver to that he only liked liver prepared by Emily.

She'd taken things he hadn't liked and prepared them in ways that made him reverse his opinion. He could admire that she'd done that. Really, he should applaud the cooking talent she'd acquired since she'd last prepared a meal for him.

Not surprisingly, the meat was as tender as she'd claimed and the flavor was quite good. Not dry and chewy as he remembered his previous trials with liver.

He clapped his hands together. “Bravo.”

Her cheeks flushed. “You like it?”

“You meant for me to, right?”

“I suppose.”

“Am I going to regret eating this later?” he asked, taking another bite.

“I don't know. Are you?”

“No rat poison or anything that's going to put me in the emergency department?”

“Would you deserve it if there was?”

He had to think about that one for a minute. Mainly because he wondered if she thought he deserved it? Still, despite her quick comeback, he knew she hadn't done anything to him. She wouldn't hurt a fly.

“Maybe I would.”

Emily sat quietly eating her food and staring at her plate rather than look at him.

“I'm sorry I hurt you, Emily.”

She dropped her fork.

“I'm sorry for a lot of things,” he continued, trying not to wince at her pale face. “Especially how sad you became during our marriage. I regret that I ever played any role in you not being happy.”

Her gaze lifted to his.

He waited, not trying to hide his sincerity, not surprised at her look of disbelief. Or was that disgust?

She obviously wanted to scream. She practically did. “No. You can't do this to me.”

Not understanding her anger, he asked, “What?”

She pushed her plate away from her and shook her head. “You can't come in here apologizing and acting like you regret how we ended.”

“I do regret how we ended.” More than she'd ever know or believe, he regretted everything that had gone wrong between them. “I've always regretted how we ended.”

“Bull.” She pushed herself away from the table and walked over to the refrigerator. She pulled out two individual glass servings of what appeared to be pudding with a dollop of whipped cream on top.

Which didn't exactly fit with the theme of their meal. He loved pudding. Always had.

He had a vague flashback of pushing her away after she'd attempted to make pudding that had turned out to be a clumpy mess instead of anything close to edible.

Not that he'd cared about the pudding, but the broken look in her eyes had about killed him. When she'd started crying yet again, he hadn't been able to stand it, had wanted to take her in his arms and kiss away the tears in her eyes, had wanted to tease her, spread the liquid concoction on her lips and suck it off until they both forgot about everything except each other.

Instead, they'd fought. Badly. He'd stormed out of the house and gone to stay the night at the hospital doctors' lounge. That had been the end.

The night he'd told her if she was that unhappy, she should leave.

She had left. Because she had been that unhappy. He had made her that unhappy.

When he'd come home the next day, she'd been gone and the tiny apartment had never felt more lonely, more claustrophobic, more cheap and distasteful.

He hadn't meant his words. He'd not wanted her to leave. He hadn't wanted her to be unhappy, either. No matter what he'd done, he hadn't been able to make Emily happy.

Pride had taken over and bad had gone to worse.

What an immature idiot he'd been.

A selfish, immature idiot who'd driven away the best woman to ever come into his life. She'd been a likable person. A good person. Honest, wholesome, real, a ray of sunshine on a cloudy day.

A person unlike any he'd ever known.

“I really am sorry things turned out the way they did, Emily. I'm also sorry if that truth upsets you.”

“I'm not upset,” she obviously lied. Not looking at him, she shrugged. “Life turned out the way it was supposed to.”

“Do you believe that?” Because he wasn't so sure. Instead, he wondered if the way they'd ended had left them both with too many unresolved emotions to really ever move on. Then again, perhaps it was only him who felt that way. Maybe she really was happy now and he should just leave well enough alone. So why couldn't he?