The Aries Libra Connection (Opposites In Love Book 1) (3 page)

His muscles contracted and expanded beneath a bright green tank top. She nibbled on her lower lip and watched each subtle movement. How would she feel if he swept her into a bear hug the way Chuck had when he’d been excited about a new photographic study?

She shook her head. He wasn’t Chuck. In coloring, Eric stood in contrast to her dead husband’s dark handsomeness. Eric possessed an inner calm Chuck had lacked. Eric’s movements were controlled. His touch would never be exuberant. His hands wouldn’t stroke… Aware her thoughts were headed for dangerous territory, she looked away.

After cramming the crumpled letter into the manila envelope, she inched to the door. What was wrong with her? Though normally a fighter, every encounter with Eric Bradshaw filled her with an urge for flight.

He turned. His dimpled smile brought a return of yesterday’s confusion over wanting to have and to reject his attention.

“Hello, Jenessa.”

With a whispered huskiness, his voice caressed her name. A delicious sense of anticipation walked her spine.

“How’s your head?”

A hint of amusement in his deep voice made her wonder if he’d read her swirling thoughts. “I’m fine.” She pressed the manila envelope against her chest.

“No headache? No blurred vision?”

“I’m fine, Mr. Bradshaw.” Hoping to place a barrier between them, she shaded her voice with formality.

“Eric,” he said. “What happened? When I returned with the ice, you were gone.”

Something I’m not ready for, she thought. “I went home. The sun...my head.”

The washer buzzer spurred her into action. As she transferred clothes to the dryer, she wished one of them would vanish, preferably him. The D.O.N. had no right to be so attractive. She’d liked the battle better with Sandra as the primary opponent. She dropped the last item in the dryer and backed to the door.

“Don’t go. Since yesterday, I’ve wanted to talk to you about the hospital.”

“Why? Didn’t Sandra warn you about my attitude?”

“I’m not Sandra Wallace.”

“I know that.” She retreated again. He could prove more dangerous.

“I’d like to change your mind about administrators. I’m willing to listen to your ideas about the problems here.”

“I’m sure you’ve heard all you need to know.” She wanted to scream. Didn’t he feel the currents that caused her skin to tingle?

“I need feedback from nurses involved in patient care.” In measured steps, he walked toward her. “I think you have what I need.”

Her desire to run grew. There were things she could tell him, but could she trust him to listen?

“Feedback won’t help. We need a contract that addresses the problems of staffing and autonomy.” She grinned. “Or a new Board president.”

“He’s only one Board member.”

She felt like a mass of static electricity waiting for a touch to send sparks flying. When he returned to the washer, her tension ebbed to a reasonable level. In three steps, she reached the door. “He might as well be. Most of the others owe him money.”

“You’re kidding.”

“I wish I was.” He flashed a smile and she sucked in a breath.

“The hospital’s headed for a strike if something doesn’t change.”

“Tell Mr. Bishop.”

“I have and I’ll repeat it until he hears me. There must be a way around him.”

“For the union to have a contract with teeth.”

“There are other options than a union.”

“What’s wrong with unions?”

He looked away. “That’s a long story. Why don’t we go somewhere and discuss the changes you’d like to see?”

“Where?” Did the breathy quality of her voice betray the depth of her interest? This wouldn’t work. Like trains halted on opposite sides of a platform, they were headed in different directions.

Reluctant to walk away, she searched for a reason to stay. He was charming. Part of her wanted to be charmed, but he belonged to the opposition. An idea occurred to her. If she spent some time with him, she might discover where he stood. “Sure.”

“What about Frank’s Place?”

Had he read her desire to have the meeting in a public place? “Sounds fine.”

She ran up the stairs ahead of him. The glaring light in the glass-walled lobby struck her with the same intensity as his smile. “Do you know Bishop’s our landlord?”

“So he told me.”

Jenessa stepped into the steaming morning air. A film of moisture collected on her skin. Heat from the pavement seeped through the soles of her sandals.

Several minutes later, they entered the cool, nearly deserted restaurant. Rather than a booth awash in sunlight, she chose a center table. They ordered. She stared at her hands.

What now? A glib tongue had always been an asset and a problem. Though questions formed as soap bubbles wafted from a giant wand, they vanished before she voiced them. Why had she given into the impulse to come? She didn’t want to be attracted to him or any man and risk falling in love again.

When the waitress brought the coffee, Jenessa looked up and found him staring. He combed his fingers through his hair. “Are you from Eastlake?”

She shook her head. “I attended Grantley for my BS and returned to the city. When my husband died, I came back.” She stirred the coffee so vigorously some of the liquid sloshed over the rim on the cup. “And you, why Eastlake?”

He leaned his elbows on the table and wondered how much he should tell her. “Sam Gray and I’ve been friends since college. He knew I wanted out of the city and suggested I apply here.”

Her blue eyes issued a challenge. “I hear you’re anti-union.”

“Not really. Unions have their place. I don’t feel they’re part of the professional image nurses need to project.”

“Without one at Eastlake, we’d be crushed.”

“Maybe.”

She cut one of the nut rolls and ate a piece. “Definitely. Retention rate is abysmal. Before the union, the stay for a nurse was eight months. It’s two years now.”

Where had she obtained her statistics? He put his cup down. “Those aren’t the numbers I’ve seen.”

She licked her fingers. Heat flowed to his groin. She leaned forward. “Bet Sandra provided your numbers. Probably included the Grantley students who work here while earning their degrees. Ask her for the truth.”

“Don’t worry, I will.” He grinned. “Let’s agree to disagree about unions. What’s the focus of your Master’s?”

“Adult practitioner with an emphasis on head and spinal cord injuries.”

Of course, he thought. Again, he remembered the day he’d seen the light of hope in her eyes die. “Do you plan to stay?”

“I’d like to, but a lot of people will cheer if I leave. Enough about me. What about the contract?”

“Don’t you ever give up?”

“Rarely.” His eyes held questions she couldn’t answer.

Feeling like a butterfly caught in a collector’s net, she turned and stared at the spider plants in the windows. If she let him, he had the power to hurt her more than her husband’s death had.

“What do you have against unions?”

His hand tightened until his knuckles turned white. “A hospital isn’t the place for one. If nurses walk out, tragedies occur.”

“And they don’t when there’s short-staffing and when nurses are pushed to their limits.” She caught a flash of guilt in his hazel eyes and wondered why. “So tell me about your plans for the Nursing Department.”

As he spoke, she felt mesmerized by his voice and his ideas for changing the patient care delivery system and for giving nurses both responsibility and authority. If only it was possible, she thought, but Bishop and the Board stood in the way.

She cleared her throat. “Most of the union members would back your ideas.”

“I see no evidence of that. You’re demanding higher wages and more benefits.”

“Are we?”

He shook his head. “What’s the union done for the patients?”

“We made a start at changing things with our first contract. You’d better push Bishop to start talks.”

His eyes narrowed. “Sounds like a threat.”

“A warning.” She pushed her chair back. “Now that you’re here, some of the more militant members expect results.”

“Bishop promised me several months to evaluate the situation.”

“He’s good with promises and poor at keeping them.” Pain flashed in his eyes. She wondered who had broken promises to him. Why should she care? She didn’t want to consider her reasons. “Unless we’re staying for lunch, we’d better go.”

Eric picked up the check. “My treat. You get the tip.”

She tossed some coins on the table and headed for the door. By the time he caught up with her, her emotions had been tightly tamped. When they reached the apartment building, he held the door. She slipped inside and rushed to the stairs leading to the basement.

“Jenessa,” he called. “I’d like to see you again.”

“I don’t think…”

“Maybe a movie. Friday when you get off work.”

She should refuse. He was administration. The other union officers might accuse her of selling out, but for some reason she didn’t understand, she wanted to see him again.

“Friday, then.”

“Friends.” He stopped at the mailboxes.

“Friends,” she repeated. “You know, I have a feeling I know you.”

As she ran down to the basement laundry room, her sandals clicked on the stairs. Friends? She stopped short. Friendship she could handle, but what could she do about the currents gathered beneath the surface of the morning’s encounter?

* * *

Long after Jenessa vanished, Eric stood in the sunlit lobby. Was he certifiable? Had he forgotten the games Gail had played and how she’d used him to gather information? From her, he’d learned that mixing business with pleasure ended in pain. After that fiasco, he’d kept his relationships with women skimming the surface like stones skipped across a pond.

Now a week after meeting Jenessa, he’d shanghaied her. He groaned. She could prove more dangerous to his career and his emotions than ten Gails.

He crossed the lobby and paused at the top of the stairs. The potential for more than friendship built like the humidity.

On the third step, he paused. “I have a feeling I know you.” She’d presented him with an opportunity for a confession that would drive her away.

Why hadn’t he told her he’d been the ICU supervisor at Claremont Hospital the day her husband had died? Or that he’d been the first person to respond to the code? And that he’d been responsible for the staffing that day?

He couldn’t understand why he felt guilty now. He certainly hadn’t felt this way before. His decision had been the right one, but since meeting Jenessa Robertson, he’d begun to question his judgment.

As the answers to his questions emerged, he gripped the railing. He hadn’t told her because he liked her courage, admired her willingness to fight for her co-workers and wanted her friendship. Determined to tell her about their previous encounter, he headed to the laundry room. She wasn’t there.

* * *

On Wednesday morning, Eric paused outside Sandra’s office. This morning, he planned to visit several of the nursing units. Though he preferred to go alone, courtesy demanded he invite his second-in-command to join him.

“Just one minute.” Sandra’s voice, harsh with anger, carried into the hall. “What do you mean you have another plan? I was given a year and I want every minute of it.”

Who was she talking to? He wished he knew more about her background, but when he’d pulled the administrative files, hers had been missing.

“You want results. You’ll get them.” She strode toward the window until the cord was stretched to its limit. “We’re on schedule.”

Eric walked away. He would talk to her later. He headed to the elevators. Jenessa was on duty. Impatient to see her, he increased the length of his stride.

A short time later, he paused at the L-shaped desk in ICU. He glanced at the monitors. Jenessa exited one of the cubicles and entered the next one. Though he’d planned to speak to the nurse manager first, all thought of protocol vanished. He crossed the hall.

“Mr. LaPonte, I’m back.” The patient’s words were garbled. Jenessa took his hand. “Slowly. Think of each word before you form it. Tomorrow, I’ll bring a word board and a pointer. Let’s exercise.”

As Eric watched her interact with the patient, his admiration grew. She praised each of the man’s small successes.

Finally, she pulled up the side rail. “Let me find someone to help while I make your bed.”

“Will I do?” Eric asked.

She turned. Mischief sparkled in her blue eyes. “I didn’t think D.O.N.’s remembered how to work.”

“This one does. Until last year, I worked one weekend a month as a per diem.”

“I’m impressed.” Jenessa patted the elderly man’s hand. “You’re in for a treat. The boss is pitching in.”

Ten minutes later, she finished tucking in the sheets. She stopped to wash her hands and to jot a few notes on a flow sheet and on the computer open to the man’s record. “Thanks.”