Wedding Date with the Army Doc (8 page)

Then, as promised, he took her to a trendy though decidedly funky little hole-in-the-wall for a vegetarian meal complemented by organic pinot gris. Whatever they had done to the “green” wine, it tasted so good Charlotte decided to have a second glass. Why not? Jackson was driving.

* * *

Jackson wasn't being forward, but after dinner Charlotte seemed to have just begun to relax, so instead of taking her home, where she'd immediately start fussing about his needs, he decided to take her to his condo. Who was he kidding, calling it a condo? It was more like a glorified apartment, but it served his purpose, and since it was in Westlake, it cost a pretty penny for the privilege of living there. Why not show her how a new bachelor lived?

“So here's my place,” he said, switching on the lights in the living room. The curtains remained drawn along the sliding glass doors, and the air felt heavy, especially after being at the beach. He strode to the wall and pulled back the drapes then opened the sliders for fresh air, suddenly aware how nervous he felt, having her here. It was another warm and inviting early summer evening, without a trace of humidity, which always amazed him, and the light breeze quickly chased out the stuffy air. He inhaled, forcing himself to relax.

“Make yourself comfortable,” he said, heading to the kitchen to open a bottle of wine. He hadn't ordered any with dinner, though Charlotte had raved about the organic “green” wine. His thoughts had been that tonight she needed to let go a little, and if enjoying a glass or two of wine was the way, he'd make sure she got home safely. He picked up two wineglasses by the stems and carried everything to the other room.

Charlotte had made herself comfortable on the small but functional gray linen upholstered couch overrun with brightly patterned pillows, which she'd pushed aside. The pillows were only there because that was how it had been displayed in the catalog. What did he know about decorating? That had always been Evaline's job. When he showed up back at the sofa, her amused expression changed to a wide smile. Combined with the light blush of someone who'd been enjoying her wine with dinner, the look was more than appealing. “You've been reading my mind a lot tonight,” she said.

“I try.” He opened the bottle of chilled chardonnay and poured them each half a glass. She sipped, and he joined her. “This is where I hang out when I'm not at the hospital.” He wished he could read her mind a little more right now, but on the other hand, maybe he didn't want to know what had put that previously engaging gaze on her face. She was probably suppressing a laugh at his decorating skills, or lack thereof.

“Rented furniture?”

Okay. Maybe he had read her mind again. He dutifully nodded. Was it that obvious?

“Not bad, but it tells me you don't plan to stick around.”

“I think I've told you that I came here to be near my son, and that was the extent of my plan. Oh, and then I found the job at St. Francis.” He took another drink.

“And then you started showing up in my office.” She quaffed more wine, looking self-assured. He liked it.

His eyes crinkled with another smile. The topic was starting to get good. Plus her attitude had taken a turn toward sassy. “That I did. There was a surprise beauty in that office.”

He gave another half smile. She stared lightly at him. It made him think there was a lot going on inside her head right then.

“Did you have any idea how long I had a crush on you?”

So he'd been right about a lot going on behind that getting-more-relaxed-by-the-minute stare. “I thought
I
had a crush on
you
.”

She sat sideways on the couch, one leg bent on the cushions, the other crossed over it. He faced her. With the tip of her now shoeless toe, she made contact with his knees. “I liked you from the first time I saw you, and I couldn't believe how interested you were in the slides.”

“That's because I was interested in the person showing me the slides.” He touched her, soon caressing her toes. She drank more wine, letting him have his way with her foot.

“I liked being in the dark with you, getting to test out whatever aftershave you threw on. You don't have a favorite, do you?”

He shook his head. Shrugged. He liked how she was opening up and he didn't want to stop her, so he kept quiet.

“I can remember the first time our knees touched. You inhaled and I thought it was so sexy. You realize how sexy you are, right?”

His brows shot up. This was really getting good. “Uh, I hadn't thought about that in a long time.” Three years, to be exact. Since losing his leg.

“May I ask what happened to your marriage?”

Ah, damn, she'd pulled a quick one on him and changed the topic to something much less appealing, but Charlotte deserved to know the whole story. His version anyway. And, more importantly, he'd reached a point where he knew he could trust her with it. “Evaline was my high-school sweetheart, and she followed me to college. We got married sooner than I had planned. Actually, I wasn't even sure I was planning on it, but she, or rather we, got pregnant and, well, I did the right thing. We were parents at twenty-one, right when I started med school.” He took a drink of wine, uncomfortable about reliving his past.

“Obviously, I wasn't around much, which didn't help things, but we muddled through. Two years later, she got pregnant again. I have to admit I was not happy. She'd stopped taking her birth control pills and didn't bother to tell me.” He took another drink. “I'll be honest and say I kind of felt like she'd trapped me. Not very heroic of me, but I'm being honest with you.”

“I can understand that. No judgment here.”

“Thanks. She was the first woman I loved and I held on to that, and we just kind of kept moving forward. But when I signed on for the army reserve medical unit and was away from home a lot, I'd come home and feel distant. That's when I realized our marriage was in trouble. The thing was, she liked being a doctor's wife, and I liked being a surgeon, so at least we had that in common.”

He tried to make light of it and even forced a laugh, but he glanced at Charlotte and saw understanding and empathy on her face, not sympathy. At least that was how he needed to interpret it. She reached across the couch and squeezed his forearm.
Keep going
, she seemed to say. “Fast-forward to my coming home from a second tour to the Middle East, this one voluntary, missing part of my leg and a total mental mess, and, well, I fell apart, and she fell apart, and so did our marriage.”

An old lump of pain started radiating smack in the middle of his chest. He took a deep breath, feeling grateful to be here right now with Charlotte. He wondered about her, too. “And speaking of marriage, why isn't a fantastic woman like you married?”

Her brows lifted. She sipped from her glass, looking thoughtful. “I was engaged. I planned to have the American dream of a career, a husband, kids. We were all set for it, too. Then...” she slowly inhaled “...things changed.” She stopped and looked at him. “Would you mind if we went back to talking about how much we like each other?”

So she didn't want to open up right now. Maybe it still hurt too much, and if anyone in the world could understand that, he could. “I'll start. Knowing I'll see you at work at some point every day makes me happy to wake up. I haven't felt anything like that in, well, a long, long time.”

A sly smile crossed her full and kissable lips. “My turn?” He nodded, eager to hear what she'd have to say. “Your blue eyes are killers, and there's something about your almost curly hair that drives me wild.”

He hoped she planned to come on to him because the compliments were making him hot. He took a draw from his wine then put down his glass on the nearby coffee table. Something told him if she kept on with this line of conversation, he might soon want the use of both hands.

“And you've been the highlight of my day more times than I can count. Even when I first started at St. Francis. There you were, sitting in the dark.” He moved closer, took a lock of her thick brown hair and played with it. “You always seemed calm, maybe a little reserved, but it was a welcome change from all the type A personalities in my department. I always looked forward to seeing you. Always.” He leaned forward, and having moved her hair away from her ear, he lightly kissed the shell. “I thought you were sexy but you didn't seem to know it, which made you all the more appealing.” He nipped her earlobe then watched the flesh on her neck prickle. “Now that I know you better, you're driving me crazy.”

She took a quick last sip of her wine and set the glass down. He couldn't help but get his hopes up that tonight might be the night. Soon after their gazes met and melded, planting a solid yes in his mind. He kissed her, pulling her closer. She settled into his arms and kissed more hungrily than usual. They were getting pretty damn good at this part. Making out. He deepened his kiss and a tiny moan caught in her throat. His me-man-you-woman switch clicked on and his needy hands roamed her shoulders and arms and soon slid over her waist and up to her breast.

She stiffened so noticeably he stopped kissing in order to look at her. This wasn't the first time it had happened. “Am I doing something wrong?” He spoke quietly, his version of tender. “If there's anything I need to change, tell me so I can fix it.”

She shook her head, switching from the relaxed sensual compliment-giver of a few moments before to a cautious woman with glistening brown eyes. She glanced over his shoulder rather than look straight at him. A sense of dread seemed to hover around her. “You've heard me talk about my mother.”

He nodded, and he knew the stats about breast cancer, too. Was that what held her back in life? The fear of getting cancer?

“On top of having the strong family history, I have the Ki-67 blood marker
and
the BRCA1 and 2 gene mutations, plus SNPs—single nucleotide polymorphisms.”

So that was the rest of the story, and a tough one to accept for sure.

“Not good. Right?”

Still considering the stark reality of what she'd just said, he didn't answer right away, but he had to agree. The odds were against her. “Is that what stops you from getting closer?” Would she never let him, or anyone, into her life because of that?

She took a deep jittery breath, shifted her gaze to his hand, touching his fingers, playing with them. Every time she touched him he responded, and soon their fingers were laced together, his thumb rubbing along the outline of her palm. She worried her mouth. “So two years ago I had preemptive surgery, bilateral radical mastectomies without reconstruction.” She may as well have blurted out there was a monster in the house—the sudden news felt as jolting.

He gripped her hand tighter as the realization of what she was telling him registered. This beautiful young woman had had her breasts removed to avoid being diagnosed with cancer in the future. As a surgeon, he knew exactly what she meant. He knew what unreconstructed mastectomy scars looked like. Hell, he'd given those scars to hundreds of women over the years. But most opted to have implants along with the surgery. From several of his own patients who'd taken Charlotte's route, he knew the sorrow the women went through afterward. Dealing with body image was always the toughest issue. Yet her surgery had been voluntary, and she'd made the choice not to have reconstruction.

It also became clear why her engagement had ended. The guy hadn't been able to take it.

So the natural curves on display in her clothes were thanks to that special bra he recommended to his own patients. It sure had fooled him. Now he understood why she always tensed up when he started exploring that part of her body.

He needed to make it clear that he wasn't that guy, the guy who couldn't take it.

He pulled her hand to his mouth and kissed it, kissed each finger and the inside of her wrist. He just wanted to love her, to ease her fears, to let her know that, though, yes, he was shocked, it didn't matter to him. His other hand caressed her neck. “If you're worried what I might think, I'm going to quote back to you what you told me Dr. Gordon said. ‘Life's got to be about what's happening right now, not about what might happen.' And right now I want more than anything to make love to you.”

She leaned into his hand, and his thumb traced her jaw and earlobe. He pulled her to his mouth and kissed her again, a long warm and sensual message he hoped would get through to her. But he knew she needed to hear it from him, to make sure without a doubt he understood.

“You have no idea how much it meant to me when you didn't react over my leg. I didn't see the look of horror in your eyes that I've seen before. And, believe me, there's no hiding it if it's there. I've seen people try.” He took both her hands in his and squeezed them. “Look at me.” She complied and he gazed gently at her. “So, of all the people in the world, I know how it feels to be insecure about an imperfect body.” He kissed her once more to prove his point, to hold her near, feel close to her again, hoping he was getting through. She seemed to welcome his kisses, as she always did. His hand slid to her shoulder and upper arm again, where he held her firmly.

“Charlotte, I've been fortunate enough to have lots of time to get to know you and you should know that I think you're a beautiful person both inside and out.” A light ironic laugh puffed from his mouth. “Hell, I'm the perfect
imperfect
person to be with you tonight. But only if you want it.” He could only hope his expression and invitation looked and sounded as sincere as he truly was.

Her hesitant, dark and worried eyes relaxed the slightest bit. Her hands moved to cup his cheeks as a look of deep gratitude crossed her face. Her fingers felt cold, nervous. But there was something more in that gaze, some kind of promise, or was it blatant desire, like he felt firing up again inside. She leaned forward and kissed him, lightly at first, then released all the passion she must have let build during his confession. Because that kiss soon morphed into a ravenous need to be close, to feel, to excite and take.