Dr. Tall, Dark...and Dangerous?

  The deliciously tempting doc…

  New surgeon Jared Finch is causing a storm in Nurse Practitioner Kasey McGowan’s clinic! She’s got better things to think about, but what’s a girl to do when Jared’s been nicknamed Dr. Tall, Dark and Gorgeous? She comes with baggage, he’s got a whole baggage carousel—and giving in to their attraction risks everything. But the desire is oh so tempting….

  “Maybe we should lay down some rules with this thing—” she gestured with her hand back and forth between them “—we’ve got going.”

  “Such as.”

  “No showing up out of the blue.”

  “What’s the fun in that?”

  “Ok,” she said. “How about, you don’t have to feel obligated to call me the next day.”

  “Unless I want to?”

  “Unless you want you.”

  “On this list of rules of yours, is there a limit on how often I can see you?”

  “That’s a good question.”

  “Did I tell you I hate lists?”

  “We can skip the list, but I feel like we need some ground rules.”

  “I’ve lived by ground rules my entire life,” he said. “Just once, I’d like to wing it.”

  “You mean, just see how it goes?”

  “A novel idea. Let’s do that.”

  Dear Reader,

  It’s wonderful to have another Harlequin Medical Romance book out, and Dr. Tall, Dark…and Dangerous? is very special to me. I got the story idea while visiting my daughter in Boston, so I decided to use the lovely New England town as my setting.

  I’ve often heard that our attitudes are the single most important influence in our lives, so I set out to prove it by giving Kasey one huge hardship with which to grapple. At first, she feels defeated when she learns of the devastating news, but lying down and giving up isn’t her style. Instead, she decides to take another path, a more active approach, if you will, one that involves a certain aloof plastic surgeon.

  Kasey is a savvy nurse practitioner who runs the small Everett Community Clinic. She is well aware of the phenomenon of cause and effect—or in her case, actions and consequences—yet under her new circumstances, she casts her cares to the wind and makes a play for that plastic surgeon anyway. Little does she know that she is precisely what Jared needs at the exact perfect time in his life.

  I’ve heard another saying throughout my life that good often comes from bad circumstances, or difficulties can enlighten us and make us stronger individuals, and, well, I’ll let you read the book and decide if you agree with me about that or not….

  I hope you enjoy Kasey and Jared’s book, a story about two people who really deserve each other!

  All the best,

  Lynne

  Visit Lynne Marshall’s website, www.lynnemarshall.com, and watch out for her weekly blog. Or friend her on Facebook! She loves to hear from readers from all over the world.

  Lynne Marshall

  Dr. Tall, Dark… And Dangerous?

  Recent titles by this author:

  THE CHRISTMAS BABY BUMP

  THE HEART DOCTOR AND THE BABY

  THE BOSS AND NURSE ALBRIGHT

  These books are also available in ebook format from www.Harlequin.com.

  Heartfelt thanks to Sally for keeping in touch and encouraging me, and to Sheila for welcoming me back. Also, special thanks to my daughter, Emily, for being my first reader on this book, and for her input regarding Boston.

  Contents

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER ONE

  KASEY waved toward Vincent Clark in the clinic hallway. A baby cried in the background. “Room three,” she said. “Mrs. Gardner needs the second shot in her hepatitis B series.”

  Nine in the morning and already the small clinic’s waiting room was full. A newborn needed his six-week examination; a toddler’s allergies were flaring up with spring and the coming grass season; a teenage mother needed counseling on diet; a senior citizen’s diabetes wasn’t under control. On and on went the list, making Kasey wish she had forty-eight hours in her day.

  Although today she welcomed the nonstop regimen and distractions.

  “I’ll get right on it,” Vincent said, grabbing his laptop, flashing his killer smile.

  She forced a phony grin, since smiling was the last thing she felt like doing. He deserved no less, and she didn’t believe in dumping her foul mood on others. Charming, bright and sensitive, not to mention well groomed and fit, Vincent was everything Kasey looked for in a man, or used to, anyway. The catch was she wasn’t her RN and assistant clinic administrator’s type, because he was gay.

  Besides, she’d given up on finding Mr. Right. Her last big love had told her he loved her one weekend and the next said that whatever he’d said last week he didn’t feel any more. What was a girl supposed to do with that? In reality, men had never stuck around for her or her mother. Since good old Arnie had broken her heart two years ago, her motto had been to keep it superficial all the way—no investment; no pain. It wasn’t everything she’d hoped for in life, but it would have to do.

  Vincent patted her shoulder as he passed. They adored each other in a strictly platonic way, the perfect working situation, and he was a good friend, one she could depend on. Since she’d put so much time and energy into her job over the last few years, she could count her friends on two fingers, sad but factual. As an RN, she believed in facts.

  Besides, she wasn’t in the market for a partner, and had given up looking, especially now, since she’d gotten the horrible news about her birth father. What would be the point of getting involved with anyone for the long haul?

  She dashed to her desk to look for the notes on the toddler she’d seen last week, and found six more patient messages.

  What would Vincent think if he knew her prognosis? Maybe, if things ever slowed down today, she’d tell him. No. Not here. Not quickly over a cup of coffee in the lunch room. She’d need an entire night over drinks and dinner to work up the nerve to say what frightened her more than anything on earth. But she needed to tell somebody, and soon, or she’d explode, and she needed to build her support system. She definitely needed more than two friends, especially as one lived out of state.

  She let out a quiet breath and picked up a note from her receptionist and read, “Facial laceration”, then grabbed her laptop and strode toward room one. As long as she was married to the community clinic, there’d be no chance of making new friends.

  Laurette Meranvil was a name she hadn’t seen before. After knocking, she opened the door and found a petite, brightly dressed woman sitting on the examination table, holding a cloth to her cheek. Kasey put her computer on the stand then reached for and shook the lady’s free hand.

  “I’m Kasey McGowan, the nurse practitioner. What seems to be the problem?”

  “I cut my cheek on glass,” the woman said with what Kasey had come to recognize as a Haitian accent.

  Gingerly removing the cloth, Kasey discovered a jagged cut dangerously close to the woman’s eye and extending out over her cheek. Fresh blood oozed with the release of pressure. She donned gloves and checked for obvious glass slivers in the wound but didn’t find any.

  “How did this happen?”

  Kasey read the hesitation in the patient’s eyes before the woman glanced at the floor. So often the truth went untold at
the clinic. “I fell into a glass door.”

  Kasey ground her molars and hid her disbelief. Not that it couldn’t happen, but… It was more important to treat the wound, knowing she might never get to the truth.

  Though she was trained to suture, this facial laceration would leave an ugly scar if not expertly handled. Kasey knew her limitations, and the woman deserved the best treatment possible.

  “Ms. Meranvil, would you be able to stay at the clinic a bit longer while I have one of the plastic surgeons from the Mass General hospital stitch your wound?” She was aware that keloids could develop at the site of the scar, and because it was on the patient’s face Kasey didn’t want to take any chances of disfiguring the patient even more, so she wanted to bring in an expert.

  Laurette drew her eyebrows together. “I cannot pay for special treatment.”

  “This is the community clinic, remember? There won’t be an extra charge.”

  After a moment’s thought, Laurette gave a serious-faced nod.

  “Great. We’ll take you to the treatment room and get the RN to clean your wound while we wait.” Kasey carefully pressed the skin flap closed and put a sterile four-by-four over it to catch the slow flow of blood then discarded her gloves and entered a quick note into the computer. “The nurse will be right with you, but in the meantime keep light pressure on it,” she said, signing off and grabbing the laptop on her way out.

  Once back at her desk, she found her co-worker sorting another stack of patient messages.

  “Vincent, can you clean the wound in room one, give her a tetanus shot, and move her to the procedure room? I’ve got to make a call to see who’s taking plastics call this month.” As a nearby training hospital, Tufts regularly sent medical students to volunteer at the clinic, but this wound called for extra special care.

  She went straight to her desk and dialed the long-memorized number of the massive teaching hospital. It supported the Everett neighborhood community clinic by supplying residents on call in various specialties as needed. After going through the usual chain of command, Kasey reached the department of surgery and was promised a second-year plastics fellowship doctor would be at the clinic within the hour. Just when she’d gotten used to last month’s doctor, a bubbly young woman, May rolled around and she’d have to readjust to yet another face and name and, most importantly, personality. But that was the name of the game when operating a community clinic with a limited budget that got scrutinized with a magnifying glass each month by the trustees. She took what she was given and smiled gratefully. Fortunately, the hospital thrived on the extra experience for their interns, residents and doctor specialists in training.

  After hanging up the phone and on her way to see another patient, Kasey peeked in on Laurette, noting Vincent had done a fine job of cleaning and dressing the wound. The patient rested on the gurney, staring at the ceiling, the head of the bed partially elevated.

  “Can I get you some water?” Kasey asked.

  The woman nodded. “Yes, thank you.”

  If only Kasey were a mind reader, a skill not taught in the Master’s in Nursing program, maybe she could find out how the accident had really happened. Once the young woman took the water and sipped, she closed her eyes, sending the message loud and clear: I’m not talking about it. So Kasey quietly left the procedure room.

  As the other examination rooms filled up, Kasey became involved with patient care, physicals and treatments, and an hour and a half later she glanced at her watch and stole a moment to get back to the nursing station.

  Just about to call again, a shadow covered her desk.

  She glanced up to find deep blue masculine eyes staring at her from beneath brown brows, and the hair on her neck prickled. The strikingly serious eyes studied her as if she’d come from another planet. Dark brown hair swept back from a high forehead and curled just beneath his earlobes suggesting a professional haircut hadn’t found a date on his calendar in a couple of months. A day’s growth of red-tinged beard covered the man’s sharp jaw.

  “You have a patient for me?” The quiet baritone voice sent more chills down her arms, throwing her off track and making her a little ticked off as he hadn’t bothered to introduce himself yet.

  Needing to look away, Kasey glanced over the man’s shoulder at Vincent who, in his usual playful way, watched wide-eyed, biting his knuckle over the hunk, and she tried not to roll her eyes. Vincent was a sucker for a handsome face, and with this man Vincent’s assessment was right on target. Too bad the doctor’s impatient expression ruined the effect.

  “Oh, um, yes, I do have a patient for you. That is if you’re the resident from Plastic Surgery.”

  To be honest, she’d expected someone younger, more in keeping with the third—and fourth-year residents who’d normally been sent to the clinic, not a man who looked as if he’d been practicing medicine for a decade and had early signs of gray sprinkled at his temples to prove it.

  He gave a slow nod, his haunting eyes as steady as a surgeon’s hands, making her feel edgy. She didn’t need any help with that edgy feeling today.

  “I’m Jared Finch,” he said.

  Snap out of it, girl. “Hi, I’m Kasey, and over there is my co-worker, Vincent.”

  Vincent beamed, more gums than teeth showing. “Hi, thanks for coming.”

  “Just doing my job,” he said, nodding hello to Vincent before turning back to Kasey. “Are you in charge?”

  Unable to break away from his gaze, she fought the hitch in her breath and mentally kicked herself for falling apart. He was just a man. A doctor. She’d seen plenty of handsome men in her life, just not here in her clinic. And this man, in ten seconds flat, seemed to have absconded with her composure. She wanted to grab a rubber reflex hammer and pound some sense into her head.

  “Yes. I’m the nurse practitioner and I run the clinic. Thanks so much for coming, Dr. Finch.” He reached for a quick handshake, though his felt barely alive, and she shook once then let go. Even lackluster, the fraction of a moment’s connection had left her off balance. He came for the patient, give him the information. Right. She looked through the mess on her desk, found the note, and handed it to him. Clutching the laptop that had Laurette Meranvil’s information on it tightly to her chest and feeling fortified, she stood. “Let me show you the patient.”

  *

  Jared followed the skittish NP down the hall toward the patient examination room. He’d been up all night, moonlighting, and the last thing he’d wanted to do was rush over to a satellite clinic for more work. Part of his commitment to the two-year plastic surgery certification program was volunteering at clinics such as this, all over town. During the month of May, as long as he wasn’t doing surgery with his mentors, he’d be at the beck and call of the Everett community clinic, and would be required to put in twenty hours’ service. It wasn’t a “get” to, it was a “got” to, something he’d have to endure.

  The nurse practitioner flipped her dark blonde hair over her shoulder and glanced at him just before opening the door. Since beginning his plastic surgery fellowship, he’d gotten into the habit of looking at women and deciding how he could improve their features. He studied the arch of her brows and the

  almond-shaped green eyes, the larger-than-average nose with a bump on the bridge, and her lips, small, but nicely padded. Her loose lab coat and scrub pants hid her shape, but he guessed she was at least five feet six.

  “Let me show you what we’ve got,” she said, with a polite office smile. It was nice to see she hadn’t used Botox, as he preferred expressive eyes.

  The corner of his mouth twitched as he followed her inside, and that would have to suffice for a friendly smile these days.

  “The patient says she fell against a glass door.”

  He lifted one brow and shared a knowing look with the nurse practitioner as she opened the computer and brought up the patient’s chart. He quickly read over her shoulder, just enough to fill him in.

  “Mrs. Meranvil, I’m Dr. Finch.
Let’s have a look at that cut.” After he’d washed his hands and donned gloves, he removed the gauze and examined the depth of the wound and potential tissue damage. “Set up a sterile field,” he said to the NP, “and I’ll inject some anesthetic. Do you have a tendency to develop keloids?”

  The quiet woman’s pinched forehead clued him to rephrase his question. “Do you get bumpy scars?”

  She shook her head, and he wondered if she’d completely understood him. He glanced over her skin for any evidence of old scars to compare, but her long-sleeved, frayed-at-the-cuffs blouse didn’t reveal anything.

  The nurse practitioner hustled to set up the pre-sterilized pack, and he switched to sterile gloves from the basic tray then gestured to her. “I’ll need five-zero polypropylene sutures.”

  She rustled through the cupboard until she found exactly what he wanted, opened the sterile pack and dropped it onto the sterile field. He nodded his thanks.

  “Let’s get started,” he said, nodding toward the anesthetic. Using sterile technique, she handed him antiseptic cleanser and the tiny-gauge needle and syringe. He swiped the rubber stopper as she held the bottle upside down, and he withdrew a couple of ccs, then discarded the first needle and switched to the next, which the nurse extended to him from within its sterile wrapper.

  “You’ll feel a little pinch.” He injected into the subcutaneous fat around the laceration as gingerly as possible. Once the effect set in, he’d look more closely for glass slivers or debris in the wound, though the nurse had cleaned it well.

  Since he was up close, he gave a tight-lipped, woefully out-of-practice smile. The patient barely responded.

  “Are you okay?” the nurse named Kasey asked. The patient nodded.

  Right, he should employ some light banter. He cleared his throat. “Need anything?” It came out sterner than he’d meant. The patient shook her head as if afraid to talk to him.

  That was the limit of his bedside manner these days, a fact he was gravely aware of and which, considering the field he was going into, needed to change. In his own good time. He took the delicate-toothed forceps and a small curved needle holder and began his meticulous suturing.