DR. MOM AND THE MILLIONAIRE Page 8

  She considered it a sign of fatigue that he didn't argue. The instant his hand cleared the wheel, she shoved him forward herself. "You weren't pushing yourself around down there this whole time, were you?"

  "Most of it."

  The admission came without a shred of apology or defense. As she stared daggers at the back of his meticulously cut hair, all she heard was pure, unadulterated challenge.

  She was about to tell him that her four-year-old had more sense than the three men combined when she saw Kay striding toward them. Disapproval resounded with every squeaking step.

  "His nurse is with another patient, Doctor." With an annoyed glance at the patient who was now requiring his physician to act as an orderly, the perturbed nurse inserted herself behind the wheelchair. "I'll change that IV and get him into bed."

  "I'm not getting into bed." Chase's tone went as flat as a specimen slide. "This chair is fine."

  "Your doctor has been waiting to examine you." Admonishment coated the clipped words. "You need to be in a gown and in your bed."

  "I'm not getting in one of those—"

  "Mr. Harrington—"

  "It's all right, Kay."

  Alex shook her head as Kay's mouth fell open to further her protest. There were procedures and protocols to follow. Under other circumstances, Alex would have bowed to those formalities. But as the trio maneuvered around an empty gurney and turned into Chase's room, she was far more concerned with the tension radiating from Chase's broad shoulders than with Kay's sense of decorum.

  "If you'll take him over by the bed and hang the IV," she asked, bending to that bit of protocol, "that's all I'll need for now."

  "If you're sure."

  "I'm sure." Avoiding the blue eyes narrowed on her face, she took the bag from Chase and handed it over. "I need to speak with Mr. Harrington alone."

  It was clear that Kay thought Alex was about to give their troublesome patient a piece of her mind. Satisfaction fairly glowed in the woman's otherwise militant expression. Given that sort of motivation, it only took her a minute to get everything connected, check the position of the needle in Chase's arm, and reset the pump.

  "I'll see that you're not disturbed," the nurse promised moments later, and closed the wide door behind her.

  In the sudden silence, the quiet click of the pump sounded like the ominous tick of a time bomb.

  Alex stood at the foot of Chase's neatly made bed, two feet from where he sat refusing to break that silence himself.

  The white shirt he wore was open at the collar, rolled to his elbows and bore an embroidered white CRH on the pocket. The foot planted firmly on the footrest was shod in soft, and undoubtedly expensive, black leather. His gray slacks were cuffed, sharply creased and, considering the device pinning his leg, recently altered.

  She'd thought him formidable before. Dressed with such casual elegance, his dark hair combed back from his face and his blue eyes lasering hers, the man was downright dangerous.

  "Open your shirt for me."

  His dark eyebrows merged into a single, disgruntled slash, but he said nothing. Watching her step toward him as she warmed the bell of her stethoscope in her palm, he moved his hand to the front of his shirt. His fingers slipped down the placket, flicking open buttons, the motions almost defiant.

  She felt a little defiant herself. Deliberately ignoring his beautifully formed pectoral muscles when he pulled the shirt open, she bent forward and placed the bell beneath his flat male nipple. "Breathe," she ordered.

  His chest expanded. As it did, the scent of warm male and aftershave registered deep in her consciousness, testing her concentration on the sounds she was listening for. Lifting the smooth fabric of his shirt with the back of her hand, she moved the bell to the other side. "Again."

  Chase did as he was told, pulling a breath that brought her impossibly fresh scent deep into his lungs and played utter havoc with the nerves at the base of his spine. Or maybe it was the feel of her small hand on his shoulder as she focused on the heavy beat of his heart that had his body going taut as a trip wire.

  She straightened, green fabric rustling, and gently nudged his shoulder forward. "Hurt?"

  "Not much."

  He thought he heard her mutter "liar" just before she moved the stethoscope down the back of his shirt and pressed the bell to the left of his spine.

  The thought of how her hand would feel caressing his skin had him breathing in before she had to ask.

  Twenty long seconds later, she hooked the earpieces around her neck. "Your lungs are clear. Look up."

  He'd only been able to imagine how her hands would feel roaming his back. He knew for a fact that they felt as soft as satin when she slipped them up the sides of his neck and worked her fingers along the undersides of his jaws.

  She did the same thing under his arms, her examination quick, efficient and totally impersonal.

  "Your lymph glands feel normal and I'm not seeing any signs of infection so far," she said, after she'd carefully lifted the bandage on his leg and checked the surgical wound. "You still have to finish the antibiotics, but I want to stay on top of your white count to make sure."

  He hesitated. "You have to draw more blood?"

  Alex didn't expect the faintly squeamish look that washed over Chase's stoically set face, or the edge of consternation that entered his voice. He thought nothing of pushing himself to his physical limits. Yet, the thought of getting stuck with a needle turned him as gray as ash.

  "They won't take much," she assured him, too irritated to be sympathetic.

  Her exam finished, she crossed her arms over her lab coat. "Now," she said, torn between wanting details of the meeting and wanting to throttle him, "I'm assuming everything went well with your brothers?"

  There was something about her tone he didn't trust. The chill in it, probably.

  "It went fine."

  "You'll be seeing them again?"

  "Tomorrow."

  "Do you have any more hospital tours planned?"

  "That's what we're finishing up. Attila told Ryan you were annoyed because you had to wait for your patient, so we cut it short."

  "I never said I was annoyed."

  "You think you had to?" His glance narrowed on her face, his expression one of pure disbelief. "The temperature is about twelve degrees in here," he informed her, though he sounded more curious than disturbed by the fact.

  "If I'm concerned," she calmly stressed, preferring that to the more personal reactions he invariably evoked, "it's not because I had to wait. It's because of what you were doing. You didn't break your shoulder, but the muscles there are strained and bruised. You need that shoulder to heal so you can support your weight on crutches. It's not going to heal if you keep irritating the tissues."

  "It doesn't hurt that much."

  "That's because your medication is masking the discomfort. Pain is your body's warning system. It's what tells you something is wrong. Even with the medication it was hurting you to push yourself in that chair. I could see it."

  "You've never heard of no pain, no gain?"

  "What works for you in a gym doesn't apply here." Despite her best efforts to avoid it, exasperation leaked through. "I know you're accustomed to pushing yourself. And it probably goes against every fiber of your being to have to slow down. But you have to listen to your body. You also need to let go of that pride and let people help. If you go with your brothers again, you have to let one of them drive that thing for you."

  "I don't think so."

  "Fine. I'll tell them myself."

  "I'll put the tour off for a couple of days."

  "Your shoulder won't be healed enough."

  For a moment, Chase said nothing. He just sat with his elbows on the arms of the wheelchair, one hand resting loosely against his trouser-covered thigh. The thumb of his other hand was hooked under his chin, his curled fingers pressed to his top lip as he considered her.

  If the odd light in his eyes was any indication, he was pushing her
on purpose.

  The thought that she amused him somehow had her starting for the door. "I'm trying to help you. If you're not going to take me seriously—"

  She was even with the side of his chair when he dropped his hand and curled fingers around her wrist. The rest of her words promptly stalled in her throat. Beneath his thumb, her pulse leapt. That betraying beat coincided with the slam of her heart against her ribs.

  "I take you very seriously," he said, his glance boring into hers. "But you seem to think I'm operating with some overblown sense of pride. I'll be the first to admit there's nothing wrong with my ego, but you aren't seeing this from my perspective at all. I only rely on other people for information and whatever it is I've paid them to do. I'm not used to being dependent. The idea of not being able to get around on my own terrifies me. Okay?"

  The fear didn't surprise her. What did was that he would admit it.

  It seemed to surprise him, too. Defensiveness shifted over his carved features, hardening the line of his jaw. She doubted he ever revealed his vulnerabilities to anyone, much less allowed himself to acknowledge that he had them.

  The fact that he had to let her see them didn't sit well at all.

  The pressure on her wrist increased as he tugged her down. "Do you understand?" he demanded, his face inches from hers.

  The heat of his hand seared into her skin. She could almost feel it course from where he held the fragile bones of her wrist to the quickening low in her belly. But it was the way he watched her mouth that made her heart feel as if it might pound its way out of her chest. He was looking at her as if he were sorely tempted to yank her closer and work out a few of his frustrations by discovering exactly how she would feel, how she would taste.

  He wasn't the first male patient to reach for her. He was just the first to short-circuit the protective mechanism that would already have had her moving back. Every time she breathed, she drew his breath inside her. Every shallow, erratic breath that managed to escape her lungs filled him in turn.

  His eyes darkened on hers.

  "I understand," she whispered and told herself to move. Chase let go first. When he did, it was clear from the displeasure shadowing his face that he hadn't been pleased with what he'd done.

  Scrambling to collect her thoughts, Alex stepped back and crossed her arms over the nerves fluttering low in her stomach. She wasn't too pleased, either, but she needed to focus, to remember what they'd been talking about.

  Dependence, she reminded herself, willing her heart rate to slow. He'd just told her he didn't rely on anyone unless he had to.

  She told herself to remember that. "You won't be dependent for long if you'll just give yourself a chance to get better." She tightened her hold on herself and took another step back. "There are things we can do to help you help yourself. Exercises and therapy," she elaborated, seeking the distance her job required.

  She scanned his face, forcing herself to overlook the tension in it and focus on the fatigue. "Do you still want to stay in that chair?"

  She was no longer annoyed. Wariness now shadowed her eyes. Seeing it, irritated with himself for having let his frustration get the better of him, Chase slowly shook his head. He didn't believe for a moment that she was offering to help him to the bed herself. She wasn't likely to get any closer to him than she absolutely had to right now.

  "No," he murmured, figuring it wouldn't hurt to let her know he didn't want her that close, either. He was already thinking about her in ways that would make a stripper blush. If he were to get near enough to her to know how those lithe curves felt against his body, his frustration level would shoot right through the roof. "You can send Attila back in."

  "Do you have any questions before I leave?"

  She probably didn't even realize how relieved she looked when he told her he didn't. She didn't even bother to frown at his name for the nurse. She told him only that she'd send someone right in, and turned for the door.

  He'd just heard her open it when his conscience made him stop her.

  "What you did this morning," he began, "tracking down my bags and setting everything up, I mean. I know you didn't do it for me. You did it for Ryan and Tanner. But I appreciate it." He couldn't have faced that meeting today without her help.

  With his back to her, he'd turned his head slightly as he'd spoken. He couldn't really see her. But he could feel her hesitation.

  Alex stood with her hand on the edge of the door. Ahead of her stood the current bane of Chase's existence. Kay had practically been camped on the other side of the door.

  "I'm glad it worked out," was all she could say before the woman pushed the door wide and cocked a curious eyebrow at her.

  "You can help him into bed now," she told the nosy nurse. "He'll need ice and heat for his shoulder. Alternate those for ten minutes each for the next hour and keep him off crutches. I'm ordering physical therapy for his shoulder in addition to his leg. I'll be at Children's, then I'm going home."

  Before Kay could say a word, Alex was moving away at her usual no-nonsense pace. With her insides churning, it felt more as if she were running.

  It shouldn't have bothered her. She shouldn't let it matter that every time she got within six feet of him, she found herself getting upset, irritated or edgy. It shouldn't have mattered, either, that Chase so firmly believed people did things for him for reasons other than because they cared about him. He certainly wasn't concerned about it. The man deliberately sought emotional distance, so he was getting exactly what he wanted. But the admission had disarmed her. It was almost as if he'd pushed her away, only to pull her back again. And that bothered her, too.

  The good news was that he wouldn't be around forever. The bad news was that he'd set himself back by pushing himself in that wheelchair. She hadn't cared to mention just how far back his progress had slipped, though. She was through arguing with him for the day. Right now, she wasn't even going to think about him anymore.

  The tingling on her wrist mocked the assertion. But she wouldn't let herself consider the thoughts that had scrambled her mind when he'd pulled her down in front of him. If she did, she'd have to admit that the thought of being in his arms and meeting that hard, sensual mouth held far too much appeal.

  She would also have to admit that she wouldn't have stopped him.

  It was because Alex wanted to avoid any further arguments with Chase that she had Mike Reiker, a very Nordic-looking young man from the hospital's physical therapy department, with her when she broke the news to Chase the next day that he'd set himself back at least a week.

  She was in a hurry because she had a patient in ICU that she was worried about, but Chase also needed to know he would need help at home after he was discharged. So she told him that Mike would assist him in coordinating home health care in Seattle, unless he had a friend he'd rather have stay with him.

  Chase was well aware that he had no one to blame but himself for the delay in his recovery. She would have reminded him of that, too, had he given her any grief about his estimated recovery time. But he didn't challenge her with the other man present. He never challenged her when there was anyone else around. Not verbally, anyway.

  "I'm not asking anyone to stay with me," he informed her, his tone even, his eyes fixed on her face. "And I'm not hiring a nurse. Just get me on crutches and I'll be fine."

  "If you don't have help at home," Mike pointed out, oblivious to the faint tension snaking between patient and doctor, "it could be longer before you're released. We'd want to keep you until we know you can take care of yourself on your own."

  "I'm not hiring anyone," he repeated in that same very civil but inflexible tone.

  The flat refusal clearly puzzled Mike. After all, it wasn't as if Chase couldn't afford the help. "But, sir, you'd be able to leave sooner. I don't understand—"

  "Dr. Larson does."

  Chase held her glance, the certainty in his eyes melding with something that almost looked like defense. He'd left no doubt in her mind about h
ow he felt about requiring that sort of assistance. And she remembered all too well how she'd come by that understanding. But this wasn't about what had happened when his frustration and fear had collided with her annoyance. It was about him not wanting to explain how he felt to anyone else.

  Even if she hadn't been his doctor, she wouldn't have shared that information. For reasons she didn't have time to consider just then, it felt too personal, as if she would be betraying an even deeper trust.

  "If that's the way he wants it," she said to the younger man, "we just won't let him go until you think he's ready."

  She excused herself then, warning Mike not to let him push himself too hard, and headed for the door.

  She could feel Chase's quiet scrutiny on her back in the moments before she turned into the hall to head for ICU. She had a patient rejecting an implant who would have to be taken back to surgery, a perfectly legitimate reason to leave the therapist to explain Chase's treatment to him. Yet, he had her feeling as if she were running from him again.

  The problem was his unnerving ability to see straight through her defenses. The way he'd arched his eyebrow at her when she'd first walked in with Mike made it perfectly clear he knew she'd brought the strapping therapist along as a buffer.

  Had she not been in the process of shifting mental gears, she might have been even more disturbed than she already was by how he was getting to her. But with a critical patient demanding her attention, her only thought about Chase was that the next time she saw him, she'd make sure she was alone. She might be drawn to him, and he might have worked past a couple of her rustier defenses, but she didn't need to prove it to him.

  She didn't get the chance to make her point.

  When she walked into his room the next morning, Chase was on the telephone, talking to his lawyer about the meeting taking place in Chicago at that very moment. He sent her an apologetic look, placed his hand over the mouthpiece and asked if she could please, just this once, check whatever she needed to check on him while he finished his conversation.