Cindy's Doctor Charming

“Do you really think that’s a good idea—”

“No. But all night I haven’t been able to take my eyes off you. I want to see how that sexy, sassy, smart mouth tastes.”

Her heart started to pound until she thought it would jump right out of her chest. “Oh, my—”

“I can’t help it.” He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear with a shaking hand. “I want to feel all the passion you put into being so tough.”

Words were trapped in Cindy’s throat, so she started to shake her head. The feel of his lips stopped her as surely as it shut down all rational thought …

Dear Reader,

I love fairy tales and have since I was a little girl. Sleeping Beauty. Cinderella. Beauty and the Beast. It wasn’t clear then, but reading those classics was the foundation for my career as a romance writer now.

I had so much fun tweaking the fairy-tale elements in Cindy’s Doctor Charming. The “ball” where she first talks to her hero is the beginning of the story, not the end. And, as every woman knows, the perfect fit of a shoe is worth its weight in happily-ever-afters. But for Cindy and Nathan it’s the broken heel on her borrowed pumps that allows fate to catch up and bring these two lonely people together in a way neither of them expects.

I hope you enjoy reading their story as much as I enjoyed writing it.

All the best,

Teresa Southwick

PS I love to hear from readers. Feel free to contact me through my website at www.teresasouthwick.com.

About the Author

TERESA SOUTHWICK lives with her husband in Las Vegas, the city that reinvents itself every day. An avid fan of romance novels, she is delighted to be living out her dream of writing for Mills & Boon®.

Cindy’s Doctor Charming

Teresa Southwick

www.millsandboon.co.uk

To all of you who love happy endings as much as I do.

Chapter One

She was a fake and a fraud.

Cindy Elliott was walking, talking, breathing proof that not only was it possible to make a silk purse from a sow’s ear, but you also could take her out in public. So far no one had pointed and laughed at her pretending to be one of the exalted affluent. But the night was young and she was the queen of getting dumped on.

Famous-rich and anonymous-wealthy people were crammed into this ballroom. She was pretty sure that, unlike herself, none of them had won their seat at this thousand-dollar-a-plate fundraiser with a raffle ticket. Any second she expected the riffraff police to see through her disguise and throw her out.

It wouldn’t be the worst thing that ever happened to her, but it was not high on her list of things to do. Her plan was to enjoy every moment of this night. Take in every detail and let the memories brighten the daily grind as she dug herself out of the deep financial hole she’d ended up in after trusting a man.

Cindy grew up in Las Vegas but this was the first time she’d ever been to a shindig at Caesar’s Palace. Crystal chandeliers glittered overhead and silver light trickled down on white tablecloths and somehow made the fragrant arrangements of fresh, vibrantly colored flowers smell even better. Candles flickered but paled in comparison to the views visible from floor-to-ceiling windows of the neon skyline outside on the Strip.

She wished more people were looking at it instead of her, more specifically male people. A lot of the dapper men in dark suits and tuxedos were staring at her as she snaked her way through the crush of bodies. She felt conspicuous and self-conscious in her strapless, champagne-colored cocktail dress. It was knee length, and now was not a good time to wish for more material.

Finally she reached the perimeter of the room and found the table number that corresponded to the one on her invitation. There were eight chairs and all of them were empty. She decided to sit down and take the strain off her borrowed shoes, minding her friend’s warning not to test the limits of a Super Glue repair on a four-inch heel.

Moments later someone appeared in her peripheral vision and a familiar deep voice said, “Is this seat taken?”

Cindy looked up. The face matched the voice as she’d feared it would. Nathan Steele, MD. Dr. Charming himself, she thought sarcastically. He always made her think of Hugh Jackman—tall and broad-shouldered, with hazel eyes and dark brown hair. It pained her to admit, even to herself, that his traditional black tuxedo made him look very handsome—for a bad-tempered, arrogant, egotistical physician.

After a couple seconds of him standing there expectantly, the message translated from her eyes to her brain that he was waiting for an answer. Glancing at the seven empty seats, she briefly thought about saying that her date was sitting there, then abandoned the idea. She might be a pathetic loser who was a really bad judge of men, but she wasn’t a liar.

“No,” she finally said. “That seat isn’t taken.”

He smiled, then lowered his excellent butt into the chair beside hers. “Isn’t that lucky?”

“You have no idea.” She looked at him, waiting for the inevitable moment when he recognized her as the incompetent from Mercy Medical Center’s housekeeping department. The same employee he’d chastised earlier that day for something that wasn’t her fault. The indignity and unfairness still smarted.

“Would you like a drink?” The tone was pleasant, deep and sexy. Definitely not his icy-cold, all-business hospital voice.

“Yes.” It was the least he could do. “A glass of red wine would be lovely.”

He stood. “Don’t let anyone take this seat.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

Dream being the operative word. Nathan Steele was walking, talking female fantasy. Definite hero material. A handsome doctor whose mission in life was to save babies who came into this world too early. Infants who needed every trick in his medical bag to survive outside a mother’s protective womb while their not-ready-to-be born bodies caught up. How could a woman not seriously crush on a man like that?

The answer was simple. Pretty to look at, difficult to get along with. Cindy didn’t need the aggravation. She was still paying for the last wrong guy at the wrong time. She was a twenty-seven-year-old college student because she’d lost not only her bank account but money she hadn’t even earned yet to a good-looking man masquerading as a hero. She literally couldn’t afford another stupid man mistake.

A few minutes later Dr. Charming set a glass of red wine in front of her and a whiskey neat at his own place before settling beside her again.

“I’m Dr. Steele—Nathan.” He looked at her, obviously waiting for her to respond with an introduction. When she said nothing, he added, “And you are?”

Surprised and annoyed in equal parts, she thought. The fact that he didn’t recognize her was a surprise. It also annoyed her.

“Cindy Elliott,” she said, waiting for the “aha” light to shine in his eyes.

“Nice to meet you, Cindy.” He held his hand out.

She wanted to tell him they’d already met. More than once their paths had crossed in the hospital. But then she put her fingers into his palm and a ripple of awareness danced up her arm. He held babies weighing hardly more than a pound, tiny little things that easily fit into this hand. It was warm and strong and capable.

Hero worship threatened until she remembered that doing battle for babies barely alive didn’t give him license to be a bastard to everyone else.

“Dr. Steele,” she said with as much cool reserve as she could muster.

“Call me Nathan.”

“All right. Nathan.”

He studied her intently and finally said, “Where do I know you from?”

It was on the tip of her tongue to say she saw him almost every day. Granted, the disposable, white “bunny suit” she wore for her housekeeping job in the neonatal intensive care unit made her fairly anonymous. But still …

She was about to tell him, then something stopped her. The devil made her do it. “I look familiar?”

“Yes.”

Maybe she’d finally caught a break. “I guess I just have one of those faces.”

“Quite a lovely face.”

And now it was red. How did she respond to that? “Thank you.”

“I can’t shake the feeling that we’ve met.” He sipped his drink. “Did you have a baby in the NICU?”

Heaven forbid. A baby was the last thing she needed. Although that would require sex and she hadn’t had any for a very long time. “I’ve never had a baby.”

“So you’re here at the fundraiser out of the goodness of your heart?”

“I won a seat at the table with a raffle ticket,” she said honestly.

“Right.” His mouth curved up at the corners.

“I’m not kidding.” The amused expression on his face said he didn’t believe her. Honesty was always the best policy. “There’s no way I could afford to come to something like this otherwise.”

“Of course.” His gaze lowered to the spot where the champagne-colored piping on her dress criss-crossed over her breasts. For a moment, intensity flared in his eyes and then amusement returned. “Raffle ticket. If I had a nickel for every time I heard that.”

“It’s the absolute truth.”

“Uh huh. Who’s your stylist?”

Stylist? She almost laughed. No way could she afford something like that. “Not a stylist. They’re called friends. Fairy godmothers.”

“So they pulled off a miracle with a magic wand?” One dark eyebrow rose.

“As a matter of fact …” She took a sip of wine and warmed to the subject. “I wasn’t going to come, but my friends talked me into it. I borrowed the dress, shoes and bag from Flora, Fauna and Merryweather.”

“Who?”

“They’re characters from an animated fairy tale. Surely you saw it when you were a kid.”

He shook his head and all hint of laughter disappeared. “No.”

“You probably don’t remember. It’s a classic children’s movie.”

“That explains it. I was never a child.”

The sort of lost expression on his face pulled at her heart and she fought the feeling down, mentally stomped the stuffing out of it. Life was hard and then you met someone who made things harder. Not happening to her again. “I don’t know what to say to that.”

“It doesn’t require a response.” He shrugged. “Just a fact.”

“Sad fact.” Those were two words she wanted back. He didn’t need her sympathy and she didn’t want to feel sorry for him. But tell that to her bleeding heart, which always got her into trouble. Used to get her in trouble. Past tense. She was a reformed soft touch.

“What was your childhood like?” he asked.

“There wasn’t a lot of money, but my brother and I didn’t know anything different.” She thought back to the time before her mother died. “We hung out with friends. Had sleepovers. Pizza and movies. Carefree.”

He nodded. “Sounds nice.”

“It was.” She was going to be sorry for asking, but she couldn’t stop herself. “What was yours like? You might not have thought you were a child but everyone starts out that way.”

“I was more what you’d call an unaccompanied minor.” He took a sip from his glass and drained the contents. “On my own a lot.”

“Only child?”

He nodded. “You had a brother?”

“Still do. He’s in college. In California.” And she was struggling to keep him there because it was her fault the money her father had saved for his education was gone. “I miss him.”

“And that detour into childhood was really off the subject.” His puzzled expression was back.

“What subject would that be?” The question was just a stall. She should just tell him that he knew her from the hospital. She worked in housekeeping. But some perverse part of her wanted a little payback for his earlier temper tantrum.

“Who are you?”

“Cindy Elliott,” she answered.

“So you said.” He studied her face until shivers of awareness made her want to squirm. Finally he shook his head. “But I still can’t figure out why I know you. Where do you work?”

“Mercy Medical Center.” That would jog his memory. Again she waited for the “aha” moment.

“Really?” Instead of recognition, his puzzled frown deepened. “What department?”

“Guess.” She took a large swallow of wine.

“Nursing.”

She shook her head.

“Human Resources?”

“No.” She twirled the long stem of the glass on the table in front of her.

“Dietary?”

“You mean Nutritional Services?” she asked.

“That was politically incorrect of me. Yes, that’s what I meant.”

She shook her head. “Nope, don’t work there either.”

“Okay. I give up.”

“All evidence to the contrary.” If he gave up that easily, there were a lot of babies who wouldn’t be alive today. Welcome to a classic conundrum. She was invisible to him. In all fairness, at the hospital he was totally focused on his tiny patients and got points for that. But he’d actually talked to her, chastised her really, for something she hadn’t done. How could she admire him so much at the same time she found him to be a pain in the neck?

“What does that mean?” he asked.

That she was an idiot. “I’ve seen you in action in the NICU.”

“But you’re not a nurse.”

“I’m an administrative intern at Mercy Medical Center. In addition to—other things,” she said vaguely.

Before he could answer, an announcement was made for everyone to find their tables and the program would begin. Cindy was grateful for the distraction as the seats around them were filled and introductions made. She talked to the people on her right and tried to ignore the man on her left. Not so easy when their shoulders brushed and thighs bumped. Every stroke sent a surge of heat through her.

She smiled politely, laughed when appropriate and planned to slip out at the first opportunity.

Nathan had expected this dinner to be acutely boring speeches and barely edible rubber chicken. A yawn. He’d been wrong. Not about the speeches and chicken. But he’d never felt less like yawning.

That was because of the mysterious Cindy Elliott.

The words from a song came to mind, about seeing a stranger across a crowded room. The shimmer of her blond hair had first caught his attention. Her slender curves in the strapless, shiny beige dress were sexy and so damn hot he needed about an hour in a subzero shower.

He’d have followed her anywhere, but when she sat at his table, he wondered if somehow the god of luck had finally come down on his side. The certainty that he’d seen her somewhere now seemed less important than getting her attention away from the woman she’d been talking to on her right side. All through the endless meal she’d industriously ignored him and that was about to end. A quartet had set up to play music and people were moving to the wooden dance floor in the center of the room.

Finally there was a break in the gabfest. He leaned close and said near her ear, “Would you like to dance?”

She met his gaze for several moments and finally said, “I don’t think so.”

It wasn’t ego that caused his surprise at the smackdown. It was that women simply didn’t do that. He was forever being introduced by matchmaking mothers who were trying to hook up the successful doctor with their daughter or niece. Or a friend’s daughter or niece. Or second cousin once removed. Women liked him. And he liked women.

There was never a challenge involved. He rubbed his neck as that sank in. Maybe there was a little ego mixed in with the surprise.

“Why?” he finally asked.

“Why what?”

“Don’t you want to dance?”

Her eyes narrowed. They were the color of cinnamon and snapping with intelligence. He found himself eagerly anticipating her response.

“I need a reason?”

“It would be polite.”

“Not if I had to explain about a prosthetic leg. Or a pronounced limp from a serious childhood soccer injury.”

Like almost every other man in the room, he’d watched the sexy sway of her hips as she’d glided gracefully to the table. The only imminent injury was the rising level of testosterone threatening to blow the top of his head off.

“Do you have any physical limitations?” he asked.

“No.”

“Okay.” Before she made him navigate more speed bumps, he said, “And you know how to dance?”

“See, that’s the thing. Mumsy and Daddy begged me to go to cotillion to smooth out my rough edges—”

“Mumsy?”

She smiled. “Yes. My über-wealthy parents desperately wanted to be here tonight but they simply couldn’t tear themselves away from the south of France.”

“Über-wealthy?” That’s not what she’d told him before. “Just exactly how much did you pay for that lucky raffle ticket?”

Amusement curved the corners of her full, tempting lips. “So you actually were paying attention.”

“It’s part of my charm.”

“Oh, please. Do women really fall for that line?”

“Yes. Although usually a line isn’t involved.”

“It’s a darn shame.” She eased away, a pitying expression on her face.

“What?”

“You should really do something about your self-confidence. Surgery. Rehab. There must be some treatment. The miracles of modern medicine—”

“Aren’t miracles,” he finished.

“No?”

“It’s science.”

“Really?” There was a spark of interest now.

“Absolutely.”

“You don’t believe in miracles?” She rested her arm on the table as she angled her body toward him.

“I never underestimate the power of the human spirit. But a miracle?” He shook his head. “If I can’t see or touch it, I don’t believe it exists.”

“What about love?”

Oddly enough, he was pretty sure the question wasn’t Cindy being flirtatious. If an invitation to his bed was her goal, she’d be in his arms on the dance floor right now. Instead of having her soft curves pressed against him and the scent of her skin snarling his senses, they were having an existential discussion regarding the reality of love.

“I don’t believe in it.”

“You’re kidding, right?” she asked.

“No.”

In the NICU he’d seen worried parents who almost literally willed a tiny scrap of humanity born too soon, a being that they’d only just met face to face, to live. Was that love? He didn’t know. It hadn’t existed in his life. There’d been buckets of money that his father spent copious amounts of time making. His mother got tired of trying to get her husband’s attention and turned to her “projects.”

Nathan had tried his hand at love. He’d married a woman he liked and respected. But there was no doubt in his mind that if she hadn’t died in a car accident, their trial separation would have turned into an amicable divorce. He missed her, as his best friend. Nothing deeper than that existed in his world. He had no frame of reference for love.

Enough with the self-examination, he thought. He was a doctor, trained to act swiftly and decisively in an emergency. Hesitation could cost lives. And as Cindy had pointed out, his self-confidence needed immediate resuscitation.

He stood, then took her hand and pulled her to her feet. “We’re wasting a perfectly good waltz.”

He’d expected some rebellion in the ranks, but apparently he had surprise on his side. She didn’t pull away but followed almost meekly as he led her through the maze of tables littered with half-eaten cheesecake and hastily abandoned cloth napkins.

On the dance floor he slid his arm around her waist and nestled her against him. She wasn’t as tall as he’d thought. It was probably that big attitude of hers generating the illusion. He was used to willowy women, but he could rest his chin on the top of Cindy’s head and somehow the fit felt just right. Despite her tongue-in-cheek comments about prosthetics and pronounced limps, she was light on her feet and had no problem following his lead. It felt as if they’d been dancing together for years.

Nathan gave brief thought to making conversation, then decided if he kept his mouth shut, he couldn’t put his foot in it. The sweet fragrance of her skin filled his head, more intoxicating than any alcohol he’d ever tasted. Thoughts of her in his arms somewhere private, with the sexy, strapless dress on the floor around her feet was temptation with a capital T. He was already planning the strategy to make that happen because it had been hard enough to get her in his arms for a dance.

The music ended and he was about to make his pitch when she backed away. The almost stricken expression on her face puzzled him.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. I have to go.”

“It’s not late,” he protested.

“It is for me.”

“Don’t tell me,” he said. “Your car turns into a pumpkin at midnight.”

“Something like that.” She did an about-face, then slipped away through the crush of bodies still on the dance floor.

“Wait.” He knew she heard, because she lifted her hand in a wave as she kept going.

The crowd was thinner than when he’d first arrived tonight, but he had trouble maintaining a visual of her. She kept disappearing because almost everyone was taller. Outside the ballroom in the wide, carpeted hall people milled around. Nathan looked left, then right and couldn’t see her.

Instinct had him hurrying toward the bank of escalators leading to the ground level. When he reached the bottom, the crush of bodies parted and there she was, one foot bare and holding a high-heeled pump in her hand. The heel dangled at a dangerous angle. Literally a lucky break for him.

“Looks like you could use some help.”

She looked up, her expression rueful. “Not unless you can surgically reattach this.”

“I could carry you,” he suggested.

She made a great show of assessing him from the chest up. “You probably could. And that would be very gallant. But I wouldn’t try it if I were you.” Despite the spunky words, she put her hand on his arm for balance as she removed the other shoe.

“So you’re determined to go?”

“Even more now.” The look she turned on him was wry. “I have no shoes.”

“Not a problem for me.”

“That makes one of us,” she said.

“Okay. I’ll let you go quietly if you give me your phone number.”

She blinked up at him, and for a split second the idea seemed to tempt her. Then she shook her head. “I don’t think that’s a very good idea.”

“You don’t want me to call you?”

“Give the man a gold star.” Regret flickered in her eyes although she probably didn’t know it was there. “It’s not that I don’t appreciate the interest, but women like me don’t date men like you.”

“I have no idea what that means.”

“Okay, how about this? My parents aren’t in the south of France or even north Las Vegas for that matter. It was the truth when I told you there’s no money in my family.”

“I believe you. That’s not why—”

“Look Dr. Can’t-take-no-for-an-answer. I don’t want you to call me. You’re a jerk at work. You yell at the help. You have a terrible reputation and no one likes you, including me. And everyone thinks you’re inflexible.”

He laughed. “You’re going to have to do better than that.”

“No, I really don’t.”

“If it’s not already clear, I’d like to see you again.”