“Fine. I’ll go.”

Now Mark narrowed his gaze at her. “I don’t need a pity date.”

“That’s good, since I don’t do pity dates. I only do pepperoni, extra onions.”

“Extra onions? You don’t do goodnight kisses, either, then, do you?”

“Never on a first date to a pizza parlor.”

“Is it the venue? You need a more upscale wine-and-dinery?”

“Nope. It’s the first date thing. Why waste a good kiss if I’m not sure about a second date yet?”

“Right. Because kisses are in limited supply.”

She cocked an eyebrow at him. “Mine are rare, which makes them extremely valuable.”

“Then I’ll treasure it properly should I ever decide to accept one.”

“Should you decide?” She gave him her best smoldering look, along with a very deliberate lip-lick. “I could make you beg.”

“I’d like to see you try.”

His answer was flippant, but the widening of his pupils told another story. Eva would bet anything his pulse was racing.

At least she wasn’t lusting alone. She found herself leaning forward, as if she were being sucked toward him.

Dear Reader,

Have you ever met a man who makes your heart race, your nerves tingle and your world a more exciting place to wake up to?

From the moment Dr Eva Veracruz saw Dr Mark O’Donnell swagger across her talk show studio and flash his smile at her cameras, she knew he would be trouble. And she’d had enough trouble in her life to know better than to go looking for more.

But her only choice was to smile for the camera. After all, the show must go on.

Experience had taught Mark O’Donnell that smart and sexy meant trouble. Instincts told him Eva Veracruz was trouble with a capital T. But instincts were overruled by the way Eva’s deep dark eyes sparkled under the bright lights.

The chemistry they share in front of an audience doesn’t stop when the lights go down. In fact, that chemistry turns to an offscreen passion that Eva and Mark keep from acting upon.

But real life isn’t scripted with witty sound bites and perfect people who solve their dilemmas between commercial breaks.

When their life stories have more conflict than the most dramatic of stage plays, can their made-for-TV romance survive?

What really happens when the cameras stop rolling?

Connie Cox

Connie would love to hear from you. Visit her website at www.ConnieCox.com

About the Author

CONNIE COX has loved Harlequin Mills & Boon® romances since she was a young teen. To be a Harlequin Mills & Boon® author now is a fantasy come to life. By training, Connie is an electrical engineer. Through her first job, working on nuclear scanners and other medical equipment, she had a unique perspective on the medical world. She is fascinated by the inner strength of medical professionals, who must balance emotional compassion with stoic logic, and is honoured to showcase the passion of these dedicated professionals through her own passion of writing. Married to the boy-next-door, Connie is the proud mother of one terrific daughter and son-in-law and one precocious dachshund.

Recent titles by Connie Cox:

 HIS HIDDEN AMERICAN BEAUTY

 THE BABY WHO SAVED DR CYNICAL

 RETURN OF THE REBEL SURGEON

Available in eBook format from www.millsandboon.co.uk

When the
Cameras
Stop Rolling…
Connie Cox

www.millsandboon.co.uk

CHAPTER ONE

DR. EVA VERACRUZ glanced at the clock for the fifth time in as many seconds.

The buzz from the live studio audience for Ask the Doc was upbeat. A good sign.

The guest speaker was not yet in the studio. A bad sign. A very bad sign.

“Where is he, Phil? Where’s this supermodel doctor you found who’s supposed to catapult our ratings past our competitor?”

Her producer, Phil, shrugged. “He’ll be here.”

“Our viewers trust us to give them good medical information and I respect that trust. I thought you did, too. I’d much rather have an accomplished speaker who knows our topic, regardless of looks.”

“If we don’t get our ratings up during sweeps week, our viewers won’t get any information, good, bad or otherwise.”

Ask the Doc might only be a local television show, but local in the New Orleans area translated to quite a large viewing audience.

Eva had heard rumors of syndication, rumors she wholeheartedly supported. Bigger and better, right?

That had been before their competitor station had decided to run a reality show against their time slot. Eating bugs and getting knocked into the water by giant blow-up fists was trumping good, solid medical advice.

Their sponsors were not happy. How could they sell their balm to cure the diaper rash of their viewers’ babies if no one was watching their commercials?

If they couldn’t beat the national reality show they would never get a chance to become syndicated as they would be off the air instead.

Phil lifted an eyebrow. “I know my job. I checked his background. Dr. O’Donnell is a respected E.R. doctor who has become renowned for recognizing heart attacks in women.”

“But can he talk on television?”

“Getting him to talk is your job.”

Since she hadn’t gotten to meet him yet, she had no idea what kind of speaking talent this Dr. O’Donnell had. But she was good at her job.

Phil looked at the clock. It was time. “Stall and watch the wings.”

“Got it.” The intro music played as she walked onto the set, thinking fast and revising her opening speech in her head. She would normally tell her audience about her guest, but if he didn’t show …

Eva waved to the crowd, catching a glimpse of herself in the monitors. Her jet-black curls were going wild down her back and around her face as the humidity of the New Orleans morning crept into the television studio.

The make-up artist had gone big and bold with the red lipstick to complement her scarlet dress—as if her big mouth needed any more help. Even without cosmetics her lips already looked like they had been overfilled with collagen, even though she’d never touched the stuff.

She did have to admit that her olive complexion looked a lot warmer with the hint of red showing from beneath her white lab coat.

“Hello, New Orleans. Welcome to Ask the Doc. I’m your host, Dr. Eva Veracruz. We have a very important show today for all you hard-working women out there. We’ll be talking about heart attacks and the signs and symptoms we all need to be aware of.”

From the corner of her eye, she saw Phil give her the thumbs-up as he pointed to a shadowy figure in the wings.

Eva revised her opening remarks on the fly. “And we have a guest who has first-hand knowledge of our topic today. Let’s give a big hand to Dr. Mark O’Donnell from the Crescent Street Emergency Care Clinic.”

The crowd’s polite applause audibly increased as Dr. O’Donnell came into view. Phil, the show’s producer, had accomplished his goal. The man could have been an underwear model.

At least six feet four to her five feet eleven plus four-inch heels, he was taller than her. His eyes were a vivid Aegean green that could only come from tinted contacts. His haircut looked vaguely rebellious, like it had been close cropped once upon a time and now needed a touch-up. It was a cross between brown and a very dark russet.

He was not the type she usually went for, preferring a more military look. But, then, she’d had no type in quite a while, which might explain her extreme reaction.

Not only did he make her pulse throb, her whole metabolism seemed to pick up speed as he came toward her. What was it about him that made her adrenaline rush?

It wasn’t just his looks. It was his attitude.

She was a sucker for a strong personality. Since she knew that about herself, she also knew to keep him at arm’s length. Not a problem. She wasn’t ready for a man in her life. She was still recovering from the last one.

The show’s intro song faded into the pre-taped segment she’d recorded yesterday with information on how to contact local emergency care personnel and where to write in for heart-attack information while she got the good doctor seated.

His swagger made the audience sit up and take notice even if he didn’t deign to look at them. He walked in like he owned the place.

He had the kind of cocky attitude she would never fall for again.

She could tell by the clothes he wore that he was a rule breaker, which too easily transitioned into heartbreaker for any woman foolish enough to get close to him.

The show requested business attire, in his case a suit and tie. Instead, he wore his lab coat over scrubs.

With the way the lighting was set, the white of his coat with the white of her own custom-tailored lab coat would blanch the set.

She could see her producer already scrambling behind the cameras, trying to figure out how to salvage the video quality. How could she help from her hosting chair?

At her gesture, Dr. O’Donnell stood in front of the chair opposite her.

“Please say something so the sound engineer can do a final microphone check,” she requested.

He looked at a loss, then said, “Something.”

Eva couldn’t help smirking. This was going to be a challenging show.

Dr. O’Donnell would do his guest shot. She’d make him look like a natural in front of the camera by feeding him the answers to the questions she asked him and covering his pauses with insightful comments. Their ratings would soar and he would be another featured rerun during their off season.

Had it only been two years since she’d left the free clinic environment and entered the television market? She’d learned so much since then. Her innate ambition nagged at her, making her anxious to move up to the next level—national exposure. Her agent had said it was time to put the word out on the street that she was interested in bigger and better things before everyone heard about Ask the Doc’s falling ratings.

But, then, committing to her television career would mean she’d made a clear-cut decision to leave the practice of medicine behind.

Good, right? She would no longer be plagued by nebulous thoughts of one day returning to clinical work as she trod her newly chosen path of being a television personality.

Could she find fulfillment, could she find peace if she never called herself a doctor again?

Her mind skittered past the possibility of turning her back on the career she’d spent her whole life working toward.

Concentrate on now. Not the future, Eva. Interviewing the pretty-boy doctor who had a blank expression on his sculpted face took precedence over everything else. She could salvage this interview. She was a professional.

“Welcome, Dr. O’Donnell.” She made a split-second decision. Instead of offering her hand to shake, she unbuttoned her own lab coat and whipped it off. Speaking to the cameras, she waved her hand down the length of her wrap-front dress.

“Notice the red dress I’m wearing today in support of educating everyone about the signs of heart attack in women.”

She ignored the self-consciousness she felt that the dress was intentionally a smidgeon too tight to fit better under her lab coat.

“Whenever you see a red dress, refresh your memory on the early symptoms of a heart attack. Your early response could save a loved one’s life. Isn’t that right, Dr. O’Donnell?”

She stared into his deep blue-green eyes, noticing the amber ring around his pupils.

He stared back.

Finally, he answered, “Yes.”

A single, monotone response. This was going to be one of those interviews.

Pretty is as pretty does. Eva would gladly trade this eye candy before her for a glib, knowledgeable doctor of any physical description.

Well, if she was going to have to muscle through this, she might as well get something out of it.

Unapologetically, she would enjoy the view while he was here.

She waved him into the visitor’s chair, noticing he hesitated before she seated herself. Good manners? Or a suspicious nature, not agreeing to anything until he’d made up his mind?

For all Eva’s training and experience in the nuances of body language, she couldn’t be sure but highly suspected the latter.

Very aware of the tightness of her dress without her lab coat to cover it, she positioned herself so the camera wouldn’t stare straight down her cleavage—which meant Dr. O’Donnell would have to.

This set wasn’t designed for keeping a comfortable amount of personal space between the host and the guest. Instead, it was laid out to give the appearance of intimacy, hopefully translating into trust and confidence for the viewer.

“Welcome to Ask the Doc, Dr. O’Donnell. Tell me, how many cases of heart attack in women do you see compared to men?”

She left her question broad, knowing she could work with any answer he gave her. That’s what her producers attributed to the show’s success, her ability to think fast.

She wished they’d take into consideration the three and a half years she’d spent at the busiest drug-abuse treatment clinic in New Orleans, working with walk-in patients. Talk about having to think fast on your feet …

So far, the producers had sidestepped her suggestion for a hard-hitting drug-abuse segment, but Eva planned to insist, when her contract renegotiations came due, that a series on drug abuse be included that ranged from family recognition and prevention to consequences, treatment options and success rates for battling addiction.

Too many people needed this information just like too many people shied away from it.

Though, right now, she had a more immediate problem as Dr. O’Donnell shied away from the camera.

After the night he’d had, Mark fought off his exhausted stupor. Searching for a boost of energy, he looked at the woman across from him, all hair and boobs and luscious lips ripe for—

“Do you see many women coming into the E.R. knowing they’re having a heart attack?”

This was her second question and he hadn’t even answered the first one yet.

Come on, O’Donnell. Get your head in the game.

“We don’t see as many women come in with suspected heart attacks as men, but that’s not to say women don’t have as many heart attacks. All these years while we’ve been thinking men are the majority of heart-attack victims, we haven’t been diagnosing women properly.”

His host nodded encouragingly, as if she were coaxing answers from a child. “In fact, heart disease is the number-one killer in women, isn’t it, Dr. O’Donnell?”

“Yes, it is.” Mark thought of the woman he’d admitted last night. He’d insisted the lab run an EKG even though she’d thought she had flu.

“Tell us some of the symptoms as we post them on our viewers’ screens.” Dr. Veracruz pointed, not so subtly, to the monitor.

Even in his mind, Mark stumbled over calling her a doctor. She was no more a medical doctor than he was a ballerina.

What was her name? Edna? Ella? Eva.

She looked like an Eva, every overstated voluptuous inch of her.

Maybe, just maybe, she had her doctorate in journalism or television. Could a person get a degree in talk-show hosting?

But this woman with her long, dangling earrings and cleavage deeper than the Grand Canyon would probably faint at the sight of blood.

Mark read the first bullet point. Shortness of breath.

He looked into the lens like the public relations specialists in his university’s athletic department had trained him to do during his football years and flashed the camera’s blinking red light a smile.

“Here are the top signs of having a heart attack.”

Mark ignored Eva’s raised eyebrows.

“If you feel like you’ve run a marathon and haven’t taken a single step, or if you can’t draw in a deep breath, go to the emergency room. You might be having a heart attack.”

His quirky tone drew a small laugh from the audience. Laughter meant they were listening and listening meant they were learning.

And education was the only reason he’d agreed to be on this show to start with. His own beloved grandmother had died of a heart attack. If only she’d known, if only those around her had known, maybe she would still be here for him and for his sister.

She had been their only reality in the world of fakeness for appearances’ sake where his socialite parents had insisted they all live.

The audience waited for the next sign on the list. Mark reached for the sense of humor most people thought was too quirky.

“If you feel weak in the knees and your world is spinning around you and you’re not about to walk down the aisle and say ‘I do’, go to the emergency room. You might be having a heart attack.”

From the corner of his eye, he saw Dr. Veracruz sit back in her chair, obviously giving him the spotlight.

Mark had to do some quick thinking to phrase the other symptoms the same way.

“If you feel nauseous and it’s not from overindulgence in the French Quarter, go to the emergency room. You might be having a heart attack.

“If you feel upper abdominal indigestion, don’t even try to blame it on that spicy Creole dish your sister-in-law made, go to the emergency room. You might be having a heart attack.”

He paused, going blank as the remaining symptoms blinked on the monitors.

Dr. Veracruz gave him a quick glance then sat forward, giving a subtle off-camera sign to the camera operator, who pulled back to get both of them in the shot.

Smiling, she said, “If your back muscles are in spasm, as if you’ve spent all night dancing the tango and you haven’t even lifted a teacup, go to the emergency room. You might be having a heart attack.”

She gave him a conspiratorial look, as if they’d planned this out ahead of time as she finished off the list.

“And the classic symptom. If you feel like an elephant is sitting on your chest, go to the emergency room. You might be having a heart attack.”

Mark nodded toward her, silently telling her he’d take it from there. “At the first signs of a heart attack, chew an aspirin. Crush it with your teeth as you may not be able to swallow it.”

Dr. Veracruz dovetailed with her own comment. “And after you take that aspirin, go to the hospital. Because …”

She pointed to the audience, who all called out in sync, “You might be having a heart attack.”

Mark steepled his hands and gave the camera a dead-serious stare, wanting to make his point as strongly as he could. “The second biggest problem with women having heart attacks is that they don’t want to bother anyone just because they’re not feeling well. Take a lesson from the boys, ladies. You’re important enough to bother people. Even if it’s a false alarm, you’re worth the bother. Your family would rather have you alive and embarrassed about a bit of gas than dead because you tried to not be a bother. So, at the first signs of a heart attack, go immediately to the emergency room.”

Eva gave the camera an equally serious stare. “And remember. Don’t drive yourself. If you do, you’ll put everyone on the road in danger. Call for emergency transport. Right, Dr. O’Donnell?”

“Right,” he said on cue. No one would ever accuse him of not being a team player.

Eva gave Mark an affirmative nod of her head. “And now a word from our sponsor.”

As they cut the microphones, Eva looked over at her guest with a very revised opinion of him.

“Nice job. We didn’t have a chance to introduce ourselves.” Not able to resist the jibe about his lateness, she held out her hand. “Eva Veracruz.”

“Mark. Sorry to be late. I had an emergency right before I left.”

“Since you work in E.R., I’m thinking that’s a typical job hazard, right?”

“Yes, it is.” He put a hand on the leg of his scrubs. “This time it required a wardrobe change. That’s a suit I’ll never wear again. I didn’t think you’d want me showing up wearing blood and guts.”

“You’re right. Scrubs are a better choice.” Again, she had to revise her opinion of him upwards. If he kept this up, she might actually end up liking him. “We have a short question-and-answer session with the audience and then we’re done. Maybe we could—”

Before she could set up a coffee date he cut her off. “How can you answer medical questions without being a real doctor?”

“Not a real doctor? What do you mean?” But Eva knew what he meant. She’d heard it from too many people before.

She didn’t look like most people’s typical stereotype of a doctor and the studio make-up and hair department didn’t help, playing up her sexuality for the ratings.

But, then, why should she have to de-emphasize her femininity? Wasn’t it about time for women to stop having to prove they could have both brains and bosoms?

Her producer waved his hand for her attention. “Live in …” He made finger motions for five, four, three, two and then pointed at her.

Gesturing for Mark to stand, she did the same, self-conscious that the skirt of her clingy dress could use a straightening tug where it had crept up her legs. Usually, her lab coat covered problems like that. But adjusting her skirt length now would only draw attention to the problem.

Microphone in hand, she said to the camera, “Ask the Doc is back and ready for our live audience’s questions. If you would like to be a member of our audience, send an email to the address now on your screen. We’d love to answer your questions in person, too.”

This was the tricky part of the show and required great time management from her.

The producers saved it to the end so they could adjust the time if the guest speakers went long—which they had with Mark’s inventive way of presenting heart attack symptoms. But he’d made a dry list of symptoms memorable and that’s all that counted for such a frightening and deadly medical emergency. The audience would be wildly receptive to him and have many questions for such an approachable man.

But there was always at least one, often more than one, in the audience who got too personal for public television. That same person usually rambled, hanging on to the spotlight as long as possible. Eva’s job was to divert them while seeming sympathetic. Some days this worked better than others.

This was the only part about her job she would avoid if she could.

She walked toward the audience, feeling Mark right behind her, obviously not needing her cue to move center stage. “Now, who has questions?”

The first hand up was from a staff member the producer had planted in the audience. He set the tone of intelligent yet brief questions. Eva wasn’t too thrilled about her producer’s subterfuge, but show management wasn’t her job, as they often reminded her. She was the expert—the talking head—not the boss. And her paycheck paid many bills, including her grandmother’s nursing-home supplements and her huge student-loan debts.

A frazzled woman in the third row began jumping up and down in her seat with that certain body language that said, I’m here to tell you my whole life’s medical history on television and I dare you to try and stop me. Eva took care to avoid eye contact.

Looking past the woman’s raised and waving hand, she pointed to her undercover staff assistant.

But before she could reach the assistant with the microphone, Mark thrust his own microphone into the jumping woman’s face.

He put his arm around her shoulders to still her fidgeting as the camera moved in close. “How can I help you today?”

Eva thought the woman would swoon right then and there. All they needed was someone to faint on set to lose those sponsors who were hanging in there for them.

Instead, the woman grabbed the microphone and held it close to her mouth to speak into it.

From the corner of her eye Eva saw the alarm on her sound engineer’s face as he shoved slide knobs to lower the volume before the woman’s voice blasted everyone’s television speakers into mush.

But Mark purposely covered the woman’s hand and pulled the microphone away to the proper distance.

Eva was beginning to suspect he’d done this kind of work before.

The woman cleared her throat. She was now red in the face. “Ever since I was a little girl …” She stopped talking as she teared up.

Mark patted her on the shoulder. “Deep breath.”

The woman gave him a watery smile. “When I get excited, I can feel my heart try to beat out of my chest, then it just seems to stop and I feel dizzy.”

Mark raised his eyebrows as he wrapped his arm more securely around her. “Are you feeling that way now? Have you ever passed out?”

“Once or twice.”

“Please, have a seat.” Mark helped her into her chair and whipped out his stethoscope. With a shiny white smile, Mark asked, “May I listen to your heart?”

Starry-eyed, the woman nodded.

The man had charisma, no doubt about it. But that bit about her not being a real doctor still stung. Being pretty—or in his case extraordinarily handsome—couldn’t make up for being mean.

As Mark took the time to listen to the woman’s heart, the producer instructed a camera to zoom in on Eva, expecting her to fill in the dead air space. So much for thinking Mark had live studio experience.

To the camera, she said, “When a doctor listens to your heart, she is listening for several things, including a steady rhythm.”

Of course, everyone in the world already knew that, but at this point in the show Eva would spout anything that came to mind to keep the action moving along. With Mark doing personal examinations in her public forum, her only hope of making this part of the show work was to avoid a silent studio. Any intelligent information she could pass on to her audience was a bonus.

Wrestling control of her show away from her guest, she looked out towards the crowd. “While Dr. O’Donnell is performing his examination, does anyone else have questions?”

Without being called on, a young man in front of her stood up. “My son has recently developed the same symptoms as that woman. His doctor has diagnosed a congenital heart murmur and is requiring a series of tests before he’ll sign off for my son to play football. He’s played sports all his life. To tell you the truth, playing sports is the only thing that keeps him interested in school. How can I tell a high-energy teenager he can’t play a sport he loves when he’s never had any problems before?”

It was one of those questions, the kind that had no happy answer. She knew, first hand, how hard it was to keep some teenagers in school. Eva hid her sigh.

Mark startled her by answering from across the studio. “Playing sports with a congenital medical condition, particularly a heart murmur, is a topic that is under fierce discussion in the medical community. Many of us doctors know the value of sports in our children’s development. Make sure you have a doctor who will do whatever he can to keep your son on the playing field.”

Nope. Not the right answer. Eva signaled for a close-up. “You’ll notice Dr. O’Donnell said there is much discussion over this topic. I, for one, would not put my child’s life at risk over a school sport.

“But I completely understand your concern. It is very difficult to walk the line between keeping our children safe and letting them live a fulfilling life and developing the skills they need to become well-rounded adults. It is often a choice we have to make as parents.”

Right there in front of her, ducked down below the camera lens, her producer was pointing to his watch and making a dramatic cut sign. Eva snuck a glance at the studio clock.

How had that happened? She had never run this long before.

“And that’s a question each parent must answer for their children. Remember, moms, you can’t take care of your children if you don’t take care of yourselves first. So if you think you are having a heart attack, go to the emergency room.”

She went into her sign-off. “Thanks for watching Ask the Doc. If you have questions, we have your answers. See you tomorrow.”

She thought she’d done rather well at turning back to their topic of the day. Why, then, was her producer grimacing?

A closer look at the clock explained it—a minute over. The little red lights on the cameras went dark as Eva wondered which commercial they had cut. There would be an angry sponsor to answer to. They would have to offer them an extra slot to make up for it even though the show needed all the sponsors they could get. If they received any more production budget cuts, they’d have to start shooting the show with their camera phones.

Turning to Mark O’Donnell, Eva braced herself for saying the polite thing, even though he’d caused her show to be more topsy-turvy than a cheerleader doing backflips.

Trying to ignore the sexy way his shoulders filled out his lab coat, she said, “Thank you for—”

“You weren’t serious, were you?”

What did he mean? “I’m sure I was. I always am.”

Her husband had always encouraged her to lighten up, but it wasn’t in her nature.

Her husband.

Finally, she could think about him without that tearing pain to her heart. If she could only find absolution for herself in her soul.

“What, in particular, were you referring to, Dr. O’Donnell?”

Maybe she’d had enough of his grandstanding in front of her audience, or maybe she was lashing out at him because of the hurt she still carried for her husband, but either way she lost her temper.

Gesturing off stage, she said, “Maybe you’re talking about the way you came in an hour late and didn’t have time for a pre-show briefing. Or the way you began to ad lib your presentation instead of following the bullet points. That could have ended up disastrously if either of our imaginations had failed us. Or how about that remark about me not being a real doctor?”

She took a breath, feeling her heart pound in her ears as well as in her chest.

“Or maybe you thought I wasn’t serious when you decided to perform an examination on an audience member, while we all sat around and waited for you to listen to her heart beat. I’m sure our television audience enjoyed that stimulating bit of action. Or how about telling that father to go ahead and let his son do whatever he wanted despite the boy’s doctor’s advice. How dare you?”

Mark quirked his lips at her. “How dare I?”

“How dare you?” She was so angry she could feel the heat radiate off her body. “How dare you undermine another doctor?”

“Somehow, I’m sure the boy’s doctor won’t mind.”

“And you know that how?”

This time the man had the audacity to give her a full-on smile. “Because I’m him.”

“What?”

“I’m the boy’s doctor.” Mark shrugged his massive shoulders. “I asked my friend to show up, you know, for moral support. He said if he saw the show faltering he’d ask a question and he did. Now I owe him a beer.”

Eva stared, for once in her life without words. Her rage had burnt them all to cinders.

“It sounds like I owe you a beer, too, Eva. I didn’t realize I was being such a screw-up.”

“You are the last person I would consider sharing a beer with.”

“Ouch.” He gave her a laughing wince. “I guess that means, no, thanks.”

“No, it doesn’t mean, no, thanks. It means not in your lifetime, buddy.”

“Alrighty, then.” He looked at his watch. “Gotta run. It’s been—I had thought this was fun, but it seems I was mistaken.”

Was he expecting her to reassure him? She glared, daring him to blink first.

He didn’t. Again there was that quirky twist of his lips, although this time they were tight instead of laughing. “It’s been an experience.”

As he turned to leave he stopped and raised an eyebrow, oh, so condescendingly. “You do pretty well for a TV doc.”

CHAPTER TWO

“YOU’VE GOT TO be kidding me.” Eva paced round the conference table, earrings swinging as her agent cringed and her producer looked anywhere but in her eyes.

Stan, the show’s executive producer, glared at her, too used to working with drama queens to be bothered by her display of temper, which made Eva even angrier. “A three-week series on high-school athletics to get the ratings up and get our audience used to field experience, then, if the ratings are high enough, you get your drug-abuse series. You’ve been asking for this and now you’re complaining?”

“I didn’t ask to work with someone I’m so obviously not compatible with, though.”

“That’s not what our audience surveys are saying. They loved Dr. O’Donnell and they loved the two of you together.”

“Together.” Eva stopped pacing to stare into Stan’s eyes, gaining the slightest satisfaction that in her heels she towered over him. “I’ve worked hard for you. I’ve proved myself time and time again. O’Donnell waltzes onto the set, flashes a sexy grin and you beg him to take on a field assignment when I’ve been trying to negotiate one for the last two contracts?”

Phil, her daily producer and usually her ally, gathered up his courage to try to soothe her. “With sponsors pulling out, none of us have a lot of room for negotiation. We have to do something big to make up for cutting back our on-air schedule from five days to three.”

“What? They’re cutting our schedule?”

Phil seemed to shrink in on himself. “You didn’t know?”

Both the producer and the executive producer stared at her agent as if her lack of easy agreement was all his fault.

She couldn’t throw her kind-hearted agent under the bus.

“Henry’s not to blame. I had to cancel our meeting yesterday.” Her grandmother had been having a bad day, confused and agitated with all her caregivers. The sweet little lady who had raised her would never have raised her voice if she had been in her right mind. Dementia was a terrible disease.

And an expensive one to try to manage, too.

She needed this job. She had to remember that.

The money she could make by going back into clinical practice would easily take care of all her grandmother’s needs with plenty left over. But she couldn’t. She just couldn’t. Not even for her abuelita.

“Talk to her,” Stan demanded.

Henry sent them all a firm, noncommittal look. “Give us a moment.”

Once the room was cleared, Eva leaned back in her chair, a feeling of unease building in the back of her neck. “What else haven’t you told me?”

Mark O’Donnell watched his nephew run drills on the same high school field he’d once run them on. The coaches were new, but the discipline was the same.

Without sports and dedicated coaches to instill boundaries, Mark didn’t know where he might have ended up.

Hopefully, he would provide a better father figure for Aaron than his absent dad had been.

“So she agreed?” Mark had been certain Eva Veracruz would turn down the assignment faster than she could say manicure.

He still wasn’t sure why he’d agreed himself. Maybe it had something to do with feeling more alive while on set than he had in a very long time.

Maybe that energy had more to do with Eva than it did with the television cameras. It was a question he didn’t have to answer since the show and Eva went together.

And if she nixed the idea, he wouldn’t have to worry about the why of it all, then, either, would he?

“She agreed,” his newfound talent agent assured him. “She’ll tape the shows live on Mondays and Wednesdays. You two will share a set on Fridays. And the rest of the time, for the next three weeks, she’ll shadow you when you’re doing your volunteer work at the high school, learning how you and the school system works with parents to keep our young athletes healthy both on and off the field. The executive producer wants to start filming on Tuesday.”

Mark thought of how those boys on the field would react to having Eva in their locker room. Wasn’t going to happen under his watch.

Second thoughts swamped him. He could hardly believe he was agreeing to do this. But he needed to break out of the rut he could see himself falling into and here was a sure-fire way to do that.

“I still find it hard to believe she graduated medical school, even though I looked up her bio on the station’s web page.” The bio’s headline had read, “Single, Sexy and Smart.” It had gone on to explain that Dr. Eva Veracruz was a New Orleans native with a degree in medicine from the state university. She’d been on the show for two years, having taken over from Dr. Todd Marsiglia.

Mark remembered Dr. Marsiglia’s show. It had been dry, a filler for the thirty minutes before the noontime news. He’d often turned it on for the monotony to key down after the night shift.

“Did she even spend time practicing medicine before turning to television?”

Henry, who was also Eva’s agent, shrugged. “I can’t discuss that with you. Confidentiality. And I’d advise that you don’t ask her about it either. Eva has some issues there.”

“I’ll just bet she does. She strikes me as the kind of woman that has issues about everything from her toenail polish to her hair color.”

Henry gave him an unyielding frown, so unexpected from a man who made his living from negotiation and compromise. “There’s more to Eva than most men bother to see.”

“I’ve seen beneath the surface of women like her. I was married to a high-maintenance woman like Eva for longer than I care to admit.” Mark realized he’d given his standard knee-jerk response. His statement wasn’t the only thing jerky.

Apparently, not only had his ex destroyed his self-esteem, she’d turned him into a judgmental jerk, too.

Before Mark could retract his glib response, Henry gave one of his characteristic shrugs and turned the conversation. “You asked about the confidentiality of the students. Staff will need signed release waivers from anyone they film. For anyone under age, they’ll need the waivers signed by either a parent or a legal guardian or we can’t use the film. You can use that as a way to keep your interactions confidential if you need to.”

“I understand. Thanks for checking on that for me.”

“I consider it part of my job. Despite any preconceived ideas you have about us, agents really do take care of more than the paperwork.”

“I’ll remember that.” Mark raised his hand in promise. “From now on, no preconceived ideas about agents or about doctors turned talk-show hosts.”

Henry gave him a nod. “That would be a good thing to remember.”

A good thing would be to wear sensible shoes on an athletic field. But Mark had stuck his own foot in his mouth enough already, so he refrained from saying it out loud as he watched Eva approach him.

To keep her heels from sinking into the grass, she had to take mincing steps on tiptoe, making her hips sway even more than he’d noticed earlier.

He’d always been a sucker for curvy women. His ex had cured him of a lot of his downfalls, but apparently not this one.

Mark had to exert great willpower to keep from gawking as Eva walked towards them.

Instead, he turned back toward the practice field where his nephew was now doing push-ups as punishment for some transgression, likely mouthing off. Mark worried about the boy. Aaron was too much like him at that age. The kid was going to get into real trouble if he didn’t change his ways.

But no amount of advice was going to keep Aaron safe from himself. Again, experience talking.

Mark gave the assistant coach a nod and a knowing look, even though the man wouldn’t see it with his attention focused on Aaron. If not for the dedication of men like him, he wouldn’t be who he was. He didn’t know how he would have turned out without such dedicated role models, he only knew he would have become someone a lot, lot worse.

Aaron had a good heart. But he also had a hot head. Between his mouthiness and his temper, he was too much of a handful for Mark’s sister to handle along with her new husband.

In the three months since Aaron had moved in with him, Mark’s grocery bill had quadrupled, his electricity bill had doubled and his social life had become non-existent.

Which explained why the Hispanic hottie in front of him captured more of his interest than he wanted to give her.

Time for a date night. What did he do with that cute little history teacher’s number?

Eva pointed her clipboard at him. “I’m only doing this for the numbers.”

“What numbers?”

“Ratings.” She looked out at the field then back at him. “Let’s get this right out in the open. It wasn’t my idea to partner with you, but I’m a professional and intend to make the best of it. I’m hoping you’ll extend me the same professional courtesy.”

Mark knew what she was referring to. “Professional courtesy like acknowledging your medical degree?”

“That’s a start.”

“I looked you up. You’re legitimate.”

“I looked you up, too.” She gave him a hard stare up and down. “You do a lot of volunteer work for the local high schools, this school in particular. You’re well respected among the educators and the coaches in the area. I’m impressed with your work.”

He hadn’t been expecting a compliment. “Thanks.”

“But you need to understand from the beginning that I’m the lead on this project. Got it?”

“Got it.” Mark gritted his teeth. It went against his nature to follow anyone’s lead. But his years in sports had taught him how to be a team player even if he couldn’t always be team captain.

Apparently, his tone didn’t convince her, because Eva put her hands on her hips, straining the fabric across her breasts as she drove her point home. “Those tricks you learned for getting through those five-minute press-release interviews you did when you were in high school won’t always save you when you have to fill a thirty-minute segment.”

She was a lot of woman. Swimsuit model came to mind—not the über-skinny kind selling women’s fashions but the kind that made it into men’s sports magazines, the kind that were substantial enough for a real man to put his hands on.

Women had always complimented his large hands.

He concentrated on her mouth instead. But those full red lips were as much of a distraction as the two buttons that threatened to pop.

Eyes, Mark. Look in her eyes and no lower.

“Are you listening to me, O’Donnell? This is a topic I’m very passionate about.”

Those flashing black eyes echoed her words. Yes, she was a passionate woman.

“Don’t worry, Dr. Veracruz. I’m a big fan of passion.”

Her brow furrowed, warning him she was readying herself for another impassioned lecture. As much as he would enjoy watching her deliver it, he also respected what she’d said.

“Give me a chance to try again with a better reply.” He was usually quicker thinking on his feet than this. He held up a hand, buying time as he gathered his thoughts.

“I have to admit, if you hadn’t stepped in and helped when I was explaining the heart-attack symptoms, I would have been sunk.” Mark always gave credit where credit was due. “To do this series the way it needs to be done, I’m going to need your experience.”

Eva was a sucker for a man who admitted he needed her. But Mark O’Donnell would be her exception. He was one of those kinds of men all smart women avoided, the kind of man who would scramble your brain and break your heart.

And she hadn’t yet got her mind straightened out from the last man she’d given her heart to.

Automatically her fingers felt for the missing wedding band that held a special place in her jewelry box. Almost two years.

The pain had finally become a dull thud instead of a sharp ache.

“Bad break-up?” Mark noticed her hands. He seemed to notice everything.

“You could say that.”

But she wasn’t about to trip down memory lane with this man in front of her.

“I really don’t want to talk about it.”

Maybe she would talk about it one day, but not today and not to this man.

Her camera crew awaited her signal as they sat in their steaming van on the coaches’ parking lot. Mid-September with both the temperature and humidity in the high nineties didn’t make waiting a pleasure.

She gave them a big wave and they tumbled out, dragging equipment with them.

Mark glared at them. “What’s this?”

“We’re here to get filler video, get the feel of the environment, maybe do an impromptu interview or two, that kind of thing.”

“I just agreed to do this show with you. How have you come already prepared?”

“It was happening with or without you.”

“So should I think of myself as expendable or as a bonus?”

“Whatever floats your boat, baby.” There went the sarcasm again.

He arched his eyebrow at her. “Baby?”

The second she’d called him “baby”, she’d known she shouldn’t have. But she knew how to handle men like this one. She looked him straight in the eye, challenging him. “You’re not going to file a sexual harassment complaint against me, are you?”

“Not if you promise to kiss me next time you call me ‘baby’. After all, if you’re going to sweet-talk me, I think I should get the whole benefit of it.”

“Fine.” She shouldn’t have said that. But it had been a while since she’d done anything she shouldn’t. And the man intrigued her. Few men did.

She widened her eyes and leaned forward, knowing he would respond to her body language. “Anything to get out of all the paperwork your complaint would cause me.”

Without waiting for his retort, she turned towards her crew, who were setting up with a good view of the practice field in the background.

A bead of sweat rolled down her cleavage, tickling her sensitive skin. With a clear conscience she could blame it entirely on the heat. She had always been a cool one with men and this man would be no exception.

But they’d need make-up to cover the effects of the temperature on both of them. Sweat beaded on his brow. She could feel similar beads on her upper lip. How would Dr. Mark O’Donnell feel about heavy-duty face powder?

She saw the crew’s make-up artist walking towards him, and saw Mark wave the woman away. This could get interesting.

Instead, Mark walked toward the canopy set up at the end of the practice field just as one of the coaches blew his whistle.

The boys scurried to the canopy, jostling each other as they queued up.

As they received sports drinks or water, Mark would occasionally pat one on the shoulder and point toward a bench in the shade. Near the end of the line, one of the larger boys tried to protest. Even from this distance Eva could see Mark’s stance stiffen as he stared the boy down.

After a tense two seconds it was over. The boy stomped past the bench to the field house, teenage anger apparent in every line of his body.

The incident seemed to take the energy from the team as adult shoulders squared and teenage shoulders drooped all around. Eva could almost smell the testosterone in the air.

Unlike the football team, her video team was jazzed up and raring to go.

“Ready, Eva?” her cameraman asked. He was a veteran at field assignments and excited to be out of the studio.

She took the huge directional microphone from a gaffer and planted her feet.

“Ready.”

Her producer counted her down, “On three, two, one …”

Eva put on her television smile and resisted looking around for Mark. It seemed she would be working without a partner today.

“As promised, we’re at a local high school, checking out their sports program. With temperatures often over one hundred degrees, many of you are asking why the football team would hold practice today. Others are remembering their own high-school football days and beginning of the school year practices. And we’re all asking today on Ask the Doc, ‘Is it safe for our teens to physically exert themselves in this heat?’”

Before Eva could launch into her opinion, her cameraman pulled from her and changed his focus.

Eva turned to see where his lens now pointed. Mark was squatting down, looking into the faces of the boys on the bench, who had taken off their shoulder pads.

The rest of the boys, also sans shoulder pads, did crunches on the field as their coaches walked among them.

One of the coaches barked an order and they all rolled over for push-ups.

The producer pointed at her and mouthed, low enough her microphone wouldn’t pick it up, “Ready.”

She gave a silent nod and put on her media face once again.

“As you can see behind me, the boys on this team are monitored for dehydration and overheating. There are many heat-related conditions that can occur. Among the most dangerous is heatstroke, which can result in brain damage and even death.”

“That’s a cut.”

She nodded, satisfied. She’d left herself a good transition. Once in the studio and on set, she could go into the various signs and symptoms of heat cramp and heat exhaustion and the emergency medical actions to take. The information would be accompanied by several of the brightly colored bullet-point charts and visual presentations her audiences grasped so well.

Possessiveness swamped her. She’d worked hard to develop the show into an educational yet entertaining program. And now she had to share with a man who couldn’t even be counted on to stand still long enough for a three-minute field interview.

Mark trotted back towards Eva, frowning at the crew, who were packing up. He glanced at his bare wrist for the watch he never wore. Time in the E.R. went at its own pace and no amount of ticking second hands could speed it up or slow it down.

Apparently, television didn’t work like the real world.

“I missed it?”

She looked down her nose at him as only a tall woman could. “You missed it.”

“I was only gone a few minutes.”

“We only needed a few minutes of footage. Now the crew has to go back to the studio and do edits, sound adjustments, tie-ins to tomorrow’s show, the whole bit.” She gave him a patronizing smile. “You can’t be expected to know any of this with your lack of experience.”

She was right. But it still stung.

That drive to be the one in the know, to be top of his class, to handle whatever was thrown at him was the inner force that made him focus when his world was in total chaos around him. He knew how to win.

But he also knew how to be gracious. Experience had taught him that.

“I’m hoping to learn a lot from you.”

She tilted her head sideways, studying him. “I can’t figure you out.”

“Nothing to figure out.” He held his arms out wide. “What you see is what you get.”

“That’s it? Surface deep?” She gave him a cheeky grin. “Shallow?”

“Woman, you can twist words better than any fancy Southern lawyer I’ve ever known.”

“I just call ’em like I see ‘em.”

“There are some men who like their women sharp-witted and sharp-tongued.”

“But you’re not one of them?”

“I didn’t say that.” He fought hard to keep the grin off his face. That was exactly how he liked his women.

But his ex was a fancy Southern lawyer. And Mark did learn from experience, especially bad experiences.

“So what are you saying?”

“Just that I plan to get as much as I can out of this television gig. Never can tell when the experience will come in handy.”

A very large teen came loping up the hill. Eva was almost certain he was the boy who’d been sent off the field.

“Hey, Uncle Mark. All-you-can-eat pizza tonight, right? Ready to go?”

Mark gave him a thumbs-up. “I’m ready. I just hope the pizza parlor is ready for us.”

Eva squinted at the boy. He was almost as tall and just as wide as Mark. The family resemblance was strong.

As Aaron got closer to her, she saw a glassy glint in his eye that she’d seen before, a glint that promised unpredictability and that made her instinctively brace herself for whatever action the boy might take. “Aaron, say hello to Dr. Veracruz.”

“Hi.” The boy held out a huge, sweaty palm to shake her hand.

Eva fought back her natural instinct to withdraw, to protect herself.

Face your fears, Eva. That’s what her husband would say to her. But, then, she’d never been frightened when Chuck had been around. Experience had taught her differently.

She grasped his hand firmly in her own. “Nice to meet you.”

Aaron squeezed the slightest bit too tight, like a boy who wasn’t used to his own strength. Common enough at his age, right?

Eva tried to quell her worries. Maybe she was reading her own fear into her snap judgment.

And that’s why she’d pulled herself out of the field of drug and substance abuse care. Her judgment, so critical for making evaluations, was too clouded by personal emotion to be trusted.

“So, Doc, you want to eat pizza with Uncle Mark and me?”

Mark clapped his nephew on the shoulder. “No one could accuse my nephew of being shy.”

“No, he’s certainly not shy.”

Mark added his own invitation. “So how about it? It’s just pizza.”

She was usually so good with snap decisions—but that had been before. She’d promised her sister-in-law she’d embrace life in all its aspects, including enjoying the company of nice, respectful men. They all agreed her husband would never have wanted her to wallow in her widowhood.

And the deep, gut-wrenching sadness had faded, leaving lonely nostalgia behind.

“Afraid you’ll fall for my charm and wit?”

“No.” Maybe. Eva wasn’t sure what she was afraid of. Her sister-in-law would say Eva was afraid of risking her heart again. But it was only pizza.

“No? That’s it? Nothing to soften the blow?”

“Somehow I think your ego is healthy enough to survive.”

Aaron rubbed his hand across his brow. “I don’t know about that, Doc. His divorce hit him pretty hard.”

Mark glared at his nephew as he brushed him on the back of the head. “No one could accuse my nephew of being discreet either.”

Aaron shrugged, looking confused. “Just trying to help.”

“Well, don’t.” He dug in his pocket and handed his nephew the car keys. “I’m parked in visitor parking. Pull the truck around to the stadium parking lot—and don’t pull out onto the street. Don’t race the engine. Don’t—”

“Don’t breathe wrong. I got it.” With a tight jaw Aaron snagged the keys then took off at an irritated run.

What turned the tide on her decision? Was it the glimpse of vulnerability and sadness she’d seen in Mark’s eyes? Or was it the way his biceps flexed. Either way, she said, “Fine. I’ll come.”

Now Mark narrowed his gaze at her. “I don’t need a pity date.”

“That’s good since I don’t do pity dates. I only do pepperoni, extra onions.”

“Extra onions? You don’t do goodnight kisses either, then, do you?”

“Never on a first date to a pizza parlor.”

“Is it the venue? You need a more upscale wine-and-dinery?”

“Nope. It’s the first date thing. Why waste a good kiss if I’m not sure about a second date yet?”

“Right. Because kisses are in limited supply?”

She cocked an eyebrow at him. “Mine are rare, which makes them extremely valuable.”

“Then I’ll treasure them properly, should I ever decide to accept one.”

“Should you decide?” She gave him her best smoldering look along with a very deliberate lip lick. “I could make you beg.”

“I’d like to see you try.” His answer was flippant but the widening of his pupils told another story. Eva would bet anything his pulse was racing.

At least she wasn’t lusting alone. She found herself leaning forward, as if she were being sucked toward him.

The moment was so on the verge she forgot she was standing on a high-school athletic field until a half-dozen cheerleaders walked past, giggling and posturing for the boys, who were obviously waiting for them.

Aaron honked the horn, waving to the girls. One broke free from the gaggle to wander over to where he hung out of the truck window.

“Yours?” she called to him as she pointed to the truck.

“My uncle lets me drive it whenever I want to.”

The girl propped one hand on her hip, emphasizing the shortness of her cheerleading skirt. “Nice. Give me a ride?”

Even from a distance Eva could interpret the scowl Aaron sent Mark. “I didn’t bring my license today.”

She twirled her finger into her hair. “Bring it tomorrow and I’ll let you drive me home.”

The girl gave a saucy toss of her hair then turned to walk back toward her friends. Three steps away, she stopped and looked over her shoulder to make sure Aaron was watching her.

He was.

Sotto voce, Mark said, for Eva’s ears only, “He doesn’t have his license. I’m not sure how I can help him save face on this one.”

“Some things a man has to learn how to do for himself.” It’s what her husband had said whenever she’d wanted to save her brother from himself.

Mark gave her an irritated, challenging look before taking a step away from her. “What would you know about that?”

Now two men needed their egos stroked.

All she’d agreed to was pizza.

“Tell you what, Mark. I’ll drive my own car and meet you there.”

As she walked away, Eva resisted the pull to look over her shoulder to see if Mark was watching her walk away.

But she did indulge in a come-hither hair-twirl.

CHAPTER THREE

EVA WALKED BACK to her car, amazed at herself. What had just happened to her? She hadn’t flirted like that since—since high school?

But it had felt so good.

Chuck. Now the feelings of disloyalty hit her.

Not that Chuck wouldn’t want her to move on with her life.

Chuck had never indulged in flirting. One of the hazards of dating and then marrying an older man, she’d always thought.

Older man—ha!

Chuck had been younger than Mark when they’d started dating all those years ago. At her ripe old age of eighteen she’d thought him much older at eight years her senior.

He had given her the security she’d craved, the safety she’d needed, and the love she’d worked so hard to return in equal measure. Even if that had meant suppressing her wild side to fit into Chuck’s world.

He’d never asked her to change. But she had, thinking she owed it to him to become a part of his straight-up world.

But now Chuck was gone and all she was left with was her own world, a world she could define any way she wanted to, if she only had the courage.

Eva squared her shoulders.

“Bring it on,” she said to the universe at large.

You’re the only one who can hold you back, she heard, as if Chuck were sitting next to her.

She smiled, hearing the wisdom in the words Chuck would have said to her.

She thought about Mark. Thought about the flirting. Thought about the way she’d felt so alive as she’d teased and sparred. Thought about what could happen next.

And tried to bury all her angst, all her worry and fear of being hurt again. Tried to be brave, as she said aloud, “Let’s do this.”

A strong sense of approval passed through her, leaving her feeling warm inside.

While the logical part of Mark regretted asking Eva to join him, his baser libido couldn’t help watching her backside swing as she made her way to her car.

It was a little convertible. Black. Impractical with the frequent storms and the excessive heat of New Orleans, but it fit her.

Was she as impractical as her car? At first glance, a man might think so. But the intelligence behind those heavily mascaraed eyelashes made him cautious about underestimating her.

With the hard lessons his ex-wife had given him about the dangers of a beautiful woman with brains, anyone would think he’d turn and walk—no, run—in the opposite direction. Apparently, he was a slow learner.

Still, who was she to offer parenting advice? She had no children. None listed in her bio, anyway.

But she did have gorgeous child-bearing hips.

He walked up to the driver’s side of his truck, opened the door and motioned Aaron out.

“Let me drive, Uncle Mark. Just up to the pizza place.”

Here came the hard part of parenting. The tough-love part. “No way. You blew that privilege out of the water.”

“It wasn’t my fault.”

That was the statement Aaron kept repeating over and over. Not his fault. And that was the attitude that kept Mark worried about his nephew. Being too immature to own his transgressions meant the boy was too immature to learn from his mistakes.

Mark didn’t let the remark go unchecked. He’d tried that before and Aaron had taken the silent approach to mean his uncle had believed him.

“That’s right, Aaron. Those other boys tackled you and poured beer down your throat and there was nothing you could do about it. And then they forced you to get into that car and drive twenty miles over the speed limit with police cars behind you flashing their lights for over a half mile before one finally pulled in front of you and made you pull over.”

Mark gave Aaron his best sarcastic cynicism, one of the few tones of voice Aaron seemed to listen to. “So what part of that wasn’t your fault?”

Instead of hanging his head in shame, as he had first done when the whole incident had happened, Aaron glared at his uncle. The fierce anger in his eyes gave Mark real worry.

What was happening to that chubby-cheeked little boy his sister had given birth to seventeen years ago?

Silently, Aaron turned to stare out the window, his jaw jutting, his forehead creased, fury in every line of his body.

Mark knew all about being a teenager with a new stepfather in the house. The clashing of two male egos made for a lot of angst and anger.

But Mark had taken all his pent-up energy to the football field and had left it there, thanks to a few great coaches who had taught their players as many life lessons as sports plays.

Still, he’d said too many things he still regretted and it was now too late to apologize to his mother and his stepfather, the man who had done his best to make her happy.

That’s why he’d volunteered to take Aaron into his home. To try to make amends for his own youth.

Maybe he was looking back through self-forgiving lenses, but he didn’t remember being as cruel and as crude as Aaron had been to his mother. The boy showed no respect. And Mark’s meek, mild sister didn’t know how to command it.

What would Eva do? She was a talk-show host. She’d probably try to talk reason to the boy.

Mark had talked until his throat ached. If the right words existed to get through to Aaron, Mark certainly didn’t know them.

Somehow he didn’t think Eva would put up with the poor behavior his sister accepted. There was something in the set of her jaw and the directness of her gaze.

As they pulled into the parking lot, Aaron’s scowl morphed into one of anticipation. The boy couldn’t get enough food.

Even though the pizza buffet offered all-you-can-eat servings, Mark felt like he should pay for two meals for Aaron.

As a physician, Mark had seen a lot of adolescent growth spurts and Aaron’s ranked at the top of the charts.

While Aaron was growing taller, he was growing wider at a faster rate. Football and independent workouts in the weight room were turning all his new-found weight into muscle. When his size caught up to his breadth, the boy would be an imposing young man. He had to get that raging temper of his under control before then.

But Aaron’s mercurial mood had turned into all smiles when he piled out of the truck and headed toward the group of cheerleaders who were waiting outside the door of the pizza place for the boys to show up.

He felt his own mood turn into anticipation once he spotted Eva opening her car door. Her skirt rode up to show off her long, athletic legs as she climbed from the low-slung car.

He hurried over to give her a hand, giving him a chance to get an up-close look at the silky skin her skirt exposed.

When he ran his hands up and down those thighs, he knew they would feel as smooth and firm as they looked. And her hands on him would feel—

He’d thought he’d outgrown his teenage impulsiveness, but around Eva his libido was still at its pubescent peak.

She took his outstretched palm, sending pulses straight to his primal brain center and setting off a chain reaction.

He pulled her up a little too hard, a little too strong, knocking her off balance on those teetering heels.

When she put her other hand on his chest to steady herself she set his heart beating so strongly she couldn’t help but feel it even through his shirt.

Her nails were trim and unpolished. Medical-practice standards. He’d expected a fancy manicure like—

But Eva wasn’t his ex, who had indulged in having her nails done at least once a week.

He hadn’t spent this much time thinking about his ex since the divorce had been finalized. Why now?

And why was he comparing Eva to her?

Because he was trying to find a reason to steer clear of Eva. Judging Eva against another woman wasn’t fair to her. He wouldn’t want to be compared to another man. He owed it to her to find out who she really was.

“Sorry.” Eva jerked her hand back from Mark’s chest.

She almost fell backwards as she tried to right herself.

He put his arm around her, pulling her close to steady her.

What was it about him that kept her so off balance?

He was strong enough, big enough to keep them both on their feet, which was saying a lot. She was not some delicate little daisy of a woman. Few men could handle her so easily.

She had felt this secure in Chuck’s arms, too.

“Sorry,” she repeated as she pushed away, this time more cautiously even though she wanted to quickly put distance between herself and that intense, pulsing energy Mark exuded before she lost more than her balance.

Common sense was hard to come by when in the arms of such a testosterone-laden man.

He was full of life, she could feel it in him.

She’d always liked the type of man who lived life to the fullest. Until that kind of living had got her husband killed.

While she had promised herself that she would honor Chuck’s memory by going on with life, she hadn’t promised to fall for the same kind of guy.

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