Her lips parted in response, but before the words came out his mouth came down on hers.

Things changed in that instant. His lips were hard against hers and he used them to tug and draw her lower lip to him. As she moaned he moved inside her, his tongue exploring and tasting what she offered. Never had she been kissed like this, and she felt helpless to hold back—not that she wanted to.

She turned her body toward him and wrapped her arms around him, her fingers running through his hair and pressing into his scalp. He kissed her harder, deeper, his fingers tangling in her hair while his other hand trailed the length of her back. She arched in response to his touch, pressing herself against him and increasing their contact.

As suddenly as the kiss had started Tate broke away from her and stood from the couch. The hand he extended toward her quickly pacified her sense of loss. Without words she placed her hand in his and let him pull her from the couch. She trailed him as he led her to the bedroom platform. At the edge of the bed she watched him pull off the shirt that she’d thought left little to the imagination until she saw him in the flesh. Every muscle was perfect and defined. She reached out and let her fingers move softly over the strong breadth of his shoulders, his chest, and then along the washboard abdomen until they ended at the top of his belt and jeans.

He started in the same place, his hands moving around her waist as his fingers grabbed enough fabric to pull the tank top from her body. She had never felt self-conscious about her body, but at that moment she felt very aware of the state of her own arousal. Tate’s hand encircled her waist again, but this time over the bare skin he had exposed. She shuddered at the heat she felt coming from his touch and felt him pull her to him in response.

“Definitely not cold,” she heard him whisper as his warm breath surged against her neck.

Dear Reader

Welcome back to the wonderful and tumultuous world of Boston General. As an author I fell in love with Chloe and Tate when I was creating and writing RESISTING HER EX’S TOUCH, and I knew their story could not be left untold. Chloe’s feelings of unrequited love and Tate’s wounded pride needed to be healed.

As a lifelong Mills & Boon® reader I thought I had learned the perfect formula for romance. Attraction, romance, love, turmoil and resolution. AFTER ONE FORBIDDEN NIGHT… has all those ingredients, but put together a little differently. Sometimes in life even the smartest and most successful people don’t know what’s best for them and make the wrong choice—meet Tate. And as for Chloe, everything that makes her a wonderful physician—her knowledge, her drive, her constant need to put others ahead of herself—makes her a horrible patient and an even harder woman to claim.

A modern-day story of star-crossed lovers working through their emotions and fears while continuing to dedicate themselves to the medical profession is what this book offers, and I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I have enjoyed writing it.

Amber

AMBER McKENZIE’s love of romance and all the drama a good romance entails began in her teenage years. After a lengthy university career, multiple degrees and one formal English class, she found herself happily employed as a physician and happily married to her medical school sweetheart.

She rekindled her passion for romance during her residency and began thinking of the perfect story. She quickly decided that the only thing sexier than a man in scrubs was a woman in scrubs. After finishing training and starting her practice she started writing her first novel. Harlequin’s So You Think You Can Write contest came at a perfect time, and after a few good edits from her wildlife biologist childhood best friend the manuscript was submitted. The rest is history!

Amber currently lives in Canada with her husband. She does her best to juggle her full-time medical practice with her love of writing and reading and other pursuits—from long-distance running to domestic goddess activities like cooking and quilting. Multi-tasking has become an art form and a way of life.

After One
Forbidden
Night…
Amber McKenzie

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MILLS & BOON

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Dedication

To my Maebyn, who was a dream in my heart when this book began and a reality in my arms when it finished. Thank you for teaching me the joys and discomforts of pregnancy and motherhood. It’s been an incredible adventure that is only beginning.

Table of Contents

Cover

Excerpt

Dear Reader

About the Author

Title Page

Dedication

PROLOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Copyright

PROLOGUE

“DR. DARCY TO Trauma One. Dr. Darcy to Trauma One.”

As always her heart began to pound and her attention became focused only on the task ahead of her. Traumas were the scariest and most rewarding part of emergency medicine. By moving and thinking quickly you could become the difference between life and death, and chief emergency resident Chloe Darcy was always half terrified and half exhilarated by the challenge.

She ran to the trauma bay and arrived as the paramedics were wheeling a patient in on a gurney. She took in the unconscious pale thin girl as the paramedics gave their report.

“Twenty-two-year-old female found unconscious by her roommate with bilateral lacerations to the wrists. Estimated blood loss at the scene was minimum one and a half liters. No signs of other trauma or drugs at the scene. She left a note. Apparently heartbroken over a recent breakup. Valentine’s is the worst reminder.”

Foolish girl, Chloe thought to herself. What love or man could possibly be worth killing yourself for?

“What has she been given for resuscitation so far?” Chloe asked, focusing on the medical care of the young woman.

“Two liters of intravenous crystalloid and five hundred milliliters of colloid expander. Her pressure has improved marginally and the pressure dressings have stemmed some of the loss.”

“Thanks, we’ll take it from here.”

The trauma team was a well-oiled machine, with a nursing team and a respiratory therapist working with Chloe to stabilize the young woman. It took thirty minutes and a lot of blood products and fluid before her blood pressure started to improve and her pulse lowered. Chloe felt her own do the same. Once she was confident the resources were in place to deal with additional bleeding, Chloe unwrapped the first wrist pressure bandage.

The deep lacerations exposed multiple cut vessels, tendons and nerves. The girl had really meant it, and if hadn’t been for her roommate she would have succeeded.

“Page whoever is on call for Vascular and tell them we need them now.” Chloe didn’t have time to talk on the phone. The unwrapping of the wound had led to another half-liter blood loss and she had to focus on getting her as stable as possible prior to the operating room.

As Chloe stood above the girl, holding as tightly to the pressure bandage as she could, she felt a change in the room and calm passed over her. She looked up as Dr. Tate Reed entered. As always, her heart stopped momentarily as she took him in. His tall stature and muscular frame was surprisingly well defined beneath the hospital scrubs. His most striking features, his cool mineral-green eyes, were directed right at her.

She was surprised to see him. Normally she would have gotten the general surgery resident responsible for the vascular service, not the attending vascular surgeon. She swallowed and tried to focus on her responsibility and duty to her patient.

“What do you have, Chloe?” His voice was both confident and undemanding. He walked over to stand directly beside her while she continued to hold pressure on the volatile wound.

“Twenty-two-year-old female. Attempted suicide with bilateral wrist lacerations. Total blood loss estimated at two liters. Both cuts are deep and involve all the major vessels, nerves and tendons.”

She began to unwrap the wrist so he could examine the patient for himself, when his hand came down on her bare forearm.

“Don’t unwrap it, I trust you,” he confided.

He looked at her one more time before moving his hand and speaking to the room. “I’ll book her as level E0 emergency. Please have her ready for the operating room in the next ten minutes. I’ll need another five units of blood typed and crossed and sent directly to the operating room.”

With a final glance in her direction he left. She stood still, focused only on holding pressure for several moments before she regained her momentum. “Type and cross for the five units. She’ll need a Foley catheter to monitor urinary output and we need to notify the plastic surgeon on call that he will be needed after Dr. Reed finishes the vascular repair.”

As promised, the operating room was ready for her patient within ten minutes, and only as the young woman was being wheeled into the actual operating theater did Chloe let go her hold on the injured wrist.

When she returned to the emergency department she was grateful that there were only twenty minutes left of her shift and that she wasn’t obligated to start with any new patients. It hurt her to think about the girl. How bad did you have to feel before you would go to that length to escape? How much pain did you have to be in to make the idea of cutting yourself open feel better? The only comfort Chloe had was that the girl was with Tate now, and he would at least be able to make her physically better.

Chloe finished her charting and paperwork and then went upstairs to the operating room waiting area to wait for news. The only part of emergency medicine she struggled with was the lack of continuity. She would often see patients, diagnose them, arrange for their care, but rarely learned about outcomes—and it bothered her. It was like starting a book but never finishing it, and she never felt able to accept the not knowing. Some of her evaluations had cited this as a criticism. The amount of extra time and effort she spent following up on patients was not insignificant, but it was always her own time, so those who did not like it just had to deal with it—it was who she was.

It was eleven in the evening before Tate emerged into the main operating corridor. “Why am I not surprised to see you?” he commented as he came to sit on the chair next to her, pulling the scrub cap from his head and running his fingers through his short-cropped dark blond hair. There was no censure in his voice, and he looked tired but not displeased at the sight of her.

“How is she?” Chloe asked, focusing on the reason she was there—for the girl, not for Tate.

“Stable. She was well-resuscitated prior to arrival, which helped. They were all clean cuts, which made the re-anastomosis easier. Plastics is with her now. They will be there for a couple of hours, then time will tell how much function she gets back in her hands.”

“Damn,” she said aloud, unable to comprehend how this girl was going to cope both physically and emotionally when she awoke.

“Any idea why she did it?” Tate asked, once again demonstrating the compassion that set him apart from many of his surgical colleagues.

“Happy Valentine’s Day,” Chloe responded, unable to keep the sarcasm and scorn out of her voice.

“Ah,” Tate replied, obviously oblivious to the holiday. “I didn’t get you anything.”

The comment surprised her, but when she looked back at Tate his signature sarcastic humor glinted in the smile on his face. He had a slight curl in his lip, fitting against the sharp angle of his jaw and the clean lines of his face. She couldn’t help but smile back at him.

“I’d settle for a glass of wine,” she responded, and smiled until the expression on his face changed.

His smile had vanished and he was staring at her, but what he was seeing or thinking she had no idea. She didn’t know what to say or do to break the silence, so instead she said nothing.

“Done.”

She felt her eyes widen with surprise and remained lost for words.

“But it will have to be at my place. I didn’t bring street clothes to change into and I’d rather not go out in scrubs.”

She took in everything about him. He was certain in his offer, and for that reason alone she agreed.

She watched as he opened the solid metal door to his penthouse loft. She had never been inside Tate’s loft before, but wasn’t surprised that the interior matched the man. There was a wall of floor-to-ceiling glass that overlooked the Charles River. In true loft style there were no partitions, with the living room flowing into the dining room and kitchen. She turned and felt her heart race and warmth pass through her when she spotted the bedroom area, which featured a king-size bed raised up on a two-step platform with an exposed stone wall as the background.

There was nothing cold about the industrial style— nothing cold at all as she admired the double-sided glass fireplace that centered the room.

Tate walked past her, his arm brushing against hers. She felt a tremor of heat pass through her and touched the area, expecting her arm to be warm. He made his way to the fridge and opened a bottle of white wine, pouring her a single glass and grabbing a beer for himself. He’d remembered what she liked and she felt the same warmth his touch had inspired run through her again.

“Make yourself at home. I’ll be right back.”

He gestured to the slate-gray couch that paralleled the fireplace and she did as she was told. He emerged from the closed bathroom moments later, dressed in jeans and a long-sleeved red shirt that clung to his skin, defining the muscles beneath. His feet were bare, and if she had ever doubted the magnitude of his sexuality she didn’t now.

She looked at her reflection in the glass of the fireplace and for the first time in years felt dull in comparison. Her barely controllable red hair, long legs and unconcealed curves and rich emerald-green eyes typically made her stand out—but not next to Tate.

He joined her on the couch and she took a sip of the cool dry wine to calm herself. “So why is it that the most beautiful and sought-after woman in the hospital is alone on Valentine’s Day?”

Beautiful? Did he really think she was the most beautiful woman in the hospital? Sought-after? Did that mean he believed the rumors that she’d used her beauty to get ahead of her peers? Looking into the cool green of his eyes, she saw no malice in the comment but she wasn’t prepared to answer truthfully none the less. She was alone on Valentine’s Day because the only man she was attracted to and had had feelings for in the past three years was sitting beside her and up until a few months ago had been taken by her best friend.

“I could ask you the same thing,” she replied, trying to keep their conversation light and her feelings hidden. Tate was off-limits. He had been as Kate’s boyfriend and he still was as Kate’s ex.

“You think I’m beautiful?” He smiled, a teasing glint in his eye.

“I think you’re sought-after,” she answered, envisioning the trail of nurses who seemed to materialize around him.

“Not by everyone.” His tone had changed and his eyes had darkened almost imperceptibly. She knew he was thinking of her best friend Kate, his ex-girlfriend—the one that had got away.

Regret and frustration coursed through her. She hadn’t meant to bring up Kate, but truthfully she was always there between them. She had met Tate when he and Kate had started dating, and had been horrified when she’d realized her feelings for him went beyond friendship. It had been like a cruel torture. The closer he had become with Kate, the more she had gotten to know him, the more her feelings had grown, and the more unattainable he had become.

Kate and Tate’s breakup had been bittersweet. She no longer had to conceal her feelings but she had also lost her connection to the man she was falling for.

Chloe felt as if she was burning up and moved to take off the black sweater wrap that she had layered over a long-bodied tank top. The long-sleeved tailed garment had been wrapped around her tightly against the winter cold and she felt flustered in her attempt to disentangle herself from it. Strong hands covered hers, stilling her actions, before he moved on to untying the knot in the tails, his hands sure and steady as he opened the garment and slipped it from her shoulders. In doing so the tips of his fingers brushed against her bare skin, the action causing shockwaves to course down her body. She shuddered in response.

“I thought you were too warm—are you cold?” Tate asked.

No trace of his self-defeat was left, and Chloe felt as if she had one hundred percent of his attention.

“No.”

He rested his hands back on her bare arms, as if to check her temperature himself, and once again she trembled in response.

“You did it again.” He was analyzing her, trying to make sense of her reactions.

“I know.” What else could she say? She might not be able to control her body’s reactions to him, but at least she could control her words.

His hands moved up her body, his fingers pressing into the muscles of her neck while his thumbs brushed against her cheeks. Cool mineral-green eyes stared at her hard before his lips parted. “Why are you here, Chloe?”

She closed her eyes and savored the feeling, waiting for their connection to break. She didn’t want to answer the question, but she had no choice.

“Because you asked me.” She opened her eyes to find Tate’s entire attention focused on her, and she felt naked underneath his intense gaze. The only part of her body he touched was her neck and her face, but it was as though she could feel him all over, with every part of her body yearning to be touched by him.

“Why?” he asked, not pulling her toward him but not releasing her from his hold.

There were so many reasons that she couldn’t describe them, and she wasn’t sure he would understand.

She wet her lips that suddenly seemed as dry as the desert and dared to match his gaze. “Does it matter?”

The look in his eyes changed slightly, and there was a barely perceptible turn of his head. “Not tonight.”

Her lips parted in response, but before the words came out his mouth came down on hers. His lips were hard against hers and he used them to tug and draw her lower lip to him. As she moaned he moved inside her, his tongue exploring and tasting what she offered. Never had she been kissed like this, and she felt helpless to hold back—not that she wanted to.

She turned her body towards him and wrapped her arms around him, her fingers moving through his hair and pressing into his scalp. He kissed her harder, deeper, his fingers tangling in her hair, while his other hand trailed the length of her back. She arched in response to his touch, pressing herself against him and increasing their contact.

As suddenly as the kiss had started Tate broke away from her and stood from the couch. The hand he extended toward her quickly pacified her sense of loss. Without words, she placed her hand in his and let him pull her from the couch. She trailed him as he led her to the bedroom platform. At the edge of the bed she watched him pull off the shirt that she’d thought left little to the imagination—until she saw him in the flesh. Every muscle was perfect and defined. She reached out and let her fingers softly move over the strong breadth of his shoulders, his chest, and then along his washboard abdomen until they ended at the top of his belt and jeans.

He started in the same place, his hands moving around her waist as his fingers grabbed enough fabric to pull the tank top from her body. She had never felt self-conscious about her body, but at that moment she felt very aware of the state of her own arousal. Tate’s hand encircled her waist again, but this time over the bare skin he had exposed. She shuddered at the heat she felt coming from his touch and felt him pull her to him in response.

“Definitely not cold,” she heard him whisper as his warm breath surged against her neck. His lips followed as he found her weakness, each kiss and taste stoking the fires within her. She dug her fingers into his sides and pulled him back to her and was rewarded by the hard ridge that pressed into her.

He released his hold on her as he stepped back, just far enough to remove his jeans. He held her eyes as he did the same with hers, until she was standing before him in her blue lace bra and underwear. He didn’t close the distance between them and she watched his eyes trail up and down her body. It was excruciating anticipation, and she didn’t know how to express what she wanted, so she echoed his earlier action and held out her hand.

He didn’t take it. Instead her palm made contact with his bare chest as he reached behind her and unfastened her strapless bra. Her swollen breasts spilled out as the garment fell to the floor. She felt his fingertips brush against the sides of her breasts, then her waist, until they reached her hips and the small strings of her underwear before they too were tugged from her body. He didn’t leave her naked alone, stripping himself of his last remaining article of clothing with no modesty until he stood equally naked before her.

She gasped as he lifted her up and toward him. She held on tightly, wrapping her legs around him as he held her effortlessly. She felt cool sheets touch her back as she felt the pressure and heat of Tate come down on top of her. His mouth returned to hers with the increased passion that being completely skin to skin ignited. His hand moved, sweeping the side of her breast before he finally cupped her in his hands. She moaned at the experience and her reaction was met by his lips, which closed over the opposite nipple.

She spread her legs wide beneath him—a silent plea for what she really wanted.

She watched as he reached over to the nightstand and withdrew a small foil packet. She thought she could see his hands shaking as he unrolled the condom down his impressive length. She reached out to steady his hands and in response to her gentle touch he entwined her fingers in his, moving her hand and arm over her head, pressing her into the pillow above.

He once again settled between her legs and in one precision movement filled her. The spasm of her muscles around him echoed in the grip he reinforced on her hand.

She cried out with a pleasure she had never experienced before. She wasn’t a virgin, but nothing had ever felt like this before. She wrapped her legs around him, anchoring him to her as he moved within her, pushing her further and further into ecstasy with each thrust. She didn’t get a break as each movement in and out of her triggered every nerve in her body to fire, until she felt she was on the verge of shattering from within. Without warning she was past the point of no return and she cried out, clutching him to her as her muscles contracted reflexively around him. One more stroke and Tate was with her, his own convulsions joining hers.

He collapsed against her and she could feel the dampness of his skin and the warmth of his breath against her neck. She couldn’t resist the feel of him, satiated and relaxed against her, and gently ran her fingertips of her free hand up and down his back. It was an act of intimacy beyond the passion they had just shared.

She lost track of time, savoring the feeling of closeness, of Tate inside her, until he lifted himself away. He was staring down at her, levered above her, still deep inside her. He was looking at her for answers, for an explanation of how they’d got to where they were and what to do next. She had none.

His hand brushed her hair away from her face. “I can’t talk about this right now,” he said, and she heard enough regret to break her heart.

“Okay,” she replied, lost for any other words. He withdrew from her body and left to go to the only closed room in the loft—the bathroom.

She sat upright and covered herself with one of the oversized pillows. She wanted to move—needed to move, needed to gather her clothes and what was left of her heart and dignity and get the hell out of there. But she couldn’t move. Every muscle in her body was paralyzed by the surrealism of what had just happened. Tate—she’d had sex with Tate. But it hadn’t just been sex. It had been the most cataclysmic physical and emotional experience of her life and in that moment she realized she loved him. And he regretted it. Did she? She had vowed never to act on her feelings, but now that she had how could she dream of taking it back?

The sound of the door opening brought her attention back to reality. Tate strode naked to the platform, with no embarrassment or attempt to hide his nudity. He was spectacular. She had never appreciated the draw of the naked male form until now. She was sure in the knowledge that the sight of him and the memory of how he’d felt inside her would be forever burned into her body, mind and soul.

He turned down the covers on his side of the bed and gestured for her to get in. It was an offer she shouldn’t accept, but it was too hard to say no. As she crawled beneath the sheets he walked to the other side of the bed and did the same. He turned off the lights from a master panel on the nightstand, leaving only the amber glow of the fire and the reflection of the city’s lights through the windows. She lay there still, not knowing what to say or do, until she felt his strong arm snake around her and pull her against him.

“Go to sleep,” he whispered, his lips only inches from her ear and the length of his naked body pressed against her back and bottom.

Impossible was the last thing she thought, before she closed her eyes and her mind gave way to the complete physical and emotional exhaustion of her body.

Tate woke from a deep sleep and felt his body stir and harden. He wasn’t alone—could feel himself pressing against soft skin and tight curves. He opened his eyes to the early-morning light and saw it: red. Red hair covered the pillow that lay beside him. Red hair that was unmistakable.

Chloe. As he acknowledged her identity in his head a replay of last night’s events rolled through his mind. He could see her tremble with his touch, her nipples pressing against the thin fabric of her tank top, the way she’d let him undress her and then reached out for him. And there was the way she’d felt, tight and uncontrolled beneath him so that he had barely managed to hold on for her release.

It was painful to think about it as he felt himself engorge further, pressing deeper into her tight, rounded bottom. He wanted to kiss her neck, caress her breast and slip back inside her—in part for release, and in part to prove to himself that they hadn’t been as explosive together as he remembered. But the cold light of day streaming in from the floor-to-ceiling windows stopped him.

How had he let this happen—and why? He hadn’t just taken any ordinary woman to bed, he had taken Chloe. Chloe—the beautiful, smart, no-nonsense, caring woman he had known for years. It wasn’t as if he had just realized Chloe’s beauty. He had always felt an attraction to her. But by the time they had met he had already started pursuing Kate, and he’d classified his feelings for Chloe as those of a normal red-blooded male. What had happened last night? Damned if he knew. All he knew was that the attraction he had suppressed for years had boiled over—with considerable consequences.

He ran his fingers through the tumble of red hair adorning his pillow. This was going to end badly. He wasn’t naïve about the nature of the medical profession. Women still had to work harder to prove their equality, especially in fields dominated by men. Women like Chloe—though he couldn’t think of any woman like Chloe—had it the hardest. Looking at her, no one would imagine that she could be as smart and gifted as she was beautiful. Worse, few believed that her success was due to hard work alone.

He had heard the rumors about her and resented them. Unfortunately coming to her defense would only fuel the fire. Personally, Tate could care less what people thought or said about his personal life. He made his own decisions—for himself and no one else. But as a woman and as a resident Chloe didn’t have that luxury.

The rumors would be vicious. The effect on her career would be unpredictable. And for what? What did he have to offer her? He had tried to settle down for a life of commitment and had it thrown back in his face. He wasn’t prepared to go down that road again, but he also wasn’t prepared to hurt Chloe just to satisfy a need in him he hadn’t known existed until last night. He had crossed a line last night that he’d had no business crossing and hated himself for it.

He needed to end this before it started—or went any further.

Chloe stirred, her eyes opening to unfamiliar surroundings as she took in the flood of natural light and the expanse of the room around her. She blinked and the scenery remained unchanged. She looked down, acknowledging her nudity before confirming to herself that last night had not been a dream. She was in Tate’s loft and they had made love.

Slowly she turned towards the other side of the bed—only to find disappointment at its emptiness. The feeling did not last long as her eyes caught sight of him sitting across the room in the kitchen, staring back at her. He appeared to have showered and was already fully dressed in black pants and a crisp navy blue button-down shirt with a pewter tie at the collar. An uneasy feeling came over her.

“Good morning.” She waded into conversation cautiously.

“Last night was a mistake.”

His words broke through her and her perfect dream instantaneously changed into a nightmare. He remained across the room, still making no effort to close the distance between them.

“I think it would be best if we forget it ever happened and moved on with our separate lives. Take your time this morning. I have to go to work, but the door will lock behind you.”

She didn’t have time to argue with him. She didn’t even have time to respond. She just watched dumbstruck as Tate walked out, pulling the door shut behind him and signaling the end to their conversation. How could he just walk away? Easily, she thought. He didn’t have feelings for her. A physical attraction, yes, but not the same depth of emotion she felt for him or he had felt for Kate.

She remembered him after their breakup—how angry he had been, how devastated. She was a simple night’s mistake compared to Kate, whose loss had almost destroyed him.

CHAPTER ONE

Six weeks later …

CHLOE STOOD FROM her chair and felt a familiar wave of nausea and dizziness encompass her. She steadied herself before considering moving again. If she had thought things couldn’t get worse, she had been wrong. Her relationship with Tate remained unchanged. She had made attempts to talk to him but it was clear he was avoiding her. The hope that every day she would feel better, less rejected, was long since gone and every day she felt worse.

She needed to finish with her last patient and go home. The symptoms which she had originally attributed to heartbreak had become unremitting, and it was getting harder and harder to function. Ironically, the last patient of the evening emergency shift was feeling the same. An “LOL” in distress: a “little old lady” presenting with feelings of weakness and dizziness.

These patients were always complex, taking a lot of time and attention to detail in order to rule out conditions that could cause the patient serious harm, and most commonly nothing was found. In this case Chloe had managed to work out a cause and had reduced her blood pressure medications. If only her own case was that simple.

“Are you okay?”

A voice cut through her thoughts. She turned too quickly and immediately regretted the action, feeling her heart beat overtime to maintain her balance and remain standing on her feet.

Her attending physician, Dr. Ryan Callum, was staring at her intently and Chloe was grateful that it was him. He was seven years older than her and had completed a decorated military career as a trauma specialist before starting practice at Boston General. He was very attractive, with an athletic frame, a rare combination of brown hair and blue eyes, and a collection of scars and military tattoos that completed the package and led to him being sought after by the entire nursing staff. To Chloe, he was a trusted friend and mentor.

“I’m fine.”

“You’re lying.” He wasn’t angry, but he was making it clear he did not believe her.

“Yes, but you are a good enough friend not to push the issue.”

He reluctantly nodded his agreement and Chloe relaxed. She didn’t have the energy to pretend right now as she rubbed her aching shoulders.

“You would tell me if you needed something, right?”

She looked at her friend and a little bit of her misery and pity lifted. She might not have love, but she had amazing friends who would do anything for her. If only she knew how she could be fixed.

“Yes, I would.”

“Okay, then, go home. You look like hell.”

“Thanks, I will.”

Chloe discharged her patient and made her way to the women’s locker room, located within the emergency department. Her head throbbed, and pushing open the door took the last effort she had inside her. Between the rows of lockers was a bench and she’d stepped toward it, planning to rest, when a sharp pain in the right lower quadrant of her abdomen overtook her. The pain was so severe that she didn’t feel the impact as her body hit the floor. She tried to call for help but didn’t get the words out before curtains of black entered her vision.

Someone was screaming, but it wasn’t her. Everything was muted as she struggled to see and hear what was going on around her. She felt herself being picked up and carried by a pair of strong arms.

“Tate,” she whimpered as the pain gripped her again.

“No, Chloe, it’s Ryan.”

Disappointment filled her before she lost consciousness again.

Tate scanned the operating room slate for the night’s booked cases. The locked doors to the secure unit opened and a porter entered, carrying a sealed box from the blood bank. The unit clerk who had been assisting him shifted her attention from him. “Is that the blood for Theater Seven?”

“Yes, it’s the second four units of packed cells and two units of fresh frozen plasma matched for a Chloe Darcy—D-A-R-C-Y. Date of birth: March twentieth, 1983. Blood bank number: 4089213.”

“Perfect. You can leave it there and I’ll take it back to the room.”

Tate’s body had frozen at the sound of her name and his eyes landed on the box, confirming everything he had heard. The box was labeled just as the porter had read—for Chloe. He replayed the exchange. This was the second four units, which meant Chloe was in serious trouble.

“I’m already changed. I’ll take it in,” he told the unit clerk as he picked up the box and made his way toward Theater Seven without waiting for her response. It was ironic that for the first time in the operating room he felt fear. Never had he felt that when working, but right now he was helpless. It was a novel and terrifying feeling all at once.

He fastened a mask across his face and paused at the window in the door. There were two anesthetists at the head of the bed and the patient was surrounded, but he couldn’t tell by whom. On the operating room floor a collection of bloody sponges lay soaked through and counted off. He could see the suction canisters that were filled with over two liters of blood. Was it Chloe’s blood? It looked like a scene from a trauma case, and he couldn’t comprehend that Chloe lay in the center of it.

He walked into the room, his confusion growing as he identified members of the gynecology team as the operating surgeons. At the same time his eyes glimpsed the trademark red hair that flowed from the top of the operating table. It was definitely her.

He handed the box to the circulating nurse. “Do you need help?” He directed the question toward the team, needing to do something.

“You need to leave, Dr. Reed.”

The voice came from the gowned surgeon in the hibiscus-blue cloth scrub hat. He narrowed his focus on her and through the confusion surrounding the case was able to identify Erin Madden, chief gynecology resident. Her voice and hat identified her without her needing to look away from the operative field. He had known Erin casually for years, and more so in the past two through her friendship with Kate and Chloe, but even so he wasn’t in the mood to be told what to do. He normally encouraged resident autonomy, but not today—not when it involved Chloe.

“Dr. Thomas?” He addressed the staff surgeon whose back was to him.

“Dr. Madden is right. This is not a vascular case, Tate. We are going to have to ask you to leave.”

He looked around the room once more, noticing the discomfort of the nursing and other teams. It felt like a betrayal from the people he worked with day in and day out, but on the other hand he knew enough to know that he had become a distraction—one that Chloe couldn’t afford.

“Okay.” And he left, going as far away from her as he could handle being, which was right outside the operating theater doors.

His mind raced with possibilities? What the hell had happened to Chloe? How did a healthy young woman end up in a critical condition without warning? And why the hell was gynecology in there?

A previously unimaginable explanation filled and settled into his mind. He watched, his eyes oscillating between the anesthesia monitors tracking Chloe’s vitals and the actions of the surgical team.

“Tate.” He heard Kate’s familiar voice and felt a hand on his shoulder.

“I think she is stabilizing. They kicked me out of the room, so I can’t tell for sure. But they have stopped calling for blood and I can see the anesthesia monitors. Her heart-rate has come down and her blood pressure is back up.”

“What happened?” Kate asked.

“I don’t know. They won’t tell me anything. The usual patient confidentiality. I only got here about fifteen minutes ago. I was checking the operating room slate to see how many cases were lined up for tonight at the front desk when the porter from the blood bank came to drop off blood. I overheard him verifying her name and blood bank number with the unit clerk.”

“Who is in with her?”

“Gynecology.” His resentment was coming through clearly.

“Oh.”

“Is it a hemorrhagic ovarian cyst?” Kate asked.

“I don’t know, Kate. Like I said, they won’t tell me anything.”

She stopped asking questions and he wondered if she had come up with the same diagnosis he had. Either way he was grateful for the silence. He needed to keep his entire focus on Chloe.

Twenty minutes later Kate gently pushed Tate to the side and went through the operating room door. He watched the interaction, unable to hear the exchange between her and Erin Madden, but noting that she was getting further than he had. She pushed through the doors again, returning.

“She’s okay. They won’t tell me what happened, but they opened her up, stopped whatever was bleeding, and she’s stabilized. She is going to go to the Intensive Care Unit overnight because of the large amount of blood products she received.”

“Thank you, Kate,” Tate replied, his eyes still trained on the window, not budging from his spot outside the door.

“Tate, they have asked us to leave and I think we should. She is stable and there is nothing we can do except get in the way and distract the team.”

“I’m not leaving her.”

“We’re not leaving her, Tate. We’re helping her by getting out of the way and letting them do their job. The same thing we ask other people to do for us.” She grabbed his arm and pulled him a little, to ease him away from his spot. “Tate, we need to go. You know Chloe would never want us to see her like this.”

His mind replayed all the ways he had seen Chloe and he knew she was right. Staying away from her had been the hardest thing he had ever done, but it was for her he’d done it. God knew that every time she had tried to talk to him there’d been nothing he wanted more than to take her in his arms and kiss her, to see if everything they had done together had been real and not just a memory that had reached fantastical proportions in his mind.

Who was he kidding? In truth he was terrified of the feelings she’d brought out in him and what it would cost him to have and then lose her.

He looked back at Kate, feeling nothing for her. How could he have been such a fool? He respected Kate, and intellectually she made perfect sense, but he had never been in love with her and she had never sparked the intensity of emotion that Chloe did in him. He had asked her to marry him because it had seemed like the next logical step, just like the series of steps he had taken in his training. He was tired of the single life, needed a wife, wanted a family and Kate met the criteria he was looking for. His use of logic had failed him for the first time in his life. Kate’s rejection had angered him and wounded his pride at the time. Now he was grateful for the near miss.

“Are you in love with Matt McKayne?” he asked, without emotion.

She seemed surprised by the question, whether it was at his directness or his reference to the man he knew she was in love with, he didn’t care.

“Yes. I think I always have been—even when I hated him.”

“Then you should be with him. Forget everything that has gone wrong between you and be together.”

“It’s not that simple, Tate. I can’t trust him.”

“Kate, that’s not simple,” he replied, pointing toward the door. Then he took one last look through the window and walked away—from both Chloe and Kate.

His steps were slow and purposeful as he returned to the front desk and the unit clerk he had spoken to earlier. He took a deep breath, steeling himself for the response he was dreading. “Am I up next after the ruptured ectopic pregnancy?” he asked as casually as he could while his heart was racing.

He held his breath as the unit clerk double-checked the confidential surgical slate that listed patient names, procedures and diagnoses. “Yes. As soon as they are done with Dr. Darcy we will be sending for your patient, Dr. Reed.”

“Thank you,” he mumbled and he kept walking, not thinking about his destination but more of the confirmation he had hoped not to receive. Chloe was pregnant—or had been pregnant. Was he the father? Was he responsible for the pregnancy that had almost killed her?

The door to the operating room opened again and Ryan Callum walked through.

“Is she still in?” Ryan asked, with a coldness Tate had not expected emanating from him.

He wasn’t in the mood to play games. “Yes. Do you know what happened to her?”

“Yes.”

Tate waited, but no more words came from the other man and new hostility radiated from him. Ryan, who had never been confrontational, had changed from the direct, no-nonsense man he had been. The question was why? In a night with so many unanswered questions it was the last thing he needed.

“I’m asking,” Tate replied, not trying to escalate the conversation, knowing he had a thin grip on his temper.

“If Chloe wanted you to know something she would have told you.”

Told him what? That there was a reason Ryan Callum knew about her pregnancy and he didn’t? It was a thought he couldn’t stomach and he wanted it out of his mind.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You’re the brilliant surgeon, Tate, figure it out.”

He didn’t want to have to think about any more than he already was. At the moment he would much rather be the father of her life-threatening pregnancy than think there was a possibility that Ryan was.

“So I’m to blame? Is that what you think?”

“She said your name, not mine, as I carried her near lifeless body to get help. That is what I think.”

The image flashed before his eyes, and judging from the scene in the operating theater Tate knew Ryan’s characterization was right. Before he could respond Ryan walked past him toward the bank of theaters, which was fortunate because he had no response. Did that mean he was the father? Ryan hadn’t ruled himself out, but what did it say about Chloe that she would ask for him as she lay dying?

CHAPTER TWO

EVERYTHING HURT. IT was her first thought as outside sounds began to intrude. She tried to move, to ease the ache, but nothing in her body responded. She took a breath and became immediately cognizant of pain and pressure in her mouth and throat. She tried to pull at it, but couldn’t move her hands. When she finally moved she felt the resistance of straps on her wrists.

A monitor rang out and it calmed her as a familiar sound. She felt a hand curl around hers and tried to hold it.

“Chloe, it’s Kate.”

Kate. She didn’t know where she was, but Kate was here. She heard her friend’s voice again, but couldn’t make out the words. She strained to understand, wanted to move, to breathe, but everything was so hard and met with such resistance.

She heard the alarm ring again as she struggled.

Someone with a voice she didn’t recognize entered the room and she could hear Kate directing the woman before she felt a hand calmingly stroke her forehead and hair.

She only understood a few of Kate’s words but it was enough. “Stay calm, okay? Intubated … Intensive Care Unit … tube out. Stay calm.”

She focused all her efforts on opening the heavy lids of her eyes to see Kate as her dark hair and her face slowly came into focus. She had to work twice as hard not to give in to the temptation to close them again.

There was another voice she didn’t recognize, and once again she couldn’t understand everything, so instead focused on Kate.

“Chloe, you heard that? I have to go for a few minutes while they evaluate you. No room for big dumb surgeons on these occasions. I am not going to be far, though, and will be back here as soon as they let me, okay?”

She processed the information and finally, with great effort, managed to move her head in understanding. She watched Kate’s eyes fill with relief and felt her friend squeeze her hand one last time before she left.

Over the next few minutes she was aware of the room filling with more and more people. She was also aware that if she wanted the tube out she was going to have to concentrate on everything she was being asked to do, even though it was a struggle. After what seemed like a lifetime she took her first breath on her own, and even the irritation in her throat couldn’t dampen her relief. She felt a nurse thread the oxygen nasal prongs around her face and into her nose as air gently began to blow, and she was grateful for anything that made breathing less hard.

As fast as the room had filled it began to empty, until only one person remained. With only one person to focus on it was easier, and she recognized the face, dark tortoiseshell glasses and pulled-back blonde hair of her friend Erin Madden pulling up a chair beside the bed. Through her emerging fog she could tell Erin wasn’t here as her friend. Why was gynecology involved in her care?

“Chloe, do you know where you are?”

She nodded, her mind having put together the fact that she was in the Intensive Care Unit.

“Did you know you were pregnant?” Erin asked softly.

Pregnant. No. That couldn’t be right. She couldn’t be pregnant. She had only been with one man in the past two years and Tate had worn a condom. Wouldn’t she have known if she was pregnant? She had been bleeding off and on for the past month, but her cycle was screwed up because of all the stress. She had been nauseated and dizzy, but that could be stress too. Wouldn’t she have known if she was pregnant with Tate’s baby? A warm flush passed through her as she thought about a child.

“I’m pregnant?” she managed to ask, her voice still weak.

“No, Chloe. You were pregnant. The pregnancy was ectopic, in your right fallopian tube. It ruptured. That is what led to your collapse. We did an emergency laparotomy and had to take out your right fallopian tube to stop the bleeding. You also were transfused with a lot of blood products, so we decided to keep you in the Intensive Care Unit. But you are okay now, Chloe. Your blood work is stable and there are no signs of anymore bleeding. You are going to be okay.”

“I lost the baby.” It wasn’t a question for Erin, but more a confirmation to herself of everything she had just heard.

“Yes. I’m so sorry, Chloe.”

Grief filled her. It was the final insult. It shouldn’t hurt to lose something she had never known she had, but that didn’t stop the pain. Maybe it was fitting that she felt the same way about her baby’s father. She had never had him either, but that didn’t make losing him any easier.

She looked around the room, surrounded by glass and curtains and monitors that would show everything about her. She didn’t want to be here.

“I want to go home, Erin. I need to go home.” She couldn’t be here—not in public, not where she worked, not where Tate worked. Not knowing he was so close and wanting him to be with her at this moment so very badly and knowing he wouldn’t be coming.

“Chloe, you are barely twenty-four hours post-op. You know you are in no condition to go home. You just started breathing on your own and haven’t even sat up yet.”

She tried to push herself up, to prove that she could do it, but her body betrayed her. Between the physical exertion the act required and the sense of dizziness that swept over her she barely lifted herself for a few seconds before collapsing.

“Chloe, please let me handle this. I am going to have you transferred to Obstetrics, where no one knows you and you can have some privacy.”

She knew she didn’t have a choice. She couldn’t leave even if she wanted to. The obstetrics ward … Pregnant woman and babies … Could she do that? Now? On the other hand Erin was right—it was a ward where no one would know her.

“Okay,” she assented, before closing her eyes, exhausted physically and emotionally. She felt Erin pull the blankets over her. “Thank you for everything,” she managed, right before sleep overtook her.

Chloe stirred, the pain in her abdomen still sharp and making her restless. She felt a hand sweep her hair from her face. Kate. She had told her best friend to go home but apparently she hadn’t listened.

Pain coursed through her as she tried in vain to find a comfortable position and a soft moan escaped her.

A hand fell onto her arm and she instantly knew that it was not Kate beside her. The hand was heavy and large and she recognized Tate’s touch. She didn’t open her eyes. She wasn’t ready to face him. She heard her call bell go off and Tate asking for a nurse.

The exchange was brief, and within five minutes Chloe felt some of the pain dissipate from her body—but not her heart.

“I know you are not sleeping, Chloe.”

Tate’s voice broke through her thoughts. She opened her eyes to meet his. Each of them was trying to decipher the other. He looked tired, with new shadowing along his face and a redness in his eyes that served to heighten the light green irises. Despite her need for him she felt overwhelmed by his presence.

“How did you know?” she whispered.

“Because I’ve watched you sleep,” he answered, as though the statement held no intimacy.

“No, I mean how did you know I was here?” she asked, not wanting to betray any of the information she had barely had time to digest.

“I’m on nights this week and saw you in the operating room.”

She grimaced at the thought of him seeing her exposed—not one she enjoyed.

“Is the morphine not enough? Do you need something else?” he asked, misreading her cue.

“No, I’m fine.” A complete overstatement, but she felt vulnerable and not ready for this conversation.

“You scared me.”

The honesty in his face and his statement humbled her.

“I’m sorry.”

“Is there a reason you didn’t tell me?” His voice had quietened.

“What do you mean?” He was searching for an answer but she didn’t understand the question.

Tate stared at her as though he could learn the answer if he just looked hard enough. She looked back at him, equally searching for an answer. “Was there a reason you didn’t tell me about the pregnancy?”

He knew. She didn’t know how, but he did. He probably had known before she did. Just one more insult in what was already an untenable situation. He was asking her if he was the father of her baby. What must he think of her if he thought there might be more than one possibility?

She blinked hard, trying to calm herself against the ugliness she felt inside. When she opened her eyes he was still staring at her, waiting.

“Does it matter, Tate?” The hurt in her voice was apparent even to her own ears.

“Yes, it matters.”

“Why?” she demanded.

“It just does, Chloe.”

“Because if you were the father then, what? You would take pity on me? Feel guilty? But if you weren’t then everything people say about me must be right and you can walk away and count your blessings for your near miss? I’m sorry, Tate, but neither of those options works for me. I think you should go.”

“We’re not done, Chloe.”

She wanted to cry and tried hard to keep in her tears. She took a deep breath to steady herself. “Be honest with yourself, Tate. We never started. I need you to go.”

“What if I want to stay, Chloe?”

“Then you should have stayed six weeks ago. Or at least listened to me when I tried to talk to you afterward. But you wanted nothing to do with me then, and you don’t get to change your mind now. I want you to leave.” She could hear the pleading in her voice but she didn’t care. She couldn’t do this—not now, when she had already depleted every physical and emotional resource she had.

“But the baby …?” His voice was hushed but still she heard the small crack that betrayed him.

“There is no baby,” she told them both, and the words hurt as much as anything she had felt. Tate blurred before her eyes and she couldn’t read him as tears formed. She watched him get up and walk away from her and felt both relieved and wounded by his departure.

She heard the curtains close and the sliding door of her intensive care room slide shut and she closed her eyes, willing the tears to stop. She couldn’t do this—not here.

She barely had time to process the sound of the guard rail going down, or the weight on her bed, before she felt herself being picked up as strongly, and yet as gently as possible, and held tightly within a strong embrace. She felt pain tear through her abdomen, but it was nothing compared to what was going on in her heart. She shouldn’t do this—she shouldn’t feel better in Tate’s arms. But she did.

Her complete loss of control over her life overwhelmed her and she gave in to the urge she had been fighting since she woke up. For some reason she knew she didn’t have to be brave right now—she didn’t need to put on the funny, reassuring front she had for Kate. Right now she could just hurt and it didn’t matter. She had nothing to lose with Tate; she had lost everything already.

She felt his grip tighten as the sobs began to rack through her body, each movement both bringing and taking away the pain. He brought his chin down to rest on her head while his hand stroked up and down her back.

“I didn’t know about the baby,” she confessed into his already soaked scrub top.

“It’ll be okay, Chloe. You are okay,” he murmured in reassurance.

“It’s not okay. How could I not have known about my own child?”

“It wouldn’t have made a difference.”

No, it wouldn’t have. A child between them wouldn’t have changed Tate’s mind or his feelings toward her. “I didn’t deserve a baby.”

“You didn’t deserve any of this.”

“Didn’t I?” She had done the unthinkable. She had fallen in love and slept with her best friend’s ex, who the morning after had found her lacking. The only reason Tate was here now was because he felt sorry for her, but to be honest not more sorry than she felt for herself.

He pulled her gently away from his shoulder, reaching up to cradle her face in his hands. “No, Chloe, you didn’t.”

She wished she could believe him. She had never put much stock in karma before—you couldn’t when you spent your life treating people you were sure didn’t deserve what was happening to them. But now she wasn’t sure.

She felt fresh tears forming in her eyes at the pain of her thoughts and from staring into Tate’s eyes too much. He really looked as if he cared for her. If only that was the case.

She felt his lips press against the dampness of her cheek before she was once again tucked into his arms and held tightly. She didn’t know how long they stayed like that. She didn’t even remember him leaving. But when she woke he was gone.

Post-operative day two was excruciating. Everything felt like a struggle. First thing in the morning a nurse had come to help her “dangle’, which had basically turned into a torture exercise of being forced to sit upright with her legs dangling off the bed, maintaining her balance. She’d lasted for less than five minutes and then slept for the next three hours to recover. When she woke Kate was there, propped in a bedside chair reading a heavy hardcover text that almost completely covered her. She was comforted by her friend’s presence.

“Hey,” Chloe greeted her, watching as Kate’s focus shifted and she herself was assessed by the good surgeon.

“You look better,” Kate said reassuringly.

“That’s not saying much,” she replied, still having to work to keep her eyes open.

“Do you want to tell me what happened?” Kate asked tentatively.

She hadn’t thought about much in the last twenty-four hours, but what she had thought about, other than Tate and the loss of their baby, was what was she going to tell Kate?

Kate—her best friend, the person she had been closest with during the past decade. She couldn’t lie, but how much of the truth was too much? Especially when the explanation for how she had gotten to this day was unexplainable even to herself.

“I had an ectopic pregnancy that ruptured.” Nothing had prepared her for what she saw in Kate’s face. She wasn’t even sure she had been that surprised.

“I didn’t realize you were in a relationship,” was all Kate managed after minutes of silence.

Beyond the words she could see the hurt in her friend’s eyes. The thought that Chloe had been keeping something from her was painful for Kate.

“I’m not, Kate.” Truer words were never spoken.

“Oh.”

She knew that Kate was not going to ask her more, but felt she owed her friend more of an explanation. “I slept with someone a few weeks ago. It was a mistake. It didn’t work out.”

Kate didn’t respond immediately. She seemed to be processing the information until her look of surprise was replaced by one of understanding. “I’m sorry.”

“So am I.” And she was. A lifetime spent thinking about the man you loved who’d got away would have been better than the crash-and-burn drama that had unfolded with Tate.

“Is there anything I can do?”

“I don’t suppose I can convince you to help bust me out of here?” she asked faint-heartedly, realizing that she likely couldn’t even make it as far as the elevator right now.

“No, sorry. No chance of that happening. Try again.”

“I would love my own clothes and stuff to take a shower.”

“That I can do. So you’ll be wanting your make-up and finest lingerie, then?”

Kate winked at her and Chloe was grateful for the lightening of their conversation.

“Definitely. Goes great with these disposable mesh underwear I am ashamed to admit are surprisingly comfortable.”

“Is it hard being a patient?”

“Yes, but I haven’t figured out what is worse: feeling helpless or being a patient where I work.”

It was the truth. She was so used to doing, to being active, multi-tasking, and now she couldn’t perform the simplest of tasks for herself and was dependent on people she was used to impressing with her abilities. It was hard to be this vulnerable.

“It is a big change, but the first couple of days are the worst. By tomorrow you’ll be moving around a bit more and you will be home in a few days.”

“Not soon enough.” She waited for a while, trying to decide if she really wanted to know the answer to her next question. “Does everyone know?”

“No. The story around the emergency department and amongst some of the other services is that you had a hemorrhagic ovarian cyst. I think the residents in your program are planning on sending flowers. All your shifts have been covered for the next eight weeks so that you don’t have to work before the board exam.”

“Eight weeks seems like such a short and a long time all at once.”

“It’s not too long, Chloe. You need to focus on yourself for once. If you had a patient who had just gone through the same experience you would counsel her the exact same way.”

“I agree completely.”

A new voice came from behind the curtain before it was opened to reveal Ryan Callum.

“Hi,” Chloe greeted him, embarrassed again at her lack of knowledge about that night, but knowing Ryan had to have been there.

Kate rose and stared at Ryan, then at her. “I’ll leave you two alone. I’ll be back later this afternoon with your stuff.” Kate gave her one final look and then left, pulling the curtain and the door shut behind her.

“I didn’t mean to interrupt,” Ryan responded, taking Kate’s now vacated chair.

“You’re not.”

“How are you feeling?”

She could see the clinician in him assessing her and did her best to reassure him.

“I’m okay, and Kate assures me that every day is going to be a little better.” She was counting on that in more ways than one. “Did you take care of me the other night?”

“Yes. I don’t think I’ve ever been more scared.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. I wanted to stop by and make sure you were okay. I also wanted to make sure you knew that no one in the department other than me saw the results of your beta-HCG that night.”

She felt a flush of embarrassment pass through her, but also a sense of relief at what Ryan was telling her. No one else had seen the positive pregnancy test, which explained why they all believed she had had a ruptured cyst. Having managed to maintain her privacy was a small relief.

“Thank you,” she said gratefully.

“Don’t thank me. I don’t want anything standing between you and your future staff position here at Boston General—which, by the way, will be waiting for you whenever you are ready.”

“Thank you,” she said again, this time struggling to keep tears from her eyes.

“You’re worth it, Chloe. Please remember that.”

She could tell he was holding something back, which was far from normal. “Why do I feel like there is something you are not saying?”

“Because there is. But I don’t think this is the time or any of my business.”

“Since when did you hold back your praise or your criticism, Ryan?” she goaded him, not wanting anything to change in her life more than it already had.

“Tate Reed.”

Her heart stopped and she briefly looked around to ensure Tate, or anyone else for that matter, had not come into her room. What else did Ryan know? What else had happened that night?

“What about Tate?”

“I want you to be careful, Chloe.”

“It’s a little too late for that, don’t you think?” she responded, understanding that somehow Ryan knew about her involvement with Tate.

“Just be careful. I don’t know Tate well, but I know his type. And if the hospital administration was ever forced to choose between their prized vascular surgeon and you, you wouldn’t win.”

“Tate would never …” she started, and then stopped herself. She didn’t know what Tate would or wouldn’t do. “Thank you, Ryan—for everything.”

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