The M.D. Courts His Nurse by Meagan McKinney

to accommodate women in skirts. With all the grace of a truckload of bricks, she managed to get her feet outside and stood up.
    The big arc-sodium yard light was on, and she could feel his eyes on her. Her clothes needed “a good pull-down” as her aunt Thelma used to call it.
    â€œThanks for the ride.”
    â€œIt’s on my way,” he assured her, his tone implying that’s the only reason he did it.
    A moment later he gunned the motor, and she watched ruby-red taillights head back out toward the road.
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    John welcomed the feel of crisp night air stinging his fresh-shaven cheeks. It helped to cool his body, which still burned from the contact with Rebecca’s leg every time he shifted—that and the image of her rich, lustrous chestnut mane framing the face of an innocent wanton….
    With her heartbreak smile, Rebecca O’Reilly was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. But it didn’t matter because no matter how much he’d heard about her sense of humor, her spirit, even her optimistic heart, she’d shown him none of it.
    In the dim light of his car he had seen in her eyes how she hated him.
    Detested him might be a better word. Hate implied a level of emotional interest she could not possibly feel for him. And she’d detested him from their first meeting. Detested him probably because he wasn’t laid-back and informal like her precious Paul Winthrop or the other men she was used to. Because he didn’t joke around on the job. Her contempt angered him, and it only made him angrier trying to figure out why he cared at all.
    And why did he have to mention his father to her? A pilot—what irony. His father bought him the jacket out of guilt over all the childhood beatings. Woodrow Saville had ended up a failure in his enlisted military career, never rising above the rank of sergeant and eventually drummed out of the Army early for poor conduct-and-proficiency reports. The best he could provide for his family was a trailer next to the Bitterroot Valley dump.
    And he had taken all his failures out on his only son.
    Despite the fact John was an outstanding student and athlete—or maybe because of that—his father treated him like a perpetual loser who screwed up everything he tried to do.
    He remembered the commanding cadence of his father’s stern voice, an ironic warning from one of life’s big losers: Failure is not an option, John, and only weak men need to be liked. Despite his contempt for his father, he had been forced to live up to those hard words. And despite all his success as a surgeon, the early emotional scars remained.
    But neither his pride nor his father’s indoctrination could quell the image of Rebecca pushing her hair out of her eyes, or that quick glimpse he got of her long, shapely legs. He was acutely aware of his body’s need for a woman. He hadn’t slept with one since he’d been out here, although a few had already made it clear that fact could easily change.
    Too bad none of them was wicked, wild, teasing Rebecca. Just a flash of her eyes sent a hunger that gnawed to his spine. It was becoming more and more difficult to accept her rejection of him and contemplate another woman.
    He hit a stretch of empty, open road and floored the gas pedal, feeling his Alfa surge like a powerful beast.
    At least, he reminded himself, this was an off weekend for him. Tomorrow he’d put Mystery in his rearview mirror and spend two full days where he knew he was welcome and appreciated.
    He was grateful for the distraction of his secret weekends. Who knows, he thought, with luck he might even get Rebecca O’Reilly out of his mind for a while.
    One thing, however, was sure. She’d be on his mind tonight, all right, and if he was lucky, she’d be much nicer to him in his dreams.
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    â€œWhat in Sam Hill are you doing at home? ” Hazel demanded when Rebecca called her at nine-thirty. “And alone?