Finding Her Prince. Robyn DonaldЧитать онлайн книгу.
trickled down on white tablecloths and somehow made the fragrant arrangements of fresh, vibrantly colored flowers smell even better. Candles flickered but paled in comparison to the views visible from floor-to-ceiling windows of the neon skyline outside on the Strip.
She wished more people were looking at it instead of her, more specifically male people. A lot of the dapper men in dark suits and tuxedos were staring at her as she snaked her way through the crush of bodies. She felt conspicuous and self-conscious in her strapless, champagne-colored cocktail dress. It was knee length, and now was not a good time to wish for more material.
Finally she reached the perimeter of the room and found the table number that corresponded to the one on her invitation. There were eight chairs and all of them were empty. She decided to sit down and take the strain off her borrowed shoes, minding her friend’s warning not to test the limits of a Super Glue repair on a four-inch heel.
Moments later someone appeared in her peripheral vision and a familiar deep voice said, “Is this seat taken?”
Cindy looked up. The face matched the voice as she’d feared it would. Nathan Steele, MD. Dr. Charming himself, she thought sarcastically. He always made her think of Hugh Jackman—tall and broad-shouldered, with hazel eyes and dark brown hair. It pained her to admit, even to herself, that his traditional black tuxedo made him look very handsome—for a bad-tempered, arrogant, egotistical physician.
After a couple seconds of him standing there expectantly, the message translated from her eyes to her brain that he was waiting for an answer. Glancing at the seven empty seats, she briefly thought about saying that her date was sitting there, then abandoned the idea. She might be a pathetic loser who was a really bad judge of men, but she wasn’t a liar.
“No,” she finally said. “That seat isn’t taken.”
He smiled, then lowered his excellent butt into the chair beside hers. “Isn’t that lucky?”
“You have no idea.” She looked at him, waiting for the inevitable moment when he recognized her as the incompetent from Mercy Medical Center’s housekeeping department. The same employee he’d chastised earlier that day for something that wasn’t her fault. The indignity and unfairness still smarted.
“Would you like a drink?” The tone was pleasant, deep and sexy. Definitely not his icy-cold, all-business hospital voice.
“Yes.” It was the least he could do. “A glass of red wine would be lovely.”
He stood. “Don’t let anyone take this seat.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it.”
Dream being the operative word. Nathan Steele was walking, talking female fantasy. Definite hero material. A handsome doctor whose mission in life was to save babies who came into this world too early. Infants who needed every trick in his medical bag to survive outside a mother’s protective womb while their not-ready-to-be born bodies caught up. How could a woman not seriously crush on a man like that?
The answer was simple. Pretty to look at, difficult to get along with. Cindy didn’t need the aggravation. She was still paying for the last wrong guy at the wrong time. She was a twenty-seven-year-old college student because she’d lost not only her bank account but money she hadn’t even earned yet to a good-looking man masquerading as a hero. She literally couldn’t afford another stupid man mistake.
A few minutes later Dr. Charming set a glass of red wine in front of her and a whiskey neat at his own place before settling beside her again.
“I’m Dr. Steele—Nathan.” He looked at her, obviously waiting for her to respond with an introduction. When she said nothing, he added, “And you are?”
Surprised and annoyed in equal parts, she thought. The fact that he didn’t recognize her was a surprise. It also annoyed her.
“Cindy Elliott,” she said, waiting for the “aha” light to shine in his eyes.
“Nice to meet you, Cindy.” He held his hand out.
She wanted to tell him they’d already met. More than once their paths had crossed in the hospital. But then she put her fingers into his palm and a ripple of awareness danced up her arm. He held babies weighing hardly more than a pound, tiny little things that easily fit into this hand. It was warm and strong and capable.
Hero worship threatened until she remembered that doing battle for babies barely alive didn’t give him license to be a bastard to everyone else.
“Dr. Steele,” she said with as much cool reserve as she could muster.
“Call me Nathan.”
“All right. Nathan.”
He studied her intently and finally said, “Where do I know you from?”
It was on the tip of her tongue to say she saw him almost every day. Granted, the disposable, white “bunny suit” she wore for her housekeeping job in the neonatal intensive care unit made her fairly anonymous. But still …
She was about to tell him, then something stopped her. The devil made her do it. “I look familiar?”
“Yes.”
Maybe she’d finally caught a break. “I guess I just have one of those faces.”
“Quite a lovely face.”
And now it was red. How did she respond to that? “Thank you.”
“I can’t shake the feeling that we’ve met.” He sipped his drink. “Did you have a baby in the NICU?”
Heaven forbid. A baby was the last thing she needed. Although that would require sex and she hadn’t had any for a very long time. “I’ve never had a baby.”
“So you’re here at the fundraiser out of the goodness of your heart?”
“I won a seat at the table with a raffle ticket,” she said honestly.
“Right.” His mouth curved up at the corners.
“I’m not kidding.” The amused expression on his face said he didn’t believe her. Honesty was always the best policy. “There’s no way I could afford to come to something like this otherwise.”
“Of course.” His gaze lowered to the spot where the champagne-colored piping on her dress criss-crossed over her breasts. For a moment, intensity flared in his eyes and then amusement returned. “Raffle ticket. If I had a nickel for every time I heard that.”
“It’s the absolute truth.”
“Uh huh. Who’s your stylist?”
Stylist? She almost laughed. No way could she afford something like that. “Not a stylist. They’re called friends. Fairy godmothers.”
“So they pulled off a miracle with a magic wand?” One dark eyebrow rose.
“As a matter of fact …” She took a sip of wine and warmed to the subject. “I wasn’t going to come, but my friends talked me into it. I borrowed the dress, shoes and bag from Flora, Fauna and Merryweather.”
“Who?”
“They’re characters from an animated fairy tale. Surely you saw it when you were a kid.”
He shook his head and all hint of laughter disappeared. “No.”
“You probably don’t remember. It’s a classic children’s movie.”
“That explains it. I was never a child.”
The sort of lost expression on his face pulled at her heart and she fought the feeling down, mentally stomped the stuffing out of it. Life was hard and then you met someone who made things harder. Not happening to her again. “I don’t know what to say to that.”
“It doesn’t require a response.” He shrugged. “Just a fact.”
“Sad fact.” Those were