Neurosurgeon's Christmas to Remember, page 4
She closed the mini-fridge then grabbed her bag off the counter. “Well, Dr. Granger, you look exhausted. If everything is satisfactory here with your room, I’ll be going.”
A hint of her scent—spice and cloves and a hint of rose—filled the air as she passed him, teasing his senses and driving his awareness of her higher. For a crazy second he was tempted to ask her stay, but why? They were both obviously ruffled and spending more time together wouldn’t end this evening any sooner and get him the privacy he craved. So, instead he said, “Yes, if you’ll excuse me, I’d like to shower then get some sleep. I’m very tired.”
“Great.” Ayanna hesitated near the door, watching him across the span of a few feet, her dark eyes wide. She licked her lips and damn if he couldn’t stop himself from tracking that tiny movement, his jumbled mind immediately wondering what her mouth would taste like, if those lips felt as soft as they looked, what sounds she might make if he pulled her against him and kissed her...
Whoa. What the—?
Max stepped back and turned away, coughing to relieve the pressure of his heart lodged in his throat. He never acted like this. There was no excuse for his behavior. Not exhaustion. Not unwanted lust.
Confused, he took a step back, then another, until his butt hit the edge of the granite-topped island in the kitchen and his suitcase bumped against his leg. He needed time alone to clear his head and sort out this mess, to get showered and changed, then get some sleep. Whatever was going on here could wait until the morning when, hopefully, he’d be thinking and acting more rationally again. “Thank you for all you’ve done for me tonight.”
It took a moment, but finally she opened the door and headed back out into the hall. “I’ll be back at seven tomorrow morning to take you to work.”
After she left, Max went to the master bedroom to unpack. This wasn’t like him. Not at all. But there was something about Ayanna that set him alight inside like a roman candle. Which was damned inconvenient. He didn’t need this in his life right now. Didn’t want it. He was more than happy living in his self-imposed, emotionless bubble. Things were easier that way.
Determined to put tonight and Ms. Franklin out of his mind, Max finished putting away his things then strode into the attached bathroom to turn on the walk-in shower. Steam filled the room while he stripped down then stepped beneath the shower head and let the hot water ease away the tension from his stiff muscles.
Regardless of this unwanted awareness where Ayanna was concerned, his best move was to ignore it. There were already far too many things that could go wrong here in Seattle with the King’s case.
His personal life didn’t need to be added to the list.
CHAPTER FOUR
AN HOUR LATER, Ayanna slumped down on the cushy sofa in her apartment and toed off her pumps. Dealing with Max Granger had been an unexpected challenge in an already difficult day.
With a sigh, she took off her jacket and got out her laptop to pull up the spreadsheets she’d downloaded from her work computer earlier. It was going on two a.m. now and she should really try to sleep, but she had too much to do. Plus, she needed to start packing some of her stuff, since she needed to be out of her apartment by the end of the week so the workmen could get in. Not to mention the fact she was far too amped to sleep at this point from her earlier encounter with Max. She hoped maybe being productive would help lower her stress levels.
She started going over the lists of decorations needed for the ball and the menus and the musical selections, but time and again her mind kept circling back to Max Granger. For some reason, arguing with him had gotten her blood boiling, in more ways than one. Even now, if she closed her eyes, Ayanna could still remember the heat of him scorching through her clothes, could still smell the soap and cedar scent of his skin, could still hear the snarkiness in his tone during his comment in the changing room. And those icy gray-green eyes of his? They hadn’t been frigid at all then. Nope. His gaze had been hot. Hot as the flames licking inside her now and...
Oh, boy.
She didn’t want to want Dr. Max Granger that way. They’d just met. She didn’t do love or romance or relationships anymore. Not after Will. She didn’t believe in happily ever after. Having your fiancé run off with your best friend weeks before the wedding did that to a girl.
These days she was all about her career and fully intended to keep it that way, thanks so much. Never mind Max’s growly, brooding alpha act called to her inner fixer. The only reason she was shadowing him was because that was her job. Dr. di Rossi expected her to keep the neurosurgeon reined in and that’s exactly what she intended to do, whether Max liked it or not.
Taking a deep breath, she sat forward, determined to think about something else other than her infuriating new charge. The ball. That should be her focus. She’d throw the biggest and best holiday fundraising ball Seattle General had ever seen.
Fingers flying across her keyboard as she typed, Ayanna periodically checked her phone for updates and emails, and soon enough lost herself in her work. By the time she looked up again, it was almost five in the morning. Her muscles felt stiff from sitting in one spot too long and a glance out the window above her kitchen sink showed the first streaks of pink and purple near the horizon. So much for sleep. She stood and stretched, then froze in place at the sound of her phone buzzing on the coffee table. The number wasn’t one she recognized, and she frowned down at the text message on her screen.
Not her family. Not her staff. Her pulse tripped.
Max.
She’d left a sheet of important numbers on the counter in the suite when they’d first arrived, hers being one of them, but she’d never expected him to use it. Her stomach dropped. Oh, God. What if the King had taken a turn for the worse? What if Max had once more rushed off, leaving her to scramble after him?
But as she read the message, her worry turned to surprise. Not an emergency at all, but an apology.
Thank you again for getting this suite. It’s very nice and I appreciate it.
Stunned, Ayanna just blinked at her phone. Just when she’d put him squarely in the lump-of-coal-in-his-stocking category he went and did something nice. Not just nice—sweet. And that was...wow. The tension between her shoulder blades eased and her thumbs shook slightly as she typed in a response.
My pleasure. See you soon. A
After hitting “send” Ayanna sank back down on to the sofa and stared out the window for a long moment. She’d seen him be kind and solicitous to the nurses at the hospital, but that was the first time he’d done so with her and darn if that didn’t make her see him in a better light. Maybe there was a chance they could make this work after all. Maybe they were both just trying to get through a difficult time as best they could. And maybe being around Max Granger wouldn’t be quiet so tedious after all.
* * *
Early the next morning, Max ate his eggs and turkey sausage and drank his coffee, periodically peeking at his breakfast guest across the table from him over the top of his New York Times. Ayanna hadn’t eaten a thing since she’d arrived promptly at seven, had just sat there working on her laptop and drinking coffee. Honestly, it was none of his business. He shouldn’t say anything, especially after establishing their uneasy accord with his apology earlier, but he couldn’t seem to stop himself.
“Are you feeling all right?” he asked, staring at his paper and not at her.
“Fine.” She glanced up at him then continued typing. “Why?”
“No reason.” He picked up his own buzzing phone to see another update from the ICU nurse on duty. The King was still stable and unconscious, but that wasn’t uncommon after a bad concussion. The most important thing, his intracranial pressure, was holding at pre-accident levels, meaning no new clots had formed. Max clicked off his device and placed it face down on the table. “You aren’t hungry?”
“Nah. I hardly ever eat in the morning.” She leaned in closer to her screen and squinted at it before tapping a few more keys then smiling. That weird buzz flared inside him again. Things were finally smoothed over between them and he didn’t need to ruffle them up again by drooling over the last person on earth he should be attracted to. Besides, Ayanna was too bright and bold and bubbly. He preferred quiet, calm, and routine these days. Bad enough they were sharing commutes, which meant seeing her each morning and evening. Restlessness niggled inside him again, but before it could take hold Ayanna’s voice broke through the gathering shadows inside him like the rays of persistent sunshine burst through the clouds outside.
“Breakfast slows me down and makes me feel sluggish. I usually don’t have time anyway.” Ayanna glanced at his plate of eggs and meat. “You on a keto diet?”
“No.” He swallowed another bite of turkey sausage. “Just like to get my protein. Helps my energy levels during long, busy days.”
“Hmm.” Sounding skeptical, she closed her laptop then nabbed a wedge of whole wheat toast from the plate he’d ordered, in case she wanted something. “Thanks again for your message this morning, by the way. I’m glad we’re on better terms now.”
He nodded, focusing on his scrambled eggs and not her. He still couldn’t quite believe he’d sent that text, but in the moment it had seemed like the right thing to do. One of them had to give, and he could accept defeat. What he couldn’t accept, however, were these appalling bad eggs. He wrinkled his nose.
“What’s wrong?” Ayanna asked, giving him a wary look. “Don’t tell me you’re rescinding the apology now.”
“What?” Max looked up and blinked at her, taking a second to connect the dots. “No. Nothing’s wrong. Not about that, anyway. It’s just these eggs aren’t nearly as good as the ones I make.”
Her expression turned dubious. “You cook?”
“I do.” For some reason, people didn’t expect him to know his way around a kitchen, but after his wife had died he’d had to fend for himself. Now Max considered himself a foodie. It was one of the few hobbies he had and he treasured his time in the kitchen, tinkering with new recipes. It helped relax him. “At first out of necessity and now because I enjoy it.”
“Huh.” She swallowed another bite of toast. “Well, your wife probably appreciates that.”
He winced before he could stop himself. “My wife died two years ago.”
“Oh.” Ayanna flushed, setting the rest of her toast aside, uneaten. “I’m sorry. I had no idea.”
“It’s fine.” Max shoved a whole sausage link in his mouth, chewing without tasting it. He expected the same hollow emptiness to fill him each time he thought of his life post-Laura, but for the first time in recent memory it didn’t. He didn’t stop to consider why, though, just swallowed his food with gulp of hot decaf tea, the scald on his throat a welcome distraction. “Anyway, eating out a lot isn’t healthy, so I started buying a few cookbooks and trying my hand at things.”
Ayanna tilted her head, her gaze narrowed. “And how’d that go?”
“At first? Not good.” Max chuckled. “Right out of the gate I ruined an expensive set of pans because I burned everything I touched. Eventually, though, I got better. Even took some classes at Le Cordon Bleu in New York between cases. Now, I make a mean coq au vin and my scrambled eggs are the best in Manhattan.”
“Huh. Maybe you can make me dinner some time.” Ayanna’s smile froze then faltered and she looked away fast, the silence between them turning awkward. To cover it, she refilled her coffee cup, for the third time by his estimation. He wasn’t sure what she did with all that caffeine, but he avoided the stuff in order to hold his instruments steady.
While finishing the rest of his breakfast, Max studied her more closely as she frowned down into her mug. Dark smudges marred the delicate skin beneath her eyes today and there were new faint lines of stress at the corners of her lips. A pang of guilt stabbed his chest. He hoped their argument the night before hadn’t been the cause of her lost sleep. She glanced up and caught him staring and he looked away.
She shrugged and sat back crossing her legs away from him. “Personally, I don’t really cook at all, which is an affront to my mother who makes enormous meals whenever she can.”
“You come from a big family?” he asked, glad to have a talking point again. Chatting with her was nice, normal. Ayanna was surprisingly easy to talk to—when she wasn’t arguing with him, of course. “Are you married?”
“Yes and no,” Ayanna said. “I have five younger siblings, two brothers and three sisters, and we all love to eat. And I was engaged once, but things didn’t work out.”
He wanted to ask more, but her firm tone effectively shut the door on that topic. Just as well, since he had no business getting more involved with her life. He stood to set the room service tray in the kitchen. Truth was, he’d missed this kind of morning routine. Missed making small talk over the table. Missed connecting with another person, no matter how trivial the topic.
When he’d met Laura, she’d pulled him out of the isolation of his youth. Being with her had taught him that love and affection were normal and nice and needed. Now that she was gone, deep down part of him feared falling back into that same trap again, feared squeezing back inside the cold, unfeeling shell his parents had raised him in. After living with his wife, those tight confines of emotionlessness didn’t fit as comfortably anymore and that knowledge both worried and terrified him.
“If cooking is your thing, I can call today and have groceries delivered so you can use the kitchen here in the suite. All of the appliances work,” Ayanna said, following him into the kitchen to rinse out her cup in the sink. “Just give me a list of what you need and I’ll make sure it’s all here this evening.”
At first, he was going to tell her not to bother, since he planned to talk to the head of neurosurgery today about consulting on some additional cases to keep busy—there was also no telling if or when the King’s condition might change—but then he reconsidered. Cooking was his go-to stress reliever. No matter what, he still had to eat. Making food helped clear his head and he could use a breather right now. “Okay. That would be nice. Thank you for offering.”
“You’re welcome.” Ayanna checked her watch. “We should get going. Traffic’s a bear in the mornings and I’ve got a pile of work to get done today.”
“Sure.” Max tugged on his jacket while Ayanna gathered her computer and bag. Maybe this whole carpool thing would work out better than he’d imagined. “And if I cook, maybe I can get you to eat.”
Ayanna glanced up at him, flashing that sunny smile of hers again, and his day got a tad brighter. “Maybe. We’ll see. You’ve got a few weeks to try anyway.”
CHAPTER FIVE
LATER THAT MORNING, after checking in on the King’s condition—stable but still unconscious—and reporting his finding to Dr. di Rossi, Max headed between buildings at Seattle General. He liked to stay busy and since the King’s prognosis was still uncertain, Max had cleared his calendar until after the first of the new year and planned to hunker down here in Seattle until then.
Luckily, the chief of neurosurgery was running short on staff with the holidays. Many of the doctors took time off to be with their families, so the department was eager to have Max’s help. In fact, he’d barely finished filling out his paperwork downstairs in HR and got hold of his staff pass when a call came in from the ER that they had a new patient who needed a neuro consult.
He headed through the maze of brightly lit halls, his attention split between the busy Seattle streets below and the facilities around him. Max was still learning his way around the place, but so far he’d been impressed. They had state-of-the-art equipment and were participating in several prominent clinical trials. Dr. di Rossi ran a tight ship in the ER as well, erasing any doubts Max might have had that the King had only chosen this facility for his surgery because of his son.
And, much as he hated to admit it, part of his mind was still focused on Ayanna. He wasn’t sure why exactly, but she intrigued him far more than anyone else had in a long time. Delicious smells wafted from the cafeteria and he pulled out his phone to add some baking ingredients to the list of items he’d asked Ayanna to order for him earlier.
Truthfully, he looked forward to cooking like some men looked forward to the NFL playoffs. He hadn’t been kidding about getting her to eat better while he was here either. In fact, he took it as a personal challenge to get her have breakfast each day when she came to pick him up. He’d already asked her to get the necessary ingredients to make his signature roasted vegetable frittata for her tomorrow: zucchini, bell peppers, onions, garlic, cream, eggs and Parmesan cheese. Seeing the look of ecstasy on her face when she tasted the first bite would be reward enough for getting up extra early to prepare it.
But as he continued on through the busy corridors toward the ER, Max’s visions of Ayanna groaning with delight over his food suddenly morphed into something else entirely, his mind filling with images of the two of them entwined in his sheets, her soft moans parting those delectable lips as she called out his name when she came apart in his arms...
What the...?
Max stopped short, narrowly avoiding crashing into several other people walking towards him.
Thinking about sex with Ayanna made no sense. They barely knew each other. They had been thrown together because of the King’s case, that was all. Besides, he wasn’t looking for intimacy. Things were complicated enough in his life without opening himself up to that too. And, yes, he was a normal, straight guy. He dealt with his libido by sleeping only with women who understood the rules—no fuss, no muss, and certainly no emotions or strings attached. From the brief time he’d spent with Ayanna, she didn’t seem like the type of woman who had affairs or flings.
