Barbara McMahon - Starting with a Kiss

“A friend of yours, Greg?” the other woman asked.

“Dr. Abby Trent, meet my sister, Pam Schuler.”

“Ah, how do you do, Dr. Trent?” Pam smiled, glancing at her brother.

Abby knew he’d said something to his sister about her and wished she could just spin around and dash away. But that would be bad manners and she already had enough on her plate with Dr. Hastings.

“You have a lovely place,” Abby said, trying to ignore the butterflies in her stomach. Why wouldn’t the man just leave?

“Thank you. Anything special in mind?” Pam asked genially.

“No. Just browsing.”

“Get her a few things for evening and all. And something for the ball, don’t forget,” Greg said irrepressibly.

“I can choose my own clothes, Dr. Hastings!”

“Mmm.” His gaze roamed over her from the open neck of her blouse to the tip of her toes.

Abby raised her chin and turned away. “I think I’ll come back another time.”

“No, don’t go,” Pam said. Turning to her brother, she frowned at him. “Thanks for breakfast. Now if you don’t want to ruin my business, take yourself away!”

“I’m not ruining anything.”

“Go!”

“Maybe Dr. Trent would like me to stay.”

Abby met his dancing eyes. “I don’t care what you do, I have other errands.” She turned as if to head for the door, feeling as foolish as a ten-year-old caught out spying on her older sister.

“Greg!” Pam said sharply.

“Okay, I’m going. This is the thanks I get for treating you to breakfast?”

“Next time you can drop me at the door. Goodbye!” Pam said, glaring at him.

“Dr. Trent, don’t let Greg’s teasing drive you away. I’d love for you to look around and see if there’s anything you might like.”

Pausing, Abby met Greg’s gaze, noticing the deep brown of his eyes. They seemed richer, deeper—interested. In her? No one had been really interested in her since high school. Or if they had been, she’d shut them out.

Yet just a single look from Greg Hastings and she felt flushed with femininity; she felt sexy, almost desirable. She wanted to fuss with her hair, check that her lipstick was still bright, ask if he would help her pick out a dress. Something like what that mannequin wore.

He was still talking with his sister and Abby watched him, unable to look away. Just because his hair looked as if she should brush it back from his forehead was no reason for her fingers to tingle with yearning. Just because his dark eyes gleamed when they glanced at her was no reason to want to have him stay when she really wanted him gone. Just because his lower lip was slightly fuller than his top lip was no reason for her own to tremble and long to feel that sensuous mouth move against her own. So why did her gaze keep dropping to his lips? Why did she wonder what he would taste like?

She’d told herself to stop all fantasies about Greg Hastings. They were medical colleagues—nothing more!

When he looked at her, she blinked. She saw Pam looking at her expectantly. Had he said something she’d missed? Had she been caught examining him? Catching herself in the spell of his presence, she tried to ignore the sensations flooding her body. He radiated raw sex appeal. For the first time in her life Abby felt—almost alluring.

“What?”

“I told Pam I thought you were after a new look. I suspect you’re tired of the reliable-doctor look in your free time,” he said, daring her to contradict him.

She ignored him and nodded at Pam. “He’s right, much as I hate to admit it. I would like a change.”

“Something to help her attract the opposite sex,” Greg added suggestively. The thought of transforming the quiet Dr. Trent into a femme fatale piqued his interest. And offered tantalizing possibilities. Maybe Rose’s suggestion hadn’t been so outlandish after all.

Glaring at him, Abby said, “Don’t you have to leave? I thought your sister told you to go.”

He almost laughed. “When you get to know me better, Abigail, you’ll know I rarely do what I’m told unless I want to.”

“I have no doubt about that,” she mumbled.

Trying to defuse the growing tension, Pam walked over to one of the display racks and pulled out a lovely cinnamon-colored dress. “How about something like this for evening. It’ll wear all day and still look fresh at night.”

“You ought to ask Rose for pointers on the dating scene. From what she tells me, she dates a different man every week,” Greg added, leaning casually against a mirror, watching Abby’s every move. If his sister really wanted him gone, he’d leave. But for now it was interesting to watch Abby’s reactions.

“I don’t need to talk to your secretary. I’ll get my own experience, thank you.” She regretted ever agreeing to Dr. Taylor’s suggestion concerning an escort.

“I can just imagine the experience you’ll get dating a lot of different men in San Francisco,” he said dryly.

Abby raised her head. She wasn’t planning to sleep with every man who took her out. But she didn’t have to tell him that. She already regretted being so open with him, and coming to the boutique. She should have followed her first instincts and tossed the business card into the trash.

She’d made a mistake coming in the first place, and in staying so long.

“Greg, either help or get out,” Pam said in frustration. “I have enough worries without you running off my clientele.”

“Okay, I’ll help,” Greg said suddenly, amusement and something else in his expression.

“You will?” Pam asked. “That would be great. Exactly what kind of help are you talking about?”

“I’ll help change our delectable Dr. Trent into the femme fatale she yearns to be.” His gaze remained on Abby.

“Why ever would you do such a thing?” Abby asked, ignoring the sarcasm. She didn’t need to be a femme fatale, just change enough that Jeb regretted destroying their friendship for the blond bombshell.

And maybe find her own date for the ball.

“So I’m not enlisted for escort duty at the last moment?” he asked whimsically.

Abby regarded him warily. “This may be a joke to you, but not to me.”

Immediately his amusement fled. For a moment the cold, arrogant surgeon appeared. “I assure you I won’t treat it as a joke. If you want some pointers, I’ll give them to you. If not, say so and I’ll leave just as Pam keeps trying to get me to do.”

“What kind of pointers?” Suspicion grew as Abby tried to analyze why he’d make such an offer. It couldn’t be because he didn’t want to take her to the ball. All he had to do was say no.

He shrugged. “Whatever you don’t know and want to about men.”

“Well, that would fill a bookshelf!” Abby had never understood men.

“Are you serious, Greg?” Pam asked.

“We could try it and see. You game, Dr. Trent?”

Abby tried to see the pitfalls of such a crazy scheme. Greg already knew she didn’t date, so there was no hiding that. She was committed to attending the conference and ball, her appointment to the committee had insured that. Could he help her? Or was it all some elaborate joke on his part?

Not that she’d ever heard Dr. Hastings was one for jokes. He was too cool, too reserved, too much a loner to go in for frivolity.

Which made his offer even more bizarre.

“I guess I could use some pointers,” she said hesitantly.

His eyes stared into hers, holding her full attention. “The help would also include not only Pam, but my sister Elise, who is a very successful fashion model. Among the three of us we can give you everything you’d ever want.”

His words sent a shiver up her spine. She didn’t feel threatened, exactly, despite the aura of power that seemed to surge to the forefront. But she couldn’t help imagining him wreaking havoc in her nice, orderly life.

Feeling awkward, Abby tried to think up something clever to say, but remained as tongue-tied as a young girl. “I appreciate your willingness to help me,” she said formally. “But a few pointers would be all I’d need.” Smiling at Pam, she added, “And some new clothes, maybe.”

“Clothes will help, but you don’t need much. You’re a pretty woman, Doctor,” Greg said bluntly.

Greg pushed away from the wall and stepped closer, his fingers brushing her hair.

“As for suggestions, I’ve got one right off the bat. Take this tawny-blond hair and lighten it up some with streaks of white blond, get it styled a little and you’ll be a knockout. Your eyes are an unusual color, one moment almost green, another moment blue. With the proper clothes, you can make them your most compelling feature. Knock men off their feet. Especially if you flash them the smile that peeks out every once in a while.”

You’re a pretty woman. The last man to tell her that had been her father on her sixteenth birthday. And Terry a couple of times. But did she dare trust the words? Didn’t men say one thing and mean something else entirely?

Abby felt the heat from Greg’s body envelop hers. She took a breath, and his scent filled her nostrils, spicy and male. She licked dry lips and kept her gaze firmly on his, ignoring the overwhelming desire to step back and gain some distance, some perspective. He was so aggressively male!

Her thoughts whirling, she wondered if she was crazy to let herself even consider following through now that he had agreed.

As if he could read her mind, he leaned closer and cupped her chin in his hand, the warmth stealing into her skin, sweeping through her entire body. Mesmerized by the liquid heat in his eyes, she gazed up at him.

“Don’t back out now, Abigail. We’ll fix you up so good you’ll have to beat the men off with a stick.” Lightly his thumb grazed her lower lip.

The tingling awareness that swept through her from head to toes felt like a small electric shock. Her eyes locked with his and the boutique and his sister seemed to fade, disappearing into a gray mist. There were only the two of them, alone in the world, his breath against her cheeks and the odd, sensuous awareness that seemed to fill every pore.

She’d been dealing with men for years, first the cowboys on her dad’s small ranch, then aspiring doctors, interns, residents and established physicians. But she’d never experienced such a strong physical reaction to any of them.

She had not expected him to touch her. Nor had she expected the flaring sensations that consumed her. What had she gotten herself into?

“Then let’s start with the clothes,” Pam said.

Abby blinked and seemed to come out of a trance. She stepped away. How could she have been so mesmerized by the man? He and she didn’t have a thing in common. Where was this physical awareness coming from?

“I really just came to look,” Abby said, doing her best to ignore Greg, to ignore the clamoring of her senses for more of his touch, more of his attention. Remember his normal manner, she admonished herself. Today was the aberration. Usually he didn’t know she existed.

Still not certain of his motives, she would wait and see how things unfolded. She was not trusting the man—not completely. But then, she didn’t trust any man completely anymore. Not after her experience with Terry, and Jeb.

By the time Abby returned home, she was excited about the clothes Pam had helped her choose. She had tried on dozens of dresses, skirts and blouses and casual wear. When they found the classical style that she liked, and suited her figure, Pam had brought several dresses into the dressing room that fit like a glove and enhanced the color of her eyes—just as Greg had predicted.