The satisfying feeling of helping to ease another’s suffering led him to medical school. But he made the mistake of following in his father’s footsteps. He was successful. In fact, he had even pioneered a revolutionary new rhinoplasty technique called the Gregory method that made him a multimillionaire by the time he was thirty.
But it wasn’t enough. Despite his historic achievements, he had the nagging sensation that something was missing from his life. Something very important.
His strong desire to help others in need, to do something more useful and satisfying than rearrange some starlet’s already perfect nose, led him to complete a second residency in pediatrics.
It had been the right choice, and he thought that he had put his celebrated past behind him. The kids knew him simply as Doctor Gage, the man who brought them little gifts and read them stories and told them jokes.
And that’s the way he liked it. He reveled in obscurity.
Then, not two months ago, while walking on the beach close to his parents’ home, he had seen a young boy floundering in the surf in distress. Without a second thought, he’d leaped into the powerful tide and pulled him ashore.
Unfortunately for Gage, the young man had been the son of a United States senator.
The media had been mad for the story, dubbing him Doctor Hero. His picture had appeared on the front of countless publications, and they had trotted all his past accomplishments out for public consumption. He’d received an invitation to the White House and had even met the president. Strange women showed up on his doorstep wanting to marry him. The paparazzi followed him around as if he were an A-list celebrity.
What an embarrassment.
The crazy, overblown hype underscored his decision to leave California at the end of his residency and accept Dr. Jackson’s job offer. He needed to remember that he’d come to Houston for a fresh start.
A fresh start that did not include trying to help his beautiful office mate when she so did not want his help.
Face it, Gregory, you overstepped your boundaries. Apologize to her. You can go to Saturday dinner with her mother to keep from being rude, but after that, butt out of Janet’s life for good. Got it?
“I want you to break off this ridiculous engagement in front of my mother,” Janet outlined her plan. “Pick a fight with me, tell her you’re gay, tell her you’re already married. Anything, just do something.”
They were in his 1965 fully restored ice-blue Mustang convertible with the top up—Janet’s request, although he would have loved to have seen her windblown and tousled—on the way to Gracie’s house for Saturday afternoon dinner. She dressed in a cream-colored business suit with a red silk blouse and sensible beige flats.
Cruising to a stop at a traffic signal, he glanced over at her, wondering what kind of lingerie she had on beneath that oh-so-proper attire.
Red satin thong? A purple silk teddy? Black lace garters?
He imagined those mile-long legs wrapped around his waist. He visualized her firm, high breasts encased in a sheer bra. He fantasized she wore belly jewelry. Maybe a braided gold chain that showed off her fabulous waist.
“Did you hear me?”
“Huh?”
“You have this sappy, glazed expression on your face. What were you thinking about?”
“Uh... nothing.”
“Men.” She shook her head.
He was teasing himself with impossible daydreams. She probably had on high-waisted white cotton underpants and one of those Gestapo-style under wire bras. And belly jewelry? As his second cousin Nick, the nightclub owner from Jersey, would say, Fuggediboutit.
“I want you to break up with me in front of my mother,” she repeated.
“I heard you.”
“So why didn’t you say something?”
Duh, because I was busy envisioning you naked, you repressed sex goddess, you. Geez, how I’d love to unrepress you.
He shrugged. “I dunno. Maybe because I’m not crazy about being the bad guy. Why don’t you break up with me?”
“Much as that would please me, I can’t. If I break it off with you, my mother will think I’m just being difficult. According to Nadine, I’m refusing to see the treasure that’s right under my own nose. That’s why I have to keep wearing this stupid pin to please Gracie.” She fingered the Saint Jude pin on her lapel. “To remind me that I’m not a lost cause.”
“Maybe you are.” He winked.
“What, a lost cause?” Her voice rose slightly.
“No, no.” Gage shook his head. The light turned green and he zoomed on down the road. “Maybe you’re refusing to see the treasure right underneath your nose.”
“Meaning you?”
He shrugged. “All I’m saying is that maybe if you weren’t so picky, you might find someone to love.”
“Picky? I’m not picky. What do you mean picky?”
“Pul-lease, you’ve got an emotional barrier thick as an underground bunker surrounding you.”
“I do not.” She paused and moistened her lips. “Do I?”
“You erected the damn wall, you tell me.”
That gave her pause.
“Okay,” she admitted after a moment. Did he really see her as emotionally closed off and inaccessible? The thought stung. Was he right? Was she afraid to trust her feelings? “Maybe I do keep my emotions in reserve, but it’s because I don’t believe in romantic love.”
“You don’t?”
“No. Do you?”
“Sure.”
His confession surprised her. She had pegged him for the kind of guy who flitted happily from one woman to another, not someone’s Prince Charming in the making.
“Romantic love is such a load of hooey. Pure fairy-tale hogwash. You find someone you’re compatible with, someone that shares your common interests and goals. Then, when you’re both ready, you get married. That’s all there is to it.”
“You’re so clinical about the whole thing. What about romance? What about getting swept off your feet? What about feeling your heart
