âWe donât do well together, do we?â
They should, because they had. But this time it was so different. Her stomach was in knots all the time now, over the prospect of a chance encounter in the hall, or a spur-of-the-moment meeting in the therapy room.
âIâm sorry about that too, Dante. Itâs my fault. Youâre my patient, and as your physician I should be doing better by you, butâ¦â
âThen youâre fired,â he said, his voice totally void of emotion. In spite of his flat words, his eyes sparkled. That dark glint gave him away. Always had.
âJust why would you do that now?â she asked.
âBecause itâs not professional.â He moved forward, causing her to step back enough so that her back was pressed firmly to the door.
âWhatâs not professional? My treating you now, with the relationship weâve had in the past? Because thatâs what Iâve been saying all along, andâ¦â
âWhatâs not professional is what Iâm about to do, Catherine. Unless you open that door and run away, whatâs going to happen between us should never happen between doctor and patientâ¦â
Now that her children have left home, Dianne Drake is finally finding the time to do some of the things she adoresâgardening, cooking, reading, shopping for antiques. Her absolute passion in life, however, is adopting abandoned and abused animals. Right now Dianne and her husband Joel have a little menagerie of three dogs and two cats, but thatâs always subject to change. A former symphony orchestra member, Dianne now attends the symphony as a spectator several times a month and, when time permits, takes in an occasional football, basketball or hockey game.
Recent titles by the same author:
A FAMILY FOR THE CHILDRENâS DOCTOR
THEIR VERY SPECIAL CHILD THE RESCUE DOCTORâS BABY MIRACLE A CHILD TO CARE FOR EMERGENCY IN ALASKA
CHAPTER ONE
CATHERINE stared at the admission slip, not sure what to do. Or say. A new patient was routine. But one with the name Dante Baldassare was not and, right now, her heart was doing more than skipping a beat or two. Of all the places in the world where he could have gone, why here? Did he know this is where she was working? Was he coming here to torment her, to remind her of things best left forgotten?
Sheâd read that heâd been injured several weeks ago. But hadnât he gone to the clinic in London? Thatâs what the newspaper had said. Theyâd flown him there for his rehabilitation after his surgery. So how had he ended up here, in Bern, Switzerland? How had he ended up in the clinic where she was medical director?
Catherine took another look at the admission slip, in case her eyes were playing tricks on her. Dante Baldassare. There it was, his name scrawled on the papers. After all these years, she still recognized the signature. Dante Baldassareâa new admission by Dr Max Aeberhard. Even though Max was no longer administrator of the medical side of operations here, as owner of the clinic he did still have the right to approve admissions. According to what she was seeing, this was a rush admission. Max had been on call, she had not. His decision, and she wasnât going to question it. After all, Max didnât know their history.
But her decision, had she been the one on call, would have been to send Dante somewhere else.
There was no changing what was already done, though. Unfortunately. Dante was already here and in the process of being checked in as a patient. Sheâd have to have an awfully good reason to send him somewhere else and a love affair gone bad wasnât good enough.
Catherine slumped down in her chair, trying to blot out the image of Dante already trying to creep into her deepest thoughts, the place to which he no longer had a right to be. Sheâd seen his photo in magazines or newspapers several times over the past five years, so she knew what he looked like. Better now than then, if that were possible. Rugged, chiseled, darkly Italian-handsome and, according to the photos, improving with age.
That was one thing sheâd never deny about Danteâhe had the good looks that made female knees go wobbly and turned the heads of both genders. That day in the hospital at their first meeting, when heâd come to her for a consultation on one of his patients, it had taken her heart a full two minutes to calm down, had taken the rush of blood to her face just as long to become normal, before sheâd even got down to medical business with him. Then sheâd slept with him that night and every night theyâd had the chance after that for the next six months. Thenâ¦well, she didnât want to think about that now. Not when she should be figuring out a way to avoid the man who was, at this very moment, settling into the Geneva Suite. The reasonârehab after a second repair to a shattered ankle.
A second repair? Had something gone wrong with the first? The medical side of her took over for a moment. She hadnât read anything about that in the newspapers, hadnât heard a word on any of the sports reports she tried so hard not to listen to. So, what was going on?