Hollywood Temptation

Most of the time his operating room was filled with minor celebrities or trophy wives. Selena didn’t appear to be either of these.

He usually liked brunettes. And she might not have the model-girl looks he was used to, but she was cute—in a sort of damsel-in-distress kind of way. He liked it. He’d always fancied himself as knight in shining armor.

He nodded again, trying to hide his amusement as her skirt was creeping upward on her thigh every time she moved. “I’ll get one of the nurses to come and clean the wound for you. We need to make sure there’s no possibility of infection.”

Her face paled. “Infection? In my forehead?”

“You said that you fell over. Floors or sidewalks are generally teeming with germs. We need to make sure there’s no debris inside.”

“No. It’s okay. It was my shoe—my Christian Louboutin. And it’s never been worn—so there’s no chance of germs.”

It had to be the most original reason for a head injury he’d ever heard. “You fell onto your own shoe?”

He could see her frantically deciding what to say next. She even looked up to the left—a clear sign of searching the creative side of her brain for a suitable lie.

She sighed and sagged back against the pillows.

“No. I didn’t fall onto it.” She scowled at him, obviously deciding a lie was too much hard work. “Mark hit me with it.”

“Mark?” His chest tightened. So this was a domestic-abuse case after all. He couldn’t stand the thought of a man hitting a woman. What a pathetic coward.

She blew out a long breath between her pink lips. “Yeah, he was throwing my things out of his apartment. My shoe hit me on the head.”

The phone rang outside again. He halted from what he’d been about to say about calling the cops. “Did he mean to hit you? Was it deliberate?”

“What?” She frowned. “No. Mark probably couldn’t have aimed that well if he’d tried. It was totally random.” She moved the ice pack on her forehead. “So, can you stitch this? Will I have a scar?”

The tight feeling across his chest settled. This was sounding more like a comedy than a crime.

He smiled at her. She might be a Scot, but she sounded like a typical LA woman. “I can’t stitch your head while it’s so swollen. Once one of the nurses has cleaned it, we’ll keep the ice in place for a few hours and stitch it then.” He was moving into autopilot, giving her the obligatory talk. He reached for one of the clinic brochures and handed it to her. “You can rest downstairs in our spa area. You’ll be more than comfortable. You’ll also be able to look at the rest of the services we offer.”

“Will I need to stay overnight?” She clenched the leaflet between her fingers.

“What? No. A few hours will be long enough. Are you in a rush? Do you have an appointment to get to?”

This was the story of Colt’s life. Fitting his plastic surgery into the convenience of everybody’s schedules, in between her yoga, dietetic, the gym, and counselor appointments.

But she shook her head. “No. I’ve got nowhere to go. There’s no appointment.” She bit her lip.

He felt a little surge of pleasure. She might be amusing to have around for a few hours. He didn’t have any surgeries scheduled for today, just some clinic appointments. Her head could easily be stitched later.

“Is someone going to answer that phone? It’s giving me a headache.”

“What?” He’d been distracted—by her legs. Her shapely, tanned smooth-skinned legs. “Oh, the phone. Don’t worry about it. And that won’t be giving you the headache. That’ll be your heel. I’ll write you up for some painkillers while we wait for the swelling to go down.”

He opened a drawer and pulled out a prescription chart and instruction sheet for the nurse. Normally this type of stuff was done before he saw a patient. He lifted his pen and then stopped. His pen was poised above the page. “Your name, you haven’t told me your name.”

She tilted her head to one side, looked at him with her big green eyes, and extended her slim hand. “Selena Harris. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Her warm hand fitted easily inside his palm. He grinned. “I can assure you, Selena, the pleasure is all mine.”

Chapter Two

“Yaaooowww!”

The nurse smiled. “Please hold still, Ms. Harris. This will only take a minute.”

Hold still? Sheesh. What Selena really wanted to do was to tell the nurse to leave her alone—not to touch the baseball-sized lump on her head. But Colt’s words about infection had terrified her. She tried to be calm as the nurse swept another swab across her forehead. Relaxing didn’t come naturally, so she went for the first thing that distracted her. “What’s the problem with your phones? Doesn’t anyone answer them around here?”

The nurse dropped the waste into the disposal bag attached to the dressing tray and gave a huge sigh. “The calls have been transferred down to the spa since the receptionist upstairs was fired. I don’t think any of us realized how much it actually rings. It hasn’t stopped all day.”

“And it was Dr. Travers who fired her?” She was guessing, but from the guilty look on his face earlier this had something to do with him.

The nurse raised her eyebrow. “Yes, it was Colt.” The ice pack was pressed back on her head. “Keep that in place. The swelling’s actually gone down a little already. Another few hours, and we’ll be able to stitch it.”

“This place is beautiful.” Selena’s gaze was fixed on the Pacific Ocean outside.

The clinic was set high enough to show the sweeping expanse of bright blue ocean with the thinnest strip of sand below. A few white yachts were bobbing up and down with the rhythmic rise and fall of the waves.

“It is, isn’t it?” The nurse started clearing away the waste. “I never get tired of looking at the view. And what’s more, the hours are good and the pay’s good, too.”

“Really?” Selena’s ears had picked up automatically. Too bad she wasn’t a nurse. She could do with some money. She picked up the brochure Colt had handed her. “What type of work do you do here?”

LA was full of clinics. Some specialized in liposuction or boob jobs. Some in face lifts. Some in Botox. There had been a few clinics along the Pacific Highway, the first couple she’d dismissed as looking a bit rundown. This one had just oozed class. More importantly, her ice had melted and her head was still swelling—she had to find somewhere, fast.

The brochure was as she’d expected. All glossy, with lots of shiny, happy people plastered across the pages—one of whom was Colt Travers, looking particularly sexy in a pair of scrubs.

“I think the question is, what do you want? We do everything here.”

Something looked familiar. Seacliffe Cosmetic Surgery—she had heard the name before. Of course. It had hit the headlines last month. Some gossip about celebrities.

Truth be told, when she’d been driving up the highway she’d passed a few other clinics she hadn’t liked the look of. This one was impressive. Set back from the road with an array of beautiful buildings all looking out over the ocean.

When she’d entered the pristine reception area she’d almost turned around and ran back out—scared of dripping blood on the cream travertine floor. This area was much more relaxed, with its brighter-colored furnishings and comfortable looking chaise lounges.

“Can I get you something to eat while you w

ait? Here’s our menu.” The nurse had finished clearing the dressing tray and was heading out the door with it. “If there’s nothing you like, I can send the chef to speak to you.”

Wow. Selena tried her best not to let her mouth hang open. The menu was as thick as a book; who couldn’t find what they wanted in there? And she was hungry. Her last latte must have been a lifetime ago. Could she even afford one here?

A world of choices and her mind went blank. Poof.

The nurse sensed her hesitation. It was almost as if she could read her mind. “It’s all complimentary for patients.”

Perfect. She said the first thing that came into her head. “Can I have a peanut-butter sandwich and a diet soda?”

The nurse’s amused expression spread across her face. “I’ve waited ten years to hear someone say those words. Of course you can, honey.”

She disappeared out of the door.

Selena felt about five years old. It was what she always ate when she came to see her father. It was automatically the first thing she looked for when she set foot on American soil. Yeah, she could buy peanut butter back home in Scotland, but it didn’t taste the same.

Two hours later, she was peanut buttered out. She’d had two giant sandwiches and a never-ending supply of diet sodas. Someone had come in and given her a pedicure while she was waiting. They would have given her a massage but didn’t want to change her position while she was waiting to get her head stitched. They really did know how to look after a girl here.

She’d watched the view. Had a look around the pool and Jacuzzi area. Pressed her nose against the window and looked at the luxury lodges. There was a small restaurant and bar. A range of treatment rooms. It really was the lap of luxury, and she felt like an imposter particularly in her stained shirt.

Wouldn’t it be perfect if she could just stay here?

She flicked through a hundred cable channels and closed her eyes for a second when she felt a tap on her shoulder.