About Last Night

With a straight face, Nick tactfully edited Sister Agatha’s comment and merely said, “She thought perhaps now that your show is a success you could afford to buy more material for your costumes.”

Laughing, Mercy said, “Sister Aggie has either mellowed or you’re trying to spare my feelings. Which is it?”

Nick shifted uncomfortably and rubbed his chin. “Mellow is not exactly the word I’d use to describe Sister Agatha.”

“Not exactly the word? Why do I get the feeling you’ve given a lot of thought to the matter of describing her in one word?”

“It’s a habit of mine.”

Mercy put her hands on her hips and studied him for a minute. “What’s the definitive word for Sister Aggie?”

“Perceptive.”

“Agreed. What did she say about my show?”

“She said she was praying that you’d find a husband soon so you could stop advertising.”

“She said what!” Mercy’s body went rigid, her hands falling to her sides in small white-knuckled fists.

“She said—” Nick began helpfully.

“I know what she said!” Mercy eyed him suspiciously, opening and closing her hands in an obvious attempt to control her temper. “What the hell are you supposed to be? The answer to her prayers?”

“Actually, darlin’, I was kind of hoping you were the answer to mine.” Nick recognized the real truth in that statement.

“Of course.” Mercy nodded and stepped closer, folding her arms across her midriff. She checked for a wedding ring. He wasn’t wearing one, which led her to an interesting conclusion: Sister Agatha was matchmaking. “Dr. Devereaux, you are one smooth son of a gun, but you go right back and tell Sister Aggie I’m a damn sight smarter now than I was at nineteen. I can spot a heartbreaker fifty yards away.”

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sp; “Ah no, I’m a doctor, chère,” Nick argued gently, remembering Sister Agatha’s insistence that he make the trip instead of phoning. “I don’t break hearts. I mend ’em.”

“But my heart doesn’t need mending. By you or anyone else,” she told him with a toss of her head, giving him a taste of the provocative Midnight Mercy. “Sister Agatha should realize that. Don’t you two ever watch television? Mercy Malone is in the business of breaking hearts, not the other way round.”

“Now, that I believe, but it doesn’t scare me off.”

“My breaking your heart doesn’t scare you?”

“No, being the first man to break yours doesn’t scare me,” he deadpanned. For a second he saw surprise flare in her eyes and knew, however unintentionally, he’d scored a direct hit. Mercy Malone was off balance, and she wasn’t used to being off balance. Nick decided he liked her that way.

Mercy felt as though the gauntlet had just been flung, that her honor was at stake. She wanted to wipe that smug, sexy, irritating smile off the doctor’s face. Doctor! That certainly explained a lot about his attitude. She had grown up with surgeons for parents and knew exactly how futile it was to argue with doctors who thought they were right. But that never stopped her from trying.

“I’m twenty-nine years old, Dr. Devereaux. Trust me,” she said in a confidential tone. “I’ve had plenty of opportunities for broken hearts.”

“Aw, darlin’,” Nick said with a shake of his head. “But how many of those … opportunities did you take advantage of?”

Irrationally, Mercy wanted Devereaux to leave so she wouldn’t have to answer the incriminating question, and she wanted him to stay until she found out exactly what Sister Agatha had told him! Never before had anyone questioned Midnight Mercy’s experience, even in jest. Usually people tended to mix up her television persona with her private self. As she studied him Mercy drew attention to her bottom lip with one long red fingernail.

“You’re so sure that I’ve never suffered a broken heart,” she mused, infusing her voice with the same teasing sexuality she used on television. “Is that a professional diagnosis, Doctor?”

“Oh no. I haven’t asked the question.”

“What question?”

“A simple one. Who broke your heart?”

Nonplussed, Mercy floundered for a snappy reply, and then just tried to figure out something he’d believe.

As the silence stretched, Nick briefly considered letting the subject drop, but only briefly. The sexy, confident Mercy Malone he’d seen on television seemed perfectly capable of telling him to go to hell, and she hadn’t. So he didn’t back off. “What’sa matter, chère? Don’t remember the details?”