About Last Night

His eyes gently inventoried her from top to bottom, and his voice flowed through her like hot coffee, thick with cream and sweetened just right. Get a grip, Mercy May! Irritated at her train of thought, she put her hands on her hips. “Cooking? Measuring? What are you talking about? I told your service everything. Didn’t they give you my whole message?”

“Guess not.”

“I have a leaking water pipe in my kitchen,” she reminded him. At his blank look, she tried again, “Water everywhere? Frankly, I’ve long since run out of towels. If you don’t get this fixed pronto, I’m afraid I’m going to have to donate my chenille bathrobe to the cause, Mister …” She paused delicately.

“Devereaux. Dr. Nick Devereaux.” He spoke the words softly, intimately, like a secret shared.

“Devereaux?”

Nick listened as Mercy experimentally rolled the name off her tongue and admitted that he’d wanted to hear her say it for the last two weeks. Even if she threw him out when she realized he wasn’t the plumber, at least he’d have the satisfaction of having heard his name on her lips. Perhaps if he pulled the Cajun charm out of mothballs, he wouldn’t have to worry about being thrown out. Truth be told, he had no intention of being sent on his way.

Not now. Not until he got to know Mercy Malone. She surprised him, made him curious about her. He expected a celebrity and found a wonderfully real woman with a leaky pipe. He hadn’t wanted to grab hold of anything in a long time. Now he did. Not her body, although God knew it was worth grabbing hold of. He wanted to hold on to the spark of interest she’d struck inside him.

“Doctor Devereaux?” she repeated, this time with the accent.

“N’Awlins, Lou’siana,” he answered in response to her unspoken question, blending the two words of the city’s name together. His accent had softened with years of practice, but he’d never managed a generic, white-bread pronunciation of either New Orleans or his name. “I’m sorry to disappoint, but if it isn’t flesh and blood, I don’t plumb it.”

Mercy’s lovely mouth dropped open and she asked, “Then why did they send you?”

Crossing his arms, he said, “They didn’t send me.”

“You’re not the plumber?”

“No, chère. I’m the doctor.”

“But I called for a plumber!” She rubbed her bare arms, which the shawl of damp hair had cooled. Better to believe that explanation than admit his earthy accent gave her goose bumps. “Don’t tell me the service got the messages mixed up.”

Nick fought a smile at the look on Mercy’s face. Even disconcerted, she looked sexy. He wondered if the plumbing situation unsettled her or if the energy he felt flowing between them jumped her train off the track. Either way he enjoyed watching her massage parts of her body as she tried to figure out a solution to her predicament.

“I’m here,” Nick pointed out, hoping to sidetrack her. “Maybe I could help?”

“What do you know about plumbing?”

“Only what I read in the papers,” Nick answered solemnly.

“Well, that’s more than me. The sum total of my knowledge is that the faucet goes on top, which is why I need a professional. No offense. Someone who can get the job done.”

Nick shrugged and leaned his shoulder against the wall. “Darlin’, I do have a reputation for getting the job done.”

Mercy pressed her lips together. Now, why did she believe him? Clearing her throat and with a raised eyebrow, she suggested, “Let’s start over, shall we? Who the heck are you?” She grinned at him as she said, “I know you’re not a doctor, ’cause doctors don’t make house calls anymore. Not even in a small town like Haunt, Kentucky. Especially to people who aren’t patients.”

Nick grinned back and, decided he liked Mercy Malone as much as he was attracted to her. Wet hair, long legs, barely dressed, and a sense of humor. What more could a man ask from a celebrity fund-raiser? Or a woman for that matter, Nick added, surprising himself as he realized that Mercy’s most attractive quality was her sense of humor. That’s why he instinctively responded to her. Listening to her made him feel good.

“I really am a doctor,” Nick said, and pushed away from the wall. “I recently joined the emergency-room staff at a hospital in Louisville.”

“Things must be slow if you’re roaming the countryside in search of emergencies,” she quipped.

Nick ignored the remark and dropped the other shoe. “You probably know the hospital. Mercy Hospital? I understand you were born there.”

Startled, she almost backed through the screen door. “How do you know that?”

“Sister Agatha still runs the hospital. She remembers you and your parents quite well. Even tracked down your address for me. Told me that when I saw you, I was to request—strongly—that you get your butt over for a visit.”

“Sister Aggie?” Mercy smiled, using the childhood name she’d called the nun. She lowered her head in contemplation, fondly remembering the no-nonsense woman. “I haven’t seen her since I was nineteen and having impure thoughts about one of the residents.” Suddenly Mercy’s head jerked up, and she took a couple of steps toward him. “Has she seen the show?”

Nick nodded once, but didn’t volunteer a word.

“What did she say?”