Quinn took a step with her in his arms, turning her so the fridge was humming at her back when he let her go.

He didn’t go far, though, and kept his arms braced on either side of her. She looked up at him, and the expression on his face was so much better. Relaxed. Open. Happy.

I’m good for him.

That couldn’t be right. They had chemistry, but they weren’t a match, not for the long run.

She shouldn’t have kissed him again. She shouldn’t have let herself have another moment of pretending she belonged to him, of believing they had all the time in the world, when really, their time was up. She’d stolen a weekend with a man who wasn’t meant for her, and now she had to pay for that theft.

* * *

The Doctors MacDowell: Doctors who have never taken time for love—until now!

The Bachelor Doctor’s Bride

Caro Carson

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Despite a no-nonsense background as a West Point graduate and US Army officer, CARO CARSON has always treasured the happily-ever-after of a good romance novel. After reading romances no matter where in the world the army sent her, Caro began a career in the pharmaceutical industry. Little did she know the years she spent discussing science with physicians would provide excellent story material for her new career as a romance author. Now, Caro is delighted to be living her own happily-ever-after with her husband and two children in the great state of Florida, a location which has saved the coaster-loving, theme-park fanatic a fortune on plane tickets.

For Katie and William, the two brightest lights in my life.

Acknowledgements

With many thanks to my family, who are getting very good at ignoring me when my headphones are in and I’m typing madly in my own little world.

And with gratitude for Kay Clark’s quick reading and sharp eye, for T. Elliott Brown’s savvy critiques, and for Catherine Kean, who casually stirred her tea one day and said two magical words that made my story fall into place: sock puppets.

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Epilogue

Extract

Chapter One

A black-tie gala on a summer night ought to be the perfect setting for happiness. Glamour, romance, excitement—everything Diana Connor thought a person’s life should have. So far, she was having a ball at this particular ball.

Downtown Austin’s historic hotel, the Driskill, had pulled out all the stops, making the most out of its Victorian gilding by adding a crystal candelabra to the center of every table. Each one added prisms of real candlelight to the night. Diana couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen real flames reflected through real crystal. Parties usually got their sparkle from plastic sequins and tiny LED lights—not that there was anything wrong with that. Diana enjoyed festive settings of any kind, but there was something extra special about tonight’s real flames. Their movement echoed the dancing of the human glitterati on the dance floor.

The gala had attracted everyone who was anyone in central Texas, and the ballroom, the smaller parlor rooms, and the grand mezzanine were all part of the flow as everyone made their rounds, dancing and dining, seeing and being seen. All this glittering happiness benefited West Central Texas Hospital’s new pediatric research project, making the evening a perfectly delightful way to raise money for a good cause.

Diana’s boss hadn’t thought so. The single thousand-dollar ticket he’d bought was the minimum he could donate to make his real estate company look marginally philanthropic. One after another, the top agents at the office had declined the use of the lone ticket to the hospital gala. When the ticket had made its way down to Diana, the ninth-best agent out of ten, she’d jumped at the chance to use it. Being solo was no problem; parties were meant for making new friends.

Her boss had given her gruff instructions with the ticket: Give your business card to every doctor you meet, and tell them you sold that house to the MacDowells. Diana had nodded politely, but she didn’t waste precious space in her adorably tiny purse on business cards. If Lana and Braden MacDowell wanted to pass her name on to their friends, they would.

As it turned out, the MacDowells were here tonight—hardly a surprise, since they were both doctors at West Central. The surprise was that Diana knew them at all. Fate must have played a role when she’d first met Lana at a flower shop. Diana had spotted Lana, an eye-catching woman with jet-black hair, looking as harried as only a physician moving to Austin from out of state while starting a new job and planning a wedding could look.

Pretty darn harried.

Diana had offered to give Lana a second opinion on the bridal bouquets that seemed to be overwhelming her. When Lana had asked her if she knew a good DJ, too, Diana had been able to help, since dancing was her favorite thing to do on a Friday night. Lana had laughingly asked her if she could magically produce a dream home for her. Diana had been carrying her business cards that day. Fate was a wonderful thing.

Amazingly enough, helping a woman choose wedding flowers gave a person a good idea of what she might like in a house. Diana had found Lana and her husband their perfect home.

The MacDowells danced under the permanently blue sky painted on the ballroom’s domed ceiling, a light and smiling couple in love. Later tonight, country-Western stars were going to entertain this high-paying crowd, but for now, the big band orchestra seemed like the right music for the MacDowells, a perfect match for them.

All around the chandeliered space, Diana saw good things. Laughing faces, liveliness, shimmer and shine. Everyone looked happy and satisfied. Everyone except...

Her gaze was drawn again to the one man who seemed utterly still in a room full of motion. His matte black tux drew the light in and kept it. He was supposed to reflect the light, didn’t he know?

Champagne sips provided some discreet cover as Diana kept an eye on him, waiting for his date or his wife to return. The song ended, the dance floor cleared, and still, he brooded alone, sitting at an empty table near the dance floor while everyone else was mingling.

Diana frowned into her bubbly. She didn’t like to see this man so unhappy. Then again, she didn’t like to see anyone unhappy, and she was pretty good at cheering people up, so she and her champagne headed over.

It’s going to be like cheering up James Bond.

Not a hardship, really. Handsome man in a tux?

I choose to accept this mission.

While she was grinning at her own silly thought, James Bond cut his gaze to her. Just, bam. One second he’d been brooding at the dance floor, the next, she’d been caught in a green-eyed, intense stare.

Oh, my.

She hadn’t expected such sea-green eyes from a man with such richly brown hair. Handsome? Holy cow, handsome.

Those sea-green eyes stayed on her, but otherwise, the man didn’t move a muscle. Handsome as all get-out, yes, but not happy at a happy party. She had a job to do.

“Hi,” she said, while she was still a few feet away. The faintest lift of his brow revealed his surprise that she was headed for him. “Thanks for saving me a seat.”

She gave the hem of her bright green dress a tug to be sure it wouldn’t ride up and expose her derriere, then sat in the chair next to his. The dress was a little too short, but she’d fallen in love with its layers of fringe. Even when she moved only the tiniest bit, the fringe looked like she was dancing. Still, she was showing a lot more skin than usual. In an effort to look less like a ’60s go-go girl and more like a flapper from the ’20s, Diana had twisted her brownish—well, mostly red—hair into something resembling a short bob, secured with a jeweled brooch on the side. That had been another great reason to use her stingy boss’s single ticket: the chance to play dress-up.

Oh, yes, it was a great ball. Time for James Bond to enjoy it, too.

First things first. She angled her chair toward his with a little scoot. She stuck her hand practically into his torso, so he had little choice but to shake it. “My name is Diana.”

“Quinn,” he said, then released her hand. His voice was somber. The poor man was serious from the inside out.

He glanced away from her, but she kept her gaze on him and saw muscles bunch a little as he clenched his jaw, quite a tense reaction to something. She followed his gaze. He was unhappy about...Lana MacDowell.

Uh-oh.

“I’m sorry to tell you,” Diana said, “but she’s married. Happily.”

“Pardon?”

He said it like a cowboy, with just a touch of Texas twang, but the way he looked at her was purely upper-class offended dignity. He wore polished black cowboy boots with his tuxedo, as did probably half the men at this Austin ball, but he had “exclusive club” written all over him. Ivy League education, for certain.

Diana had to raise her voice as the music resumed. Who’d have guessed that a dozen people making up an orchestra could be as loud as any DJ with massive speakers? “She’s married. Don’t give her another thought.”

“I wasn’t,” he said, without taking his eyes off Lana.

“Sure, you weren’t.”

Mr. Bond brooded on.

Diana sighed and sipped her champagne. “I hate to dash anyone’s hopes, but that’s one marriage that is going to last.”

That got his attention. Those sea-green eyes looked directly at her again. Better at her than a married woman, she supposed.

“How do you know?” he asked.

“Lana and I are friends.” For some reason, she added, “And business associates.”

Business associates? It sounded like she was trying to say she was as accomplished as Dr. Lana MacDowell, but Diana was most definitely not med school material. Not Ivy League. Not even community college. Why did she want James Bond to think she was?

She wasn’t his type. It was a simple fact. She could tell, at a glance, that this man would squarely put her in the buddy category. Maybe little sister—annoying little sister.

I’m not annoying, I’m friendly. Her heart was in the right place, so she wasn’t worried if his initial impression was “annoying.” She was going to be his buddy before the party was over, the gal pal who encouraged a guy to get out there and live. It was a role she fell into all the time. People liked her that way.

The poor man continued glowering as he watched Braden and Lana dance. “You’re being a little too obvious,” she said. “What is your name again?”

“Quinn.” From his tone, she guessed he didn’t like having to repeat himself.

Diana snapped her fingers. “Now I know who you are. I saw you on the hospital’s bachelor calendar, didn’t I?” She laughed out loud. “I didn’t recognize you tonight with your clothes on.”

“What?” He sounded baffled—or annoyed. Baffled was nicer, so she went with baffled.

“It’s a joke. I’ve only seen you in your doctor duds, the green scrubs. Didn’t recognize you tonight with your real clothes on, get it?”

He didn’t laugh, just sent a faint, polite smile in the direction of the dance floor. He probably preferred to get his humor from The New Yorker. Intellectual humor, not party joke humor.

Well, she was here to change all that. “Look, I’m good at matchmaking, so let’s find someone else for you to think about. We need to salvage your evening.”

That green gaze returned to her. “Do we? I wasn’t aware I was so dangerously near rock bottom.”

“You need to find the right woman for you. Lana isn’t it.”

He dropped his gaze, which meant he looked at her bare thighs being tickled by green fringe. Then he looked away, frowning faintly.

She tugged at her hem, relieved that he wasn’t ogling her. She hated when guys mistook her friendliness as a sign that she wanted to party horizontally.

It was hard to imagine that anyone had persuaded this man to pose for a fund-raising man-candy calendar. Diana remembered the photo, though. He’d been glowering in that one, too, as if daring the camera to make him take his surgeon’s garb off. She’d thought it was a shame the photographer hadn’t succeeded.

“Lana and I are only friends,” he said. “I’m well aware that she isn’t available.”

“And she never will be.”

“The divorce rate among doctors is astronomical.”

“The MacDowells are rock solid. Just put Lana out of your mind while we find you someone super special.”

Despite the loud music, Diana could almost hear his snort of derision.

She pretended not to notice. Men often acted tough and grouchy when they were really sad and lonely. She’d rescued enough homeless dogs to recognize the gruff defense. “The good news is, you’re far from a hopeless case. For starters, you’re a man, so we don’t have to work too hard to get you on the dance floor.”

“I don’t understand, Miss...?”

“Just call me Diana, please. ‘Miss Connor’ would be ridiculously stuffy.”

“Miss Connor. What makes you think I’m in need of your matchmaking assistance?”

“Because you’re sitting here sulking. Like a child.”

Being blunt had the desired effect. The look on his face made her want to laugh. He couldn’t even frown at her, she’d shocked him so greatly.

She nudged his shoulder with hers. “Don’t take yourself so seriously—or me, either, for that matter. I’m friends with Lana, you’re friends with Lana, so that makes us friends, too. As your friend, I’m here to help you get your party on.”

He leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest. At least she had his attention—totally, this time—and he looked like he was actually close to smiling. “How fortunate for me. I thought I’d never manage to get my party on. It was worrying me considerably.”

“Glad to hear we agree. Now, I was saying that you are at a big advantage because you’re a man.”

“Is that right?”

“You can ask a girl to dance. You have no idea what a luxury that is. This would be much harder if you were a woman. If you saw a likely candidate, you’d have to strategically stand where he could see you, make a little eye contact, flirt a little, and hope he asked you to dance.”

“I doubt you are saying this from experience. You don’t strike me as a wallflower.”

“I never ask the man to dance. I only approached you because you were so obviously in need of a little coaching.”

“Thank you.”

“You’ll thank me later, trust me,” she said, answering his sarcasm with sauciness. “Now, what kind of woman do you think you want?”

He looked toward the dance floor, but Lana and Braden weren’t there. They’d probably gotten a hotel room—they were practically on their honeymoon.

Diana sighed dramatically. “Okay, okay. You think Lana is the perfect woman. Then let’s find you a woman like Lana.” Diana scanned the crowd. “Gosh, everyone is so beautiful. The whole ballroom is beautiful. Isn’t it great?”

When he made no comment, she turned to him. “Don’t you think it’s a great night?”

He shrugged, an uncaring movement of masculine shoulders under fine black wool.

“Well, it is. Everyone’s so sparkly. And happy.” She poked his lapel, earning herself another raised eyebrow. “And you’re going to be happy tonight, too.”

“What makes you think I’m not happy?”

Diana started to laugh, but she had the sudden intuition he was asking a sincere question. The man needed to take a good look in the mirror.

Diana decided to be that mirror. She crossed her arms over her chest and scowled, hard. Dropping her voice to the lowest bass she could manage, she said, “What makes you think I’m not happy?”

Quinn scowled back at her for a good, long while. Then he uncrossed his arms and looked away with a little shake of his head. “That bad?”

“That bad, but not for long. Let me just find you the perfect partner.”

“Do you often perform your matchmaking services for total strangers?”

“All the time.” Every weekend, in fact, but she wasn’t going to tell James Bond that. Every weekend, she volunteered at an animal shelter where she matched total strangers with the perfect pets.

This Quinn-in-a-tuxedo wouldn’t appreciate that her skills had been honed on dogs, but people weren’t much different. It was all a matter of finding complementing temperaments, something Diana had found success at by relying less on talking and more on facial expressions and body language.

Diana trusted her mad matchmaking skills. Lana would never have been right for Quinn, even if she’d been available, but Quinn would never believe Diana. Perhaps she should let him figure it out for himself. “Look—there’s a Lana look-alike for you. Go ask her to dance.”

When he didn’t budge, she put her hand on his shoulder and pushed.

Quinn shook his head as he stood. “I can’t believe I’m going to do this.”

But he did. The woman was petite and slender, with shiny, straight black hair and an air of confidence about her. Diana watched her graciously present her hand to Quinn, so he could lead her to the dance floor. Like so many men in Texas, men who grew up leading women in the Texas two-step and country waltzes, Quinn was obviously a confident dancer. He and his partner looked elegant together, dancing to a Frank Sinatra standard.

Still, Diana wasn’t surprised when Quinn returned after only one dance. The Lana-type wasn’t what he needed.

“Well?” she prompted him as he sat next to her once more.

“She was the perfect woman—just ask her. She’s chairing the board at whichever museum she said, and she’s running a gardening gig, all out of the kindness of her heart.”

“Charity work sounds like something Lana would do.”

“She wouldn’t brag about it.”

“True, true. Your Lana look-alike was too old for you, anyway.” Diana had a feeling this man would too easily retire into a sedate, settled lifestyle if she let him. Well, not if she herself let him, but if he were matched with the wrong woman, he’d find himself talking politics with gray-haired gentleman at a prestigious club in no time. Quinn was probably only thirty or so. He ought to be surfing or mountain-climbing, not serving on museum boards with a society wife.

“I’m afraid you’re mistaken, my dear matchmaker,” he said. “Lana’s only two years older than I.”

“She’s taken. Get over it.” Really, some cases needed a little tough love. Diana patted his arm, though, to soften her direct words. “Okay, at your three o’clock. Blonde in the sheath dress. A knock-out and still in her twenties. She might enjoy bungee jumping.”

Suave Mr. Bond was apparently caught off guard by that. He gave away his surprise with a discreet cough, a polite clearing of the throat. “Is bungee jumping the criteria now?”

“Go.”

Humoring her, which Diana took to be a sign of progress already, Quinn walked over and struck up a conversation. Diana watched his nod toward the dance floor, watched the woman light up and say yes. Who wouldn’t?

It only lasted one dance. After a polite thank-you nod to the woman, Quinn returned to Diana.

“No?” she asked.

“No.”

“Give me something to go on.”

“She still lives at home with Daddy. Rich Daddy. She wanted to know if I thought a trip to Europe would really be more educational than a trip to the Caribbean. Daddy thinks it would be.”

“Not Lana-like at all, you’re right. You want someone more educated, then?”

“I want someone who is less into money. Lana’s no gold digger.”

Diana felt her first little zip of irritation toward him. She doubted he’d meant to insult her, but there it was. “I would never have matched you with a gold digger.”

“I assure you, Daddy’s Girl would be one very expensive entanglement.”

From their side-by-side chairs, they could easily see the woman with her group of friends. She’d just dropped her gem-studded clutch. She made absolutely no move to pick it up, but pouted down at it, as if the purse had somehow misbehaved. Diana watched with amusement as another woman in her circle picked up the clutch and handed it back.

“That’s not a gold digger, Quinn. She expects expensive things and an easy life, but only because she’s always been given them. Always, from day one, and most definitely by Daddy. She just assumes everyone around her is rich, like she is. That’s not the same thing as a gold digger. Those women calculate which man in the room has the most money and then go after him.”

Quinn had started to take a breath to argue with her before she’d even finished her point, but to his credit, he stopped. Diana enjoyed one lovely, long moment of staring into his green, green eyes before they crinkled just a bit in what was precariously close to a smile.

“You’re right. There is a difference. I stand corrected.” He leaned close to Diana’s ear and said, “But I’m still not interested.”

His voice was warm. His tone was very assured, very in charge, but she could hear that touch of humor that lay just under the surface.

Diana felt...well, she felt antsy. There was something about Quinn that made her feel restless. The prospect of spending more time watching him dance with other women was not appealing. She needed to find a suitable partner for serious Quinn, and then she needed to get back to her mixing and her mingling.

That was all she’d come for tonight. Just a lovely, fun evening. She hadn’t come to pass out business cards, and she certainly hadn’t come to start brooding over a man who wouldn’t stop brooding over Lana MacDowell.

The band struck up a song with a livelier beat. Diana stood, and when Quinn didn’t follow, she grabbed his hand and practically hauled him out of his chair.

“Don’t worry, Quinn, we’re getting closer.”

“I wasn’t worried.”

“Two o’clock, white dress. Guaranteed not to live at home with Daddy. Looks like she’s terribly educated, but still young enough to go bungee jumping with you.”

“Haven’t I danced with enough women?”

“Third time’s the charm. She looks perfect for you.”

Quinn looked toward the woman Diana had picked out. Diana studied his face, feeling some smug satisfaction as Quinn raised that eyebrow in reluctant approval. “Very well,” he said, and he walked away.

Diana watched. Of course, the woman said hello graciously. Of course, the woman was soon smiling. Of course, the woman walked onto the dance floor and into Quinn’s arms.

This time, Quinn looked like he was enjoying the conversation. His partner looked self-possessed and confident, which was excellent, because she wasn’t going to be Quinn’s girlfriend for long. Diana had just found him his rebound girl, the one who would help him get past this Lana phase.

The lady in white looked like she’d be able to handle it. She and Quinn would share some lovely evenings and mutual interests in the meantime, and then...

And then, when that phase was over and Lana was firmly out of Quinn’s system, would he be open to a different kind of woman? One, say, with a love of parties and a passion for homeless pups?

Diana gave herself a mental shake. She was not a plotter and planner. She was the spontaneous girl who trusted her senses, and she’d sensed right away that this man needed a little fun in his life. That was what had drawn her to him, the desire to help a fellow human being enjoy life. Nothing more.

The woman he was dancing with was the one. Diana could see it in everything about their body language. They looked right together.

Mission accomplished.

Diana toasted herself with a sip of her champagne. It still looked pretty in the glass, but it had grown warm and kind of flat.

She looked around the room, hoping to see someone with whom to strike up a conversation. It would be nice to enjoy herself with a man the way the woman in the white dress was enjoying herself with Quinn.

I’m the gal pal. Again.

Diana knew her role. There was always a character like her in movies and TV shows. Once the gal pal helped the guy decide to go for it, she exited, stage left.

Diana tapped her tiny purse against her thigh as she took one more look around at the crystal and the flames. They were pretty, but they didn’t need her to continue brightening the night. Neither did Quinn.

Diana headed for the grand mezzanine. Maybe someone there was just waiting for a push in the right direction.

Chapter Two

Quinn MacDowell, M.D., was enjoying himself. His family would be surprised.

He was enjoying himself at a mandatory-attendance gala for the hospital. Forget his family’s surprise; Quinn found himself somewhat astonished.

The reason he was enjoying himself was a bold and playful woman with hair the color of whiskey and a green dress that tantalized him with her every move. And that was—

Well, it was...

Unsettling.

At thirty-one years old, Quinn knew himself. He was a cardiologist. He dealt in physics, in measurable pressures and electrical impulses that powered the human body. He served on the board that governed the hospital his father had founded. He visited his mother on the homestead ranch, he badgered his brothers for getting married and tying themselves down, and he dated women who were polished, professional and career-oriented.

He knew himself.

If a complete stranger ordered him to dance with other women at a black-tie gala, then he, Quinn MacDowell, M.D., would never comply.

Never.

Yet here he was.

The woman in his arms purred her words in a cultured, educated voice. “It’s so refreshing to have real music to dance to, not that auto-tuned nonsense, don’t you think?”

She was stunningly beautiful. Every woman Diana had chosen for him had been so. As a matchmaker, Diana actually was good. Quinn had been exaggerating the flaws of his partners after each dance, but Diana had definitely picked out women in whom he’d normally be interested.

He’d fine-tuned his criteria over years of trial and error, and knew exactly the type of woman who fit into the lifestyle that his career as a cardiologist dictated. Long-term relationships saved time and effort when it came to dating, so Quinn generally dated a woman for a half-year or more. Eventually, the girlfriend would announce the need to move on, typically after reporting that her biological clock was ticking, or because she wanted to move into the ranks of the society matrons and needed to find someone with marriage in mind. With no hard feelings, they kissed goodbye.

His last kiss had been quite a while ago.

West Central Hospital had been floundering under poor leadership, and it had taken all of Quinn’s efforts to keep the ship afloat. Despite his aversion for corporate politics, he’d found himself incapable of standing by and watching his father’s legacy flounder, so he’d joined the hospital board. There’d been very little time for female companionship this year, not while he’d been the only MacDowell still in town.

The hospital was going to survive. With some manipulation on Quinn’s part, his oldest brother had left Manhattan to return to Austin, and a more competent CEO for West Central was hard to imagine. His brother’s wife, Lana, the woman whom Diana claimed was her business associate, was rebuilding the research division. Quinn’s youngest brother had finished his years of service in the army and now worked in the emergency department, and had just announced that he would take over as department chair in the fall.

All of which left Quinn with less of a professional burden to bear. He supposed the time was right for the next woman in his life. In fact, while he’d been watching Braden and Lana dance, he’d been thinking just that: something was missing in his life. Then Diana had appeared out of nowhere.

Now here he was, dancing with an entirely eligible woman, someone familiar to him as an acquaintance of an acquaintance. Tonight’s rounds on the dance floor were tantamount to announcing that he was available, something that managed to get around his social circles with quiet efficiency. Appropriate women, like the one in his arms, would find him. Quinn would make a choice, and everything would proceed smoothly.

Diana Connor’s matchmaking mission had been unnecessary.

Still, it was amazing, really, that a perfect stranger like Diana could take one glance at him, another glance around a crowded ballroom, and choose matches for him as well as he could have himself. By every measurable criterion, the woman Diana had chosen, the woman in white who was so smoothly following his lead on the dance floor, was perfect for him.

Yet, something wasn’t quite right. He ought to be more interested in his dance partner. She pressed a little closer, causing her very well-supported, very expensively clad, very tastefully revealed cleavage to swell a bit against his chest.

He ought to be very interested, indeed.

But tonight, he was finding one thing utterly distracting: Diana herself. It was hard to focus on the woman in his arms when green fringe kept shimmying in his mind, shimmying its way over a curvy body that nearly crackled with energy.

To dance with her, to hold that woman in his arms, a woman so vibrant with her enthusiasm for life...

There was no hope for it. Diana had caught his attention completely, and no amount of cultured, educated, wealthy women that she threw his way could divert him.

Diana wasn’t his type. He’d probably never run into her again after tonight. They didn’t move in the same circles, despite her claim to be a business associate of his sister-in-law, Lana. After all, he was a business associate of Lana’s. Diana did not work at West Central, that much Quinn knew.

There were other businesses besides medicine, of course, but there was nothing businesslike about Diana’s behavior. She was too forward in her manner, too familiar in the way she spoke to a perfect stranger.

But she made him laugh. She poked and prodded him—literally—and he was certain that she had no idea that she was physically appealing in a way that was slowly sending him out of his mind. He’d spent the past half hour waiting for that green fringe to travel that last inch up her thighs.

Life had been all work and no play for too long. He was not going to let a curvaceous, vivacious woman with whiskey-colored hair slip through his fingers without a dance.

And if she refused to dance with him, but insisted he ask someone else of her choosing? Then Miss Diana Connor, the woman who seemed to think he had no idea how to pursue a woman, would find herself on the receiving end of all the charm Quinn MacDowell could muster.

He smiled.

The elegant woman in his arms thought it was meant for her.

Quinn changed directions in time to the music, a move designed to return his partner’s focus to her feet rather than the smile on his face. He glanced toward the chairs he and Diana had been sharing.

She was gone.

* * *

“Strike three.”

The deep voice caused Diana to stutter midstep. She whirled around, a quick pirouette in her smooth-soled sandals on the polished mezzanine floor. Quinn caught her elbow, stopping her so she squarely faced him. He stepped closer as he steadied her, so she found herself caught with just inches between a cold pillar at her back and a hot man at her front.

“Strike three?” she asked, leaning away from the pillar. Hot man in a tuxedo was infinitely preferable. Still, she was a bit baffled that he’d come to tell her his partner hadn’t worked out. She’d left him with a woman who fit him perfectly.

What was more, Quinn didn’t look very upset at striking out.

“What was the problem?” Diana asked.

“Let’s go back to our seats.” Quinn gestured toward the ballroom, and fell into place beside her. She half-expected him to offer her his arm in an old-fashioned way, but he didn’t. Without touching, they walked side by side along the row of pillars. They’d definitely become buddies, just as she’d predicted.

Okay, Quinn, spill your guts to your gal pal.

Diana gave him the opening she knew he needed. “You can’t tell me she wasn’t educated enough. I could tell she was terribly educated just by looking at her.”

“Terribly educated is right. She can’t see why the Nobel committee overlooked the contributions of two scientists I’ve never heard of who discovered some molecular entity I’ve never heard of. And I’m a doctor, mind you.”

Oh, he was most definitely a doctor. She knew this from the calendar, of course, but Quinn’s career explained so much about him. Diana did not envy doctors. They were too often grim, too often facing long odds in their line of work. Someone had to do it, of course. Someone had to pit their skills against illness and injury, but Diana was glad to leave the life-and-death work to others.

Diana was satisfied with her matchmaking calling. To bring in money, she matched people with homes. In her spare time, she matched people with dogs. And tonight, she’d taken it upon herself to match this doctor with a person who could help him lighten up.

“Here’s the bright side, Quinn,” she said, as she snagged a glass of champagne from one of the circulating waiters, “at least she knew how to say ‘molecular entity.’”

That drew another smile from him. Diana was pleased that he’d stopped being stingy with the smiles. She was good at this, helping people enjoy themselves. In any group, Diana was the one who bubbled and chatted and smoothed over any awkwardness.

Sometimes, she wondered what would happen if she stopped. If she let herself have a bad day, if she groused at a neighbor or frowned at a stranger, was there another Diana out there who would try to cheer her up? If she wore a plain black dress and sat alone in a corner, would anyone notice she existed?

Diana never intended to find out. She’d continue making people happy, and they’d continue to include her in their world, the way Quinn was including her in his. One of her mother’s best pieces of advice had been to follow the Scout philosophy of leaving the world a better place than you found it. Diana had taken that to heart, and always tried to leave people happier than she found them.

She returned his smile brightly. “We’ll keep looking until we find the right one for you tonight.”

Diana turned in a slow circle, eyeing the crowd over the rim of her champagne flute, gauging all the eligible women, taking in at a glance how they dressed, how they held themselves, how they smiled—or didn’t. How they might match with Quinn.

“How about the girl in the red dress?”

“She’s not very pretty. If we’re going for someone like Lana, she’d have to be quite attractive.”

“I’d tell you to get over the physical looks, but chemistry is everything. When you take the right woman in your arms tonight, you’ll know. Since she’ll be getting James Bond, it’s only fair that she be a knockout, too.”

“James Bond?”

“Ooh—I see a good one. At your six. Turn around casually.”

“I haven’t experienced this level of espionage since high school.”

In his deadpan way, he was cracking jokes. Really, he was quite charming. Diana found herself laughing with him because she liked his sense of humor, no longer because she wanted him to follow her lead and lighten up. He was more of a serious person than she was, sure, but that gruff demeanor had softened into something more genuine. Maybe her mission had been accomplished despite his lack of a dancing partner.

Diana handed him her champagne flute. “Here, you need a drink after making small talk with strangers for the past three songs.”

He took a sip. “It’s warm.”

“It’s free. It’s all included in this wonderful party. You’ve got to remember to look at the bright side of things.”

The expression on his face changed just a tiny bit. Less critical, more thoughtful. “You’re right, of course. Excuse me for a moment. Don’t disappear.” He left—with her champagne glass.

Diana entertained herself by awarding imaginary scores for the best gowns. When she spotted one young woman nervously tugging up her strapless dress and standing with her shoulders self-consciously stooped, Diana wanted to run over and hug her. It was obvious the young person had no idea just how pretty she was. If only Diana could tell her to throw her shoulders back and smile.

Diana had learned during her school years that she couldn’t hug everyone. For one thing, it alarmed people, sometimes, to have strangers offer advice. She’d learned to approach people the way she approached new dogs, with a positive attitude and a hand outstretched in a nonthreatening way. She had yet to meet a dog that wouldn’t be her friend, and humans were pretty much the same way.

Even people like her James Bond. Quinn seemed independent and self-sufficient, but Diana sensed that he was a lonely man. Subconsciously, he must know it, too. It was why he was accepting her help tonight, wasn’t it?

The shy girl in the strapless gown that didn’t quite fit would have to wait. Quinn was headed her way again, debonair in his black tuxedo, standing an inch taller than most of the men, moving easily through the sea of partygoers.

Look at the bright side. He’s part of the party now, no longer standing alone.

He was part of the festive atmosphere, light reflecting off his dark hair as he nodded at acquaintances. He didn’t stop walking to talk to anyone, however. He was heading directly back to her.

Diana twirled a piece of her fringe around one finger. Too bad they weren’t each other’s type. He was a damned good-looking guy.

“I’m sorry to have left you alone, but it was necessary if you were going to insist that we drink champagne.” Quinn held up a bottle painted with flowers in one hand, then set a pair of empty flutes down on the table nearest them. He grabbed an unused napkin from a place setting and snapped it out of its elegant knot. With a twist, he tucked it around the champagne bottle.

He had good hands.

“Were you a waiter?” she asked.

Quinn glanced up from his pouring.

Diana nodded toward the flutes. “You do this very well.”

And that simple compliment finally, finally, broke through the last of Quinn’s reserve. The suave smile turned into something more.

He laughed.

Diana went still.

This is the man for me.

A man who laughed, a man who enjoyed life, now that was the kind of man who could be a perfect match for her, Ivy League or community college be damned.

If only he weren’t on the rebound...if only he didn’t want a woman like Lana...a woman nothing like Diana.

Diana took the champagne he offered, glad for the excuse to get back in motion, grateful for the sharp bubbles that woke up her taste buds. “It does taste better cold. You were right.”

He lifted his own glass to his lips with a grin, and Diana felt her heart trip a little in the middle of its usually quick rhythm. He was lovesick over Lana MacDowell. She needed to remember that. The next woman he dated would only be a phase, a transition to his next serious relationship.

Being this man’s rebound girl would be crushing for someone like her. It was better to just be friends.

“I agree champagne is better cold,” Quinn was saying, “but it’s also better when it’s actually champagne.”

“I’m not sure what you mean.”

“Champagne has to actually come from a part of France called ‘Champagne.’”

The way he said it, all French-sounding with extra syllables, made her want to swoon. Diana had never swooned in her life, over anything. This man was positively dangerous.

“The waiters have been handing out some domestic swill. Sparkling wine, if you want to be kind.”

“Oh.” Diana glanced at the wrapped bottle.

“The effervescence in this champagne has more bite to it, but the fruit is smooth.” He topped off her glass. “Try it again and tell me what you think.”

What she thought? What she thought was that she was not in this man’s league. She could see the beauty in the crystal and flames, but she could also enjoy the sequins and the LED lights. Quinn, she realized, was from a strictly crystal lifestyle.

They were not a match, no matter how much she was attracted to him.

For one thing, he was scoffing at the champagne at this beautiful party, something she would never do. It bothered her.

And so, for the first time that night—heck, for the first time in weeks—Diana frowned. She raised an eyebrow at him disapprovingly. “I think you can overdo the biting part. When someone offers you free champagne at a party, you should just relax and enjoy it, not critique it. Life is sweeter that way.”

He raised an eyebrow right back at her—with ten times the withering effect that she could muster.

“Are you criticizing me for being critical?” he asked. Then, once more, he smiled. “I do believe there is a certain amount of irony there.”

“No. Well...yes.” Darn it, his smile was something dazzling. It was probably best if she moved on for the night. Diana looked around for the girl with the stooped shoulders.

“Miss Connor, would it be too critical of me to point out that you were just handed cold and free and genuine champagne?” He clinked his glass with hers, and sabotaged her resolve with another smile. “You are right. We have no choice but to relax and enjoy it.”

Well. The man was obviously relaxed enough to start turning the charm on. If she directed him toward the right woman and he gave her that smile, Diana’s mission would be accomplished. She took another sip. It really did taste special. She surreptitiously moved the napkin away from the bottle’s label with one finger. One never knew when the name of a good champagne might be handy.

She took one more sip, and hoped she could fake some enthusiasm for finding Quinn someone to dance with. “All right, Quinn. Back to business. While we’ve got champagne, real champagne, to cover our movements, this is an easy time to check out the other people in the room. You never gave me your opinion on the knockout in the red dress.”

Quinn took the champagne glass out of her hand and set it down methodically, precisely next to his. He looked rather stern. “I’m not interested.”

“Don’t give up. The night is still young. We’ll find you someone worth dancing with.”

“The bottom line is this, Diana Connor. The only woman I want to dance with, or talk to, or drink champagne with, is you.”

“Me?”

Her heart skipped around in her chest, as crazy and out of sync as the fringe on her dress, shivering with the shaky breath she sucked in.

“You. May I have this dance?”

The orchestra began the opening strains of “Moonlight Serenade.” It was all so perfect. The champagne, the man, the music, the night.

Diana felt a little shiver of fear. Dancing with Quinn seemed dangerous. Risky, somehow. What if life was never this perfect again?

It takes courage to be happy. Her mother’s mantra had become her own. Diana had been doing her best to live a courageous life, seizing happiness when it came her way, just as she’d seized the ticket to this lovely gala. She could dance one perfect dance with a perfect man to a perfect song. It wouldn’t change her life. It would be a happy memory to hold when the dark ones threatened.

“I love this song,” she said to Quinn.

The corners of his eyes crinkled as his expression went from serious to something softer. Then a woman’s voice called to him from behind Diana. “There you are, Quinn MacDowell. I thought for sure you would have ducked out by now. Being quite the trouper tonight, are you?”

Quinn’s gaze flicked to someone beyond Diana’s shoulder. Diana turned to see who was speaking. A woman, tall and confident, stepped in to kiss Quinn on the cheek.

Two facts warred for attention in Diana’s mind. One, this woman could be a good match for Quinn. She was only a few inches taller than Diana, but her hair had been professionally and intricately piled on top of her head in a striking style that made her seem positively statuesque—and very confident. She wore a floor-length gown, one spectacular drape of blue cloth with a high, choker-style collar, a design only a woman with an elegant, long neck could wear.

Diana was not that woman.

Her second thought was more upsetting: Quinn’s last name was MacDowell.

MacDowell. He’s a MacDowell. He can’t be in love with Lana. That would be horrible, in love with your relative’s wife. Just horrible for him.

It was nearly enough to make Diana happy that the woman in blue would be a good match.

The woman trailed an entourage behind her, women who seemed lost in her wake. One was much older, dressed in a severe jacket over a floor-length, straight skirt, and one was much younger—the girl with the stooped shoulders. Diana smiled at her and nodded encouragingly.

The woman in blue, done kissing Quinn, set her purse on the table next to Diana’s, and seemed ready to settle in for a chat. Diana took a step to the side to give her room, and felt the brush of the tablecloth against her bare leg.

Bare legs. She was completely underdressed for this event, something she’d noticed as soon as she’d arrived, but something she’d dismissed as being no more than an “oops.” Next to this elegant friend of Quinn’s, however, she wished for just a second that she’d worn a long gown. Too bad she didn’t own a long gown. Formal balls weren’t her usual Friday night.

“Thank God you’re still here,” the woman said to Quinn. “There isn’t anyone worth talking to. Dance with me.”

Quinn did the raised-eyebrow thing to her, but without any real animosity. The pair were obviously old friends. “As charmingly worded as that invitation was, I’ve asked Diana to dance.”

Quinn nodded her way, and suddenly, Diana was the focus of attention. “Diana, this is Patricia Cargill.”

Patricia looked her up and down, once, lingering for a millisecond on Diana’s hemline.

Yes, I know everyone else is in a gown.

Quinn continued his introductions. “And, Patricia, this is Diana Connor. She’s a friend of Lana’s.”

“A friend of Lana’s.” Patricia seemed mildly surprised at this. “From med school?”

Diana fought not to blush. This portion of her evening was rapidly coming to a close. His friends had found him; Quinn no longer needed her. Not even as a dance partner to wile away a song or two.

“I was Lana’s real estate agent.” She dared a quick glance at Quinn, then looked down to the tablecloth and her nearly empty champagne glass. There was nothing wrong with being a real estate agent, of course, but when she’d met Quinn, she’d said she was Lana’s business associate. Had he thought she was a business associate from the world of medicine? Had he assumed she was a doctor or nurse when he’d asked her to dance?

Regardless, he surely had not assumed she paid her bills from the sale of Lana’s house.

“Moonlight Serenade” was in full swing without her.

Diana stifled a sigh and turned to the other two women. She stuck her hand out so the stooped-shoulder girl would have to take it.

“My name is Diana. Isn’t this a great ball?”

Chapter Three

Quinn kept one eye on Diana as she led the quiet girl into the ballroom’s far corner. The other woman with Patricia had been introduced as Karen Weaver, the new director of the Austin-area’s branch of Texas Rescue and Relief. Quinn kept Diana in his peripheral vision while he greeted Karen and said all the appropriate things about Texas Rescue’s importance in times of crisis. He almost wished Diana could hear him, so she’d know he wasn’t always as curt as he’d been when she’d first spoken to him. He had the requisite social graces. His mother had raised him right.

Karen Weaver said all the right things in return, complimenting Patricia on the quality of volunteers she recruited for Texas Rescue, physicians like Quinn.

Quinn had long volunteered with Texas Rescue and Relief, a home state organization that stood ready to offer medical help should natural disaster strike anywhere in Texas. Last summer, they’d sweltered in makeshift tents near the border of Oklahoma in order to provide medical care after tornados had torn through a small town.

“Yes, of course I’m committed to another year of service,” Quinn assured the new director. “Let’s hope the summer is hot, dry and boring.”

He made a toasting gesture with his champagne flute, and Patricia tugged at his sleeve. “Do get me some champagne, would you?”

Quinn flagged a passing waiter to stop. Patricia took a flute as Karen declined, their momentary fuss giving Quinn the opportunity to focus on Diana. She was practically hiding behind a potted palm with the new girl.

“Who is the young lady you’re dragging along?” he asked Patricia.

“My father’s second wife’s stepdaughter, or some such nonsense. I refuse to introduce her as a Cargill. She goes by the ironically perky name Becky.” She hadn’t taken a sip of her glass, but instead dumped the sparkling wine into the empty flute that sat on the table. Diana’s empty flute.

“I thought your father was on his third wife now,” Quinn said, sliding Diana’s now-full flute closer to himself. “And this glass was in use, by the way.”

Patricia shrugged. “I sincerely doubt your real estate agent will care what it was refilled with. And wife number three is exactly why I had no idea I’d be forced to babysit number two’s offspring.” She held her glass in front of Quinn. “Do pour a girl something halfway decent.”

Quinn could hardly refuse her, although he’d planned on putting that bottle to better use. He filled her glass. “You make a terrible wingman.”

“Do I?” Patricia laughed. “Don’t tell me Dr. Quinn MacDowell of the West Central MacDowells needs help landing a real estate agent for the evening, especially one dressed so... Or are you Cowboy Quinn of the River Mack Ranch tonight?”

Quinn hadn’t tried to flaunt either side of himself, actually. Diana had talked to him as a complete stranger, without introduction. It was, he realized, unusual. Refreshing. Perfect strangers were perfect equals.

“Either way, she’s not your type.” Patricia slipped her arm through his.

“I’m in a better position than you to know my type.” Quinn said it mildly. He included Karen in their conversation. “Don’t worry. Your recruiter and I are not having a lover’s spat. Patricia is merely the annoying sister I never had.”

Still, being told Diana wasn’t his type didn’t sit well with him. Having an identifiable type seemed uninspiring. Monotonous. Was he required to stay within this restricted social circle of the hospital, Texas Rescue, and the ranch owner associations?

Haven’t I dated all the available women in that pool?

They were all starting to blur together in his memory. It hadn’t been hard to stay unattached this past year.

Tonight, he was suddenly obsessing about his own love life. It was ludicrous, when the only reason he’d attended this ball was specifically to fulfill his duties to the hospital as a board member. Meeting the new director of Texas Rescue was an efficient use of the evening, as well. Worrying about female companionship? Not on the radar. Not an issue. Not important.

He resisted the urge to look toward Diana’s corner of the ballroom.

“Have you seen Marcel around?” Patricia asked, referring to her current escort. “He’s so easy to lose. Oh, Lord—your redhead and my ex-step-in-law are on their way back. I can’t take it. Quick, top off my glass.”

Quinn only raised an eyebrow at her. To refill her glass would imply that he agreed that Patricia’s gloomy girl and the bubbly Diana were burdens best borne with the help of alcohol. Quinn didn’t know the girl, of course, but Diana’s company didn’t require a dose of alcohol. She was not a part of their usual circle, but being with her was no burden.

Diana emerged from the corner, talking and laughing, looking colorful and alive and wonderfully modern against her Victorian surroundings. The solemn girl she’d dragged off with her was laughing, as well. Quinn had to look twice to be sure she was Patricia’s step-whatever. Becky, who had all but disappeared in Patricia’s shadow, was now walking confidently, eagerly answering a question Diana asked, and generally looking happy.

Had being around Diana done as much for him tonight? He suspected it had. Being around Diana lifted people’s spirits. And he, for all his medical training and his business acumen, had no idea how she did it.

She fascinated him.

Quinn wished he’d had a chance to dance with her, but she’d clearly moved on to a new protégée for the evening.

“We’re back,” Diana said brightly.

Patricia cast a critical eye in her step-whatever’s direction, then took a dramatically deep drink from her flute.

Quinn watched the young lady deflate a little, as if Patricia were the kryptonite to Diana’s superpower. It was hardly young Becky’s fault that Patricia’s father’s second wife had dumped her into Patricia’s hands.

He smiled sympathetically at Diana’s protégée. Becky would be all right. Diana had clearly taken her under her wing, and she’d have her dancing in no time.

The new Texas Rescue director was speaking. Her plans for the coming year were important, and her need for financial and facility support from the hospital were legitimate. Quinn could only lend her half an ear, however. The rest of him was distracted by details from his earlier conversations with Diana.

This would be much harder if you were a woman...you’d have to hope he asked you to dance.

It wasn’t always good to have a mind that held details, endless details like Diana’s description of the challenges faced by a woman who wanted to be asked to dance. When piecing together a medical puzzle, Quinn was grateful for his memory. Right now, it tugged at his conscience.

Patricia set her flute down and turned to him. “Now, would you dance with me?” she asked in her prettiest voice. She could be delightful company when she chose, but Quinn had known her too long and too well to be interested in more than friendship.

“Since your date is heading this way, I think he’ll want this dance.” It was a complete lie, of course, since Quinn hadn’t caught sight of the missing Marcel, but damn it, Patricia had caused her ex-stepsister’s spirits to droop, undoing Diana’s good deed.

Quinn held out his hand toward the timid Becky. “Would you care to dance?”

The young lady brightened up once more and placed her hand in his. It wasn’t the hand he wanted to be holding, and she wasn’t the woman he wanted to dance with. But he’d made her happy by asking her to dance, which had in turn made Diana beam at him in approval. She even bounced on her toes, the tiniest of motions, reminding him of a kid at Christmas.

As Quinn led his partner onto the dance floor, he smiled. He’d made Diana happy, and damn if that didn’t make him feel dangerously close to happy, too.

* * *

“Becky is a very nice person.”

Diana waited for a reply, but Quinn’s elegant friend barely made a polite noise of agreement.

Diana tried again. “Have you known each other long?”

Patricia Cargill, the woman who could be a match for Quinn, speared her with one direct look. “Long enough.”

Not for Quinn.

Oh, Quinn could handle her, of that Diana had no doubt. In fact, Patricia needed a strong man like Quinn, someone she couldn’t bully and intimidate. But Diana didn’t want Quinn to have to spend his whole life shaping another woman’s personality into something it naturally wasn’t. Patricia reminded Diana too much of a striking but strong-headed Dalmatian they’d had a terrible time placing at the animal shelter. Eventually, a professional dog trainer had volunteered to work with families that expressed an interest in the dog, until they found one that could provide her the consistent discipline she needed without breaking her spirit.

I don’t want Quinn to have to work that hard.

Quinn MacDowell was a nice guy. Diana hadn’t even had to drop a hint, and Quinn had known right away that dancing with Becky would help make the ball beautiful for her.

Diana looked for her champagne glass, wanting a sip to privately toast Quinn, but the glasses were out of place.

“This one,” Patricia said, and slid a flute toward her.

Diana took a sip. It was warm. And flat.

It was not real champagne.

She didn’t like it. What a horrible realization, to know that forever more, she would not enjoy fake champagne. Quinn had introduced her to something better, and she couldn’t undo that experience. Every interaction with every person left its mark, of course, so spending time with Quinn had been bound to affect her, but still...

Look on the bright side. You only got spoiled for champagne.

It could have been worse. She could have danced with Quinn.

It was a lucky thing that Patricia’s arrival had saved her from having a taste of being Quinn’s date for the night. Diana had never danced with a handsome man who wore a tuxedo as if it were a regular part of his wardrobe. A man who laughed as he poured champagne at a glorious gala.

She wouldn’t miss what she’d never had.

Nothing had changed. Nothing at all. “Moonlight Serenade” had ended two songs earlier. Quinn was surrounded by friends, Becky was enjoying herself, and it was time for Diana to move on. Patricia would surely claim the next dance, and Karen looked like she was ready to talk business all night. Diana was feeling distinctly like the third wheel, now that Quinn was no longer a lone figure, brooding silently at a party.

Diana took another sip of the “domestic sparkling wine,” as Quinn had called it, determined to be satisfied.

Patricia watched her. Her words were civil and smooth, but every muscle in her elegant body was tense. “You must have friends who are wondering where you are. Perhaps you should go back to them.”

“I will,” Diana said, fighting fire with friendliness, always her best chance at success. “I’ll just say goodbye to Becky and Quinn and then I’ll be on my way.”

Patricia leveled a direct look on her, one that would have made many a puppy at the pound drop its gaze in submission. Diana kept smiling, anyway. Patricia looked away, toward the far side of the dance floor. “I see Quinn and Becky have joined a group of my friends. Karen, let me introduce you.” She was already in motion before she casually spoke to Diana. “Do excuse us.”

“Of course,” Diana said, her smile firmly in place. Easy girl, I’m not going to fight you for that bone. See how friendly I am? I’m just the buddy.

But the buddy could hardly stand to watch, so Diana scooped up her tiny purse and retreated to the mezzanine once more, but not before topping off her sparkling wine with a tiny bit of the real champagne.

* * *

The buzzing of his cell phone gave Quinn the perfect excuse to leave Becky with a few of the young med school students who’d spent a month interning in his cardiology practice.

He stepped away from the group as he pulled the cell phone from his pocket. The first digits of the phone number indicated that it came from one of the hospital lines.

“MacDowell,” he said, turning his back on the orchestra.

“Quinn, it’s Brian. Irene Caulsky passed away about twenty minutes ago. Thought you’d like to know.”

“An MI?” Quinn knew it had to have been a heart attack, but he asked. It bought him a few seconds, the moments he needed to let that first punch of failure pass.

“Yes. She’d been sedated, but the nurses saw it happening on telemetry. I was on the floor when they called for the crash cart, so I stepped in. I think the nurses were relieved I was there to call it. Everyone could see this was the end.”

“Of course. I’m glad she wasn’t awake and aware.” Modern medicine had its limits. The patient had already survived two heart attacks. Given her age and health, the odds of Irene surviving a third were practically nonexistent, but the hospital’s floor staff didn’t have the legal authority to declare a patient dead. They had to keep attempting to resuscitate a hopeless case until a physician could make the call. Since Quinn’s new partner, Brian, had been present, everyone—including Irene’s fragile, expired body—had been spared significant stress.

The orchestra finished its song, and the crowd applauded. Quinn hunched his shoulders to block out the sound as Brian told him the family had taken the news well. “They specifically asked me to thank you for taking care of their grandma.”

Taking care of her. What had he done? He’d placed some stents in her arteries after the first heart attack. That had bought the octogenarian a few more years, until a second heart attack had brought her to West Central this morning, where Quinn had admitted her for an overnight stay in the critical care unit.

During those few years, she’d been a regular patient at the office as Quinn monitored the medicines he’d prescribed. She’d left his staff smiling after each appointment, because she called their boss “sonny boy” and she told all the women how beautiful and young they were. She’d never failed to ask Quinn how his mother fared.

He passed a hand over his eyes briefly. He’d have to call his mother tomorrow and break the news that her beloved fourth-grade teacher had passed away.

Brian’s voice was clear as the orchestra struck up another song. “I’m sorry to bother you on your weekend off, but I thought you’d want to know about Irene.”

“Thank you. I’m glad you were there, Brian.”

“Me, too. I’ll see you Monday.”

Quinn disconnected the call, slid the cell phone back into his pocket and waited. The feeling of being punched would pass. It always did.

The human body cannot last indefinitely. This was a fact. It would always be a fact, no matter what cures were discovered and which diseases were eradicated.

Death is part of any medical practice. His earliest mentors had impressed that upon him. He’d chosen this profession knowing he would see death, up close and personal.

The patient died, but I did not fail to do my best. That was an important one. Quinn knew he’d done everything right. Everything was sometimes not enough. After all, the human body could not last indefinitely.

The loop of logical statements ran through his mind again, as they always did when he lost a patient, as they always did until his mind muted his emotions.

Quinn reached up to rub the back of his neck. This punch had been powerful, because Irene had been a special patient. The hurt wasn’t subsiding at its usual pace. He focused on his surroundings, and realized he was staring at the potted palm trees Diana had hidden behind.

Diana. Quinn pictured her green dress and her shapely legs. For once, it was good to be able to recall the details: the way she’d bounced on toes that were polished in red and peeking through silver sandal straps. Impractical. Feminine. Sexy.

Diana—lively, lovely Diana. Quinn wanted to be with her. He wanted to hold her.

“Damn it, we were supposed to dance.” He said the words under his breath as he turned back to the room, angry at himself for letting anything dissuade him from his earlier goal of dancing with Diana. With an intensity he could feel over and above the punch of losing a patient, Quinn wanted his hands on Diana. He wanted to feel that fringe in his fingers. He wanted to know the smell of her hair and the softness of her skin. He wanted that dance.

He looked toward the table where he’d left her standing with Patricia and the director of Texas Rescue. Only the champagne bottle remained.

She was gone. Again.

Chapter Four

Diana had barely reached the doors to the mezzanine when she ran into Dr. Lana MacDowell, the woman Quinn had been studying so longingly when Diana had first spotted him. Lana looked simply smashing in her evening gown, glowing like the bride she was as she walked next to Braden MacDowell.

Poor Quinn.

Diana held out her hand, ready to shake Lana’s like a proper business associate, but Lana kissed her on the cheek and, to Diana’s surprise, the always businesslike Braden did, too. They’d barely gotten past their hellos when a gentleman asked Lana to dance. Braden turned to Diana, and for the first time that night, she found herself on the dance floor, partnered by a handsome man in a tuxedo.

It was lovely. Diana enjoyed it for what it was. Lovely—but not romantic. Even if Braden had been single, Diana would not have felt a spark with him. They were simply not a match.

She didn’t recognize the song the band was playing. She wondered how Braden and Quinn were related—and she worried how Braden would feel if he knew Quinn was in love with his wife. She worried that Quinn would never get over his unrequited feelings for Lana. She worried—

“Are you having a good time tonight?” Braden asked.

“Yes, thank you.”

Braden looked at her more closely. “Is anything wrong? That was the most lukewarm thing I’ve ever heard you say.”

Diana felt herself blush a bit. This whole gala was to benefit the hospital that Braden’s father had founded, the hospital he now ran as CEO. She’d gone and made him worry that she didn’t like the evening.

She tried harder. “Nothing’s wrong. Nothing could be wrong tonight. Your gala is absolutely beautiful, down to the last detail.”

“Thank you, but I can’t take credit for planning any of this. I only approved the final proposal.” Braden smiled faintly at her praise, but he was still studying her too closely.

Diana seized on the subject of party planning and kept up a bright stream of chatter. She didn’t doubt that she was rambling a bit, but people didn’t mind in general, as long as she was friendly and undemanding.

The song ended, and they rejoined Lana just as Quinn walked up to their little group. Diana’s bright chatter petered out. She couldn’t talk around the lump in her throat as Quinn greeted Lana with a kiss on the cheek. When Quinn and Braden stood side by side, Diana knew they had to be brothers.

Oh, God, poor Quinn—in love with his brother’s wife. It made for dramatic movies, but in real life, she could hardly imagine a worse situation.

Braden introduced her to Quinn.

“Brothers?” Diana confirmed, then cleared her throat a little. “The green eyes threw me off. I should have seen the resemblance earlier.”

“Earlier? You two have already met?” Lana squeezed Quinn’s arm. “Diana’s more than a real estate agent. She’s a magician.”

“She’s already tried to perform a little magic with me tonight,” Quinn said with mock severity. “Brace yourself. I’ve been dancing.”

“No!” Lana laughed.

Quinn winked at Diana.

Two things hit Diana in rapid succession.

One, Quinn was not in love with Lana. It was evident in his body language, in his tone of voice, in his relaxed manner. Nope, not in love, not the least little bit.

Two, Diana was overwhelmingly relieved. Absurdly so. She wanted to laugh, to float, to hug everyone.

Quinn didn’t need time to nurse a broken heart. He didn’t need a transition girl.

He could—

What? Decide she was his perfect match? Choose her over all these elegant women as the one he wanted in his life?

Not very likely.

Her bubble burst. Diana tapped her purse impatiently against her bare thigh. It took courage to be happy, her mother had said. But experience had taught Diana that life was easier when you didn’t expect too much. When you didn’t long for things you couldn’t have. When you enjoyed the sparkling wine, and didn’t compare it to champagne.

What would one taste of Quinn be like?

She really should be going. It was time to move on. The MacDowells were catching up with each other. If she gave Lana a little friendly wave, if she nodded toward Quinn, then she could head to the mezzanine.

As she raised her hand for that wave, Quinn cupped her elbow. He stepped close to her, very close, and she was overwhelmed at the height and the heat of him, at his masculine body clad in a civilized tuxedo crowding into her personal space.

“You can’t leave yet.”

She looked up at him in surprise.

He smiled, a subtle lifting of one corner of his mouth. “I haven’t had the privilege of dancing with you tonight.”

Oh, this was delicious, this shiver his voice sent through her body. He sounded almost like he was giving her an order, but his words were so courteous. The privilege of dancing with you... She could get lost in a romantic fantasy if she weren’t careful.

“That’s okay. I’ve been forcing you to dance enough as is.” She lightly socked him in the arm with her purse, as much to remind herself that she was his pal as for any other reason.

“I think my stamina is up to the task. Let’s dance. This song fits you too well for us to stand here, talking.”

Diana listened for a moment. Quinn thought “The Way You Look Tonight” fit her? This handsome man, the brother of people she liked and respected, liked the way she looked.

Life might never be this perfect again, her conscience reminded her. You can’t miss what you’ve never had.

It takes courage to be happy. Diana remembered her mother’s words. When in doubt, she always tried to follow her mother’s advice. She placed her hand in Quinn’s, and let him lead her onto the dance floor.

Quinn was a wonderful dancer, holding her properly with one strong arm across her back, just under her shoulder blades, making it easy for her to rest her entire arm along his. He held her other hand out to the side, keeping their arms extended like real ballroom dancers. Her hand rested easily in his. He held her with just the right amount of squeeze to make her feel secure.

Secure. Special. In sync. Right. Dancing with Quinn felt right. She looked up a bit, wanting to see his expression. Did he think they were a match?

“You were trying to escape again, weren’t you?” he said, as they moved forward in time to the music.

With every step, her bare legs brushed the black wool covering his. Each and every step. She was aware of her relative nakedness in a way that made talking difficult. Or perhaps, it made talking imperative.

“You didn’t need me any longer. Patricia was obviously your next dance partner.”

“She is not the one I asked. You are.”

Diana enjoyed that delicious shiver once more, before the implications set in. “So poor Becky is stuck with Patricia again? Oh—I don’t mean your friend is someone to be stuck with.”

“You meant exactly that, and you are exactly right.” Quinn gave her a little extra spin at the edge of the dance floor, before they merged into the dance floor traffic once more. “Patricia can make a plant wither with one look, if she wishes. Never fear. I left Becky with some of West Central’s med school students. They are much closer to her age, and they were fighting over the chance to dance with someone who isn’t a professor’s wife.”

“That’s wonderful. What a good idea.”

She felt his fingers sift through the fringe that fell from her shoulder.

“Thank you,” he said. “I’m not the magician you are, though. I’d like to know your secret. How did you change Becky’s outlook so completely?”

Diana jumped at the chance to talk about something so silly. Remaining quiet as he toyed with the fringe of her dress was too much to ask of herself. Talking would distract her from this awareness of how they moved, how they meshed, how they made magic—at least in her mind. Oh, but did he feel it, too?

Talk. He asked about Becky.

She tapped his shoulder with her purse. “To my boss’s dismay, this purse is too small for me to waste room on things like business cards, but I always find space for critical items like safety pins. Becky’s dress was just a size too big. She couldn’t relax, because her top was loose. A few safety pins along the seams—”

“Strategically placed while you chatted behind a palm tree?”

“Bingo. You can really dance once you know your dress won’t come off.”

Quinn laughed, but this time the laugh had a slightly different undertone. A little more bass to it.

“Since you’re dancing with me, you must feel very certain that your dress is not going to come off.”

She leaned back just enough to smile with him, but he wasn’t smiling.

He turned them once more. “Your dress will stay on no matter what I try?”

The possibility that he was talking about more than dancing was hard to ignore.

Quinn spoke intimately into her ear. “I find myself tempted to test that theory.”

He smiled at her, but it was something of a pirate’s smile. “Just how certain are you that your dress won’t be coming off tonight?”

* * *

Diana hoped her smile didn’t slip. Apparently, she’d gone and done it again. A man had mistaken friendliness for something else. Something looser. Easier.

Sleazier.

She never saw herself that way. It always disappointed her when other people did. It just about killed her that Quinn did.

Darn it, she’d wanted him to be different.

She was curvy. She smiled a lot. Tonight, she was pretty much flashing all the leg she owned in a dress that was just a teensy bit too small. Could she blame Quinn for thinking she was less of a matchmaker and more of an easy bed partner?

She’d been thinking about finding magic, about making perfect matches. He was thinking about getting her naked. Tonight. His hand slid lower, leaving her upper back cold as he curved his arm around her waist.

The disappointment was crushing.

She started to let go. At the same moment she loosened her hold, he tightened his, and then she found herself bent backward in a dip, breathless and disoriented, despite being held securely by his strong arms.

The last notes of the song faded away. She focused on his green eyes, the crystal and the flames and the music all a blur beyond him.

He smiled that disarming, charming half smile. “You were quite right. Your dress is secure. It’s safe to dance the next song with me.” He stood her up and gave her hand a friendly squeeze.

She was such an idiot. She was the one who’d jumped to all the wrong conclusions. They’d been talking about safety pins. Quinn hadn’t been thinking of her in a sexual way; he’d been joking with her. Of course he had been—she was the buddy.

Quinn held her lightly, waiting for her to say she’d dance with him.

Diana called up her smile. She forced herself to laugh. She placed her hand on his shoulder and smacked her other hand in his, in a move that resembled a high five. “Let’s dance. We can scope out your perfect partner over each other’s shoulders.”

* * *

Quinn knew he’d screwed up.

Thirty seconds, that was all it had taken. He’d been dancing with Diana, having a genuinely interesting and lighthearted conversation on a topic unfamiliar to him—how to fix a girl’s dress and thereby a girl’s evening—and then he’d lost Diana’s spark. She was still dancing with him, moving in time to the music, but she was no longer with him.

He needed that spark. Without any conscious effort on her part, without knowing he was hurting from the passing of Irene Caulsky, she’d made him feel better. Balanced, like there was enough light in the world to offset the dark.

But somehow, he’d blown it. Hell, she was even looking for another woman again, someone else for him to dance with.

Quinn was familiar with situations that went sour in a moment. As a cardiologist, he’d had patients chatting groggily with him as they waited for their sedation to take effect suddenly go into full cardiac arrest. As a rancher, he’d seen livestock ambling across a dry creek bed, kicking up dust, suddenly be swept away in a roaring torrent of water, a deadly flash flood from some faraway rainstorm.

When situations turned, Quinn turned them back. He threaded wires into hearts and opened blocked arteries. He gave chase on horseback and lassoed swimming cattle.

What did he do with Diana?

Situations with women didn’t turn so rapidly. Women liked being with him, and he with them. If a woman was upset, it was generally because he hadn’t been able to keep a date—which usually meant a patient had taken one of those sudden turns for the worse. Although the circumstances that kept him from showing up were beyond his control, women liked an apology. They liked their apologies best when he showed up bearing a gift, generally wine and roses, or a tasteful piece of gold jewelry. No gemstones. He liked his relationships exclusive, but without expectations of permanence.

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