Dr. Daddy

Dr. Daddy

Elizabeth Bevarly

www.millsandboon.co.uk

For Veronica Marie Bevarly,

completing the first round nicely.

Happy Birthday, sweetie.

Contents

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Epilogue

Prologue

“It can’t be as bad as all that, Zoey.”

Zoey Holland glanced up from the baby girl in her arms and nodded her head fiercely at the baby’s mother. When she did so, she felt a tug on her hair and realized the infant clutched a generous handful of the straight, fiery red tresses in her tiny fist. She gently tugged her hair free and tossed it over one shoulder.

“Oh, it’s definitely as bad as all that, Sylvie,” she said adamantly. “The guy’s a complete ogre, and he won’t be happy until he has my head on a spit and my butt in a sling. Ask Livy.”

Sylvie Buchanan turned to her sister for verification, arching a quizzical blond brow in question. Olivia McGuane nodded in agreement with Zoey.

“He really does seem to have it in for Zoey for some reason,” she said, trying to dodge her own toddler as she zigzagged across Sylvie’s expansive, ultramodern kitchen. The trio were meeting for their monthly Sunday brunch, at Sylvie’s house for the first time since she had brought Genevieve home from the hospital three months ago. “Be careful, Simon,” she admonished her twenty-two-month-old as he flew by. “And watch out for the plants. Auntie Sylvie and Uncle Chase aren’t nearly as untidy as Mommy and Daddy are. They won’t be as understanding if you make a mess.”

Sylvie emitted a sound of disbelief. “You mean Uncle Chase isn’t as untidy. He still hasn’t gotten over how messy everything seems to become once babies arrive—including the babies themselves—and he’s still convinced there’s some way to keep this house clean every minute of the day. Of course, just because I married the guy doesn’t mean I’ve mended my ways, either. Gennie and I are both driving him crazy.” She leaned over Zoey’s shoulder and chucked Genevieve under the chin. “Aren’t we, sweetheart?”

The baby gurgled and ducked her head in response to the tickle, reminding Zoey of a turtle. “Looks like she’s going to have Chase’s green eyes and your blond hair,” she said of the infant. “Nice combination.”

“Yeah, how come Gennie got hair right away and it took Simon more than a year?” Livy demanded.

All three women looked over at the dark-haired little boy who squatted in front of the air vent in that odd, flat-footed way of children, peering intently into it. The air rushing out tousled the thick, dark curls he’d inherited from his mother.

“That’s just the way babies are,” Sylvie said. “Besides, once his hair started coming in, it took off like a bunch of weeds. You’ve got no cause to complain.”

“Yeah, so much for his future doing late-night bald-guy commercials on TV,” Zoey said wistfully. “You could have made a fortune.”

“Thanks, but I like him just the way he is,” Olivia told her.

“But we digress,” Sylvie said, turning to Zoey again. “You were talking about this new doctor at Seton General, Dr. Fate.”

Zoey chuckled as she placed Genevieve back in the baby carrier situated at the center of the kitchen table. “That’s Dr. Tate,” she corrected her friend. “Please, don’t suggest it was destiny that I be tortured by the guy. That makes it sound like I’ll be stuck with him forever.”

Dr. Jonas Tate had shown up on the scene six months ago at Seton General, where Zoey and Olivia both worked as nurses in the maternity ward—Zoey in the nursery and Olivia in obstetrics. He had come to the South Jersey hospital from a prestigious private hospital on the west coast, where he had been the head of cardiology. Everyone at Seton had heard how he’d completed his residency with flying colors at Johns Hopkins twelve years ago, had received his M.D. with highest honors from Harvard before that and had fulfilled his premed undergraduate courses with near-perfect scores at Columbia before that.

He was, as Zoey had heard through the hospital grapevine on many, many occasions, an amazingly gifted physician. Now he was also on the board of Seton General, an administrator of stellar reputation and limitless ability. He was loved and respected by everyone.

Everyone except Zoey Holland.

Oh, she respected his education and his position at the hospital, of course. And she had even liked him well enough when he’d first come aboard, had liked his casual good looks and the pleasant smiles he seemed to have for everyone. But she hadn’t had much to do with him then, and somewhere along the line he’d begun to change. Lately, it seemed as if every time she turned around, she was going toe-to-toe with him on something, everything from the hospital’s policy on maternity leave to whether or not they were ordering enough sterile swabs. And always, always, she was forced to back down. Because no matter what else he might be—a jerk, a creep, a misogynist and a major thorn in her side—he was also unfortunately her boss.

“So what’s his problem?” Sylvie asked.

“You got me,” Zoey told her, honestly mystified. “All I know is that it seems like every chance he gets, he’s breathing down my neck about something.”

Olivia grinned. “Then again,” she said suggestively, “there are a lot of nurses who would be perfectly happy to find Dr. Tate breathing down their necks. Not to mention their blouses. Preferably in a dark linen closet in the middle of the third shift.”

Zoey expelled a rush of air in an unmistakably rude sound. “Well, not me. The guy’s nothing but a jerk. He’s arrogant, abrupt, rude, egocentric, bad tempered, sexist, pigheaded—”

“And has the nicest brandy-colored eyes you’ve ever seen,” Olivia completed with a wistful sigh, turning to Sylvie. “Not to mention those dark curls. I just love men with dark curls, don’t you?” she added with an affectionate glance at her son. “They’re just so adorable.”

“I like dark hair,” Sylvie agreed with a nod.

Zoey looked at Olivia as if her head had just exploded. “You have got to be kidding, Livy. Jonas Tate? Adorable?”

“Hey, it’s not my butt he’s chewing off at every turn,” Olivia said. “He’s always been perfectly polite—if a little cool and distant at times—to me.”

Zoey couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “The man is never polite, cool or distant to me, although as much distance as possible would be welcome. He has a more heated personality than anyone I’ve ever met. And as for polite... Hey, wait a minute,” she added when she reconsidered her friend’s statement. “Are you trying to imply that it’s my fault I’m at the top of his hit list?”

Olivia shrugged, obviously thinking hard before voicing her reply. “Not so much your fault,” she said slowly. “But I think his bad moods might just possibly be a direct result of your presence.”

Now Zoey was really confused. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Just that some personalities don’t jibe with others, you know?”

Sylvie nodded her understanding. “I know what you mean. That’s exactly how Chase and I were for a while. We had almost nothing in common—except for Gennie, of course—and there were times when he just absolutely drove me nuts. But,” she added with a serene smile, “we worked through all that. Now everything’s peaches.”

“Well, things will never be peaches in my life as long as I have to deal with Dr. Jonas Tate,” Zoey said decisively. “There’s just something about that man....”

“Don’t sweat it,” Sylvie told her. “Listen, I’m going to give you the sagest, most profound bit of bartender advice in my ample arsenal, advice that has never failed me or any of my customers before.”

Zoey didn’t try to hide her skepticism, but asked anyway, “And what’s that?”

“Just go with the flow, Zoey.”

Zoey glanced from Sylvie to Olivia and back again. “Go with the flow,” she repeated blandly, enunciating each word clearly lest she had misunderstood one of them.

Sylvie nodded. “You’d be amazed at how many of us inadvertently create our own problems by battling against the very things we should be accepting. Look at Livy and me and the problems we had with Daniel and Chase. She and I are two prime examples.” She looked down at the baby dropping off to sleep in her carrier and smiled. “Just relax and let nature take its course, Zoey. You and Dr. Fate will work things out.”

“Dr. Tate,” Zoey corrected her friend again. Sylvie waved her hand negligently and bent to kiss her daughter’s forehead. “Tate, fate,” she said quietly. “Whatever.”

One

Jonas Tate was not having a good day, and it was all Juliana’s fault. She was the most demanding, petulant female he had ever had the misfortune to know, an absolute monster hiding behind big blue eyes, soft blond hair and delicate, cupid’s bow lips. As she did virtually every night since she’d invaded his home two months ago, she had woken him in the middle of the night, insisting that he see to her needs—and by God, Juliana’s needs could exhaust an army of men—and hadn’t allowed him to go back to sleep after he’d satisfied her. Once awake and sated, she had ordered him to further entertain her, commanding stories and music and clever conversation.

She was that most deadly kind of female, he thought, charming and surprisingly alluring one minute, needful and completely dependent the next. There was no doubt in his mind that she would be the death of some unfortunate man someday.

All that, and she was barely three months old.

Jonas pulled open the top right-hand drawer of his desk, pushed aside a sheaf of papers, a banded bundle of pencils and a wayward pacifier until he located a bottle of extrastrength pain reliever. He tossed back three of the capsules without water, grimacing when one got stuck halfway down his throat. When he went to the water cooler in the corner of his office, he caught a quick glimpse of himself in the mirror hanging near it and wished he hadn’t.

He looked like hell. His dark curls were ragged looking and badly in need of a cut for which he had absolutely no time to spare. He’d also had no time to spare for a shave that morning, and his three-o’clock shadow—normally heavy on the best days—shaded the lower half of his face like a Mack truck. What had once been faint purple crescents beneath his eyes due to a little overwork were fast becoming indelible black smudges due to an almost total lack of sleep. He looked not like a man who oversaw a hospital wing, but a man who was confined to one—whichever one it was that housed the psychiatric ward.

A quick rap at his office door caused him to turn around abruptly, icy water sloshing over the side of the cup and onto the sleeve of his white dress shirt. His reaction to the cold liquid was to jump, an action that spilled even more water onto the front of his shirt.

“Come in!” he shouted out angrily, holding the wet fabric away from his skin.

The door opened slowly, barely enough for one of the new interns to stick her head inside. “Uh, Dr. Tate?” she asked.

“Yes?” He couldn’t remember the young woman’s name, but he didn’t really care. From what little he’d observed of her, she wasn’t long for the program, anyway.

“They, uh, they need you in the maternity ward, sir.”

“Why?”

“I, uh, I don’t know. They just asked me to bring you.”

“Is it an emergency?”

The young woman narrowed her eyes as she considered the question. “I don’t think so. They probably would have told me if it was, don’t you think?”

“One would think so, yes.”

“Or else they would have paged you. I guess.”

Jonas studied the woman for a long time before he spoke further. When he did, it was brief and to the point. “What’s your name?” he asked the intern.

“Mills, sir. Uh, Dr. Claudia Mills.”

“Mills,” he repeated, making no effort to hide the displeasure and exasperation he felt. “Dr. Mills,” he corrected himself, placing a sarcastic emphasis on her title. “How long have you been with us here at Seton General?”

“About two weeks, sir.”

“Two weeks. I see. And in that very brief amount of time, you’ve already managed to forget the most basic principles of your medical education, is that right?”

Her eyes widened in surprise before she dipped her head to avoid meeting his gaze. “No, sir, I—”

Jonas strode forcefully to the door and jerked it open, out of the intern’s grasp, causing her to stumble forward past him. He turned again before he left and addressed her one final time. “The next time someone asks you to do something, Dr. Mills, do try to get the particulars before you go trundling off on your merry way, won’t you?

“And one more thing,” he added when he saw tears forming in her eyes. “If you expect to last in this profession, you’d better develop a thick skin. I won’t be the last doctor to take you to task for stupid mistakes. Just watch that you make as few of them as possible. Someone might wind up hurt. Or dead. And then where will you be, hmm?”

As the door closed behind him he thought he heard the young woman sniffling, and he frowned. Interns, he thought with a cynical shake of his head. These days none of them seemed to have the backbone for the job.

He was still angry, and his head was still pounding, when he arrived in the maternity ward, finding the unit surprisingly quiet so close to a change of shifts. Only one nurse commanded the main station, and she was bent over a clipboard, making what appeared to be standard notations on a patient’s chart.

“What is it?” he asked when he approached her.

“Oh, yes, Dr. Tate,” she said, standing. “Dr. Forrest wanted to see you in LDR room C.”

Jonas was puzzled. “Did she say why?”

The nurse shook her head and shrugged. “Nope. Sorry. Just that I should send you in as soon as you arrive.”

He rubbed vigorously at his forehead, trying to will the throbbing between his temples to go away, since the pain relievers were doing no good whatever. He was still cradling his forehead in his palm when he pushed open the door to LDR room C, so he didn’t realize it was packed full of people until they all shouted out, “Surprise!”

Immediately, Jonas looked up to find himself surrounded by doctors, nurses, interns, orderlies and other representatives of every unit housed in the east wing. Intermingled between them were several dozen colorful balloons—some of which, he noted, were actually inflated surgical gloves with smiley faces drawn on them in Magic Marker—and a huge sheet cake ablaze with candles and billowing smoke.

“You didn’t think you could hide the big four-oh from us, did you, Jonas?” Lily Forrest, the head of neonatal intensive care asked him.

Lily and her husband, Mike, had been the first friends Jonas had made after his arrival in New Jersey. Actually, he realized reluctantly, they were the only friends he’d made since moving. Then again, he thought, he was a man who liked to keep to himself. At least, he had been, before the social worker holding Juliana had arrived at his front door. On top of every other lousy thing that had happened since New Year’s Day, Jonas was turning forty. He had no idea how Lily had discovered that today was his birthday. And he’d certainly told no one how old he was going to be. Hell, he didn’t even like to think about that himself.

But now, as he stared out at the eager, smiling faces surrounding him, and the cake with enough candles burning atop it to make it appear comical, he felt a genuine smile start to curl itself onto his lips. Until his gaze traveled over the crowd and settled on one woman in particular.

A redheaded nurse stood alone in the corner. Her long, straight ponytail, crisp, blue surgical scrubs and the stethoscope dangling around her neck made her appear a vision of efficiency and calm. Jonas couldn’t deny that Zoey Holland was the epitome of efficiency. However, he also knew she was anything but calm. Her ramrod-straight posture, and the perfectly manicured, red fingernails digging into the arms she had crossed over her chest gave her away. That and the scowl she always seemed to reserve for him alone.

Jonas knew Zoey hated him. And, he conceded reluctantly, maybe she had a right. He hadn’t been the easiest man to get along with lately. And, dammit, for some reason, she really rubbed him the wrong way. He couldn’t put his finger on why, exactly, but the two of them had been butting heads almost since day one.

“Well, aren’t you going to say something?” Lily asked him, circling an arm around his shoulder and pulling him close for an affectionate hug.

“Frankly, Lily, I’m not quite sure what to say,” he told her honestly. “Who’s minding the store? There must be countless women in labor wondering what’s happened to the staff.”

“They’ve all been nice enough to time their contractions to convenience our little party. Besides, there’s just been a shift change. What you’ve got here is the first shift on their way out.”

“Yet you all made time to wish me a happy birthday,” Jonas remarked, honestly flattered by their gesture. “Thank you,” he added. “I’m not sure how you knew it was my birthday....” His voice trailed off as he offered Lily a look of mock censure. “And it might be best if I don’t find out, but...” He didn’t know what else to say, so he simply repeated, “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Lily told him. “Now hurry up and blow out your candles before someone calls the fire marshal.”

As Jonas approached the cake, he glimpsed Zoey from the corner of his eye trying to make a discreet exit. There was no doubt in his mind that she had been pressed into attending this party against her will, and suddenly feeling inexplicably devilish, he called out after her, “Give me a hand here, will you, Zoey? I’m not sure I can do this by myself.”

She paused, her long, fiery ponytail shivering like liquid copper as she clearly tried to control what was at best her pique—and at worst her rage, Jonas was certain—at being singled out from the others.

“Sorry, Dr. Tate, but I’m kind of pressed for time,” she said as she spun around quickly. “I’m pulling an extra shift later tonight for Jeannette, and I’ve really got to get home and catch a little shut-eye before I come back.”

Her long hair kept moving even when she stopped, cascading over one shoulder in a ruddy stream. Jonas’s fingers twitched at his sides. Normally she wore her hair confined in a tightly woven French braid or wound into a bun. This was the loosest he’d ever seen it, and he was helpless to deny that, at the moment, he wanted nothing more for his birthday than to bury his fingers in the silky tresses. He wondered if her “little shut-eye” after work included a man, and if that was why she was wearing her hair almost loose like that. Her green eyes flashed at him as he formed the thought, as if to demand what business it was of his if she were.

“Oh, come on,” he cajoled her. “This will only take a minute.”

Zoey Holland glared at Jonas Tate with all her might, willing him to spontaneously combust so that she could go home and soak in a hot bath. It was no secret to anyone in the east wing that she and Jonas Tate did not, to put it politely, get along with each other. Yet here he was, in front of God and everyone, daring her to be nice to him. His challenge didn’t sit well with Zoey, and she wondered what he was setting her up for.

On top of that, she’d had a lousy day. The only thing that had made it bearable was that it had looked as if she would see it through to its completion without running into the infuriating Dr. Tate. She had been this close to grabbing her coat and leaving the floor when she’d been corralled by Dr. Forrest.

Only because Zoey had such enormous respect and admiration for Lily Forrest had she conceded to the woman’s request that she attend this surprise party for Jonas Tate. She didn’t have to stay long, only a few minutes, Lily had promised her, knowing as well as everyone that Zoey didn’t get along with the good doctor. But maybe, Lily had suggested further, Zoey’s appearance would help mend the rift that seemed to be growing wider everyday between the two.

Zoey knew the only thing that would mend the rift between herself and Dr. Tate would be to erect a wall three feet thick between the two of them. But, nonetheless, she had promised Lily she would come. What would a few minutes hurt? she had reasoned. She could hang back in the corner and sneak out when no one was looking. Besides, Lily had said there would be cake. Chocolate cake with white icing, without question the most favorite culinary treat Zoey could name. She’d grab a piece and take it home, and have it with her coffee after dinner.

A few minutes, she repeated to herself now. That was how long Lily had said Zoey would have to stay. Well, a few minutes were up, and she wanted to go home. Still, Jonas Tate’s eyes glittered with the light of combat as he awaited her reply, and she had never been one to back down from a challenge. Especially when she’d been challenged by an overblown, egocentric, self-important, male chauvinistic—

“Zoey?” he asked again, his deep, rusty-sounding baritone grating on her nerves. “Better hurry. This cake’s going to set off the sprinkler system if we don’t put it out soon.”

She wasn’t sure when or why she decided to play along, but Zoey suddenly found herself moving slowly toward the good doctor. He looked like hell, she noted absently. His hair, normally a little longish, but nonetheless neat, was becoming pretty shaggy, and he clearly hadn’t shaved that morning.

She wondered idly if he had overslept at the house of a female companion after spending the night practicing all kinds of sexual gymnastics, and simply hadn’t had the time—or the energy—to make himself presentable for work. Come to think of it, he did look pretty exhausted, she thought as she drew nearer. Just what kind of women did he date, anyway?

He smiled at her when she halted beside him, and she wondered why she even cared about the type of woman who would interest Jonas Tate. She already knew the answer to that—someone coy, petite, demure and submissive. Which, of course, left her completely out of the running. At five foot ten, she stood nearly eye-to-eye with him, fewer than two inches shorter than he was. She was big boned, too, her hands strong and capable and not much smaller than his. And as for the coy, demure and submissive part, well... Zoey Holland had never been accused of being any of those things. She spoke her mind when it suited her—and often when it did not—and no one, no one, ever told her what to do.

Except for Jonas Tate, a little voice in the back of her head taunted. He can get a rise out of you faster than a thoroughbred through the gate.

Zoey doubled her fists at her sides when she realized how easily she had fallen into the trap. Just by succumbing to his dare that she do something he knew she otherwise wouldn’t, she’d played right into Jonas Tate’s hands. Once again, he’d told her what to do.

“On the count of three,” he instructed her softly, his voice coming from dangerously near her ear.

She turned to find his face scant inches away from her own and started to back away. But his fingers circled her wrist and held her close, a cryptic smile that curled his lips her only indication that he’d known how she was going to react before she’d even formed the thought in her head. Reluctantly, she stayed put in her position beside him, but she couldn’t quite shake the shivery sensations that spiraled up her arm and through her heart to pool in a tightly wound coil in her stomach.