Teresa Southwick - Cindys Doctor Charming  

S he was a fake and a fraud.

Cindy Elliott was walking, talking, breathing proof that not only was it possible to make a silk purse from a sows ear, but you also could take her out in public. So far no one had pointed and laughed at her pretending to be one of the exalted affluent. But the night was young and she was the queen of getting dumped on.

Famous-rich and anonymous-wealthy people were crammed into this ballroom. She was pretty sure that, unlike herself, none of them had won their seat at this thousand-dollar-a-plate fundraiser with a raffle ticket. Any second she expected the riffraff police to see through her disguise and throw her out.

It wouldnt be the worst thing that ever happened to her, but it was not high on her list of things to do. Her plan was to enjoy every moment of this night. Take in every detail and let the memories brighten the daily grind as she dug herself out of the deep financial hole shed ended up in after trusting a man.

Cindy grew up in Las Vegas but this was the first time shed ever been to a shindig at Caesars Palace. Crystal chandeliers glittered overhead and silver light trickled down on white tablecloths and somehow made the fragrant arrangements of fresh, vibrantly colored flowers smell even better. Candles flickered but paled in comparison to the views visible from floor-to-ceiling windows of the neon skyline outside on the Strip.

She wished more people were looking at it instead of her, more specifically male people. A lot of the dapper men in dark suits and tuxedos were staring at her as she snaked her way through the crush of bodies. She felt conspicuous and self-conscious in her strapless, champagne-colored cocktail dress. It was knee length, and now was not a good time to wish for more material.

Finally she reached the perimeter of the room and found the table number that corresponded to the one on her invitation. There were eight chairs and all of them were empty. She decided to sit down and take the strain off her borrowed shoes, minding her friends warning not to test the limits of a Super Glue repair on a four-inch heel.

Moments later someone appeared in her peripheral vision and a familiar deep voice said, Is this seat taken?

Cindy looked up. The face matched the voice as shed feared it would. Nathan Steele, MD. Dr. Charming himself, she thought sarcastically. He always made her think of Hugh Jackmantall and broad-shouldered, with hazel eyes and dark brown hair. It pained her to admit, even to herself, that his traditional black tuxedo made him look very handsomefor a bad-tempered, arrogant, egotistical physician.

After a couple seconds of him standing there expectantly, the message translated from her eyes to her brain that he was waiting for an answer. Glancing at the seven empty seats, she briefly thought about saying that her date was sitting there, then abandoned the idea. She might be a pathetic loser who was a really bad judge of men, but she wasnt a liar.

No, she finally said. That seat isnt taken.

He smiled, then lowered his excellent butt into the chair beside hers. Isnt that lucky?

You have no idea. She looked at him, waiting for the inevitable moment when he recognized her as the incompetent from Mercy Medical Centers housekeeping department. The same employee hed chastised earlier that day for something that wasnt her fault. The indignity and unfairness still smarted.

Would you like a drink? The tone was pleasant, deep and sexy. Definitely not his icy-cold, all-business hospital voice.

Yes. It was the least he could do. A glass of red wine would be lovely.

He stood. Dont let anyone take this seat.

I wouldnt dream of it.

Dream being the operative word. Nathan Steele was walking, talking female fantasy. Definite hero material. A handsome doctor whose mission in life was to save babies who came into this world too early. Infants who needed every trick in his medical bag to survive outside a mothers protective womb while their not-ready-to-be born bodies caught up. How could a woman not seriously crush on a man like that?

The answer was simple. Pretty to look at, difficult to get along with. Cindy didnt need the aggravation. She was still paying for the last wrong guy at the wrong time. She was a twenty-seven-year-old college student because shed lost not only her bank account but money she hadnt even earned yet to a good-looking man masquerading as a hero. She literally couldnt afford another stupid man mistake.