Excerpt of Tides of Desire by Tracy Sumner

Her hand tensed on his arm as she released what sounded like an irritated exhalation. “I found a facility willing to do post-graduate instruction, so rejoice, your scar will only be moderately ugly.” She gently probed the wound, scrutinized, her body drawing so close his breath caught. “That’s where I was the past year. Residency. Philadelphia. The position ended, and I returned to help Savannah with a public health campaign. Also, honestly, not many hospitals employ female doctors. And if they do, the positions are very competitive. Until then, it’s private practice.” He turned his head in time to see her swallow tightly. “Even here, where there is great need, I may not have patients. Or not many. And it’s just me, so…” She pressed her lips together. “We’ll see.”

His heart did a dive as he sat there wondering what to say and wishing he didn’t want to touch her so desperately. Because touching would get them nowhere, especially if he couldn’t separate desire from compassion. And at the moment, he couldn’t. “I’m a patient,” he said to smooth over the awkwardness, sympathy winning the battle.

When she finished, she snipped the thread and passed her thumb over a very neat set of stitches. He’d counted ten but might have missed a couple with her scent twisting his thoughts.

A low hum was her only reply as she opened a tin of horrific-smelling ointment and dabbed it on with a light touch. A sure touch, which didn’t surprise him. A lock of her hair brushed his cheek, and he closed his eyes, settling into the contact. It had been months, a year almost, since he’d experienced anything even remotely soothing.

“It takes time,” she told him as she applied a dressing, covering it with a length of snowy cotton that wouldn’t stay pristine long, “to build a practice. They’ll trust me at some point, or as is evidenced tonight, they’ll have to.”

Most of the people in Pilot Isle had their heads up their asses, but how could he admit that? Truth was, he’d be sitting in Magnus Leland’s office, even though he despised the man, if he and his brothers hadn’t gotten into it with him on more than one occasion. Personally, he had no qualms about going to a female doctor. Hell, he’d practically taken a college course in women’s freedom in the past year, what with Noah and Zach marrying patriots for the cause. He’d even painted signs for Savannah’s last campaign to gain the vote, God help him.

His problem wasn’t championing the radical females in his family but, rather, working through the sizable infatuation he had with the lady doctor currently stitching him up.

“A position somewhere will come around, I’m sure,” he said when she’d completed the procedure and stood there, seemingly lost about what to do next. He’d seen her work a shipwreck a few months back, about the most ghastly business there was. She’d bandaged and soothed and buried, doing what needed to be done without complaint. Never a hint she was somewhere she shouldn’t be, standing among the debris and the bodies.

It wasn’t only intelligence she had going for her.

She was beautiful in…he wasn’t sure how to describe it, in a most unusual way. Not the standard package: pretty face, agreeable figure. No, something in the way she looked at a person, or at least the way she looked at him, set her apart from every woman he’d ever known. Her eyes a rolling sea of knowledge, as vast as the one he sailed his skiffs over. Made a man want to explore, dive in and not look back. He was fine to jump in without thinking about it too awful much. Not like Noah and Zach, who’d dragged their heels until their women had up and left them.

Only…Macy Dallas. He ducked his head. Not going to happen.

She was leagues above anyone he’d even considered being attracted to. Too good for him by far. Anyway, she was leaving as soon as she found a hospital to employ her. His heart wouldn’t be able to take abandonment of such magnitude, even if negotiated and intentional.

A punch he knew was coming.

As he sat there pondering how lovely she smelled and how he could do nothing about it, she took a step back. Smoothed her hand over her skirt. Fingered the tin of ointment, the bottle of alcohol, rearranged her cotton strips. While he was beginning to suspect she was going to—

“About that night. At the social. I should apologize.”

Oh, shit, he thought and let his head drop back to the chair with a thunk. There was a crack in her ceiling wide enough to put his pinky in. He wished he could crawl into it. “You did. Twice that I recall.”

“I followed a perilous impulse after imbibing at least three glasses of—”

“Big words are wasted on me, Doc. Save them for the quilting circle.”

“I had no idea she was there. That you were connected to someone. I can only be thankful Miss Connery didn’t say a word after finding us. When I’m the depraved one, which I’ve never, ever been.” She huffed a breath, squeezed the life from a cotton ball. “And I attend that frivolous quilting circle so I can practice my stitches!”

“If I made a solemn vow”—he looked up, waited until her gaze met his, wanting this information to sink in and hold like an anchor on the ocean floor—“you had nothing, and I mean nothing, to do with what happened between me and Christabel, can we agree to never discuss this again?”

Those wondrous eyes of hers sparked, flooding the room blue.

So, she did have a temper. Well, good, because so did he.

“Is this foul mood because I kissed you, Mr. Garrett? Or because you took a sharp dig to a vital body part?”

He was on his feet fast enough to send pain slicing down his arm. “It’s because…” He looked away, clenched his jaw to keep from saying more. This time, thankfully, it was Noah’s voice circling his mind and not his father’s. Think first, Cale. With a sigh, he met Macy’s gaze even though he didn’t want to. Because he was an honest man if nothing else.

But then, dammit, he couldn’t quite admit: It’s because you get to me, Miss Dallas, apart from that impassioned but brief kiss. Because the sentiment needed polishing, like that dink in the hull of Fred Sanderlin’s skiff. He’d smoothed that thing over until he and Fred forgot it was even there to begin with. And starting a conversation with because you get to me was all about jagged edges.

“It wasn’t an impressive kiss,” she murmured, circling a length of material around her hand and jerking until her skin shone white. “Not in the grand scheme of things. Not enough to cause irreparable damage.”