Wedding Date with the Army Doc by Lynne Marshall Page B

you all the more appealing.” He nipped her earlobe then watched the flesh on her neck prickle. “Now that I know you better, you’re driving me crazy.”
    She took a quick last sip of her wine and set the glass down. He couldn’t help but get his hopes up that tonight might be the night. Soon after their gazes met and melded, planting a solid yes in his mind. He kissed her, pulling her closer. She settled into his arms and kissed more hungrily than usual. They were getting pretty damn good at this part. Making out. He deepened his kiss and a tiny moan caught in her throat. His me-man-you-woman switch clicked on and his needy hands roamed her shoulders and arms and soon slid over her waist and up to her breast.
    She stiffened so noticeably he stopped kissing in order to look at her. This wasn’t the first time it had happened. “Am I doing something wrong?” He spoke quietly, his version of tender. “If there’s anything I need to change, tell me so I can fix it.”
    She shook her head, switching from the relaxed sensual compliment-giver of a few moments before to a cautious woman with glistening brown eyes. She glanced over his shoulder rather than look straight at him. A sense of dread seemed to hover around her. “You’ve heard me talk about my mother.”
    He nodded, and he knew the stats about breast cancer, too. Was that what held her back in life? The fear of getting cancer?
    â€œOn top of having the strong family history, I have the Ki-67 blood marker and the BRCA1 and 2 gene mutations, plus SNPs—single nucleotide polymorphisms.”
    So that was the rest of the story, and a tough one to accept for sure.
    â€œNot good. Right?”
    Still considering the stark reality of what she’d just said, he didn’t answer right away, but he had to agree. The odds were against her. “Is that what stops you from getting closer?” Would she never let him, or anyone, into her life because of that?
    She took a deep jittery breath, shifted her gaze to his hand, touching his fingers, playing with them. Every time she touched him he responded, and soon their fingers were laced together, his thumb rubbing along the outline of her palm. She worried her mouth. “So two years ago I had preemptive surgery, bilateral radical mastectomies without reconstruction.” She may as well have blurted out there was a monster in the house—the sudden news felt as jolting.
    He gripped her hand tighter as the realization of what she was telling him registered. This beautiful young woman had had her breasts removed to avoid being diagnosed with cancer in the future. As a surgeon, he knew exactly what she meant. He knew what unreconstructed mastectomy scars looked like. Hell, he’d given those scars to hundreds of women over the years. But most opted to have implants along with the surgery. From several of his own patients who’d taken Charlotte’s route, he knew the sorrow the women went through afterward. Dealing with body image was always the toughest issue. Yet her surgery had been voluntary, and she’d made the choice not to have reconstruction.
    It also became clear why her engagement had ended. The guy hadn’t been able to take it.
    So the natural curves on display in her clothes were thanks to that special bra he recommended to his own patients. It sure had fooled him. Now he understood why she always tensed up when he started exploring that part of her body.
    He needed to make it clear that he wasn’t that guy, the guy who couldn’t take it.
    He pulled her hand to his mouth and kissed it, kissed each finger and the inside of her wrist. He just wanted to love her, to ease her fears, to let her know that, though, yes, he was shocked, it didn’t matter to him. His other hand caressed her neck. “If you’re worried what I might think, I’m going to quote back to you what you told me Dr. Gordon said. ‘Life’s got