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intently for one brief moment. “I thought I knew you very well. I had plenty of lessons to teach me all about Nicole Ross.”
    He turned his eyes back to the road and Nicole sat heavily in her seat. Indeed, he had known her very well. Against her own will she found her mind flooded with memories of lazy summer afternoons she and Wyatt spent picking oranges in the groves. And hot summer nights sneaking into his grandfather’s pool for a midnight swim. On one such endless night he’d tried to convince her to skinny dip, sliding the thin straps of her bikini over each shoulder and kissing a path down her neck and over her breast as he bared her skin in the cool water.
    “No,” she said, forcing the sultry images from her mind.
    “No, what?”
    They pulled up in front of the hospital. Nicole nearly sighed in relief that she’d soon be able to escape from the close confines of his truck. She remained silent for a moment, then said, “No, you don’t know a damn thing about me.”
    Not waiting for a response, she opened the door to step out into the thick Florida night. Heat assaulted her. It was nearly one a.m., but the air was still heavy and hot, with that not-totally-unpleasant smell found only in the south. A mixture of citrus, flowers, paper mills and suntan oil, her father had once said.
    As they walked across the parking lot, Nicole shrugged off her suit jacket and draped it over her arm. The green silk blouse she wore beneath was sleeveless. She knew she'd probably soon be chilly in the air conditioned building, but as they entered the lobby of the modern-looking hospital, she silently savored the cool relief.
    "Your father's in the cardiac intensive care unit," Wyatt said. "It's on the fourth floor."
    As they walked to the elevator, Wyatt tried not to look too closely at Nicole. He figured she must have been uncomfortable in that expensive, tailored jacket she wore. He wished she'd kept it on. It was bad enough that the skirt was too short and caught his eye again and again during the endless ride from the airport. Now, the sleeveless, silky blouse she wore outlined every curve of her body and was damned distracting. The last thing Wyatt Clayton wanted was to be distracted by Nicole Ross. How could he be distracted by the one woman who’d ever broken his heart?
    "You don't have to stay," she said in a tight voice as they boarded the elevator.
    "What would you suggest I do with your suitcase? Dump it in the parking lot?"
    She flushed lightly, obviously realizing how rude she'd sounded. "I'm sorry. I’m not thinking clearly right now," she admitted.
    He knew the apology was difficult for her.
    “Thank you for picking me up,” she added.
    "Forget it. I was the one who dragged your father out into my stables in the middle of a stifling hot day. I can help out.”
    She nodded. When they reached the fourth floor, she rushed out of the elevator before the door had fully opened. "My name is Nicole Ross, my father was brought in here today," Nicole said as she approached a woman standing at a nurse's station.
    "Yes, he is in unit eight. But, I'm sorry. Patients in the CICU are only allowed one visitor for ten minutes every hour. Someone just visited with him forty minutes ago. A Miss Sanchez? I believe she went down to the coffee shop," the woman replied with an impersonal smile.
    Nicole looked like she wanted to punch something. She began to protest when Wyatt took her by the arm and said, "Settle down, Nicole. They make these rules for the good of the patients, not the convenience of the family members."
    Nicole sighed, silently acknowledging he was right. "So how is my father?" she asked the nurse. "What is his condition?"
    "I'm sorry, ma'am," the woman said apologetically, "I can't give you much information. I'm sure the doctor will be up to speak with you shortly."
    Obviously frustrated and impatient, Nicole went to the ladies room, then returned to pace the corridor a few times. Leaning against a fake stone