Free I Love You by Brandy Wilson Page A

help.”
    She gave him a smile so icy his bartender could have used it in his coolers, then extended her hand across the bar, giving him one brusque, businesslike handshake. Despite her small hands, her grip was strong.
    “D…uh, Dace. Dace Robinson. Thanks for the phone.” She slid her fingers through her hair. “Fred said he would be here in a few minutes, and told me to wait until he showed up. That okay with you? I could order some coffee or something.”
    Tate placed a napkin in front of her on the bar, and was already moving toward the cooler. He chuckled. “Lady, look around you. You’re in a bar. If you aren’t into alcohol, your choices are water and soda. Take your pick.”
    “Just a water, please. Thanks.” Once again, she pulled money out of her scrubs pocket. Before she could put the cash on the bar, Tate waved it off.
    “On the house.”
    She tilted her head in surprise, and a genuine smile—not the icy one—crossed her face as he placed a bottle of water on her napkin. “Thank you.” Sliding onto a vacant barstool, she glanced at her watch and sighed, cracked open the water and took a dainty sip.
    Tate noticed her hands as she curled them around the plastic water bottle. Her nails were trimmed short, close to her fingertips, and she wore colorless nail polish. It was a change for him, since he was used to long fake nails on the biker chicks that rolled through his place, gaudily painted and decorated with more enthusiasm than taste. In contrast, Dace’s hands looked…efficient. Capable.
    And sexy as hell.
    Still gazing at her hands, he couldn’t explain why, but a bolt of lust shot through him. Those hands—what was the big deal? They were just hands. If he shut his eyes, he could imagine those sleek hands trailing up his arms and across his back, then drifting down his pecs and tangling in his chest hair. Jesus…
    To his surprise, he felt himself begin to harden.
    What the hell…

Chapter Two
    Dace couldn’t believe her luck lately. Bad was too inadequate to describe it. After a quick search of her mental thesaurus, she settled on abysmal .
    First, her ER shift was a frantic onslaught of flu patients. She was exhausted, and on a third set of scrubs; the first two sets were splattered with vomit. She was also fairly sure there was shit on her shoes.
    Second, the scheduling at the hospital got switched around, and her long weekend off had morphed into three twelve-hour shifts in the ER. As an intern in the last year of rotation, she knew the busy shifts would fly by in a blink. At least there were no plans on her schedule to cancel or Valentine’s Day dates to rearrange. For that small favor, she was grateful and…okay, truth be told, depressed.
    Besides, it looked like the extra cash would be needed for some car repairs.
    The worst part about being around the hospital over Valentine’s Day weekend? Constant reminders that there wasn’t anyone special in her life to send flowers or schedule a romantic dinner date. The flower delivery cart almost collided with her three times today—once coming out of the elevator—and everywhere were cheery heart-shaped decorations plastered on the nurses’ stations and the hallway walls. Dace didn’t mind if other people enjoyed romantic holidays; however, the unending onslaught of true love messages was causing a funk. She didn’t think about being lonely—work used all her available brain cells—but romantic holidays weren’t universally romantic for everyone.
    She couldn’t believe it when her faithful Honda sputtered and died, right in front of the bar. She managed to get it running just long enough to limp off the street and into a parking lot before it shut down completely. Normally, her baby ran like a well-oiled top, so catastrophic engine shutdown was a new experience.
    Sending a quick prayer to the automotive gods for an affordable repair, she sighed heavily and took another sip of her water.
    Finding out her hospital-issued cell phone