He'd take her back to the lounge down the street from the hospital, with its fuck-me music. Same place where she'd kissed him. They'd dance again, and if he got lucky she'd kiss him again the way she had before. This time maybe he'd invite her home, tamp down his compulsion to control and enjoy... But damn it, he wanted to control her. Why shouldn't he give her what he really was, see if she could handle it?
 
 He knew why. Because for the first time in a long time, this mattered. Margaret meant something to his heart as well as his libido. He'd take it slow, even if it killed him. "Leave your car here. I'll drive us to the lounge, and afterward I'll take you home."
 
 "All right."
 
 She didn't seem worried about how she'd get to work in the morning. Instead, she smiled up at him after settling on the passenger seat of his SUV, which he took as silent assent to his seduction plan. "You need some peace and quiet after a day from hell, don't you?" He remembered the first time he'd had to crack a patient's chest without the comforting feeling that there was a chief resident or attending thoracic surgeon backing him up. Margaret had to have been at least as terrified as he'd been back then. "Cat got your tongue?"
 
 She turned to him, her lips turned up in a semblance of a smile. "I guess so. That poor man. I still say you'd have cracked his chest faster. So would Jerry. Either of you could have saved his life."
 
 "Doubt it. What you're feeling now is aftershock from being called in to start a serious emergency case because your chief resident's on vacation and I wasn't close enough to get there right away. Go easy on yourself. You're good. Good enough that I'd trust you to operate on my mom."
 
 "Thanks. I think." He loved her soft, sure voice, a blend of budding confidence and femininity. Not even the baggy sweats she had on managed to mask the fact that she was a supremely female woman. As he pulled into the parking lot behind the lounge, he found himself imagining her in silk and lace. In nothing. He tried to conjure up a mental image of her in a black leather bustier like those he associated with the Dommes he occasionally played with at the Club. The image didn't fit, other than the piercing she kept open with the unobtrusive disk that hinted she might have flirted at some time with the BDSM lifestyle. Not that a lot of vanilla chicks these days didn't pierce body parts other than their ears, but Margaret didn't seem the type to have ever gone for the Goth look.
 
 Once he'd helped her out of the car, Eli laid a hand on the small of Margaret's slender back, felt the tension there. She'd always hidden that tension under a tightly controlled, unflappable exterior. And pushing down his leaping desire, he thought about how many women in demanding careers nurtured the souls of desperate submissives in the bedroom. He had a feeling Margaret might be one of those driven women who needed to relinquish control in their private lives to achieve balance with the tight leash they had to keep on their emotions to succeed in their careers. If he was right, then Maggie might be the sub of his dreams. She might not even know her sexual mindset, but maybe he could be the one who would open her up to it. A sub beyond his wildest fantasies, lust that went hand in hand with liking, professional respect.
 
 Under his touch, he felt her sigh, heard the ragged sound of her breathing. "Relax, Maggie," he murmured. "If you don't, you'll crumble."
 
 "I know." Her voice was small, needy.
 
 "Leave Dr. Berman at the hospital and just be Maggie." The mellow sounds of jazz coming from a live piano player embraced them when Eli opened the door and waited for her to go inside.