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He was a bachelor, which she might have found suspect for a man in his late thirties if he were not so blatantly masculine. It intrigued her that he appeared impervious to flirtation. Not only had Becca once or twice tiptoed beyond the bounds of subtlety and intimated that she would be available for private meetings if he so desired, but also, she had discovered by listening carefully to lunchtime gossip that he had thwarted the efforts of most women – and there had been many – who were eager for a casual fling with the handsome medico. Certainly, not the least of her considerations was the fact that she had initially seen him arm-in-arm with Jinx Kipling. She had searched the newspapers for pictures of them together or snippets about them in the social columns, but she had found nothing. Either there had been a moratorium on the press’s fascination with the life of Jinx Kipling, or their relationship had started and ended with the Harrison P. Kipling Neurological Wing – or they were having an affair but being extremely discreet. In any event, Becca was infatuated. Something about Matthew Grant had touched her in a place no one had ever ventured before.