Flirting with the Society Doctor. Janice Lynn
She started to laugh, but then realized he was serious, had made note of her neighbor’s apartment number, and, most surprising, sounded a tad bit jealous.
Was it possible? Could a make-over and one kiss have him feeling possessive? Oh, what was she thinking? He was probably just worried that if she had a life she wouldn’t be at his beck and call for work. Just look at how he’d reacted to her making lunch plans that didn’t involve work.
“Apartment 907 is my neighbor.”
“And you tell this neighbor you love him?”
He’d heard that? And why was he using his annoyed voice on her? She glared at him in silence. Even with only being able to see his profile, she could see his expression harden.
“It’s a simple question, Faith. No harm in answering.” Oh, enough was enough.
“My neighbor is a seventy-year-old sweetheart who dog-sits for me while I’m at work. I was dropping off Yoda, not telling a man I loved him. Not that it’s any of your business if I was.”
His brow rose. “Yoda?”
“My dog.”
“You have a dog?”
“Yes, a miniature poodle.”
“A miniature poodle?” His nose curled with unpleasantness. “Not much in the way of protection.”
“You’d be surprised. Yoda might be small but he has the heart of a lion.”
He smirked. “You’re not one of those women who puts clothes and bows and such on her pet, are you?” Faith didn’t answer.
He burst out laughing. “You are, aren’t you? My little miss organized neurologist plays dress-up with her dog.”
She took a deep breath. “Yoda happens to like his Darth Poodle pajamas.”
Vale snorted. “May the force be with him, because he’s going to need all the help he can get when the other dogs who still have theirs get through with him.”
“Yeah, well, other than Miss Cupcakes, Mrs. Beasley’s female Chihuahua, Yoda doesn’t spend a lot of time around other dogs. He’d like to, but I’m always at work and Mrs. Beasley’s idea of a walk is to the end of the block and back for potty breaks.”
He glanced toward her. “I’m sensing some latent resentment. Are you telling me you’re working too many hours?”
“I am working too many hours.” What was wrong with her? Why was she telling him this? Eighteen months she’d busted her butt without a single word of complaint. Eighteen months she’d gone above and beyond whatever needed to be done just to impress him.
What had they highlighted her hair with? Truth serum?
Or was his kiss what had loosened her tongue?
“Which is why we should forget the Parkinson project for the weekend and just enjoy ourselves. The rest will be good for both of us, will have our minds refreshed when we return on Sunday,” he mused, not looking at her. “Too bad we didn’t bring Yoda with us. He might have gotten a chance to show off his fancy duds on the beach.”
Faith’s gaze narrowed in his direction, not that he noticed as he was watching traffic and not her. “Quit making fun of my dog.”
“If you put clothes on your dog, you have to expect him to be made fun of. By real men and real dogs.”
“I expect no such thing and Yoda is a real dog. The best dog. The sweaters are to keep him warm.”
“And here I thought that’s what fur was for.” He shot a horrified look her way. “You didn’t shave him, did you?”
“No.” Taking an exasperated breath, she shook her head, pursed her lips at him. “I know what you’re doing, and it isn’t going to work.”
He had the audacity to glance at her, all innocence and good looks. “What isn’t going to work?”
As if he didn’t know exactly what he was doing.
“What you’re doing.”
“Which is?”
“Trying to get me flustered about the dog so that I will forget to make my case regarding this not being a working weekend.” She fixed him with a determined glare. “This is a working weekend, Vale.”
Changing lanes on the parkway, he passed a slower car. “What’s wrong with us just having some fun?”
Was he kidding? “The only reason I’m here is because this is a working weekend.”
“That’s not true. I asked you to accompany me this weekend because my mother was determined to parade every single female at the wedding in front of me in the hope I’ll not be able to resist making a walk down a long aisle to a short-noosed rope.” He pulled off the parkway, zipped through the EZ Pass lane at the toll booth, and headed toward downtown Cape May. “With you by my side, she’ll leave me alone. I can spend time with my family without having to call out the National Guard.”
The National Guard? Did he expect such a rush of female would-be suitors? Casting another quick look at him, she decided that, yes, he probably did and rightly so. Forget his money, power and prestige, Dr. Vale Wakefield was still the finest catch in New York.
For the weekend she was to defend his bachelorhood? Where was the 1-800 hotline to the National Guard? She’d be the one needing reinforcements.
“She won’t buy that I’m anything more than a colleague.”
Vale shot her a quick look. “Why wouldn’t she?”
Should she list the reasons? Write him a thesis perhaps? “I’m not your type.”
“Obviously, you are.” And obviously he found her comment amusing since he chuckled.
“What’s that supposed to mean? You like tall, willowy women with IQs lower than their bust sizes,” she reminded him.
“I kissed you,” he parried.
As if those three little words explained everything.
She bit her lower lip. “Why did you?”
“I wanted to.”
He’d wanted to. Pleasure bubbled inside her like just uncorked champagne, overflowing with rich, foamy giddiness, intoxicating her senses.
She was drugged. Drugged by the insanity being around a man as potent as Vale caused. She didn’t want this, didn’t want to feel this way. Not about him or any man.
“What about what I wanted?”
“Are you saying you didn’t want me to kiss you? Because I don’t believe you.” His expression said, Yeah, right. Tell me another one.
“I stopped you,” she reminded him, chin high.
“Not until after a good bit of tongue thrusting and spit swapping had taken place. Face it, Faith, you wanted me to kiss you as much as I wanted to kiss you.”
“Eww.” Ignoring his second sentence, she wrinkled her nose at his coarse words. “Don’t be gross, Vale.”
“I was making a point.”
“Grossing me out is more like it.”
They came to a stop at a traffic light and he turned to face her, his eyes boring into her soul. “Kissing me grossed you out?”
With his gaze fixed on her, she couldn’t lie to him. Not even when that was what she really wanted to do. Instead she blurted out the embarrassing facts in the most revealing of ways.
“Kissing you didn’t gross me out.” Except at the abandoned way she’d kissed him back when she knew better.
“What did kissing me do?” His voice was husky,