Promises, Promises. Shelley Cooper
glasses. It had been months since they’d actually spoken face-to-face, and he’d forgotten how tall she was, just an inch shy of his own six feet.
“Dr. Garibaldi,” she said, clearly surprised to see him. “Is there a problem?”
Something was different about her tonight, he realized. He was used to seeing her in suits, so the sleeveless, calf-length sundress was a surprise. But her attire wasn’t what had caught his attention. Maybe it was just a trick of the light that silhouetted her figure in the doorway, but he could swear her face was flushed with excitement and that her eyes actually sparkled behind the thick lenses of her glasses.
Was she entertaining? Had his unscheduled visit interrupted a languid seduction scene? Was that what was up with his landlady?
He’d never seen her like this before, so animated, so alive. Prior to that moment, if anyone had asked him to describe her, he would have said she was a woman who took life seriously and who dressed the part. She wasn’t plain, nor was she pretty. Sensible looking would be an apt enough description. He’d always thought of her as quiet and self-contained, a woman content to fade into the background with her books and ledgers, while other, more vibrant personalities hogged the limelight.
Since when had he turned so poetic?
Since he’d realized that his landlady had gorgeous, thick, waist-length hair. Normally, or at least whenever he’d seen her, she wore it in a French braid or in a bun fastened at the nape of her neck.
Suddenly, Marco was looking at her in a whole new light.
“Dr. Garibaldi?” she repeated, seemingly puzzled at his nonresponse.
He gave himself a mental shake. Given the acrimony with which his most recent relationship had ended, he was in no hurry to jump into another one. Even if he had been, Gretchen Montgomery would be the last woman he’d choose. For one thing, Marco was fairly certain she was a marriage-minded woman, and he was definitely not a marriage-minded man. What was more important, she was his landlady. Never mix business with pleasure, that was his motto.
“I’m sorry to disturb you so late, Ms. Montgomery, but I was wondering if you could turn your CD player down.”
She looked more puzzled than ever. “My CD player?”
He felt a surge of impatience. “The piano music. It’s keeping me awake.”
“You think—” She broke off. A quick glance at her wristwatch, and her eyes filled with contrition. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize it was this late. Of course I’ll turn the music down. I apologize for disturbing you, Dr. Garibaldi. I won’t be so thoughtless again.”
“Thank you.”
“Can I do anything else for you?”
You can let me run my fingers through your hair.
The unexpected thought shot a tingle of awareness through him. Before he could control the impulse, he actually felt his arm reach out as if to do just that. He definitely needed to get some sleep.
“No,” he said, quickly backing away. Snatching back his outstretched arm, he thrust his fingers through his own hair. “Nothing else.”
“Have a good night, Dr. Garibaldi.”
“You too, Ms. Montgomery.”
“Dr. Garibaldi?”
Hand on the door to his own apartment, Marco slowly turned. “Yes?”
“Before I forget, I should probably warn you that I’m having some cosmetic work done on the outside of the house over the next few weeks. Most of it should be carried out between nine and five, but if it causes a problem, please let me know. I realize your hours can be erratic, and I don’t want to disturb your sleep again.”
“Thank you. I’ll notify you if there’s a problem.”
She seemed to hesitate. “Well, good night.”
“Good night.”
He’d just settled back into bed and closed his eyes, the blessed silence cocooning him like a soft, cotton blanket, when the phone rang. Marco swore. He wasn’t on call. Unless there was a huge disaster in the making, or a member of his family needed him, his phone had no business ringing at this hour.
“What?” he barked into the receiver.
“It’s me,” Brian, his best friend, said.
“Do you know what time it is?”
“Sorry, buddy. It’s just… Well, it’s Val.” A long sigh traveled the phone lines. “We had another fight. A big one. She’s threatening to file for divorce. Can I come over? I really need someone to talk to.”
Marco swung his legs over the side of the bed. “Sure,” he said, running his hand over the stubble on his cheeks. “I’ll put the coffee on.” What had ever made him think he was going to get some sleep?
As he stumbled into the bathroom to toss cold water on his face, Marco’s thoughts turned to Brian and Val. Married just four years, they had already separated and reunited twice.
The problem was that, like him, Brian was a physician. A pediatrician who’d just started a practice of his own, he often worked more than eighty hours a week. And that didn’t take into consideration the hours in the middle of the night that he was on call. With a new baby to care for, it was no wonder Val often felt overwhelmed and neglected as far as attention from her husband was concerned. For his part, Brian justifiably felt torn between the pressures of the practice he’d built to assure his family’s financial security and the emotional demands of that family.
Marco was thankful for one thing. The day he’d promised to never forget the human side of medicine, he’d also promised that he would never marry. The marriages of too many physicians ended as a result of the very issues with which Val and Brian were now struggling. Issues they would continue to struggle with in the future. If, that is, they stayed married.
During those rare times when the thought of a wife and family to come home to became too tempting, all Marco had to do was think of Brian and Val, and his weakness would vanish. The one thing he never questioned were the promises he had made. His determination to keep them remained steadfast.
So why, even though he knew it was inappropriate, couldn’t he stop thinking about the light in his landlady’s unexpectedly bewitching eyes? And why couldn’t he stop hoping that she wasn’t entertaining a gentleman caller, that some other man wasn’t this very minute running his fingers through her beautiful, long hair?
Gretchen stood with her back pressed to her closed front door. Her heart thudded and her cheeks felt hot.
“‘Well, good night,’” she muttered in disgust. “Is that all you could think to say to him? What about, ‘You make my toes curl and my heart pound, and I was wondering if there was any chance I could do the same to you?’ Or, ‘I made a promise to my best friend that I’d have a wild, crazy affair. You game?’”
Groaning, she buried her head in her hands. She really was hopeless. Having a wild, crazy affair with any man, let alone one as virile as Marco Garibaldi, wasn’t going to be easy. In truth, she had to face the fact that it might prove downright impossible.
Gretchen felt herself grow as hot as the air outside as she remembered the way her tenant had looked, his thick, nearly black hair tousled, his well-muscled legs and broad chest on view in a way she had never glimpsed before beneath his loosely belted bathrobe, his smoky, heavy-lidded eyes half-closed from exhaustion. Heaven help her, if he had smiled that slow, crooked grin of his, she would have melted into a puddle at his feet. And the heat would have had nothing to do with it.
There was no denying that he possessed all the qualities Jill had stipulated. Just as there was no denying that, since Jill had put the notion into her head, having a wild, crazy affair with Marco Garibaldi was just about all Gretchen could think about.
She had