The Wife He's Been Waiting For. Dianne Drake
her eyes, started to scoot out of the booth, only to be stopped at the edge of the seat by a large form she recognized from the sheer size of him, since in her little corner of the lounge it was too dark to see much of anything. “Spying on me?” she snapped.
He placed a cup of chowder down in front of her, along with her salad, then wedged himself into the seat right next to her, pushing her back from the edge. “Apparently, I am,” he said, handing her a soup spoon.
CHAPTER TWO
“SO, WHAT do you want, Doctor? What do you really want?” She was a little flattered by his attention, actually. It had been a long year avoiding everybody with whom she’d come into contact, and there were so many nights when she would have enjoyed a dinner companion, a male companion especially. No strings attached, separate checks, light conversation, going their separate ways at the end of the meal, of course. Someone to share a little space with her at the same table, someone staving off the appearance that she was so pathetically alone.
She wasn’t antisocial, even though it appeared she was. Just cautious these days, as getting involved came easily to her. Easily, but with such a high price…costly mistakes she was bound to make again if the occasion arose. And she simply didn’t trust herself to do otherwise, which was why she kept to herself now. “Did you follow me here, or do you moonlight as a waiter when you’re off duty in the hospital? Are you serving up syringes of penicillin by day and dry martinis with a lemon twist by night?”
He laughed, raising his hand to signal the waitress. When he caught her attention, she gave him a familiar nod, then scurried off to the bar. “Some might think that’s the same thing, one cure being as good as another. When you’re on holiday, a ship has amazing opportunities, with so many things to do. But when you’re on a ship for your employment as well as your living space, those opportunities are pretty limited and the space gets rather small, the longer you’re confined to it. I don’t fraternize with the guests in the planned social activities, don’t date them, don’t play shuffleboard with them, don’t serve them drinks either. Most of the time I try to keep to places where there aren’t so many people hanging around. Keep the separation between crew and guests intact. And right now this seems the place to do it.”
“Sounds…dull. So many things to do, and here you are with me, probably the one and only avowed antisocial passenger on board. Not very interesting at all, Doctor. Not for a man who could have other choices, if he so wishes.” She glanced at the waitress who was giving him an admiring appraisal, then at a table with three well liquored-up women, all of whom had that same look for him. It seemed the good doctor did have his opportunities if he cared to take them. “A number of other choices,” she said.
“If you want those choices.”
“And you don’t?” She arched a curious eyebrow. “That surprises me.”
“It surprises me too, sometimes. But it avoids a lot of complications in the long run and who needs complications when you can have all this?” He pointed to the karaoke singer standing under the dim blue light on the postage-stamp-sized stage, singing his off-key heart out.
“Sounds like a been there, done that to me. Once burned, twice shy, or something like that.”
“It’s that obvious?” He said that with a smile, but that wasn’t at all the impression she was getting from him. There was something deep, something disturbing in his voice. Some sadness, maybe? Or wistfulness? It was a hauntingly familiar tone, and one she recognized from her own voice when she wasn’t trying so hard to mask it with something lighter, something less truthful, the way Michael was trying to do. Something compelled her to hear his voice again, to elicit that emotion from him once more, but as she opened her mouth to speak, the karaoke singer hit a particularly loud, startlingly sour note that caused even him to sputter, then giggle an apology into the microphone—but not quit singing.
Michael cringed visibly, and this time the smile that spread to his face was genuine. “You can see why there aren’t so many people around here.”
The moment was gone. It was too late to try and discover something she had no right to discover. “Well, I think earplugs are a good remedy,” she said lightly, shaking off the building intensity and finally relaxing into the moment between them a little more. His motives seemed innocent enough, and she did understand how this was a good place to come if you were seeking solitude on a crowded ship—nice, dim room, secluded entryway making it easy to overlook, perfect low-key ambiance, comfortable booths arranged intimately so they gave the seeming appearance of aloneness. This one in particular, tucked in behind a column, was especially private, which was why she’d chosen it. For a moment it crossed her mind that this might be Dr Sloan’s regular booth for all the same reasons she had taken to it. “Or maybe he could do with an adenoidectomy.” Meaning the removal of the little piece of tissue located where the throat connected with the nasal passage. Often adenoids were the cause of nasal congestion, thick breathing or, in some cases, a nasal-sounding voice.
Michael shot her a curious look. “You know what an adenoidectomy is? I wouldn’t think that’s too common a term.”
Her comment had been too medical, especially when she was trying to hide from everything that connected her to medicine in any way. But sometimes it just slipped out. Natural instincts coming back to haunt her. Well, that was a mistake she wouldn’t repeat. “I don’t suppose it is common but a friend of mine had it done,” she lied. It had been a patient of hers, so in the longest stretch of the word maybe that hadn’t been a lie after all. “Opened up her nasal passages quite nicely, helped her stop talking through her nose, breathing easier….” Too medical again. “You know. Whatever goes along with that kind of surgery.” Sarah watched, out of the corner of her eye, to see if he believed her, which apparently he did because he turned his attention to the waitress who was on her way over to the table with a soda and a sandwich. She placed them on the table in front of him, bending much too close for anything other than what she had in mind, which had nothing to do with serving him food, practically slathering him with a come-hither smile. Of which he took no notice.
Most men, having it flaunted in their faces that way, would at least look, but Michael Sloan did not, which made Sarah wonder all the more about him.
Michael and the waitress chatted for a another moment about someone who worked in the business office—she still showing the same interest in him while he showed none in her—then when the waitress had decided that she was wasting her time she scampered away to wait on a another customer. That’s when Michael returned his attention to Sarah. “It’s like a little city here. Everybody knows everybody else’s business.”
Like the waitress who knew what Michael wanted even though he didn’t have to order it? Briefly, Sarah wondered how much business the waitress and Michael knew about each other, and if his lack of a show of interest in her had been for appearances only. She was young, blonde, built the way every good plastic surgeon wanted his surgical enhancements to turn out. Of course, he’d already denied involvements or, as he called them, complications. Still, a man like Michael…good-looking, smart… She wondered. “The same way it is in a hospital,” she said, trying to sound noncommittal.
“Do you work in a hospital?”
Damn. She’d slipped again, when she’d promised herself she’d be more careful. Twice inside two minutes. Something about him eased the tension right out of her, made her feel almost normal again, and she was going to have to be very careful around him. “No, but I like to watch those hospital shows on television. They’re very…realistic. Make you feel like you’re really there.” Ah, the lie of it all, but the look of mild amusement on his face told her he’d bought her rather impaired explanation.
He chuckled. “Real life wrapped up in an hour, minus time out for commercials, once a week. Everybody gets cured or killed at the end, don’t they? Or falls in love and lives happily ever after. Well, you are right about one thing. Gossip prevails in the hospital, too. Sometimes it can get so bad it’s like it takes on an existence of its own.”
“Which you can’t live without?” she asked.
“That