Flirting with the Society Doctor

by Janice Lynn

  A flutter started in Vale’s chest, one similar to that he felt in surgery when encountering something imaging scans hadn’t picked up on. Was there someone warming his employee’s bed? Someone she went home to night after night complaining about her slave driver of a boss? Why did the thought of anyone touching her bother him?

  Her eyes sparked green fire and her chin lifted, as if his question had offended her. “Whether or not there is someone special in my life, I am quite capable of keeping my personal life in order, Dr. Wakefield, and of assuring any man of mine that he has nothing to fear where you are concerned.”

  Vale bit back a grin. His ever-efficient neurologist had just put him in his place. “I didn’t mean to upset you, Faith. Sometimes I forget not everyone is as dedicated to their career as I am.”

  Her lips pursed. “You’ve never had cause to question my dedication to my job.”

  “True. Which is why you’re coming with me this weekend. I’ll have Kay send you the itinerary for the weekend so you’ll know how to pack.”

  How had Thursday evening arrived and Faith still hadn’t found time to go shopping for a new outfit? Of course, she knew how. For exactly the same reason she currently wasn’t shopping.

  Because she was working. Vale had seemed intent on occupying every second of her time this week. Worse than normal. To keep her from having time to come up with an excuse not to accompany him this weekend?

  She, Vale, two neurosurgeons, two neurophysiologists, and a couple of research assistants working on the Parkinson project were spread out around the twenty-seat cherry table at one end of Vale’s office. Despite the long hours they’d put in every night that week, they’d barely made a dent in the pile of work to be done before they tested the hypothesis in the operating room. Although deep-brain stimulation therapies had been in use for years, with the new data from the Brainiac Codex, the hope was that the new device would relieve the tremor associated with Parkinson’s. If successful, great strides in the treatment of the debilitating disease would be made.

  She wiped her hand across her face.

  “Something wrong?” Vale leaned in and whispered next to her ear, his warm breath making the tiny hairs on her nape stand at attention.

  She glanced his way, wondering where he drew his boundless energy from, wondering how nothing ever fazed him or made him lose his infamous control. He’d work all day, most of the night, and still have photos of himself and some beauty queen appear in the papers when he’d hit a late-night club or fancy restaurant.

  “Nothing a good night’s sleep won’t solve.” True. She hadn’t slept well since he’d told her she was going to Cape May. Plus, no way was she going to tell him that her mind was wandering from the data they were poring over to thinking about what she was going to wear at his cousin’s wedding. No way would she risk losing the respect she’d fought so hard to gain.

  Unfortunately, he didn’t look convinced by her answer, studying her with eyes too intelligent for his own good. “You’re sure?”

  “Yes, I’m sure.” She glanced at her watch. A little after seven. If they finished up within the next hour, maybe she could swing by a dress shop and pick up something new to lift her confidence at spending the weekend with Vale’s glitzy family. She looked around at the room full of researchers who were settled in for the long haul and bit back a sigh.

  “Got a hot date?”

  “What?”

  He’d spoken low, for her ears only, but her response came out as a squeak that had several pairs of eyes glancing their way and just as quickly going back to their work.

  “That’s the third time in the past fifteen minutes you’ve looked at your watch,” he pointed out. “We must be keeping you from something important.”

  Again Vale spoke low, but Faith’s ears burned. Was everyone trying to look as if they were ignoring them or were they truly so absorbed in their work? Marcus Fishe was the only one whose gaze lingered on them. Faith quickly looked away from Vale’s partner’s curious eyes. Although Marcus’s focus within the clinic was geared more toward issues with multiple sclerosis, he’d jumped on board with the Parkinson’s project in the hope that the brain-mapping data would lend itself to other treatments.

  “My work is important.” Determined to keep her mind absorbed on her work and not on the fact she’d be spending her weekend with Vale, Faith highlighted an abnormal signal recording from the basal ganglia to the motor cortex on the patient profile. “I’ve still got to pack for this weekend, and I’d hoped to… Never mind.”

  There was no reason to tell him she’d hoped to go shopping, to spend time with Yoda, to have a break from Vale to recharge herself prior to attending the wedding.

  Setting his ink pen down, he continued to study her in a way that made her feel as if she’d grown an extra nose on her face. “You did get the itinerary from Kay?”

  “Yes, your head nurse slash assistant is as efficient as ever.” She liked Kay, thought her brighter than many of the clinic’s more educated personnel, including a few of the neurologists and surgeons. “The itinerary seems standard. Rehearsal tomorrow night followed by dinner, Saturday pre-wedding activities, the wedding ceremony, and then the reception with champagne, dancing, and a romantic sunset at the beach.”

  He snorted. “I’ll warn you not to be fooled. There’s nothing standard about my family.”

  “I wouldn’t expect otherwise.”

  Vale rarely spoke of his family but it was impossible not to know about them as they were constantly in the press. His cousin Sharon had won Miss Pennsylvania a few years back, had gained notoriety when she’d posed topless for an exorbitant amount of money that she had then handed over to the New York City Widows and Orphans of Firefighters Fund, and had then been promptly de-crowned. Another cousin was a congressman. Another a senator. Vale’s mother headed so many charities it was impossible for Faith to recall them all. His father had built a real estate empire prior to his death in Vale’s teens. Apparently all Wakefields were over-achievers, the one grinning at her no exception.

  “Oh?” His eyes glittered with amusement. “What do you expect?”

  Her and her big mouth.

  “I just meant that you’re a highly successful man with good genes,” she whispered, casting a leery glance around the quiet group at the table. Yet again, Marcus was watching them. Great. She glared at Vale. “Surely that trait must run in the family?”

  “I’ll let you decide for yourself tomorrow night.” Leaning close, he flashed a wickedly dangerous smile. “I have good genes?”

  She rolled her eyes. “You don’t need me to answer that. You know you do.”

  “Right.” His grin widened.

  Face burning, ears roaring, Faith resumed an intent study of the brain wave data she held, resisting the urge to glance at her watch again or to sneak a peek at the man sitting next to her. She could feel his gaze searing into her with the power of hot metal slicing into butter.

  Two hours and several cups of coffee later, Faith rotated her neck, trying to work out the crick that had developed while studying the last patient profile for some missed detail, as they narrowed their choices on who met their study criteria for surgical implantation of the device.

  So much for her shopping trip before heading home. And poor Yoda. Another late night with Mrs. Beasley. Before long her baby was going to think he lived at the elderly neighbor’s apartment rather than with Faith. Especially as the cream-colored poodle would be spending the weekend in Mrs. Beasley’s care, too.

  Much later, Vale pushed the stack of patient brain-mapping profiles away from him, surprising her since they’d not made it through the rest of the stack. Although all of the others had left a little after nine, she’d already surmised she and Vale wouldn’t leave before midnight.

  “I’ve had enough.” He stretched his arms above his head, drawing her gaze to how his shirt pulled taut over his chest.

  She quickly glanced away, looked down at her watch. Maybe she’d have time t
o shop yet.

  She sighed.

  Maybe not.

  The nicer dress boutiques would all be closed. Great.

  She’d just wear the black cocktail dress she’d bought for last year’s Christmas party. She wasn’t crazy about the idea of wearing black to a wedding, but with its skirt flared at the hem the dress would do in a pinch and was the closest thing she had to appropriate wear for media darling Sharon Wakefield’s glamorous wedding. As far as the reception, she’d make do with whatever she could find in her rather boring closet.

  “Will he still be waiting?”

  She blinked at Vale. “Who?”

  His blue eyes darkened. “Whoever I’ve kept you from.”

  He almost sounded as if he’d intentionally kept her at the office. Actually, when the others had left and she’d started to stand, he had asked her opinion on a patient report he’d just read, ensuring she’d stay on to read the profile.

  Had he intentionally kept her there? What possible reason would he have for doing so?

  She took a deep breath, telling herself she was tired, imagining things, but for once gave her boss a flip-pant answer. “Regardless of how late you keep me, he’s always glad to see me.”

  She wasn’t lying. Not really. But, seriously, she expected Yoda not to know who she was if she didn’t start spending more time with him. Thank goodness for their nightly snuggles and early morning walks.

  “Maybe you should go ahead,” he suggested, his dark eyes unreadable. “I’ll finish these.”

  He was staying? Telling her to go on? Was he testing her? Seeing how dedicated she was to her career?

  “When you said we should call it a night, I thought you meant both of us. I don’t like the thought of leaving you here alone.”

  Leaning back in his chair, he laughed. “Do you think I can’t take care of myself?”

  No matter how she tried she couldn’t keep her gaze from lowering, from tracing over the strong lines of his neck, over the tanned V of skin exposed where he’d removed his tie and unbuttoned the top couple of buttons, down his broad shoulders that his tailored shirt accented, down his forearms bared where he’d rolled up his sleeves. And his hands.

  Lord, how she loved his talented hands.

  Tanned, strong, long-fingered, ring-free. She particularly liked that last part, although eventually he’d marry one of the beauties he bedded. Then what? Would she be able to continue working with him, knowing how she dreamt about him, knowing he belonged to someone else?

  That question was one that crept into her mind from time to time, filling her with panic, filling her with the dreaded knowledge that some day she might leave Wakefield and Fishe.

  She lifted her gaze back to his, was startled to look into smoky blue eyes filled with awareness.

  Awareness that she’d looked at him not as his employee, not as a fellow physician, but as a woman with real needs.

  What was wrong with her?

  She swallowed, trying to clear her throat, trying to buy herself time while she racked her brain for something to say that would defuse the situation.

  Only, she didn’t know what to say.

  Regardless of how much his awareness scared her professionally, as a woman, the flicker of interest in his eyes set light to a hope that threatened to consume her very soul.

  CHAPTER TWO

  VALE finished his cellphone conversation with his cousin Sharon and turned toward Faith. They’d just left the hospital following a globus pallidus DBS implantation, and were walking back to Wakefield Tower, where Wakefield and Fishe occupied the entire fifty-sixth floor.

  Vale was enjoying the late spring air, enjoying the hustle and bustle of the busy New York sidewalk, people from all walks of life rushing past him and Faith. Numerous vendors lined the streets, selling everything from designer sunglasses to cheap “I Love New York” T-shirts. A hot-dog street vendor called out to someone and Vale’s stomach growled in response.

  “Let’s grab an early lunch before heading back,” he suggested. Quite often they’d pop into a restaurant or grab take-out so they could review a case while dining. Working with Faith made lunch more enjoyable. “Subs or Chinese?”

  “Neither.” Not a single hair out of place on her tightly pulled-back hairstyle, Faith shook her head. “I can’t do lunch today.”

  Mentally, he ran through her schedule. They were leaving the office early to head to Cape May so she only had a few afternoon appointments. “You aren’t scheduled for anything until one, are you?”

  She didn’t meet his eyes. “No, but I have other lunch plans. Sorry.”

  Vale’s gut tightened. Had she made plans to meet the mysterious man in her life? The one who’d been glad to see her the night before even though Vale had managed to keep her out past eleven? Had she lain in his arms recounting the day’s events?

  How had he not known she was seeing someone? Why did the fact that she was make his stomach knot?

  Not because when she’d looked at him last night, he’d grown hard in response to her visual undressing. She’d liked what she’d seen and hell if he hadn’t wanted to preen under the intensity of her green gaze.

  Which was all wrong. He never, ever got involved with a colleague, and particularly not one who worked for him.

  Besides, she wasn’t his type.

  Sex with Faith would be complicated, would come with all kinds of expectations on her part. He only had sex with uncomplicated women who knew better than to expect more from him. He’d learned long ago not to want or expect more either.

  Sex?

  He did not want to sleep with Faith—which was the truth. Sleep had nothing to do with what he’d found himself thinking of last night, this morning when he’d awakened.

  He didn’t like being aware of her. Of waking with the scent of her perfume and sound of her laughter fresh in his mind.

  “I’m allowed to take a non-working lunch break.” Shoving her glasses up the straight slant of her pert little nose, she looked as exasperated as she sounded.

  “You should have told me. I’d planned to review the information we compiled last night prior to making a final decision on the initial patients to receive the procedure.” Why was she being so evasive? Who was she having lunch with? The mystery man? Perhaps they weren’t having lunch at all? “Cancel your plans.”

  Annoyance flashed in her eyes, surprising him. Faith never argued with him, never went against his wishes, never made lunch plans. She ate lunch with him. The only time they didn’t share a working lunch was if he made other plans.

  Glancing at her watch with a disgusted look, her shoulders fell a notch, slamming him with unaccustomed guilt rather than the satisfaction that should have come with knowing he was about to get his way. And what was with her and looking at her watch the past two days? Faith wasn’t a clock-watcher.

  “Fine.” She exhaled deeply, “I was fooling myself that I had time to get my hair done and find a dress for the wedding in an hour anyway.”

  Vale stopped walking, standing perfectly still on the sidewalk as throngs of people continued to bustle around them without missing a beat. He stared at Faith, and decided that, yes, like he was often told, he really was a selfish jerk. Here Faith was going to his cousin’s wedding, spending the weekend working and protecting him from his family’s matchmaking, and he hadn’t given one thought to the fact that she might want to have her hair done or buy a new outfit. He hadn’t given one thought that Faith was a woman with normal female urges, like desiring new outfits for social events.

  Then again, during the entire time he’d known Faith, she hadn’t acted like other women. Why should he have thought this weekend would be any different? If he’d thought about what she’d wear, he would have said scrubs or maybe a hyper-masculine gray suit and a hairstyle any librarian would be proud of.

  “What time is your appointment?”

  She didn’t glance up. “It doesn’t matter. I’ll cancel.”

  But beneath the clear lenses of her g
lasses, her eyes had grown shiny and his sense of guilt gnawed at his belly, threatening to give him an ulcer if he didn’t make amends. What was the aura about her that made him want to make her happy?

  “Why did you leave your appointment until so late? Surely you could have shopped for a dress earlier in the week?”

  Her mouth dropped and if glares were bullets he’d be six feet under. “Did you really just ask me that when you’ve had me at the office every night this week until after ten?” Realizing what she’d said, her jaw dropped even lower. “Not that I mind,” she recanted. “I like my job. It’s just…well…” She fumbled, taking a deep breath. “I don’t have anything appropriate to wear to the wedding and I’ve been thinking about getting my hair cut anyway. I thought prior to the wedding would be as good a time as any.”

  His gaze immediately went to her hair. She always kept her hair pulled tightly into the professional bun. He couldn’t recall ever having seen her hair down. Odd, considering how long they’d known each other.

  What did she look like with her hair down?

  He was struck with the need to know, the need to see her dark blond locks loose. Would the strands barely brush her shoulders or would they cascade down her back?

  “Get your hair done.” He ran his gaze over the sleeked-back strands nestled at her nape. “But not short, okay?”

  He wasn’t sure why he added the last. The length of her hair was none of his business. If she wanted to go bald, other than their patients’ reactions, he had no right to say a word.

  “I probably wouldn’t have had time anyway, Vale. Thinking I did was wishful thinking.”

  He’d give her time. He owed her that much. She was saving him from his family’s matchmaking.

  “I’ll see your patients.”

  Her face flushing, she shook her head, eyeing him as if he must be running a fever. “That won’t be necessary.”

  But it was necessary.

  “Look, Faith, I’m a slave driver. There’s no question of that.” He raked his fingers through his hair, wondering why the spring air that had felt so good moment’s earlier now cut into him. “But you’re right. Your lunches are your own, even if I do monopolize them. Go. Get your hair done however you want. Buy yourself a new dress.”