Flirting with the Society Doctor (3 page)

And her shoulders.

His fingers itched to rub over her bare skin. He'd never seen her shoulders bare before. There should be laws against covering shoulders like hers. He liked what he saw beneath the stringy dress straps. He liked it a lot. Her hair was up but, unlike her work style, long, highlighted tendrils hung low, daring him to set free the caught-up strands. The style revealed the tantalizing curve of her exposed neck. He wanted to kiss her there, taste her, work his way down, sensitize every neuron in her body.

Oh, hell. He was in trouble. He couldn't bring her to his parents' house like this, with him on the verge of busting through his pants just from looking at her, with him practically licking his lips in anticipation of her feminine delights.

“My money bought that?”

Her lower lip disappeared between her teeth. Uncertainty marred her expression. She glanced down at the blue dress she wore, exposing those long legs that had his brain working overtime—or, more like, not working at all.

“You don't like my dress?”

“What's not to like? You're gorgeous, Faith.” The insecurity in her eyes had him scampering to put the glow back on her face. “Absolutely stunning.”

Her gaze lifted to his and a smile played at her lips. “Really?”

He laughed at her obvious fishing for a compliment.

“Best return I've ever gotten off a few hundred bucks.” Immediately, he could see he'd said the wrong thing. Again. And again the overwhelming need to repair the damage filled him. “Why do you hide yourself away
when you were obviously meant to be admired by the world?”

But this time she didn't light back up, just moved past him and unlocked her apartment door.

Knowing he'd unintentionally hurt her, but not sure how, he followed her into the apartment and grabbed her wrist, turning her to face him.

“I didn't mean that the way you obviously took it. You're a beautiful woman, Faith, always. If what I said made you think I was implying otherwise, then you're wrong. Nothing could be further from the truth.”

Without looking his way, she shrugged. “Okay.”

Placing his finger beneath her chin, he forced her to look at him and felt his heart kick up at the swirling emotion in her green-apple-candy eyes. Had he ever seen bigger, more expressive eyes? “No, it's not okay. I've hurt you.”

“I'm not some fragile ninny who needs coddling, Vale.” Her gaze lowered, settling near his throat. “We're business colleagues going away for a working weekend at your cousin's wedding. There's no reason for you to explain your comment. I know I made a big change.”

Like a beautiful butterfly emerging from its cocoon. The same on the inside, yet so utterly different on the outside.

He felt humbled to have played a role in the transformation, even such a tiny role. Yet he wanted her to see what he saw—a stunning young woman.

His thumb stroked along her jaw line, caressing the soft skin, noting the pink flush spreading across her cheeks, the parting of her pouty pink lips, the way his heart beat faster in his chest when her stunned gaze met his.

Vale did something totally out of character.

He lowered his lips to hers.

 

Faith's knees wobbled. Firecrackers detonated in her chest, pounding her heart against her ribcage, demanding freedom to burst into a million projectile pieces.

No way was Vale kissing her!

If a trip to the salon and an upscale dress boutique was all it had taken to get his lips on hers, why hadn't she gone shopping months ago? Had her hair streaked with strands of gold and a trained professional paint her face?

What was she thinking? This was Vale. Her boss. She should not be letting him kiss her.

He cupped her cheeks, drawing her closer, tasting her lips with a softness that belied the tough man she knew him to be.

She stood stock still, hands at her side, sure if she moved or even breathed, the fantasy would disappear, a pleasurable vapor she'd grasped at but failed to hold on to.

For eighteen months she'd wondered what this man tasted like, what his lips would feel like against hers, and now he was kissing her. So she gave in to the desire erupting within her, kissed him back, tasted his lips, opened her mouth to let him inside and hoped he'd never let her go, that he'd never stop kissing her.

Tiny explosions ripped through her one after another in the wake of his tongue thrusting into her mouth.

He was no longer cupping her face but her bottom, pulling her fully against his hard body.

He was hard. Amazingly, eye-wideningly…
Oh, my!

As much as Faith wanted to spread her arms wide
and welcome him, to take whatever he would offer her, she had to stop him before she completely lost her mind and became one of the many women to move in and out of his life.

Before he realized just how much she wanted him. Because Vale only wanted one thing from women. She had to think of her career.

She pushed against his chest. “Stop.”

He lifted his head, his lids half covering his desire-laden eyes. He wanted her. He had kissed her, wanted her, might have carried her to her sofa and made heart-pounding, thigh-slapping love to her if she hadn't told him to stop.

Her head spun. Her eyes blurred. Her equilibrium shifted.

Regret that she'd stopped him filled her, making her wish she'd dragged him into her bedroom rather than push him away. But make-over or not, she wasn't one of his playthings. She was his employee, a physician with plans to have a phenomenal career within his neuro clinic, and not by sleeping her way to the top.

Although with her lack of experience, sleeping with Vale might get her sacked instead of promoted.

“Why did you do that?” Wiping the back of her hand across her mouth, she stepped back, wishing she wasn't shaking, wishing she didn't want to beg him to kiss her again. She had to take control of the situation prior to him figuring out just how much she wanted to jump back into his arms.

“You needed to be kissed.”

If he thought his hot kisses had left her any less in need of being kissed, he was wrong.

All he'd managed to do was to show her what she'd
been missing, what she now knew she desperately wanted. His kisses.

Determined to salvage her pride, she frowned, wishing he wasn't still touching her. “Says who?”

He rubbed his thumb across her lower lip. “Says me.”

A shiver whipped through her body, prickling her flesh. “Even if I did need to be kissed, that's not your place. I told you on the day I agreed to this trip with you—I won't be lumped into the category of one of your girls.”

He seemed to consider her comment a moment. “You're wrong, Faith. Kissing you is exactly my place. This weekend, you are my girl.”

O
F ALL
the arrogant comments Faith had ever heard!

She was not Vale's girl. Just because she'd agreed to a working weekend to save him from his family's matchmaking, that did not make her his property and certainly not one of the arm decorations he paraded around New York's social scene.

She snuck a glance at his powerful profile. Staring straight ahead, watching traffic as he drove to Cape May, he looked exactly the same as he always had. Same sun-kissed light brown hair, same sparkling blue eyes that could pierce a person's soul with their intensity, same handsome face. Same calm presence, completely untouched by the kiss they'd shared.

He was whistling, for goodness' sake. An upbeat melody that was slowly driving her insane.

Urgh. He frustrated her. Infuriated her. He'd kissed her. Taken notice of the fact that she was of the opposite sex and kissed her. A toe-curling, thigh-melting, neuron synapse-searing, honest-to-goodness kiss.

Yes, she'd been the one to stop him, because she'd had to. But she'd wanted him to take her into his arms, tell her he'd been a fool not to see what was right beneath his nose, and could she ever forgive him?

Okay, so that was pure fantasy and not the kind of
thing that happened in reality. But men like Vale kissing her didn't happen in her reality either.

At least, nothing like that had ever happened before.

“You're staring a hole through my head.”

How did he know that when he hadn't glanced away from the traffic on the New Jersey Parkway?

“Impossible.”

As if she hadn't just taken a shot at him, he grinned. “I meant figuratively, not literally.”

“I knew that,” she pointed out, determined not to let him get the upper hand. “I was referring to your hard-headedness making staring a hole through your head impossible in any shape, form, or fashion. Figuratively or literally.”

He laughed, a husky male sound that warmed her insides. “Point taken.”

Eyes narrowed, she twisted in her seat to more easily look at him. “Are you mocking me?”

She'd swear his lips twitched with amusement. What was so funny? He'd kissed her and turned her world upside down and now he was laughing at her? If he hadn't been driving, she'd…she'd…well, she'd have come up with some horrendous punishment, if her life wasn't literally in his hands.

“Relax, Faith.” He glanced away from the road long enough to meet her gaze. “Maybe we shouldn't have brought the patient profiles with us.”

“Why not?”

“This isn't going to be a working weekend after all.”

She wouldn't gulp. Not even if she really, really needed to gulp.

“Why?” She gulped.

“Because I've been working you too hard, and you need to relax, have a little fun.”

“I have fun.” She didn't want him thinking she was a dull Jane. Even if she was a dull Jane who worked most of the time and spent too much of her precious little spare time working even more so as to impress him when next they met.

“With whomever you were kissing goodbye in apartment 907?”

Mrs. Beasley? 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, confident, as if he knew exactly what his kisses did to women.

Of course he knew what his kisses did to women.

Just as she knew.

Kissing Vale made women crazy, fanatical, addicted. She knew that. She'd watched his effect on women, knew the dangers of being near him in any capacity not business-related.

Vale didn't mix business and pleasure. He just didn't. Not ever.

Only he had by kissing her.

“Kissing you made me think I'm crazy for agreeing to this when I had the opportunity to spend a weekend relaxing at home because you'd have been otherwise occupied, not calling me to meet you at the office for yet more work.”

His eyes narrowed into deep blue slits. “You don't like working with me?”

“I love my job, but someday I do hope to have a life outside work.”

“What kind of life?”

Why on earth had she started this conversation? Or had he started it? Either way, she wanted out.

“The usual,” she said dryly, grateful they'd moved beyond what his kisses did to her, but hoping he'd let their new subject drop.

“What usual?”

Of course he wouldn't. Not the great Dr. Vale Wakefield, New York's most eligible bachelor.

“You know,” she admitted reluctantly. “A house in some smarmy little suburb that I can call my own. A yard for Yoda to dig holes in. A neighborhood where I can take him for long walks.”

His brows drew together in a deep furrow, his lips tight with displeasure. “That's your idea of the usual? What about marriage? Children? That usual?”

Maybe that was usual for some women. To Faith there was nothing usual about marriage or having children. Not in the marriages she'd witnessed. And, although she was mightily attracted to Vale, she didn't kid herself that it was anything more than that. Men didn't stick around.
Even men who promised to, and Vale wasn't the type to make such promises to begin with.

“Women who want to make it in a high-powered career shouldn't reveal to the boss that they also want to have a family,” she answered in the hope of steering him in a direction other than the truth. “Not if they want to be taken seriously.”

“You think I'd penalize you if you said you wanted a family?”

“I think you're more likely to advance someone who didn't have to take time off for maternity leave and pediatric visits.” Dear Lord, someone really had slipped her some truth serum. She couldn't shut up. “My career is important to me. I told you that from the beginning.”

“Yes, you were quite vocal that day.”

Why did the way he spoke make her think he was mocking her?

“Laugh if you want to, but I'm serious.” She shrugged. “After I've achieved my career goals I'll think about marriage.”

Not that she'd want marriage ever. She was more than happy with Yoda. Her dog would never leave her for another woman—except perhaps Mrs. Beasley and her cutie pie Miss Cupcake.

He seemed to digest her comment. “After you've achieved your career goals you plan to marry and have kids?”

“After I achieve my career goals…” tired of the picking apart of her life goals, she gestured toward the green light that had changed at some point during their conversation, but neither had noticed “…I'll make plans for the rest of my life.”

 

Faith had already decided she wasn't going to allow herself to be intimidated by the Wakefield family fortune. She just wasn't.

Yes, she knew the family was as iconic as the Vanderbilts, the Kennedys, and the Fords, but Wakefields were human beings, too, just like her. No better. No worse.

Telling herself this and actually being able to keep her jaw from dropping when Vale whipped his low-slung red road devourer into the circle drive of a house that looked more like a hotel were two different things. Holy medulla oblongata! This was really just a house?