Flirting with the Society Doctor (2 page)

He probably should have asked her first, but she'd never balked at any request to work late or over the weekend. True, spending the weekend at his mother's beach house wasn't exactly the same thing as working late.

Still, her comment about possibly having plans
intrigued him in ways he couldn't explain. Just what did Faith do in her free time?

“Do you have a boyfriend?”

She glanced up, staring wide-eyed at him with an open mouth. “What does me having a boyfriend have to do with anything?”

“If there's someone special in your life, he might take exception to us spending the weekend together. I'd be happy to reassure him your virtue is safe with me.”

Faith chewed on her lower lip, staring at him as if trying to decide on the right answer.

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 to 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.

V
ALE
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 glasses, 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.”

“But—”

“Actually,” he withdrew his wallet from his back pocket. “Take the rest of the afternoon off and buy yourself a dress for tonight, too. On me.”

Her face pale, she stared at the cash in his hand. “I can't take your money.”

“Sure you can,” he teased. “You do every pay period.”

“That's different.” Her lips pursed. “I've earned my paycheck. This is different.”

“Look, it's my fault you need new clothes and to have your hair done. It's only fair I pay.” He shoved the cash
into her palm, closed her hand around the money. How his fingers lingered, how he wanted to hold her hand for real, surprised him. He forced his smile to stay in place despite his unhappiness with his wayward fingers, despite his confusion over what the hell was going on with his reactions to Faith.

“Go,” he ordered. “Have fun, and I'll pick you up from your place.”

 

“Yep, Yoda,” Faith agreed with the yapping dog bouncing around at her feet while she studied her new image in the mirror, “I barely recognize myself, too.”

She couldn't believe the difference a decent hair cut, highlighting, and facial could make. A fairy godmother waving a magic wand and singing “Bippity-boppity-boo” couldn't have conjured a more drastic transformation.

Faith hadn't had time over the past few years to worry about her appearance. Instead she'd focused on studying for boards and becoming the best neurologist she could be. Then she'd landed a dream job with Wakefield and Fishe straight out of school, an opportunity of a lifetime she wouldn't screw up.

So, no, her appearance hadn't been a priority in eons, if ever, but, wow, an afternoon of pampering could sure make a huge difference in the way a girl looked and felt about herself.

Or maybe it was the contacts burning her eyes that only made her think she was seeing such a difference.

She'd worn disposable lenses during high school and as an undergraduate, but during medical school she'd gone almost exclusively to her glasses. She'd bought the contacts at her check-up a couple of weeks ago during lunch when Vale had been in a meeting with Marcus. But she hadn't taken time to even pull them out of her
handbag. When the make-up artist at the salon had complained about Faith's glasses, she'd surprised him by producing the sealed vials containing the lenses.

Then there were the clothes.

Clothes as in plural.

She hadn't wanted to spend Vale's money, had felt guilty taking the cash. She could have found a way to slip the money back to him over the weekend. Perhaps she still would as she still wasn't comfortable with the thought of him paying for her shopping trip even if, in a way, he was right. It was his fault she'd needed a new dress. She certainly wouldn't have gone shopping if he hadn't pressed her into accompanying him.

She hadn't just bought a new dress. She'd bought three. And new underwear that made her feel delectably feminine and a bit of a siren at heart. Really, would she like the black thigh highs and garter belt quite so much otherwise?

Then there was the daring bikini she'd let the sales clerk talk her into, even though she'd never have the nerve to wear the deep red triangles in public.

She'd also bought a few semi-casual outfits. She wasn't really sure what Saturday's schedule would require, but she felt prepared for whatever came up. Of course, she'd had to drag out the largest of her suitcases to fit in all her purchases, but that was a small price to pay for being prepared.

Then again, maybe she'd gone overboard and Vale would read her make-over as a desperate plea for him to notice her as he had the night before.

Was her make-over a desperate plea for him to notice her?

She winced. No, if he hadn't noticed her for the woman she was on the inside, she certainly didn't want
him to notice her for changes to her outer appearance. Not that the changes were that glamorous, anyway. Not in comparison to the supermodels usually draped across Vale's arms. Regardless, Vale wasn't interested in investing time with a woman. He got what he wanted and moved on. Next.

What he wanted from her was a working weekend where she played decoy to his mother's matchmaking.

Still, she'd be lying if she said she wasn't eager to see his reaction when she opened her apartment door. Quite simply she didn't look like the same woman he'd walked to the salon. And had it been her imagination or had he touched her hand a half dozen times spreading wildfires up her arm?

She bent and picked up Yoda. “Hey, boy, are you going to miss me? Hmm, are you?” She rubbed her nose to the dog's, laughing when he licked her. “Now quit that before you mess up my make-up.” At the dog's head quirk, she laughed again. “I know, I know, I've never cared before, but tonight's special and I suspect this make-up isn't doggy-kisses proof.”

Yoda licked her again, obviously not caring if her make-up was doggy-kiss proof or not. Scratching the miniature poodle behind his ears, she praised him, telling him how much she was going to miss him over and over, and reminding him how much he loved visiting Mrs. Beasley.

“Come on. I guess I should go drop you there before His Highness arrives.” Cradling the dog in one arm, she gathered the diaper bag of dog goodies she'd packed him. “Let's get you next door.”

Saying goodbye was difficult, but once inside Mrs. Beasley's, Yoda didn't seem to mind at all that Faith would be gone all weekend.

“No worries. He's Miss Cupcake's favorite guest,” the older woman promised as they walked to the door. “She and I will take good care of Yoda, and you know I can use the extra money from dog-sitting.”

Standing in the doorway, Faith leaned in and kissed Mrs. Beasley's weathered cheek. “I know. Bye, love you.”

Closing the door, she turned to go back to her apartment and caught Vale in the hallway admiring her backside.

 

Vale blinked, attempting to clear his eyes.

That stunning derrière and killer legs he'd been admiring were Faith's?

He'd known she had a decent body, he wasn't blind, but her scrubs did nothing to accent her curves and apparently everything to hide them. Where had all that tantalizing flesh come from?

And her eyes.

He'd always liked Faith's eyes. But without her glasses they were huge, luminous,
tempting
.

No, he wasn't tempted by Faith.

Only he was
.

Tempted to push her up against the apartment hallway wall, push up that nipped-at-the-waist tease of a skirt, and thrust between those long, long legs.

Where had she gotten those legs and why hadn't he noticed before?

Okay, so he had noticed a time or two when she'd had on one of those ugly gray suits she sometimes wore that she had great calves. The kind that plumped out when she reached for a book on a high shelf. But Lord help him at the expanse of thigh on display beneath the hem of the dress she wore now.