Pursued by the Playboy (13 page)

She still wasn’t sure how she felt about her enforced domesticity with Marc, but she comforted herself with the knowledge that it was a temporary arrangement—a period of limbo in which she could enjoy the physical aspects of their relationship, along with the companionship and friendship they seemed to be developing, while she waited for her parents’ situation to resolve and for her mother to move out. 

Marc’s townhouse was comfortable, and they fell into an easy cadence of life together.  On days when he wasn’t scheduled for morning surgery, Marc joined her for a run down to Penn’s Landing and back.  A leisurely shower together followed, and then breakfast, before they headed in to work.   Most afternoons Marc either called Kate or dropped by her lab to whisk her away for coffee—or, if time permitted, lunch.   In the evenings, they met at the hospital parking garage and drove home together.  Sometimes they changed and went out for a casual dinner nearby, but more often than not Jake whipped up mouth-watering meals at home from a seemingly endless repertoire.  

Kate enjoyed watching him, shirt sleeves rolled above his elbows to reveal strong sinewy forearms, pristine apron tied around his lean waist, narrow kitchen towel tucked into one side for a quick wipe of wet fingers or to use as a makeshift pot-holder.  He’d catch her eye as he selected his favorite chef’s knife from the knife block. 

“It’s all in the technique,” he’d say, winking roguishly, wielding the blade with lightning speed over a pile of raw ingredients, and leaving behind uniform strips of vegetables and meat for stir-frying.  

She insisted that setting the table and cleaning up afterwards was her job, since it didn’t involve the handling of food and therefore wouldn’t put them at risk for food poisoning.  “At least this way,” she told him, “I feel like I’m pulling my weight.”

She made her presence felt in other ways, as well.  Scented candles appeared in the bathrooms.
 
Wet towels and dirty socks, which in the past rarely made it to the laundry basket until Marc’s cleaning lady swept through twice a week, were now regularly laundered and folded and placed back in the cupboard or drawers where they belonged. 

“You don’t have to do that,” Marc said when he found her unloading the drier in the basement.  “Luisa won’t have anything to do tomorrow.”

“I’m sure she’ll have plenty of cleaning to keep her busy.”  Kate added a neatly folded shirt to the appropriate pile of clothing on the big wooden work-table and started on the next item.  “Besides, folding the laundry calms me.”

He wrapped an arm around her from behind and nuzzled her neck.  “Maybe we can find something else to calm you.”

She caught her breath and tilted her head back allow him better access.  “You can try.” 

His fingers slipped under her camisole to trace light patterns across her quivering belly, while his other hand stroked up her ribs toward her breast.   She leaned back against him, rubbing her bottom against his growing arousal.  His lips and tongue dipped lower along her neck to where it met the shoulder. 

The following day, if Luisa wondered at the clothing haphazardly hanging off the work table in the basement, she had the discretion not to ask. 

###

Kate’s only persistent source of stress remained her strained relationship with her parents.  Her father, who had returned from his business trip to
Arizona
nearly two weeks ago, finally called Kate and arranged to meet with her for dinner
on neutral
ground
. 

“He’s bringing the girlfriend,” Kate told Marc on the way home from work.  “Tiffani ‘with an i’. 
She serves drinks at some bar he apparently frequents.  Probably offered him a quickie between dishing up the nuts and topping off his Guinness
.
”

Marc raised a brow and shot a glance in her direction before returning his attention to the road. 
“So much for holding
off
judgment until you actually meet her.”

“Please.  It’s so clichéd I’d be embarrassed even if he weren’t my father.  Middle-aged married man with a girlfriend who’s three years younger than his daughter?  Go ahead, tell me it’s a love match.  I haven’t reached my quota of belly laughs today.”

“All I’m saying is he’s reaching out to you.  You might consider toning it down a bit.”

Kate sighed.  “I don’t know if I can.  It’s too ridiculous for words.  I can’t believe he’d do this to me.”

Without taking his eyes off the road, Marc captured her hand in his.  “Kate, sweetheart, sorry to burst your bubble—but this isn’t about you.”

Other than the tightening of her fingers in his grasp, she did not respond.

He stroked a gentle thumb across her knuckles.  “I can come with you, if you like.  Act as a buffer.”

She let out another gusty sigh, then a grudging, “Fine.  It’s this Friday.  Some soul food dive in north Philly.  Apparently Tiffani was feeling nostalgic for chicken fried steak and collard greens.”

“Careful, Yankee,” he grinned.  “Your snobbery is showing.”

###

The restaurant turned out to be a stylishly renovated venue that served up “modern Southern cuisine” and live jazz. 

Kate’s father and Tiffani were already seated by the time Kate and Marc arrived.  The introductions went smoothly, thanks mainly to Marc’s practiced charm and the prompt appearance of their waiter.

Jason Warner immediately dispensed with the wine list.  “If it’s okay, I’d rather not order any alcohol,” he said, eyes darting toward Tiffani.  “I’m trying to lose some weight.”

Tiffani made a small moue of her brightly colored lips, but before she had the chance to say anything, Marc broke in.  “I’m with you, absolutely.  I could stand to drop a few pounds myself.”

Kate eyed his face, then his can’t-pinch-an-inch waistline, but decided to hold her tongue when she intercepted her father’s grateful expression.

Their waiter quickly ran through the day’s specials and withdrew. 

As they pored over their menus, Marc cast surreptitious glances across the table.  Jason Warner resembled an aging street brawler:  a few inches shorter than Marc, barrel-chested with just a hint of middle-aged spread to his waist and jaw line, a nose that had been broken and hadn’t healed quite right, and a firm callused grip.  Despite his fifty-nine years, his hair was still full and just starting to gray at the temples. 

Tiffani, by contrast, looked like a teenager playing dress-up.  She wore a short, tight dress in fluorescent pink that showcased her two most prominent features:  gravity-defying breasts and pregnant belly.  Despite the generous proportions of both, the rest of her was thin to the point of emaciation.   Heavy makeup failed to camouflage the dark circles beneath her eyes and the hollows of her cheeks.   Large pink beaded hearts dangled from her ears, their color matching her lipstick and nail polish. When she caught Marc looking at her, she twirled a strand of long white-blonde hair around her finger and licked her lips.  In the dim light, her pupils appeared so large that all that remained of the irises was a thin green rim.

Their waiter brought water and took his time filling their glasses, taking their orders, and collecting the menus. 

Marc broke the ensuing silence before it became too awkward.  “So, Tiffani, are you from this area originally?”

“No.  My folks are back in
Charlotte
.  I moved up here
last year for a change of pace.”

“
So you liv
e
locally now?
”

“
Elkins
Park
.”  She fluttered her fing
ers vaguely.  “Itty-bitty place
.
Close to where I was working.”

Kate picked up on the change of tense.  “You’re not working there any
more?”

“The doctor put me on leave.”

“Really?” Marc
studied her more carefully.  “A
re you having complications with the pregnancy?”

“Not that I know of.  But it’s tough for a woman in my condition to be on her feet
all
the time
.”

Marc glanced at Jason, but the older man seemed focused on wiping the condensation off his water glass.  “How far along are you?”

Again the vague flutter.  “’Bout five months, I’d say.”

“You don’t know exactly?  Who’s your obstetrician?”

“Oh, I see a different one each time.  Over at Abington Memorial.  At the clinic.”

Kate rested her hand on Marc’s thigh beneath the table.  “Marc’s not being critical,” she said.  “He’s a gynecologist himself.  Doesn’t deliver babies, but I’m sure he knows many who do.  It’s just professional curiosity.”

Tiffani shrugged.  “Whatever.”

Kate swirled the ice in her glass
with her free hand.  “D
o you miss your family?”

“I guess.”

“Are they excited about the baby?”

“Oh, they’ve got loads of grandkids already.  But Mama did promise to come up here and help me with Junior after he’s born.”

“That’s good,” Kate said.  “It sounds like she’s had plenty of experience, with all those grandchildren.  And I’m sure you’ll feel much better going back to work if you know you have someone you trust taking care of your baby.”

“Oh, I’m not planning to go back to work.
” 

“Really?”  Kate glanced at her father, but other than a slight furrow between his brows he seemed unperturbed by the conversation.  “So you plan to stay at home and raise…Junior…with the help of your mother.”

“
For a while, at least.  I mean, Mama’s not planning on staying here forever.  Just until I get the hang of things.  And like I said, my place is small.  I keep telling Jason it would be easier if I just moved in with him, but he still has some hang-ups from his marriage—”

“You mean he’s still married,” Kate interrupted.

“Well, technically,” Tiffani said.  “No offense, but your mother sounds like a real witch and they haven’t really been together
together
in years, if you know what I mean.  So it’s not like my moving in with him would be such a big thing.  Besides, Junior here is his baby.”

Marc piped in before Kate could.  “So you’re expecting a boy?”

“Oh, heavens, I don’t know.  I just call him Junior ‘cause I gotta call him something.  Can they tell what it’s gonna be this early?”

Their appetizers arrived in time to stem further discussion. 

Kate picked at her food.  She wasn’t sure whom she pitied more:  her father, for being saddled with a woman who was clearly a gold-digger, or her mother, for having had to endure nearly three decades of his tomcatting around before finally being forced by circumstances to take a stand.  Actually, on second thought, it was probably Junior who deserved her pity the most.  No telling how that poor child would turn out with Tiffani and Jason Warner for parents. 

###

Between the entree and the dessert, Kate excused herself to use the restroom.   Tiffani jumped at the opportunity to join her.  “I feel like I’m constantly having to pee,” she told the table at large, before swaying off on her five-inch heels.

Kate finished quickly and was washing her hands when she heard Tiffani sniffling behind the closed stall door.  She was still wondering whether to say anything when the door opened and Tiffani came out.  Kate carefully dried her hands and watched as the younger woman touched up her makeup.  Their eyes met in the mirror.

“Don’t get in my way,” Tiffani said.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Just because your mother is a sucked up dried out old prune doesn’t mean your father can’t have a new chance at life.  And this,” she patted her bump, “is his new chance.  So don’t try to screw it up.”

Kate remained rooted to her spot for several long minutes after the restroom door shut behind Tiffani.  She wasn’t sure what had prompted the warning.  Did the woman actually have some sort of feelings for Kate’s father?  Or, having sunk her claws into a willing mark, was she simply afraid of losing her free ride?

###

While the women made use of the facilities, Marc and Jason sat in awkward silence.  Jason finally cleared his throat.  “I heard you were at Kate’s big award dinner.”

“Yes.  How did you know?”

Jason shrugged.  “Margaret mentioned it.  Said you seem like a fine fellow.”

Marc didn’t answer, surprised by the grudging compliment, and even more so by the revelation that despite current circumstances, Kate’s parents still communicated.

Jason took the lack of response in stride.  “We didn’t do right by Kate.  Too much fighting at home when she was growing up.  Terrible thing for a child to witness.”  He paused, then rushed on.  “Frankly, I was afraid she’d end up alone, rejecting marriage and family for herself because of the poor example we set.  Glad that’s not the case.”

Marc replied cautiously, “She’s still not sold on the whole marriage and family bit.”