That Marriageable Man!

Rafe stared at her. Suddenly, incredibly, he felt as if fireworks were exploding in his head. That smile of hers affected him viscerally. He had to remind himself to breathe as a fierce jolt of sexual desire blasted through him.

Why? How? Rafe was astonished by his unexpected, involuntary response. He didn’t believe in the fairy tale of love at first sight; actually, he’d never even experienced a bona fide case of lust at first sight. Attraction, certainly. But to become firmly, achingly hard by simply looking at a woman he didn’t know? That had never happened to him before, not even when perusing certain magazines as a curious youth.

Yet he had attained that state right now by looking at the smiling, unsuspecting, and totally unaware Holly Casale. At thirty-two, his adolescence long past, it was disconcerting, not to mention humiliating, to experience a rush of sensual urgency—in public!

Rafe thought of Lorna Larson’s determined campaign to engage his attention on the plane earlier today. Nothing she had seductively implied, said or done had inspired even a sensual twinge in him. But here he stood in the driveway beside Holly—who had done nothing at all to try to turn him on—feeling his jeans become uncomfortably tight from his arousal. He hoped to heaven she didn’t notice.

She didn’t. It should have been a relief to see that she was staring rather bleakly at her car, jam-packed with possessions, the driver’s seat the only empty space within. Instead, Rafe felt irked. She was anticipating the tedious job of unloading her car while he burned with desire!

“Well, I guess I’ll start unpacking,” Holly said, walking toward her car. “Nice to meet you, Rafe.”

“Do you need help unloading your car?” Rafe trailed after her like Hot Dog following someone with a doughnut. His offer was an antidote as much as a wish to help out. There was nothing like prosaic physical labor to quash passion.

“I sure do!” Holly smiled again.

Rafe stopped in his tracks, his eyes riveted to her once more. To her slim figure with soft curves and long legs accentuated by tan shorts and a sky blue T-shirt tucked neatly inside the waistband of her shorts. Her complexion had an iridescent ivory glow and her hair, a rich brunette shade, was thick and curly and tumbled nearly to her shoulders. He gazed at her dainty features; her wide-set brown eyes and well-shaped generous mouth were particularly riveting.

And while he studied her, she was opening both doors of her car to more easily unpack it. Rafe shook his head. He wanted her, but she didn’t seem aware of him at all. What a stupid predicament !

Get your ego in check! Rafe commanded himself. For all he knew, Holly Casale was happily married with eyes for no other man but her husband. Which made his sharp sudden desire for her even more unseemly.

His lack of female companionship of late was finally taking its toll on him, Rafe decided grimly. When he began lusting after strangers and begrudging their lack of response, it was definitely time to resume dating, however daunting the logistics. He tried to remember where he’d put Lorna Larson’s business card. The trash compactor in the kitchen? The wastebasket in his bathroom?

“Trent says he lives here,” Holly said conversationally as she reached into the car for her canvas overnight bag.

“That’s right. His little brother Tony does, too.” Rafe watched the material of her shorts hug the sweetly rounded curve of her bottom as she bent to lean inside the car. His mouth went dry.

“Your Little Brother and his little brother both live with you? How did that happen?” Holly was curious. “I know it’s not usually the case in the Big and Little Brother program.”

Even her voice was sexy, Rafe thought dazedly, unable to tear his eyes away from her. Her soft husky tones managed to sound both soothing and stimulating, an unexpectedly arousing paradox.

He looked at her left hand clutching her bag, at her long elegant fingers, the rounded nails painted with pale pink polish. She was not wearing a wedding ring or an engagement ring. Rafe found himself fantasizing about her lovely, ringless hand doing all sorts of things...

He forgot what she’d asked him, what they were talking about.

“I was a Big Sister when I lived in Ann Arbor,” Holly continued chattily, grabbing a black bag with her other hand. “It was a nice break from the craziness and pressure of med school and my residency. My Little Sister, Stephanie, is all grown up now, but we plan to stay in touch.”

Rafe’s eyes darted to her black bag, the traditional physician’s bag. And she’d mentioned med school. His jaw dropped. “You’re a doctor?”

“And you’re incredulous that I am. Should I be insulted?”

“You look too young to be a doctor. And way too pretty,” Rafe said bluntly. He gathered a huge pile of clothing on hangers into his arms.

“These days everybody pretty much accepts the idea of women doctors,” she said dryly.

They walked side by side to the front door of her condo.

“I accept the idea of women doctors,” Rafe said in defense of himself. “What I said was that you looked too young and pretty to be one.”

Holly rolled her eyes. “That kind of pseudo-compliment is impossible to respond to.”

“It wasn’t a compliment, pseudo or otherwise, it was simply an observation. I have nothing against women doctors. In fact my little sister is in her third year of med school right here in Sioux Falls, and doing really well, too.”

“Does she look young? And pretty?”

“Touché, Doc.” Rafe conceded her point with a chuckle. “Yes, to both questions. Eva is young and pretty and very capable.”

Holly inserted her key in the lock and opened the front door.

Rafe followed her into the empty condo and glanced around. “It’s the mirror image of my place.” He thought of the gang inhabiting his half of the duplex, the kids, the dog. “But a lot neater. Certainly quieter.”

Holly set down her bags on the floor of the L-shaped living room and fixed her gaze upon one long wall. “That must be the adjoining wall Trent said he and his brother use to pound out messages in Morse code.”

“And you wondered why the real estate agent was so eager to give you such a great price on this place.”

He guffawed rather slyly, Holly thought. He was kidding again, right? “I’m renting, with an option to buy,” she hedged.

“So you have a safe out. A wise choice.” Rafe peered at her from around the mountain of clothes he was holding. “Where do you want me to put these?”

He watched her. She was all huge eyes and translucent skin and long, long legs. Much to his consternation, he remained in a state of acute arousal despite hauling a hundred pounds of clothing. But he obviously conjured up no sexual interest in her.

Rafe groaned.

Holly reacted at once. “Oh, I’m so sorry! Here I am rambling on, and you’re standing there with that cumbersome load.”

She’d completely misinterpreted his tortured groan. If she only knew! Rafe was tom between laughing and groaning once again.

He did neither.

“I guess the clothes should go upstairs in my bedroom.” Swiftly, Holly led the way up the narrow staircase to the largest of the three bedrooms.

On the other side of the inner wall was the wall of his own bedroom. Rafe tried not to think about how close—the proverbial so near yet so far—he would be to her when he was in his bed and she was in hers. Without waiting for further instruction, he dropped the hangers over the steel rod in the closet. The clothes swung wildly.

“Thank you so much,” exclaimed Holly. “I know how heavy those—”

“Don’t thank me yet. There’s still most of your car to unload. When does the rest of your stuff get here?”

“According to Mrs. Yoder, the agent who took the message from the moving company, hopefully tomorrow.”

Rafe rubbed his jaw. “Anytime I hear ‘hopefully’ I fear the worst. Expect that truck to show up sometime next month.”

“I thought the same thing. Fortunately, I brought some basic necessities with me in my car. Towels, clothes and shoes, some kitchen stuff. It won’t be so bad.”

“You do have a Pollyanna view of things.” He liked that, Rafe decided. It was a refreshing contrast to his own outlook that sometimes bordered on pessimism and gloom. Often bordered on pessimism and gloom, he conceded. “Never mind that you might not have a bed or a chair or even a plate to eat from, you’re all ready to heal the sick. What’s your branch of medicine? Are you joining an established practice or going solo?”

“I’ll be with the Widmark family practice. I start on Monday, so I have a few days to get settled in my house—if the truck arrives on schedule. I’m a psychiatrist,” she added.

“A shrink?” Rafe was taken aback.