Flirting with the Society Doctor

“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 makeup 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.

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.”