“Fifth call? What in the heck is that?”
“It’s a rather complicated on-call system my partners and I worked out to keep our patients happy. Most of them are…hmm, I’m not sure how to put this…”
“Filthy rich?”
Lauren laughed. “I was going to say spoiled rotten, but filthy rich is appropriate, too. Anyway, to make sure every patient gets immediate and personal attention, my partners and I rotate responsibility. First call gets called first. Second call gets called if the doctor on first call is already busy. Third call—”
Nick held up his hands as if warding off a blow. “I get the picture, I get the picture. And I’m wondering ‘who’s on first’?”
“Dr. Carmencita Renfroe has first call tonight,” Lauren replied, only belatedly realizing Nick referred to the classic Abbott and Costello routine and not her equally complicated call schedule. She stuck out her tongue at him, an action that won her his mischievous grin. “I really have to go.”
“Not before we shake on this engagement thing.” Nick reached for her hand, but instead of a shake, he gave it a kiss…right in the sweaty palm. Lauren’s heart screeched to a halt then jump started back to life. She snatched her hand away and swiped it down her jeans.
“Just what was that?” she demanded, feigning indignation. It wouldn’t do for him to know just how much she wished that kiss had landed on her lips instead of in her hand.
“Inexcusable,” Nick said with a decidedly sheepish smile. “Just because I’m already half in lust with you is no excuse for me to act like Frank. I’m sorry, and I promise I won’t ever do it again.”
“Oh, you don’t have to go that far,” Lauren thoughtlessly blurted out even as she registered his “half in lust” comment. Too late she heard the echo of her own candid reply. “What I mean is, I’d never compare you to Frank. You two aren’t a bit alike.”
“That’s true. I’m an architect—he’s a doctor.”
Lauren blinked at that response. Did Nick mean he considered them alike in ways other than professional? she instantly wondered. Like, maybe, sexual…?
Half in lust.
The very concept took her breath away, probably because Lauren was already half—if not three-fourths—in lust with him, too.
Amazing what a few years of growing up could do.
She swallowed hard, suddenly as rattled as a teenager on a first date, even though she was as experienced as two serious affairs could leave her.
“Now I’ll be out of touch for a few days,” Nick said. “But I’ll call your secretary early next week to have her remind you about our date, okay?”
“Okay,” she told him, though the chances of her forgetting were slim and none. “I really have to go, Nick.” With a wave, she spun on her heel and tried to put some distance between them.
“Lauren?”
“What?” She paused but did not dare turn to look at him again.
“Who the hell is Stephen?”
Lauren smiled to herself. “Diana’s husband, Stephen Bayer.”
“So he’s family,” Nick murmured, softly adding, “Good,” a word that Lauren barely heard; a word that did not give her peace of mind…or body.
True to his word, Nick called Lauren’s office the day of the dinner party and asked for her secretary. After identifying himself, he explained that he was an old friend of Dr. West’s who wanted to remind her about a social commitment.
“You don’t sound old,” replied the young woman, who called herself Lisa.
Nick heard her playful tone and grinned, liking her on the spot. “Must be the connection. You don’t sound a day over twenty-one, yourself.”
“I’m not a day over twenty-one,” she retorted with a laugh. “I am old enough to take a message, however. What do you want me to put in this one?”
Nick grinned a little bigger. “Just remind Dr. West that she has a date with me tonight at seven-thirty.”
“Did you say…a date?” Lisa sounded as if the concept were a new one.
“A date. You do know what one of those is, don’t you?”
“I certainly do,” she replied, somewhat hesitantly adding, “Though I’m not at all sure Dr. West does.”
Her casual comment stayed on Nick’s mind all day. Lauren didn’t date? Unbelievable! Was she too busy? Too tired? Too picky?
Couldn’t be picky, Nick thought with a dry laugh as he drove his sleek silver Mercedes-Benz to Lauren’s Dallas neighborhood that night. He glanced at his gold wristwatch, purchased with money from his first Avery, Sanders and Wright, Inc. paycheck some four years ago. Remembering how he’d passed over a style he liked better so he could purchase the most expensive one in the jewelry store, he noted the time, 7:15, and shook his head. Thank goodness money had finally lost its hold on him. It had taken a couple of years—the scars of poverty ran deep—but now he could honestly say he knew what was important.
Lauren, for example. Seeing her at the stadium was a gift from the gods that Nick did not deserve, but accepted. And though certain he would one day rue their meeting—like when her class act saw through the sham of his nouveau respectability—at the moment he was grateful for the diversion.
A glance at the card Lauren had given Nick reminded him for what address he now searched: 14 Blue Moon Lane. He spotted the street just ahead and, shortly after, her house, a modest two-story brick with a neatly manicured lawn. Turning into the drive, situated mid-point in a curve he considered dangerous, Nick braked his car and killed the engine, then got out and walked to Lauren’s front door.
He raised his hand to ring the bell, but hesitated, suddenly nervous. What the hell? he wondered, trying to analyze this unexpected reluctance to see Lauren again.
Was it concern he would do something stupid tonight that kept his hand hovering inches from the bell? Or was it worry he would put his foot in his mouth? Both, Nick instantly realized…plus raw fear that he hadn’t imagined the spark of interest he saw in her eye. That he would respond to it and reveal just how incredibly, sexually attracted he was to her, too.
Damn, but she was a beauty. Tall, generously curved, graceful. He broke out into a cold sweat just remembering how she’d looked Sunday in tight jeans, leather knee boots and that sweater…dear heaven, that sweater.
Nick swallowed hard. The door suddenly swung open.
“Are you going to stand there all night or ring the bell?” Lauren demanded, hands on hips.
“I-it’s broken,” Nick lied, for lack of a better excuse for loitering like an idiot on her front porch.
“It is not,” Lauren retorted, reaching out to thumb the button. At once chimes sounded inside the house. “So what’s the real problem?”
“I’m, uh, early.” He glanced at his watch, noting with relief that he was, indeed, early—one minute and thirty seconds.
“That’s okay. I’m ready.” Laughing, clearly not fooled by Nick’s fibs, though she couldn’t possibly know the reason for them, Lauren stepped back and ushered him into the house. “So what do you think?” she demanded, throwing out her arms as if to encompass her whole house in a hug.
“I think you look like a million dollars,” Nick replied, even though he knew she wanted his opinion of the house, not her person. His hungry gaze devoured Lauren, savoring every