Page 15 of Lovesick

Chapter 6

When the door buzzed, her nerves went into full red alert as if there were a raging fire and she was the firefighter, frantic to put out the blaze. Was she even perspiring, feeling dampness at her temples as if this was her first date ever? Unbelievable.

But the heat was real, burning inside her as she turned a circle around her living room, checking that everything was in order. The fire was lit in the fireplace, fresh flowers were arranged in a vase on the table, and she was dressed to the nines, waiting for him to arrive at her door. One last look in the large mirror conveniently located in her entryway, and she stood ready to fling open the door when he knocked.

This was possibly her being a little too anxious, too aggressive, but . . . she couldn’t help herself.

The knock sounded loud and set her on edge so that she took a deep breath, composed herself, forcing herself to slow down, trying to calm her crazy heartbeat. It couldn’t be healthy and that was all she needed, another health complication to distract Dr. Max from what she really needed. And it wasn’t doctoring. At least not the traditional kind.

She needed him. In her bed. Desperately. With that thought in mind, galvanizing her like the good goal-oriented woman she was, she opened the door with a steady hand and a reasonably pleasant smile, free from the crazed look she’d seen in the mirror a second before.

Max stood on the threshold looking like a million bucks in his dark Ralph Lauren knockoff blazer and slim jeans. He wore a charcoal knit mock turtleneck under the blazer and she recognized it from the store. She’d bet her emerald bracelet that someone in men’s fashion had helped him dress tonight. Maybe she’d give them a raise, because the knit showed off some serious chest muscles she had previously only imagined.

“Max, come in.” She swept aside as if she were hostessing an elegant party, but if she didn’t stick to her gracious hostess role, she’d be thrown into the chaos of a sex-starved woman welcoming a mouthwatering man into her apartment. Not a good scene.

He stepped inside and let out a whistle as he kept his eyes pinned to her. Then, as if he’d almost forgotten, he pulled a single red rose from behind him and handed it to her.

“For you. You look beautiful, Louise.” He stood staring at her, not moving. She didn’t move either, until she took the rose from his hand and tried getting herself unstuck from being awestruck by him, by his kindness, by his deep dark eyes blazing with desire. For her. She cleared her throat.

“Thank you.”

“I checked your medical file first to make sure you weren’t allergic to roses. I hope you don’t mind.”

“You’re so thoughtful. I don’t remember the last time a man brought me roses.” Congratulating herself on the return of her poise, it hit her that he’d seen her entire medical history. Panicked, she blazed through her past health issues to try and remember if she had anything embarrassing hidden in her past. She should have thought of this sooner, should have purged her files or something.

“Don’t worry. I didn’t read every paper in your file, only the basics. I saw nothing that might compromise my regard for you.”

“Are you mocking me?”

“I thought I was rescuing you from your panic.”

“I’m that transparent?”

He nodded. “It’s part of your charm.”

“Then I hate to disappoint you, but I’m not normally this charming.”

They stood in the entry foyer of her apartment. The second-floor walk-up wasn’t as posh as George’s, but it was all hers. She’d earned every precious square centimeter of the prewar two-bedroom in a converted mansion on the Upper East Side of Manhattan with its high ceilings, cozy fireplace, and tiny kitchen.

“Can I ask you a question?” He glanced around, then back at her.

“Sounds like you should come all the way inside for this.” Her belly floated up and down. She was pretty sure she was over the flu, but she took her time walking into her living room. Her dress was so tight she didn’t have much choice anyway. And the spike heels didn’t help.

He looked around. “Nice place. Old-world and elegant, but with sparks of mischief.” He nodded at the graffiti artist Banksy’s painting over the fireplace depicting a brick wall with street people painted on it. Pride in her home normally dictated that she show a newcomer around the place, but anxious curiosity about what he had to ask her won out. Over everything, including good manners.

“What did you want to ask?”

“How is it that you’re a single woman? You’re stunning and smart and—”

“How come no one’s snatched me up by now?” This was a softball question.

“If you want to put it like that.”

“I could have been snatched up. If I wanted to be, but I never did. Work has always been first, the family. It’s all the same. The joke is that Regals are Regal’s. The business is the family and the family is the business. Makes work-life balance easy, in a way.”

“Except you don’t have a family of your own. Children not in the cards for you?”

“Hey, slow down there. Doc. We haven’t even got past first base yet.”