Pursued by the Playboy (15 page)

“Oh, for crying out loud…”

“Don’t worry, I’m thick-skinned
. 
And so were you, once upon a time.
  What happened?  Fall in love?”  He ducked to avoid her flying hand. 

She inhal
ed sharply.  “I’m sorry.”  Her fingers shook as she slipped on her sunglasses and shouldered her bag.

“Don’t sweat it
.”  He studied her, then offered an olive branch
. 
“
You know I was just teasing, right?”

She swallowed.  “Yes.  I’m sorry.  I’m not myself these days.”

He
captured her hand and squeezed gently. 
“Y
ou’
ll call me if you need anything?
”

“Of course.
 
Now go and enjoy the rest of your weekend.  I hear Paul McCartney’s in town.”

“Sold out tonight and tomorrow,” Jake confirmed.  “But I managed to score two tickets.”

“And…?”

“Sorry, slick, you’re out of luck.  I already invited Lily.”

“Lily…wait a minute, this is the same Lily from three weeks ago?”  She
raised a brow
at the rise
of color in his face.  “You
weren’t even planning on telling me
, were you
?”

“It’s early days,” he protested.

“I want to meet her.  I promise I won’t scare her off.  How about dinner this week?  You pick the day, let me know.”

“The four of us?”

Kate hesitated
.  “If Marc isn’t busy, sure.  Call me.”

Chapter
15

Kate reclined on the couch, a notebook propped on her knees.  With one hand she plucked fresh raspberries from a bowl on the table beside her and popped them into her mouth.  With the other hand she jotted down notes beneath the heading “Jobs for High School Graduates.” 

Somewhere between “customer service representative” and “home health aide,” she heard the front door open. 

A female voice called out, “Hello, anyone home?”

Kate sat up and peered over the back of the couch to see a slender dark-haired woman in light blue scrubs enter the living room.   Frowning, she set aside the notebook and got up.

“Oh, hello,” the woman said.  “You must be Kate.”

“Yes.”  For a moment, all of Kate’s doubts came rushing back like a gale force wind.  She pictured a series of women from Marc’s past traipsing through the door, each with her own key, each intent on reclaiming her place in his life.  Blinking, she forced the image aside.  She had already been guilty of jumping to unwarranted conclusions about Marc
once, and was determined not to do so again—at least, not without more information.  Besides, on second glance, the woman looked familiar.  Dark hair with a hint of curl, laughing gray eyes, just a shade taller than Kate herself.

“Sorry to barge in like this,” the woman continued.  “I had a couple hours before I’m due back on L&D, thought I’d come by to raid the fridge.  The hospital cafeteria never has anything decent.  And you can always rely on Marc to have something yummy on hand.  You don’t mind, do you?” 

Kate shook her head in bemusement, but the woman had already moved toward the kitchen without waiting for a response.  She was rifling through the Sub-zero by the time Kate followed.  “I’m Isabelle, by the way,” she threw over her shoulder.  “Too bad you missed the twins’ party.  Everyone was looking forward to meeting you, but Marc said you were working on a deadline.”

Kate hovered in the archway separating the two rooms, unsure of how to respond to the rapid stream of words. 

Isabelle seemed completely unfazed by her silence.  “You’ll have to come to the next one.  The elders are having their thirtieth anniversary bash over Labor Day Weekend.  S
aturd
ay afternoon.”

Kate finally found her voice.  “Your brother didn’t mention…”

“He’s probably afraid of being shot down again if he gives you too much advance notice.”   Isabelle straightened, clear plastic container in hand.  “Mmm, lasagna—my favorite.  Want some?”

Kate shook her head and watched as the younger woman cut a large piece from last night’s leftovers to heat up in the microwave.  She moved the same way she spoke—quickly, decisively, crackling with energy like a live wire.  Within minutes she was seated at the central island, digging into her food.  Kate stirred.  “Can I get you something to drink?”

“Coffee would be great.”

Kate glanced at the clock.  “Decaf?”

“Nah.  I’m on call tonight.  The more caffeine, the better.”

“I have some Nescafe squirreled away, if that’s okay?  I haven’t quite gotten the hang of
making espresso.”

“Whatever you have is fine.  Given the swill that’s on tap in the staff lounge, I’m just grateful if it’s hot.”

Kate filled the electric kettle and spooned coffee into a mug.  “Marc’s on call tonight too.”

“That explains it.”  At Kate’s raised brow, she said,   “Why you’re here alone.  Last I heard, you were pretty much joined at the hip.  Except for the party where he showed up without you.  And I guess when he’s on call.”

Kate forced her fingers to relax.  “I’m not sure where you get your information…”

“Reuters has nothing on the DiStefano family grapevine.”    Isabelle grinned.  “And don’t worry, we’re all thrilled that Marc’s finally looking to settle down.” 

“You’ve got it all wrong.”  Kate took a deep breath.  “Your brother was kind enough to help me out with a place to stay when I needed it, but there’s no talk about settling down.”

Isabelle shoveled another large bite into her mouth and chewed.  “He said
that
you could be a bit
prickly, but it’s
just a defense mechanism.
  Apparently he doesn’t take it personally, so I won’t either.
”

Kate started to get annoyed at the casual confidences spilling from this woman whom she’d never met before today, but who seemed perfectly at ease dissecting and critiquing Kate’s personality.  Before she could find the words to express her feelings with sufficient delicacy to avoid giving offense, Isabelle was prattling on again.

“By the way, sorry for barging in unannounced like this.  I promise to give plenty of warning in future—wear a cow bell or something.  Marc keeps telling me I’m way too impulsive, but I figure spontaneity is what makes life interesting.  That’s what I like most about my job—you never know what’s going to walk through the door, or when a patient’s going show up ready to pop.  You know that only five percent of women actually deliver on their due date?  That’s ninety-five percent who don’t.  So might as well learn to expect—and enjoy—the unexpected, right?”  She accepted the steaming coffee mug, waving off the milk and sugar.  “Thanks.  But listen to me, going on and on.  Probably boring you to tears.  You sure you don’t want some of this lasagna?  It’s to die for.”

“I know,” Kate agreed dryly.  “But no thanks.  I’m not hungry just yet.”

“I’m always hungry.  One thing you learn quickly in med school is to eat whenever there’s food available, because you never know when your next opportunity to eat will be.  Especially when you’ve got a few women ready to pop all at the same time and you’re the one on call.  Speaking of…” she glanced at her watch, gulped down the rest of her coffee, and dumped the dirty dishes and silverware in the sink.  “I’ve got to run.  Great meeting you.  We should get together sometime.  Girls’ night out.  I’ll see if Emma can spare an evening.  You like sushi?”

“Actually…”

Isabelle’s pager went off.  “Oh, hell.”  She punched in the number on her cell phone and headed for the door.  “I’ll give you a call and we’ll set something up, okay?”

She rushed out, like a tornado that had blown through and was now heading for the neighboring county, leaving Kate breathless
in her wake. 

Slowly Kate covered the remaining lasagna and put it away.  Then she rinsed out the dirty dishes and stacked them in the dishwasher for later.  Maybe the steamroller approach was a family trait?

###

That evening, over a dinner of reheated chicken curry, Kate said, “Isabelle stopped by earlier.”

“Oh?  What did she want?”

“Food, apparently.”

Marc laughed.  “That’s Izzy for you.  She eats like it’s going out of style.”

“She certainly enjoyed your lasagna.”

Something in her voice drew Marc’s attention.  “I’m assuming she just barged in here without warning?   I’ll have to have a little talk with her about some new ground rules.”

Kate unbent enough to concede, “She did say she’d try to avoid doing that in future.”

“I knew she had some common sense hidden under all that hair.”  He watched as Kate fiddled with her fork, pushing strips of pepper and carrot to the side of her plate.  “Go ahead, spit it out.  Whatever’s bothering you.”

“Did she ever walk in on you at an…awkward moment?”

“Bare-assed, you mean?  Or in the middle of a date?”  At her jerky nod, Marc grinned.  “Whatever rumors you may have heard, I don’t make a habit of inviting women home with me.  I’ve always preferred to
conclude my evenings elsewhere.  P
revents any misunderstandings and doesn’t raise false expectations.  It’s much harder to eject unwanted guests from your home turf.”

Kate stiffened and started to rise.  “All you need to do is say you want your space back—”

Marc laughed and caught her around the waist, bringing her tumbling into his lap.  “You’re so easy to rile, sweetheart.”

She pushed against his chest.  “Let go.” 

He tightened his arms around her and nuzzled her neck.  His warm breath and soft lips raised shivers along her skin.  “You’re a welcome presence here, Kate, and you know it.”

His hands moved along her back in long soothing strokes.  Tight muscles gradually lost their tension, and for a few minutes she allowed herself to relax into his embrace.  

“Anything else bothering you?” he said after she resumed her seat but continued to push the food around on her plate instead of eating.

“Your sister mentioned that your parents are planning a thirtieth anniversary celebration.”

“Ah.  Yes.”  He took a sip of water.  “I meant to talk to you about it.  It’s in three weeks, on S
atur
day.  Come with me?”

“You sure your parents wouldn’t mind a stranger horning in on their anniversary?”

Marc set his fork down.  “You’re not a stranger, unless you choose to be.”  He studied her, then sighed at her lack of response.  “Besides, if you’d ever been to a DiStefano shindig, you wouldn’t be asking such a silly question.  We’re talking big tents, catering for a couple hundred, five-piece band, you name it.  There’s nothing Sophia enjoys more than a loud boisterous party with mountains of food and as many friends and relatives she can cram in under one roof.”

“Now you’re making me nervous.”

He covered her cold hand with his own warm one.  “This, from the woman who spoke in front of hundreds about the future of cancer research?”

“That was work-related.  And my knees were shaking the whole time.”

“Well, you can rest easy.   I’ll be right by your side.”  He squeezed her hand and brought it to his lips.  “No grant deadline this time, baby, okay? 

Kate tugged her hand back and clenched her fingers in her lap.  The prospect of meeting his family terrified her.  The brief encounter she had earlier with Marc’s younger sister was disconcerting enough.  The fact that Isabelle—and apparently the rest of Marc’s family—believed that she and Marc were involved in something serious, something that would lead to
settling down
, had Kate breaking out in a cold sweat.  Perhaps Marc was unaware of his family’s take on their situation?  Should she somehow warn him, so that he could disabuse his parents and sisters of any such expectations?  Or should she keep quiet, and muddle through as best as possible, ignoring whatever broad hints and indelicate questions came her way?  She chewed her lip, then jumped when Marc’s voice broke through her jumbled thoughts.

“Kate, turnabout’s fair play.  I met your parents, right?”

“You need to talk to them first,” she blurted.  “Your family, I mean.  Set them straight about us.”

“How so?”

“They think that this—” she gestured between them, “is going somewhere.”

He was quiet for a moment.  “Ah.”

Unsure how to interpret his suddenly closed expression, she rushed on.  “Like we’re living together.  You know, long-term.”

He leaned back, eyes narrowed.  “What would you like me to tell them?”

“The truth.  Neither of us looking to settle down.   My being here is temporary—just until I can get my mother’s situation squared away.”  She paused.  “On second thought, don’t mention my mother.  I’d rather not muddy things, and it’s really no one’s business what she’s going through.  Or my father, for that matter.”

“I see.  Anything else?”