Pursued by the Playboy (17 page)

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The following morning, Marc woke Kate with coffee in bed.  She groaned and pushed him away, stomach roiling. 

“Rise and shine, sleepyhead.”  He set the steaming mug on her nightstand.   Freshly shaven, his hair still wet from the shower, he looked too cheerful for a Saturday morning.  “We’re going for a drive.”

Kate buried her head under a pillow.  “Go away.”

The mattress dipped as he
perched beside her.   The pillow lifted, and his minty breath tickled her nose.  Soft lips drifted over her cheek and jaw, nuzzling behind her ear.  “Come on, a drive to the country will help clear your head.  It’s a gorgeous day.”

She swallowed and squeezed her eyes tightly shut.  “I’m sick.”

His lips briefly rested against her forehead.  “You don’t have a fever.”

“Must be something I ate.” 

“Nothing I cooked,” he said.  “What did you have for lunch yesterday?”

The topic of food seemed to make her nausea worse.  She opened her eyes and sat up gingerly.  “Tuna sandwich, from a food truck.  Bad move, huh?”

He studied her, eyes
narrowed
.  “Sit tight,” he finally said.  “I’ll get you some Maalox.”

A few minutes later, the coffee had been replaced by chamomile tea and a dose of antacid.  By the time she had finished the tea, showered, and dressed in jeans and t-shirt to match Marc’s casual attire, she felt almost human.

“So where are we going, exactly?”

He coaxed her into the car and deposited a picnic basket on the back seat.  “It’s a surprise.”

“I’m not sure I like surprises that force me out of bed at some stupid o’clock when I could be sleeping in.”

He backed out of the driveway and headed out of the city, west on I-76.  “This, from the woman who bounces out the door before dawn for a three-mile run every morning?”

Her lips quirked in a grudging smile.  “If someone hadn’t kept me up half the night, I might be more energetic.”

“I didn’t hear you complaining last night.”  He accelerated around a slow-moving truck, and after several more miles took the exit toward
West Chester
.  “There was a mugging on campus a few days ago.”

The abrupt change of topic took Kate by surprise.  “I heard about it.”

“Female undergrad, walking alone on
34
th
Street
after dark.  Stab wounds to the
neck
and chest, still in critical condition.  And the suspect is still at large.”  He merged onto Route 202-South.  “Whatever the university president might say about urban renewal and improved campus safety, it’s still a dangerous place.”

“And your point is?”

“We’re going to practice driving today.  I want you to have your own car, so that if I’m on call or stuck at work you don’t have to wait around for the bus or subway.  You can call campus security to escort you to
the garage, and head home
.”  He pulled off the highway and onto a side road.  “I’m on call once a week and every fourth weekend.  You’ll have a lot more independence if you drive, and it’ll make me feel better to know you’re safe.”

Kate stared at him, trying to figure out which objection to voice first.  “I’ve always walked on campus without any problems,” she finally said.  “My apartment is just a few blocks from the lab.  Not even a mile.  I don’t need a car.”

“You’re not living there anymore.”

“Not now, but as soon as I get my mother settled I’m moving back.”  She frowned at him.  “I wouldn’t have any place to put a car.”

Marc pulled into an empty parking lot and killed the motor.  He sat for a few minutes without speaking, his gaze focused on the broad expanse of shaded parkland beyond the gravel lot.   “I don’t want you walking alone after dark.”

“Fine, I won’t work late.”

He blew out a frustrated breath and got out of the car.  She followed, slamming the door.  “Look,” he said, grabbing the wicker basket from the back seat.  “It’s not an issue during summer, when it’s light until eight.  But what are you going to do come December, when it’s five o’clock and already dark?”

She blinked, trying to absorb the implications of his question.  If he was concerned about what she planned to do in four months’ time, did that mean he was planning on sticking around?  It certainly didn’t sound like he was eager to bring their relationship to a close any time soon.  Kate licked her suddenly dry lips.  “I’ll do what I always did,” she said slowly.  “I’ll carry pepper spray and watch out for suspicious characters.”

Marc muttered something under his breath about pig-headed females.

Kate trailed after him toward a picnic table beneath a spreading elm tree.  She watched silently as he cleared dead leaves and twigs off the wooden surface and spread a tablecloth on top.  Her appetite stirred at the sight of the containers he unpacked:  hummus, kalamata olives, wedges of parmesan and swiss, clusters of grapes, a half loaf of crusty artisan bread. 

“Here.”  He handed her a bottle of chilled water.  “Help yourself.”

She sank onto the opposite bench and dug around in her purse for some disinfectant gel.  As a peace gesture, she offered him the first dollop.  They cleaned their hands in silence.  She spread a couple napkins to use as plates and took a sip of water.  “You were right, it’s a beautiful day.”

He grunted and sawed off a piece of bread.

“I took driving lessons in college,” she said, accepting a slice of bread and cheese.  “It was pretty much a disaster.”

“How so?”

“I get nervous with all these other cars around me, and it’s hard for me to judge distance
s
, which makes switching lanes a nightmare.  And don’t get me started on left turns.”

He unbent
enough to smile.  “There’s practically no traffic out here to worry about.  And we’ll practice as much as you need.”  He offered her an olive.  “We can come back here every weekend when I’m not on call, if that’s what it takes.”

“Jake ran out of patience with me.  Come to think of it, so did Jake’s dad.”

Marc’s smile widened.  “Lucky for you, I’ve got plenty of patients.”

Kate shook her head at the pun, relieved to see his good humor restored.  “If you don’t mind sacrificing your Beemer to the cause…”

Other that a slight hesitation as he reached for some
more food
, Marc did not react to her provocation.  “Eat up,” he said, dropping a cluster of grapes on her napkin.  “We’ve got a busy day ahead.”

Chapter 17

The following week, Kate handed the BMW over to a valet and entered the restaurant where she was scheduled to meet Marc’s sisters.  Isabelle had arranged the girls’ night out, and after some good-natured grumbling on Marc’s part that he hadn’t been invited, he offered her the car keys. 

“I’ll catch up on some paperwork,” he said.  “Enjoy dinner with the terrible twosome.”

“I thought you liked your sisters.”

“I do, when it’s one-on-one.  But together?  Be ready to run for cover.  And don’t let them talk you into anything you wouldn’t ordinarily do.”

Kate tightened her grip on the keys.  “You’re
scaring
me.”

“
Mission
accomplished, then.” Marc grinned and leaned down to brush his lips against hers. 

The keys rattled in her hand.  “I’m not sure I’m ready for this.”

“You’ll do fine.  You drove down every back road in
Chester
County
without a hitch this weekend.”

“What if I accidentally scratch the paint?”

He flinched, but quickly smoothed the expression into a smile.  “Well, as long as it’s not on purpose, I’ll try not to take it personally.”

Kate pressed a hand to her stomach to still the sudden flutter of nerves.  It was sometimes hard for her to believe that Marc was real, and hers, even temporarily.  She kept waiting for the other shoe to drop, for him to realize that she wasn’t really worth the trouble and that it was time to move on.  Wasn’t that what men did—keep on the lookout for the next best thing?  And when it came along, it was farewell to whatever was waiting at home and hello to the brand new flavor of the month.  The fact that it hadn’t happened yet with Marc flew in the face of her expectations.  Somehow he seemed oblivious to the temporary nature of their relationship, and the longer they lingered at this pit stop on the serial monogamy trail, the more nervous she got.   

As if sensing her anxiety, Marc ran a finger along her cheek and dropped a
nother
quick kiss on her mouth.  “Call me if you need me.”

She paused now inside the restaurant to allow her eyes to adjust.   Translucent white wave-shaped sculptures flowed along the walls.  Tables and chairs of the same material slowly changed color as she watched, bleeding into reds, purples, and blues.  She felt as if she had stepped onto a psychedelic stage set.

The door opened behind her.  “Cool, isn’t it?”

She turned, and found a wind-blown Isabelle unwinding a thin fabric scarf from her neck.  “Hello, Isabelle.”

“I’ve been meaning to come here for years, so it’s great we were able to do this.  Chef Morimoto is my favorite Iron Chef.  You know the show?  Chop, chop, and you’ve got a cordon-bleu feast out of daikon radish and sea urchin in under an hour.” 

Kate laughed.  “I’ve heard about it.  Is he really the chef here?”

“He probably checks in once a while.  This was his first baby.  But he’s also got restaurants in
Chelsea
,
Boca Raton
, and
Mumbai.  And last month he opened the newest one in
Napa
.”  She sighed.  “One of these days—if I can ever get away for long enough—I’m going to do
Napa
by bike.  Stop at all the wineries for tastings and gorge myself on truffles and pate at all my favorite chefs’ eateries.”

“Sounds pretty ambitious.”

“My mom always says there’s nothing better than fine food and good company.  Speaking of, here’s Emma.”

Kate immediately recognized the statuesque raven-haired beauty from the newspaper photograph that had caused her so much unnecessary grief nearly four weeks ago.  Since then, she had seen other pictures of Emma scattered among the various family photos littering Marc’s living room:  a laughing adolescent posing on skis with her siblings, a glowing young adult in velvet cap and gown getting hooded by her father in ceremonial black-and-green doctoral robes, a massively pregnant woman wearing a “babies on board” t-shirt. 

In person, she seemed much more approachable than in the original published glam shot where she had appeared on Marc’s arm in a sophisticated upswept do, evening gown with miles of cleavage, and dramatic makeup that played up her bedroom ey
es and seductive pout.  Tonight
she wore a peasant shirt and long flowing skirt in earth-tone colors, several pieces of chunky amber jewelry, and her hair was caught up in a casual knot held in place by a wooden clip.

“Sorry I’m late,” she said, kissing Isabelle on the cheek.  “The boys are teething, which makes them clingy.”

“I thought Alex was done growing his fifth row of teeth.”

Emma sighed.  “One of these days, Iz, you’re going to need his legal advice, and you’re going to regret all those shark jokes you’ve made over the years.”

Isabelle grinned and turned to Kate.   “Meet my sister Emma.  Kate Warner.”

Within minutes, they were seated and a solicitous waiter supplied them with drinks and menus.  While Isabelle pored over the myriad choices, her sister studied Kate in the dim glow of the table lamp.  “I thought I saw Marc’s car in the parking lot.”

Kate squeezed some lemon into her water and took a sip.  “He lent it to me for the night.”

That caught Isabelle’s attention.  “You’re kidding.  He lent you his BMW?  His baby?”  She exchanged incredulous glances with Emma.  “He never even let me sit behind the wheel.  Told me to keep my grubby little fingers off his leather interior.”

Emma nodded.  “It’s true.  He’s very possessive of that car.”

“I guess.  Though he said he’s been thinking for while about upgrading.  We stopped by a dealer last weekend to look at the new 7-series hybrid.”

“He wants to trade in his Beemer?”

“Not exactly.”  Kate shifted beneath their scrutiny.  “He wants to get a new one and keep the old car as a back-up.”

That pronouncement met with several seconds of silence.  Emma finally sat back and said slowly, “He’s giving you his car.  Amazing.”

Kate choked on her water and started coughing.  Before she could sputter a response, Isabelle grinned.  “Some men feel more strongly about their cars than about their offspring.  Isn’t that right, Em?”

“You leave Alex out of it.”

Isabelle laughed.  “So, Marc’s handing over his
precious
BMW.  Must be love.”

“You’re blowing it all out of proportion,” Kate protested.  “He really wants a hybrid.  And it’s not like he needs to trade in the car he already has.  The garage is big enough for him to keep both.  It has nothing to do with me.”