“Something wrong?” Vale leaned in and whispered next to her ear, his warm breath making the tiny hairs on her nape stand at attention.
She glanced his way, wondering where he drew his boundless energy from, wondering how nothing ever fazed him or made him lose his infamous control. He’d work all day, most of the night, and still have photos of himself and some beauty queen appear in the papers when he’d hit a late-night club or fancy restaurant.
“Nothing a good night’s sleep won’t solve.” True. She hadn’t slept well since he’d told her she was going to Cape May. Plus, no way was she going to tell him that her mind was wandering from the data they were poring over to thinking about what she was going to wear at his cousin’s wedding. No way would she risk losing the respect she’d fought so hard to gain.
Unfortunately, he didn’t look convinced by her answer, studying her with eyes too intelligent for his own good. “You’re sure?”
“Yes, I’m sure.” She glanced at her watch. A little after seven. If they finished up within the next hour, maybe she could swing by a dress shop and pick up something new to lift her confidence at spending the weekend with Vale’s glitzy family. She looked around at the room full of researchers who were settled in for the long haul and bit back a sigh.
“Got a hot date?” “What?”
He’d spoken low, for her ears only, but her response came out as a squeak that had several pairs of eyes glancing their way and just as quickly going back to their work.
“That’s the third time in the past fifteen minutes you’ve looked at your watch,” he pointed out. “We must be keeping you from something important.”
Again Vale spoke low, but Faith’s ears burned. Was everyone trying to look as if they were ignoring them or were they truly so absorbed in their work? Marcus Fishe was the only one whose gaze lingered on them. Faith quickly looked away from Vale’s partner’s curious eyes. Although Marcus’s focus within the clinic was geared more toward issues with multiple sclerosis, he’d jumped on board with the Parkinson’s project in the hope that the brain-mapping data would lend itself to other treatments.
“My work is important.” Determined to keep her mind absorbed on her work and not on the fact she’d be spending her weekend with Vale, Faith highlighted an abnormal signal recording from the basal ganglia to the motor cortex on the patient profile. “I’ve still got to pack for this weekend, and I’d hoped to … Never mind.”
There was no reason to tell him she’d hoped to go shopping, to spend time with Yoda, to have a break from Vale to recharge herself prior to attending the wedding.
Setting his ink pen down, he continued to study her in a way that made her feel as if she’d grown an extra nose on her face. “You did get the itinerary from Kay?”
“Yes, your head nurse slash assistant is as efficient as ever.” She liked Kay, thought her brighter than many of the clinic’s more educated personnel, including a few of the neurologists and surgeons. “The itinerary seems standard. Rehearsal tomorrow night followed by dinner, Saturday pre-wedding activities, the wedding ceremony, and then the reception with champagne, dancing, and a romantic sunset at the beach.”
He snorted. “I’ll warn you not to be fooled. There’s nothing standard about my family.”
“I wouldn’t expect otherwise.”
Vale rarely spoke of his family but it was impossible not to know about them as they were constantly in the press. His cousin Sharon had won Miss Pennsylvania a few years back, had gained notoriety when she’d posed topless for an exorbitant amount of money that she had then handed over to the New York City Widows and Orphans of Firefighters Fund, and had then been promptly de-crowned. Another cousin was a congressman. Another a senator. Vale’s mother headed so many charities it was impossible for Faith to recall them all. His father had built a real estate empire prior to his death in Vale’s teens. Apparently all Wakefields were over-achievers, the one grinning at her no exception.
“Oh?” His eyes glittered with amusement. “What do you expect?”
Her and her big mouth.
“I just meant that you’re a highly successful man with good genes,” she whispered, casting a leery glance around the quiet group at the table. Yet again, Marcus was watching them. Great. She glared at Vale. “Surely that trait must run in the family?”
“I’ll let you decide for yourself tomorrow night.” Leaning close, he flashed a wickedly dangerous smile. “I have good genes?”
She rolled her eyes. “You don’t need me to answer that. You know you do.”
“Right.” His grin widened.
Face burning, ears roaring, Faith resumed an intent study of the brain wave data she held, resisting the urge to glance at her watch again or to sneak a peek at the man sitting next to her. She could feel his gaze searing into her with the power of hot metal slicing into butter.
Two hours and several cups of coffee later, Faith rotated her neck, trying to work out the crick that had developed while studying the last patient profile for some missed detail, as they narrowed their choices on who met their study criteria for surgical implantation of the device.
So much for her shopping trip before heading home. And poor Yoda. Another late night with Mrs. Beasley. Before long her baby was going to think he lived at the elderly neighbor’s apartment rather than with Faith. Especially as the cream-colored poodle would be spending the weekend in Mrs. Beasley’s care, too.
Much later, Vale pushed the stack of patient brain-mapping profiles away from him, surprising her since they’d not made it through the rest of the stack. Although all of the others had left a little after nine, she’d already surmised she and Vale wouldn’t leave before midnight.
“I’ve had enough.” He stretched his arms above his head, drawing her gaze to how his shirt pulled taut over his chest.
She quickly glanced away, looked down at her watch. Maybe she’d have time to shop yet. She sighed. Maybe not.
The nicer dress boutiques would all be closed. Great.
She’d just wear the black cocktail dress she’d bought for last year’s Christmas party. She wasn’t crazy about the idea of wearing black to a wedding, but with its skirt flared at the hem the dress would do in a pinch and was the closest thing she had to appropriate wear for media darling Sharon Wakefield’s glamorous wedding. As far as the reception, she’d make do with whatever she could find in her rather boring closet.
“Will he still be waiting?”
She blinked at Vale. “Who?”
His blue eyes darkened. “Whoever I’ve kept you from.”
He almost sounded as if he’d intentionally kept her at the office. Actually, when the others had left and she’d started to stand, he had asked her opinion on a patient report he’d just read, ensuring she’d stay on to read the profile.
Had he intentionally kept her there? What possible reason would he have for doing so?
She took a deep breath, telling herself she was tired, imagining things, but for once gave her boss a flippant answer. “Regardless of how
