finished the last of his chicken and wiped his mouth with a napkin. “Now you know my life history, why don’t you tell me yours? For starters, why does everyone assume you’re so unapproachable?”
Because she was, she thought, slightly confused by his curiosity. Most men found out about her reputation and went running in the opposite direction.
“I am unapproachable. I don’t suffer fools gladly, I don’t cater to male egos and I’m not interested in playing games.”
Stephen looked at the woman sitting across from him. She’d gone from looking like a confident companion to glancing around like a trapped animal. She wasn’t comfortable talking about herself and she wasn’t comfortable with him. He half expected her to bolt from her seat and race to the door. Except he guessed that Nora would rather die than let him see that she was rattled by their dinner conversation.
He studied her smooth skin, the glossy dark hair spilling over her shoulders, the way her mouth gave away every emotion. Her mother was his patient and adored talking about her children, so he knew that Nora was twenty-eight. What had happened in her young life to make her so wary of men? And why did everyone in town know her secret but him?
Nora wasn’t cold, he thought, remembering the waitress’s comment that she could freeze a man to death. His nurse had implied that no one got to Nora. What he wanted to know was, why?
His interest surprised him. In the past two years he’d managed to avoid feeling anything for anyone except his patients. Emotionally he’d been numb inside. While he wasn’t ready to care again—in fact he’d promised himself he would never fall in love with anyone else—he felt a stirring of interest that had little to do with the heart and much more to do with the mind…and the glands.
Nora engaged his brain and heated his blood. It was a tempting combination.
“You’re not married,” he said. It wasn’t a question.
She set down her fork and pushed away her plate. “I don’t actually think that’s any of your business. Nor am I comfortable talking about my personal life with you.”
“But you asked me all kinds of personal questions.”
“I asked why you’d chosen to open your practice here.”
He leaned forward and grinned. “Actually you asked about deep, dark secrets in my past. Sounds pretty personal to me.”
“Fine. You chose to answer and I didn’t.”
She was prickly, all right, he thought. A challenge. Maybe he needed a good challenge in his life. Imagining Nora yielding to him, hissing even as she purred, stirred more than his blood.
“I’d like to see you again,” he said. “How about dinner tomorrow night?”
She looked at him as if he’d suddenly sprouted purple horns and a tail. “You’re insane. I don’t date.” The word was laced with both incredulity and contempt.
“Why not?”
It was a simple-enough question. She opened her mouth, closed it, then opened it again. Sound emerged, but it was more of a splutter than a reply. Finally she simply tossed her napkin on the table, slid out of the booth and hurried toward the door.
Stephen watched her go. He wasn’t looking for the love of his life. He’d had that once and lost her. But he was willing to admit that he was lonely. Maybe it was time to change that. As the ever-prickly Miss Nora Darby didn’t seem to be looking for anything permanent, either, maybe they could find a way to help each other.
Because he was willing to bet that if she didn’t date much, she didn’t get a chance to do other things. And just watching her move had told him she would probably do those other things very, very well.
Nora felt too crabby to sleep. She wanted to pretty up her emotions with words like angry or keyed up, but the truth was she was just plain crabby. Who was that man and what made him think that he had the right to…to…
She collapsed onto a sofa in her living room and sighed. Okay, all he’d done was ask her out. Was that so terrible? Didn’t men ask women out all the time?
Maybe, she thought, trying to hang on to crabby in favor of feeling wistful. But men didn’t ask her out. Not anymore. Not when she could verbally eviscerate them and frequently did. Not when she had a reputation of being difficult, stubborn and the kind of woman a man left at the altar.
She sighed and grabbed one of her floral-print pillows. She tucked the square against her chest and hugged it close. The worst of it was she’d been tempted to accept Stephen’s invitation. For one brief second she’d thought about saying yes. Which was crazy.
Except…Nora shifted until she was curled up on the sofa. A part of her had sort of enjoyed her dinner with Stephen. He didn’t seem intimidated by her. She didn’t get out all that much anymore. Not just because she didn’t date but because all her girlfriends had married and were starting families. They didn’t have time for dinners out and she was usually too busy to break for lunch.
“I’ll make new friends,” she told herself softly. “Friends who are single like me.” She vowed to start searching these mythical folks out the following day, despite the fact that most single females in Lone Star Canyon were either under twenty or over sixty-five.
“We’ll do things together. I won’t be reduced to accepting invitations from a man who spells his name with a ‘ph’ instead of a ‘v,’ like normal people. A man from Boston, or worse, New Jersey.”
That decided, Nora thought about standing up and getting ready for bed. Between the tornado and her unexpected stint of nursing, she’d had a busy day. She was tired, she thought as her eyes drifted closed. But right now she felt too comfortable to move. Instead she would just…
The man’s hands were warm and smooth and strong. Not sissy hands, but powerful and lean, with long fingers that knew exactly where to touch her. Despite being curled up on the sofa, Nora found herself arching toward those questing fingers that explored first her arm, then her shoulder. She trembled at the feel of his heat against her bare skin. She—
Bare skin? Nora opened her eyes and realized she was lying naked on her sofa. And she was no longer alone. Stephen Remington crouched next to her. Instead of his slacks, dress shirt and white coat, he wore jeans and a cable-knit sweater. Far too dressed, she thought hazily.
“Tell me about your past,” he murmured, then kissed the sensitive skin just below her ear.
“Don’t want to,” she managed to say, between a gasp of erotic excitement and a soft cry of pleasure.
His strong hands urged her to shift onto her back. She did so, tossing the pillow away. He kissed her cheek, her chin, but when she tried to press her lips to his, he turned away. Before she could protest, he cupped her breasts. Thumb and forefinger teased her nipples, making her cry out and arch into his caress. She was on fire. She couldn’t remember the last time a man had touched her, but it had been far too long. Celibacy was the downside of not getting involved, she thought, her mind thick with long-denied passion.
He continued to stroke her curves. He pressed kisses to her belly, then moved lower. She shifted so that he could kiss her most intimate place of all. For a second there was nothing, then the
