Solange. In my room. I have two beds, and I know you’re dying to stretch out in the bathtub.”
“I appreciate the offer, Paul, but I’ll be fine in the truck. Really.”
He knew she would. Solange had a survivor’s heart. “Then you take the room alone tonight and I’ll sleep in the truck. And you can help yourself to all the bubble bath and perfumed soap you want.”
“I don’t want to chase you out of your bed. Believe me, I’ve spent many nights in the truck. It’s not a problem.”
“Where did you do your medical residency?”
“Chicago. Cook County Hospital.”
Cook County—one of the oldest and largest charity hospitals in the United States. That was impressive because by reputation it was demanding and by patient load grueling.
“Well, as you were at Cook County, I’m sure that you’re familiar with the old medical tradition called the on-call room?” Where beleaguered doctors on call, needed to be up and working at a moment’s notice, piled together in rooms full of beds simply to grab a little sleep any way they could, anywhere they could, until their services were next required.
“I’ve had my share of familiarity in on-call rooms. Hated the snorers, though.” She wrinkled her nose again. “Had enough of sleeping next to those in my days.”
“I don’t snore,” he said, heading to the door. “So consider this your on-call room for the night. Take either of the beds you want, and if you snore, and it disturbs me, I’ll wake you up and send you out to your truck. OK?”
Asking her to sleep in his room? Inviting her back to his hospital? Even thinking into next week and next month and next year and seeing Solange there? Outside in the hall, Paul leaned against the wall and shut his eyes. This was crazy. Absolutely crazy! “Not smart,” he muttered, straightening up and tugging his silk bow tie back into place.
Even now, though, realizing just how stupid this was, simply thinking about Solange Léandre still took his breath away.
In the bathtub, Solange watched the steam mist over the mirror before she shut her eyes and allowed herself to drift. Maybe eating Paul’s lobster, stretching out in his bubble bath and sleeping in his bed weren’t the wisest things to do…Maybe they were downright stupid…But Paul wasn’t like Mauricio, even though she tried to force the similarities on him. Not like him at all, which was the best thing that had happened to her in a long while. And he was so attractive, something she really shouldn’t be thinking about, even though she was. He was nice, too. A man who knew what he was about, and she liked that.
On that pleasant note Solange relaxed into her bath, let the raspberry-scented bubbles slide over her skin, and wiped everything out of her mind. Everything except, perhaps, the notion of what it might feel like to have Paul immersed in the raspberry bubbles with her.
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