FROM HOUSECALLS TO HUSBAND Page 10

  Now that he'd been intimate with her, all he had to do was touch her to want her. Hell, he thought, all he had to do was think about her.

  With anyone other than Katie, he'd have seen no problem with that. Considering how long it had been since any woman had affected him even half as strongly, he should have been relieved by the phenomenon. Now he considered it a curse, the Fates' idea of some perverse joke.

  Tension flowed into her muscles even as she slowly slipped her arms from around his neck. Stifling the urge to tangle his fingers in her hair and turn her face to his, he locked his hands loosely at the back of her waist, curious to know what she would do. By the time her hands were flat on his chest, he could tell by the wariness shadowing her expressive eyes that she was going to pull back.

  Not ready to risk a lifelong friendship by pushing, wishing he'd never touched her at all, he made it easy on them both and dropped his arms to his sides.

  Her glance moved over the five-o'clock stubble shadowing his jaw, not quite meeting his eyes. "This is great news," she began, her voice thready. "It really is, Mike. If I wasn't on at the clinic tonight, I'd like to help you celebrate."

  He watched her back up, his eyes narrowing at the way she touched her fingers to her lips and trailed them to her throat. The motion had to be subconscious, a behavior triggered by her own memories of how they'd responded to each other. It was too enticing to have been deliberate. And too telling for him to ignore.

  The thought that she might be struggling with the same feelings he battled did nothing to cool him down. "I think I'll just head to the gym." A workout definitely held merit. So did the cold plunge pool. "That's where I was going, anyway."

  "But that was before," she reminded him, referring to the call that had brought him there. "You can't just do the gym, then go home to that empty house. You should celebrate. Call friends and go out.

  "That's what you should do." Warming to the idea, or the diversion, she motioned to the phone. "Call Jerry and Sue," she suggested, referring to the radiologist he sometimes jogged with and the man's wife. "I bet they'd love to—"

  "I don't want to call Jerry."

  "Then call your mom and dad," she hurried on, undaunted. "I'm sure they'll want you over for dinner. Or they'll take you to the club."

  "I'll call them later."

  "But if you call now, they can get a table."

  "I don't want to go to the club," he muttered.

  "I'm sure they'll make reservations wherever you want to go."

  Since he seemed intent on ignoring her practicality, she started punching in numbers herself. The senior Brennans had had the same phone number for as long as she could remember. She knew it as well as she knew her own. "This isn't your mom's bridge night, is it?"

  He took the phone from her hand, careful not to snatch it, and dropped it back on its base. "I have no idea if it is or not."

  Just because he probably would wind up at the club with his folks didn't matter at the moment. He didn't need Katie making sure he had someone to be with tonight. He didn't need her reminding him that his house was so damn empty. What he really didn't need was the disappointment he felt knowing she wouldn't be part of his evening. "I'm not in the mood to go out." His voice sounded tight and just a little edgy. "I want to go to the gym."

  That really wasn't what he wanted, and he knew it. What he wanted to do was take her to dinner. And to bed. Not necessarily in that order. That he was suddenly feeling as frustrated as hell about it didn't help, either. Neither did the fact that Katie looked even more wary than she had moments ago.

  "I'm making you late," he muttered, hardly able to blame her for the way she crossed her arms as she backed away. He was being ridiculous. He knew it. But he couldn't seem to help it.

  Digging in his pocket for his keys, he took a step away himself, giving her even more space. "Are you working tomorrow?"

  She eyed him uncertainly, her hair shimmering with shades of dark honey and gold as she gave him a nod. "I'm scheduled for the next seven days."

  "You have to work this weekend, too?"

  She nodded again, clearly bewildered by his scowl. But she went along with him the way she might a confused, agitated patient, watching him just as closely. "One of the nurses wanted to get away this weekend with her husband. I traded days off with her."

  All Mike had wanted to know was if she'd be at the hospital tomorrow, thinking he'd tell her he'd see her then. Now he felt exasperation join the annoyance he was trying to curb. Not only had she worked last weekend and spent that Sunday evening at a meeting of the organization she was presently on her way to help, she had now committed herself to working a week straight so someone else could get away to relax. Considering that the free clinic attracted mostly pregnant, indigent women and that she had a sack of diapers and formula and what looked like a baby gift parked by the back door, he wouldn't hazard a guess as to who she was rescuing now, or what else she'd committed herself to.

  It was no wonder she'd gotten sick a couple of weeks ago. The woman took care of everyone but herself.

  Not trusting himself to share his theory about why she did that, not sure he trusted why it mattered, he turned to the door.

  "I'll see you tomorrow," was all he said before he pulled it open.

  Katie's response was just as guarded. "Sure," she replied, her tone faint and decidedly puzzled. "You have a good evening."

  Oh, he and the free weights would have a great time. "Thanks," he mumbled, thinking he might as well add a few dozen laps to the night's routine. "You, too."

  * * *

  Chapter Six

  « ^ »

  "That's the one." Dana stepped back, critically eyeing Katie's image in the dressing room mirrors. "Definitely."

  "It certainly has more potential than that last one." From where Lee sat in the corner of the multi-mirrored fitting room, she gave a dismissing wave toward the black crepe, halter-style gown hanging on the louvered door: "At least it has part of a back. You'd freeze in that other thing."

  Katie glanced from her friends, who were both still in uniform since they'd hit the mall straight from work, to the strapless, black velvet gown Dana had just zipped her into. With its long, slim skirt and fitted bodice, it was very understated, very elegant and, most important, on sale. It just didn't have a lot of material on top. "Don't you think it's a little low?"

  Dana made a tsking sound. "You only think it's low because you're usually buttoned up to your neck. It barely shows your cleavage."

  "That's because this is all I've got."

  "Not to worry. We'll get you more in lingerie."

  "More what?"

  "More cleavage. We'll get you one of those push-up bras that make mountains out of molehills, so to speak."

  "I don't want mountains."

  "We're not talking the Andes here," Dana muttered. "Just a little something to make it more interesting while still being subtle."

  Katie eyed her friend evenly. "I believe 'interesting' and 'subtle' are a contradiction in terms."

  "That depends entirely on the wearer. With your hair up and those long, drop pearl earrings of yours, you'll look smashing." Enormously pleased with what she was creating, Dana tugged on the wide strip of velvet that skimmed the top of Katie's breasts. "What I have in mind is to play up your feminine allure. You know, be subtly sexy."

  "She'd need 'subtly sexy' if she was going with someone who'd notice. Like she keeps reminding us," Lee said, "this isn't a real date. Mike asked her to go with him because he needs a warm presentable body to occupy a chair next to him at dinner."

  Dana refused to let her creative balloon be robbed of its air. "You're being entirely too practical, Lee. Who she's going with is a mere technicality. This is her Cinderella night, remember? For one evening, she'll just have to pretend Mike Brennan is her knight in shining armor."

  "You're mixing your metaphors." Far more anxious about the impending evening than she wanted to admit, Katie gave the top of the gown a yank her
self. No way was she adding more cleavage. With her arms, shoulders and the top of her chest completely bare, she was exposing enough skin as it was. "The knight goes with Guinevere. Cinderella got a prince."

  "You're missing the point. He can be whoever you want him to be. When the clock strikes twelve or whatever hour it is when he feels he's schmoozed enough, he can go back to being himself again."

  "Ah," Lee murmured, smiling as she let herself get into the fantasy. "But before that happens, we'll have transformed her into this alluring creature who … what? Captivates him? Bends him to her will?"

  Dana gave a sage nod. "Bending his will works."

  "I see." Lee's eyes sparkled. "So, she'll have him on his knees begging at her feet while he offers her champagne in her crystal slipper."

  "Now you've got it."

  "And feeding her caviar with a silver spoon by a fountain in the moonlight with a ginger-scented breeze bringing strains of Strauss from the orchestra inside."

  "Exactly."

  "And when he offers his hand for a dance, she finds the champagne has gone to her head and he lifts her in his arms to cradle her against his chest. And with the music playing and her resistance shot, he proceeds to steal her breath with his kisses."

  Lee was clearly waiting for an indication she was still on the right track. But Dana was suddenly silent. So was Katie. Neither moved a muscle as they stared at the pretty-but-decidedly-unassuming woman staring back at them.

  "I was just trying to get into the spirit of things," Lee defended.

  "You were doing just fine, too." Dana, intrigued, quietly encouraged her. "Keep going."

  "That's okay," Katie interjected. "You really don't have to."

  "Why not? She's finally getting into this. Go on, Lee. What happens after the stealing-her-breath part?"

  "Nothing," Katie replied, though "nothing" wasn't what had happened at all. After stealing her breath, the "prince" had backed her down her hall while systematically removing her clothing. He'd also reduced her to a mass of quivering nerve endings, which somehow resulted in her hesitating only slightly before she'd unzipped his pants.

  "He does nothing," she hastily repeated, turning away to hoist the heavy skirt past her white socks. "Now, what kind of fool—shoes, I mean. What kind of shoes," she repeated, "do I wear with this? Can I get away with my black leather slings?"

  For a moment, the only sound in the dressing room was the rustle of Lee's rumpled uniform as she slowly rose to stand beside Dana. Turning away had accomplished nothing. All Katie had done was face the mirror, which gave her friends an excellent view of the consternation shadowing her face. Reflected back in the features of a striking blonde and a slightly frayed-looking brunette was both confusion and concern.

  "Hey." Dana touched her shoulder, sympathy heavy in her voice. "What's wrong?"

  "Yeah," Lee agreed, giving Katie's too-emphatic reaction priority over her little lapse into fantasyland. "What's going on?"

  Katie shook her head. It wasn't like her to get rattled so easily. And it certainly wasn't like her to rain on a parade. Her friends were just letting their hair down after a day in the trenches. She'd had no business taking the good-natured banter so seriously.

  "PMS?" she offered, wondering precisely when she'd lost her sense of perspective.

  "Ah," Lee murmured knowingly.

  "That would explain it," Dana agreed. "Try exercise. It works wonders."

  "Or herb teas," Lee suggested. "If you don't have a list of what to use, I'll give you one. Very soothing."

  Contrite, Katie smiled. "Thanks, guys."

  Smiling back, Dana spread her hands. "What are friends for?"

  The question made Katie feel like a fraud. There was precious little she hadn't shared over the years with these two wonderful women. But her consternation over Mike wasn't something she could bring up without getting into the reason she was such a mental mess to begin with—and that wasn't something she was willing to mention at all. Dana would want details. Lee would think her a traitor. Beyond that, what had happened between her and Mike needed to stay between the two of them, if for no other reason than they were both trying to get past it. It was only a matter of time before she would stop being reminded of how shamelessly she'd responded to him every time she saw him. In time, too, her body would stop craving his touch. She didn't know if her rationale made any sense or not, but if she couldn't make sense of how she felt to herself, she had no hope of explaining it to anyone else.

  Unfortunately, the one person she could have talked with to straighten it all out was also the same person she wanted to talk about. Seeing no earthly way to separate the two, she sought less complicated ground.

  "Friends are for turning me into Cinderella." She glanced down at the white socks poking from under the deep hem and wiggled her toes. "Come on, you guys," she coaxed, making it sound as if she were simply anxious to get on with her transformation, rather than desperate to change the subject. "Shoes?"

  By the time her friends declared her properly outfitted and accessorized and they'd headed home after annihilating a pizza, the evening was shot. They hadn't shopped only for Katie. Dana bought a going-away present for a neighbor who was moving, and Lee purchased a slinky red teddy. They'd also looked for something for Katie to give her dad for his birthday next month, but he was nearly impossible to buy for and they'd come up with zip. Since her mom hadn't been any help in the idea department so far, Katie was taking suggestions from everyone.

  Dana had suggested that she ask Mike since he would know exactly what to get him.

  That was true enough and, normally, he was exactly who Katie would have turned to. She wouldn't have even hesitated. Mike would know of some obscure book or odd little collectible that even her mom, the woman who had been married to the man for thirty-three years, probably wouldn't have known to consider. But she couldn't just pick up the phone and call Mike anymore. There were no conversations, quick or otherwise, that didn't leave her painfully aware of the strain in their relationship.

  On the surface, their interaction at the hospital seemed quite normal. To anyone watching them, anyway. During rounds, Mike's professional manner was the same as always—efficient, pleasant, precise. He even greeted her with the same casual smile he offered everyone else, when he wasn't preoccupied. But to Katie, it was apparent that he weighed his words when they spoke, much as she had found herself doing with him. And the spontaneity that had once allowed them to spend a moment talking about whatever the other was up to was completely missing. Their former ease with each other had taken a hike. Gone the way of the dodo. Vanished. Valiant as their efforts were to pretend that what had happened didn't matter, they were miserably ineffective. She hated the guarded way she felt. More than anything, she hated that he so clearly felt the same way.

  He wouldn't even touch her.

  She'd never realized before how often or how casually Mike used to initiate physical contact. Now, every time he'd reach toward her to get her attention, he would deliberately check his motion, curling his fingers to stuff his hand in the pocket of his lab coat or his jacket or his slacks. As for the way he used to drape his arm companionably over her shoulders to walk her to the elevator or her car, that behavior was history. But what she missed most was the habit he'd developed in the past few months of nudging her hair back from her cheek.

  She had never let herself believe there was any significance to the gesture beyond brotherly affection. Yet, being deprived of his touch had become as significant to her as being deprived of his friendship. And even though they continued to work together surprisingly well, their friendship was definitely suffering. When a week passed and he'd yet to ask for her help with his presentation, she bit the proverbial bullet and brought it up herself after he'd written orders one morning.

  "I posted your memo about the end of your drug study," she said, coming up beside him at the nurses' station. "It was nice of you to thank the nurses for their help."

  "I couldn't have done i
t without them. Or you," he added, pocketing his pen. "I know it was a lot of extra work."

  "You have all the data you need, then?"

  "Enough to form a conclusion." His smile deceptively easy, he handed her the chart he'd just closed. "How's the new computer program working out?"

  He wasn't all that interested in the computer. She was sure of it. All he wanted to do was change the subject, and because there were a half a dozen other people within earshot, Katie simply said, "Not," and turned her attention to the orders he'd left for his patient. Even if they had been alone, a circumstance he seemed to be avoiding, there wasn't much she could say anyway. She'd given him the perfect opportunity to ask for her help. It didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out that he didn't want it.

  He still wanted her to go to the Heart Ball, though. He reminded her of it a moment later, and again, two days before the event. It was almost as if he was afraid she'd forget.

  As if she could.

  The date was marked prominently on her calendar, and she was quite aware of just which day fell where. By the Saturday morning of the ball, it had been exactly thirty-one days since she'd last drawn the little witch's hat on her calendar that marked the first day of her period. The people in Greenwich could practically set their to-the-nth-of-a-second, international time clock by her cycle. She was that regular. Normally. And no matter how she counted, she was three days late.

  The delay could be caused by fatigue. It could be nerves. After all, heaven knew her nerves had had their little neurons tested, frayed and stretched considerably over the past three weeks. And she was on birth control, she reminded herself. Maybe she was just coming down with something. Again.

  The knot in her stomach doubled at the thought. The fact that she'd had something in the first place—the sore throat that had dragged her down during the week from hell last month—could be the problem. She'd been on an antibiotic, and certain antibiotics rendered birth control pills ineffective.

  But they'd only done it once, she mentally argued, pacing between her closet and the bathroom while she got ready for work. Pulling on her uniform, Spike trotting faithfully at her heels, she also reminded herself that that particular argument held about as much water as the brass colander on her kitchen counter. How many young girls had she talked with at the free clinic who'd only had sex once—or so they'd claimed—and were now hugely pregnant?