CHAPTER EIGHT
“Wow. You look terrific.”
Thankfully the twelfth dress I put on this morning while agonizing over what to wear to a simple lunch date was the right choice.
One look at the magnificent man in front of me is enough to make me forget what I’m wearing and how torturous it was to make a decision. My bedroom might look like a tornado tore through it but since I don’t even remember my address right now I’ll take the compliment.
Because, holy wow, he is the most jaw-dropping, smoldering man I’ve ever set eyes on. Even in a polo shirt—light green, which complements the green in his eyes—and a pair of jeans, he’s exquisite. I’m not sure I measure up.
Though the way he’s looking at me says he doesn’t agree. His gaze travels up and down, a smile tugging one corner of that mouth of his.
Jeez, what I wouldn’t do to feel that mouth on mine. Focus, Valentine. Try not to get arrested for sexual assault today.
I run my hands over the sundress I finally decided on. “Thanks. I went with flat sandals, so I wouldn’t aggravate the ankle.”
“I see that.” He grins. “Very nice. It spares me the trouble of having to carry you around all afternoon.”
“I didn’t know that was in the cards. I could always go home and put on a pair of heels.”
Oof. Yeah, that was too much.
His eyes widen, brows lifting. “Pardon?”
Crap, crap, crap. “It was supposed to be a joke,” I explain with a weak shrug. The idea of being carried around in his absolutely droolworthy arms was over the top.
Only when he flashes a killer grin do I remember to breathe again. “Sorry. I’m a little slow on the uptake. Hey, if you need a lift, I’d be more than happy to offer my services.”
Dear Lord, he even flexes his biceps. If he doesn’t quit it with that sort of thing, I might need to be carried around after all.
Only it won’t be any fun since I’ll be unconscious the entire time. There’s no way my heart can take this. Do I need a hormone suppressant or something? Does such a thing even exist?
The restaurant is trendy but casual, the patio out front chock-full of people trying to take advantage of the beautiful day. When the hostess—who, by the way, looks like she might faint dead away when Jake approaches—suggests we take one of those tables, I agree.
I also manage to sneak a look over my shoulder as we walk away and find her fanning herself behind Jake’s back.
Same, girl, I think when we make eye contact.
“I hope you’re not a vegetarian,” he murmurs when we take a seat against the metal fencing that separates us from the rest of the sidewalk.
“Huh? Why’s that?”
“Because the burgers here are to die for. Though you don’t look like you’ve eaten a burger in the last few years,” he adds with an appreciative glance over the top of his menu.
“For a doctor, you’re not very good at reading people.” I wink. Granted, I don’t adore the comment about my body, but he was trying to be complimentary. “I practice yoga every day and generally try to keep it healthy, but all bets are off when a worthwhile burger is waved in front of me.”
“This is more than worthwhile,” he promises.
How is it possible for his smile to be so dazzling? Not like game show–host dazzling. There’s nothing false or phony about it. In fact, when he flashes those pearly whites, he manages to look more approachable. Younger. Adorable, in general.
Though my heart still skips a beat because, duh. Muscles. Piercing eyes. Full mouth just begging to be …
I have to raise my menu to hide the blush covering my cheeks. “Anything else you recommend?” I ask in a choked voice.
“The sweet potato fries are excellent too.”
I lower the menu just enough to meet his gaze. “You don’t look like you’ve eaten sweet potato fries in the last few years.”
“Ah, nicely done.” He grins. Excellent. A man with a sense of humor. “Point taken. I don’t eat like this all the time. I wouldn’t have the energy to get through the day if I did. This is a treat—the menu and the company.”
Oh, smooth. He’s checking all my boxes.
“What do you do when you’re not treating hopelessly clumsy girls in the ER?” I ask while we wait for a server.
“Wanna see?” he asks with a gleam in his eye.
I don’t know what to make of that gleam, so at first, I’m more tongue-tied than I already was.
It’s when he pulls out his phone to show me pictures of two absolutely beautiful huskies that I understand.
“Oh my gosh, they’re gorgeous!” I breathe, admiring them.
“By all means,” he says, handing me the phone. “That’s my folder of dog pics. I … probably take too many of them.”
Could he be any more perfect? I’m pretty sure it wouldn’t be possible at this point.
There’s a photo of the dogs running on the beach.
One of them in the park and then another.
One of the two of them on the floor with Jake in the middle, taking a selfie.
He’s wearing a goofy, completely joyful smile.
“I’d take endless pictures if I had dogs like them,” I admit, handing the phone back. “So, that’s how you stay healthy? Running around after them?”
“I do work out in the gym in my building,” he admits, “but otherwise, yeah, keeping them walked and exercised is more than enough.”
I’m sure. They’d probably pull my arm off if I tried walking them.
“Hi.” Our server appears, standing closer to Jake than she needs to.
The poor girl’s a little breathless. I can relate to that, and I have to wonder how hard she fought to be the lucky person to take care of our table.
He showers his stunning smile upon her. “Hey.”
She doesn’t say anything for a moment, satisfied to stare at him. I clear my throat, and that seems to jerk her out of her daze. “Um, I’m Mel. I’ll be your server. Can I start you off with something?”
“I think we’re ready to order,” he tells her before looking to me for confirmation.
“I’m entirely in your hands.” I smile before looking up at flustered, panting Mel. Watch it, babe. He’s here with me.
What’s this new side to my personality? It’s like being around this man has turned me into a different person, one with the ability to shoot daggers at another woman with my eyes. All because she’s as attracted to him as I am.
I’m not normally the possessive type—and seeing as how this is a first date, there’s nothing for me to be possessive over. Strange.
Regardless, it seems to work. She snaps out of it for good and takes our order before hurrying off. Does he have even the slightest idea of the effect he has on women?
“So …” he continues, resting his massive forearms on the table. There is something so sexy about a man’s forearms—at least, there is about his. “What do you do? I don’t know anything about you—other than the fact that you claim you’re clumsy.”
“Painfully clumsy,” I admit. “Which is why I don’t play a sport or even take dance classes for exercise. Yoga is just about the safest thing I can manage.”
“What else though?” he prods, flashing that panty-melting smile. “What do you do for a living?”
Always this question. Well, it’s only fair. I already know what he does. “I’m a romance novelist.”
His eyes go wide. “You’re kidding.”
“Not even a little bit.”
Yep, here we go. He’s going to laugh at me. I mean, I’m only a writer while he’s a doctor. All I can do is brace myself for it and then prepare to be dismissed as an airhead.
Instead of laughing, however, he nods. “I knew it. I knew I’d seen your name before. I can’t believe I’m having lunch with the famous Kitty Valentine.”
Okay, clearly, I have stepped into bizarro world. I blink rapidly, like that’s going to help anything. “I can’t believe you’ve heard of me.”
“Are you kidding? Manhattan’s own Kitty Valentine?
Yeah, in case you’re wondering, that’s how they advertise you at the indie bookstore down the street from my building.
” He grins while I gape at him in surprise.
“I’ve seen your books in the window before.
It’s hard to forget a name like yours. Only it said Kathryn on your intake form at the hospital.
It was such a busy day, and I didn’t put two and two together. ”
“Here I was, assuming you would laugh at me when I told you what I do.”
“Why would I do that?” He’s all innocence, too, without even the ghost of a smile, which tells me he’s serious.
Now, I feel like I’ve been put on the spot. I shrug, stammering, while he fixes me with a penetrative gaze, “Because a lot of people think romance writing is a joke. Like all we do is write a bunch of sexy scenes and string them together with a thin plot and the same recycled characters.”
“Is that what you do?” Again, he’s completely serious.
He has a way of looking at me that makes me feel really, truly seen. It also makes me feel kind of squirmy, like he’s studying me. But in a good way—almost anyway.
“No! No, there are no recycled characters in my books. And until recently, my romance was clean.”
“Clean?”
Terrific. I sincerely wish we hadn’t gotten on this topic in the first place, but I guess I only have myself to blame. “You know … no sexy times. Just straight-up relationship stuff.”
He sits back in his chair, lips pursed. Help me, Lord, he looks even hotter that way.
“If anything, I would think that would be even more difficult to write. You have to come up with a relationship for two people that’s compelling enough to get a reader to keep reading.
They’re not picking up your books just to get off. ” He frowns. “Sorry, that was crude.”
“No, it wasn’t.” Maybe it was a little bit, but I’m too busy being impressed with how quickly he understood the situation to care very much about his choice of words.
Besides, it’s not like I haven’t been fantasizing about doing any number of filthy things to him since the second I laid eyes on him in the ER last weekend.
That’s an entire week’s worth of fantasizing. It got pretty raunchy. Maggie will be beside herself with excitement when she reads what I’ve come up with so far.
“You said ‘until recently’ though,” he recalls. “What’s that mean?”