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I look around the bustling restaurant. “If I was married to the owner of a place like this, I’d never leave. I’d eat every meal here.”
“I’ve done that,” she confesses. “When I was pregnant, I stopped in here at least once a day to sample something.”
Dr. Reynolds is living the life I hope to one day. She’s happily married with a husband and children who adore her. Her career is flourishing, and she’s one of the most respected doctors in the city.
“What’s it like being you?” I ask with a chuckle. “You have it so together.”
Taking a sip of the red wine in her glass, she shakes her head. “That’s all smoke and mirrors. Half the time, I don’t know what I’m supposed to do next, but I make it work.”
“Do you ever,” I quip.
Running her hand through her brown hair, she smiles. “My motto is family first. If I know Hunter and the kids are well and thriving, I can devote time to my patients. So far it’s working out for me.”
I glance over to where a server is approaching us. “He’s going to offer us dessert, isn’t he?”
“He better,” she says. “Hunter told me to order one of everything on the dessert tasting menu.”
I glance down at the front of my dress. “I don’t know if I have room for that.”
“You do,” she insists. “Besides, I’ve arranged for the kitchen to box up a few meals for you to take home. I remember what it was like in college. Eating takes a back seat to studying.”
I’m touched by the gesture. “Thank you, Sadie.”
“You remind me of me.” She tugs on a lock of my hair. “That’s not to say I was ever this adventurous with my hair, but you have the same determination that I did. You’re going to be a remarkable doctor one day, Faith.”
Coming from her, those words mean more than she can ever know.
Chapter Thirteen
Matthew
A man’s greatest temptation can quickly become his obsession.
I’m staring at mine.
She’s wearing a black dress that showcases every luscious ripe curve of her body. On her feet are heels so high, they should be illegal.
I saw her stroll into the restaurant, oblivious to the fact that virtually every head turned to trail her.
Men, women and the guy I met on my way in who I swear was hitting on me are included on that list.
Faith Upton, with her pink hair, pouty pale lips, and ass swaying under the fabric of that fucking dress, stopped time for a second when she showed up at Axel NY.
I’m not sure what I did to deserve this feast for my eyes, but I wish I were alone with my carnal thoughts.
I’m sitting at a table with my sister because this is where she insists we come when she has an issue that she needs help with. Delia is two years younger than I am, a scholar of sorts, because she can’t decide which career path to take, so she’s sampled many through course after course at whatever college will accept her.
They all want her because she’s that smart.
The latest degree to add to her collection is in sexuality studies. I didn’t press for any details on that because she’s my sister, and intimacy is not a subject we readily discuss.
“You’re on another planet.” Delia waves the fork in her hand in the air. “Are you thinking about a patient?”
Lying to my sister serves little purpose, so I come clean. “No.”
“A woman then,” she surmises with a smile that suggests she’s confident in her guess. “What’s her name?”
“Miss None of Your Business,” I defer to the tried and true answer I’ve been dishing out since I was in high school.
For the record, there were a number of Miss None of Your Businesses back then. Roman explored the fairer sex far less greedily than I did when we were teenagers. He’d always comment that I picked up his castoffs. My cock didn’t care.
“Grow up,” Delia snaps back before she stabs a bloody piece of steak with her fork. “This is where you ask me about my love life, Matt.”
I glance to where Faith is sitting at a table with a dark-haired woman.
I have a clear view of Miss Upton’s legs. They are crossed with enough of her thigh showing that my cock has yet to calm the fuck down.
“How’s your love life, Delia?”
She lets out a heavy sigh as her brown eyes scan my face. “Try to sound interested.”
I repeat the question in the same tone. “How’s your love life, Delia?”
“Miserable.”
Surprise. Surprise.
My sister, in all her infinite educational wisdom, is no match for the single male population of this city. Hell, she was even less a match for the man she met in Paris last year who suddenly ended things with her with no explanation.
Although she kept his name a mystery, she bled the specifics of their brief relationship out in sharp detail with words that were sprinkled with the French endearments he bestowed upon her as they spent lazy Sunday mornings in his flat near the Champs-Élysées.
