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He started to speak, but she rushed on.
“I’m not doing anything I don’t want to do and you can’t make me because I don’t have to do as you say. Not away from work. And when I don’t do as Your Highness commands, you’re not going to say a word to this lady who has her own mind and isn’t afraid to use it.” She pulled away from him, shut her car door herself, then smiled as pretty as you please, only feeling slightly dizzy in the process, especially when he immediately recaptured her in his arms. “Because you’re a gentlemen when it comes to the ladies, remember?”
CHAPTER FOUR
VALE conceded that Faith had made a great point, wondering why he was suddenly as nervous as he’d been during his first stint in the operating room, wondering why he cared so much what Faith thought of his family, why it felt so right to have her in his arms when nothing could be further than the truth.
His gaze lowered to her all-too-kissable lips. “I’m always the boss, Faith. Always.”
Eyes wide, she swallowed. “Your family is originally from Philadelphia, aren’t they?”
So she wanted to change the subject? He’d let her, but he wasn’t letting her go, even if she was squirming against him, trying to free herself. Actually, he should let her go because she was squirming against him and he was rapidly getting turned on. Talking about his family should cure that.
“Yes, Philadelphia is their home base, but we spend more time together here.” With his arms still wrapped around her waist, he glanced toward the house his mother had thought they’d needed a few years back. He missed the more traditional beach house she’d had torn down to make room for its too-modern, too-big replacement. She hadn’t been able to bear the original beach house after his father had died, though, and Vale had never contradicted her claims that they’d needed more room.
“These days,” he continued, “it’s rare for the entire family to be together, though. Holidays and special occasions. That’s about it.”
“You worked through last Christmas,” she reminded him, no longer struggling to free
herself and staring at him with her amazing eyes. He’d swear he could look into her eyes for hours on end without getting bored. Not with the ever-changing gold flecks and the deep rings around her green irises.
“I flew to Philly for Christmas morning and spent the day with my family.” He pressed his palms into her low back, relishing how she molded to him, how his gut tightened with the desire to feel her naked beneath him.
“You were back home that night, working,” she gulped, staring at him as if she could read his mind and wasn’t sure what to think of this change in him. Hell, he didn’t know what to think of these new reactions to her either.
“How do you know I came back that night?”
She rolled her eyes. “Because, no thought whatsoever to my holiday, you called, wanting me to assist on the Parkinson’s article you were writing.”
Ah, now he remembered. He’d been alone, digging through medical records, compiling data for his article, wishing Faith was there. Before he’d thought twice about the day being Christmas, he’d dialed her cell number. “You came.”
“Yes,” she agreed, her eyes taking on a far-away look. “You called, and I came running. Even on Christmas Day. My career is important to me, remember? Having my name next to yours in a prestigious medical journal looks good on my résumé.”
Had she been with her someone special? Unwrapping presents and sitting on the sofa, watching multicolored lights flicker on the tree?
“Did I interrupt a Christmas dinner?”
Her face pinched. “Nothing that I minded having interrupted.”
“You weren’t with lover-boy?”
“Who?”
“Whoever you spend your time with when you’re not with me?”
“I spent Christmas Day with my mother and stepfather. Your call was a mixed blessing.”
He’d met Faith’s mother once. A vivacious woman with lots of spirit who’d stopped by the clinic unexpectedly. He’d liked her instantly, but a flustered Faith had rushed her mother and her stepfather out the door within minutes of their arrival. “What’s your stepfather’s name? Curtis?”
Nose curling, Faith sighed. “Curtis was her previous husband. This one’s name is John.”
“That’s right. She remarried earlier this year. John Debellis, the stockbroker you don’t like.”
“It’s not that I don’t like him. John’s okay.” Her lips thinned to white lines and her eyes stayed on her freshly manicured hands.
He’d never seen her nails painted, missed their usual natural gleam.
“I can tell you’re jumping for joy over how okay he is.”
