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At her distressed cough, he covered the distance between them urgently, held her by the arms, solicitous, singeing her even through the thick terry cloth.
“Are you all right?” When she nodded and tried to step away, he followed, hands tightening on her arms. “Liliana...”
“Lili.” It was too much hearing him say her full name, making it an overpowering spell. “If you’re no longer calling me Dr. Accardi, then call me Lili like everyone else.”
An eyebrow rose imperiously. “You’re Liliana to me and I will always call you that. That is also nonnegotiable.”
Stepping back so she could breathe again, she raised her hands. “Okay, okay, call me whatever you want. I will call you whatever I want, too.”
“And what’s that?”
“I didn’t mean to your face.”
His guffaw was more delighted than ever. “And what will you call me outside of your internal rants?”
“I’d rather not call you at all.”
He took her arm again, steered her toward the ground-floor bedroom where she slept. “Call me anything you want. I eagerly anticipate whatever you come up with. Now go dress.”
“I haven’t said I’ll go out to lunch with you.”
“You will.”
“Is this the billionaire’s entitlement or the surgeon’s god complex, or were you just born an overbearing brat?”
He whooped in laughter again. “You’ll get a chance to find out over lunch. Now go put on something nice.”
She yanked her arm from his grip. “I don’t have something nice. Not by your standards.”
“Anything that doesn’t smother you in layers of cloth.”
“I don’t have that, either.”
“Anything not hideous. I’m sure you can manage that.”
“This bathrobe isn’t hideous. Would you settle for that?”
“I would. Would you?”
She should go out with him in her bathrobe and bare feet and see if he’d still take her to lunch.
Her thoughts paused before she huffed in resignation, threw her hands up and headed to her bedroom.
She’d bet he wouldn’t bat an eyelid. If she even stripped naked it wouldn’t deter him. Or maybe that would change his mind about taking her out and he’d—
Oh, shut up. He’d nothing. All this was probably him conducting some experiment,
and he considered her the perfect test subject.
After that lunch, and after he was sure she’d go back to work, she doubted she’d see him again. Even had he been interested in her that way, Antonio Balducci had perfected the art of the one-night—or the one-outing—stand.
So what would one lunch hurt, anyway? She should actually make the most of it.
It would be her first and last chance with him.
Five
She’d worn something nice.
