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‘You’re flying back tonight?’ The doctor frowned at her again, as if she’d just thrown a tantrum.
‘Yes, at seven,’ she replied. She only had an hour before boarding closed on her flight to Heathrow. ‘So I should get going.’
The elderly man’s grave expression became decidedly condescending. ‘I wouldn’t advise catching a transatlantic flight tonight. You need to give yourself some time to recover. You’ve just had a full-blown anxiety attack.’
‘A...what?’ she yelped, far too aware of Dane’s overbearing presence in her peripheral vision as he listened to every word. ‘It wasn’t an anxiety attack. It was just a bit of light-headedness.’
‘Mr Redmond said you became very emotional, then collapsed, and that you were out for over a minute. That’s more than light-headedness.’
‘Right...well, thanks for your opinion, Doctor.’ As if she cared what ‘Mr Redmond’ had to say on the subject.
‘You’re welcome, Ms Carmichael.’
She hung back as Dane showed Dr Epstein out, silently fuming at the subtle put-down. And the fact Dane had witnessed it. And the even bigger problem that she was going to have to wait now until the doctor had taken the lift down before she could leave herself. Which would mean spending torturous minutes alone with Dane while trying to avoid the parade of circus elephants crammed into his palatial penthouse apartment with them.
She didn’t want to talk about their past, her so-called anxiety attack, or any of the other ten-ton pachyderms that might be up for discussion.
However nonchalant she’d tried to be with Dr Epstein, she didn’t feel 100 per cent. She was shattered. The last few days had been stressful—more stressful than she’d wanted to admit. And the revelations that had come during their argument downstairs hadn’t exactly reduced her stress levels.
And, while she was playing Truth or Dare with herself, she might as well also admit that being in Dane’s office had been unsettling enough.
Being alone with him in his apartment was worse.
She shrugged into the jacket she’d taken off while Dr Epstein took her blood pressure. Time to make a dignified and speedy exit.
‘Where’s my briefcase?’ she asked, her voice more high-pitched than she would have liked, as Dane walked back towards her.
‘My office.’
He leaned against the steel banister of a staircase leading to a mezzanine level and crossed his arms over that wide chest. His stance looked relaxed. She wasn’t fooled.
‘I couldn’t scoop it up,’ he continued, his silent censure doing nothing for the pulse punching her throat, ‘because I had my hands full scooping up you.’
‘I’ll get it on my way out,’ she said, deliberately ignoring the sarcasm while marching towards the elevator.
He unfolded his arms and stepped into her path. ‘That’s not what the doctor ordered.’
‘He’s not my doctor,’ she announced, distracted by the pectoral muscles outlined by creased white cotton. ‘And I don’t take orders.’
His sensual lips flattened into a stubborn line and his jaw hardened, drawing her attention back to the dent in his chin.
She bit into her tongue, assaulted by the sudden urge to lick that masculine dip.
What the heck?
She tried to sidestep him. He stepped with her, forcing her to butt into the wall o’ pecs. Awareness shot up her spine as she took a hasty step back.
‘Get out of my way.’
‘Red, chill out.’
She caught a glimpse of concern, her pulse spiking uncomfortably at his casual use of the old nickname.
‘I will not chill out. I have a flight to catch.’ She sounded shrill, but she was starting to feel light-headed again. If she did another smackdown in front of him the last of her dignity would be in shreds.
‘You’re shaking.’
‘I’m not shaking.’
