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A sharp pain shot through her head, cutting off the tumbling vision - just as her doorbell went off. As she rubbed the bridge of her nose, she shot a glare down the hall. She was so not feeling social right now.
The thing went off again.
Forcing herself to her feet, she shuffled to the front door. As she flipped the lock free, she thought, man, if this was a missionary, she was going to give them a communion with -
"Manello?"
Her chief of surgery was standing on her front stoop with his typical bravado, like he belonged on her welcome mat just because he said so. Dressed in surgical scrubs and crocs, he was also sporting a fine suede coat that was the rich brown color of his eyes. His Porsche took up half of her driveway.
"I came to see if you were dead."
Jane had to smile. "Jesus, Manello, don't be such a romantic."
"You look like shit."
"And now with the compliments. Stop. You're making me blush."
"I'm coming in now."
"Of course you are," she muttered, stepping aside.
He looked around while he shucked his coat. "You know, every time I come in here, I always think this place is so not you."
"You expect something pink and frilly then?" She shut the door. Locked it.
"No, when I first came in, I expected it to be empty. Like my place."
Manello lived over in the Commodore, that ritzy high-rise of condos, but his home was just an expensive locker, really, decor by Nike. He had his sports equipment, a bed, and a coffeepot.
"True," she said. "You're not exactly House Beautiful material."
"So tell me how you are, Whitcomb." As Manello stared at her, his face showed no emotion, but his eyes burned, and she thought back to the last conversation she'd had with him, the one where he'd told her he felt something for her. The details of what had been said were kind of hazy and she had some vague impression it had been up in an SICU room over a patient -
Her head started to hurt again, and as she winced Manello said, "Sit down. Now."
Maybe that was a good idea. She headed back for the couch. "You want coffee?"
"In the kitchen, right?"
"I'll get - "
"I can pour my own. Had years of training. You couch it."
Jane sat back down on the sofa and pulled the lapels of her robe closer as she rubbed her temples. Shit, was she ever going to feel like herself again?
Manello came in just as she leaned forward and put her head in her hands. Which naturally sent him into full doctor mode. He put his mug down on one of Jane's mother's books on architecture and knelt on the Oriental.
"Talk to me. What's happening here?"
"Head." Jane groaned.
"Let me see your eyes."
She tried to sit up straight again. "It's fading - "
"Shut up." Manello gently took her wrists in his hands and eased her arms away from her face. "I'm going to check your pupils. Lean your head back."
Jane gave up, just gave the hell up and relaxed against the couch. "I haven't felt this horrid in years."
Manny's thumb and forefinger went to her right eye and carefully peeled her lid wide while he brought up a penlight. He was so close she could see his long lashes and his five-o'clock shadow and the fine pores of his skin. He smelled good. Cologne.
What kind was it? she wondered in a fuzzy mess.
"Good thing I come prepared," he drawled, clicking on the little beam.
"Yeah, you're a Boy Scout all right - Hey, watch it with that thing."
She tried to blink as he shone the beam in her eye, but he didn't let her.
"Make your head worse?" he said, going over to the left side.
"Oh, no. That feels great. Can't wait for you to - Damn, that's bright."
He clicked the light off and tucked the thing back into the breast pocket of his scrubs. "Pupils dilate properly."
"What a relief. Guess if I want to read under a klieg light I'm good to go, right?"
He took her wrist, put his forefinger on her pulse, and brought his Rolex up.
"Is there going to be an insurance copay with this exam?" she asked.
"Shh."
" 'Cause I think I'm out of cash - "
"Shh."
It was awkward being treated like a patient, and keeping her mouth shut made it worse. Man, there was something to be said for hiding awkwardness behind words -
A dark room. A man in a bed. Her talking... talking about... Hannah's funeral.
Another sharp shooter nailed her in the head and she sucked some air in. "Shit."
Manello let her wrist go and laid his palm on her forehead. "You don't feel hot." He put his hands on the sides of her neck, right under her jaw.
While he frowned and prodded, she said, "I don't have a sore throat."
"Well, you don't have any swollen glands." His fingers went down the column of her neck until she winced, and he tilted her head to the side. "Shit... what the hell?"
"What?"
"There's a bruise here. Or something. Goddamn, what bit you?"
She put her hand up. "Oh, yeah, I don't know what that is. Or when I got it."
"Seems to be healing up okay." He palpated the base of her neck, right over her collarbones. "Yeah, no swelling here, either. Jane, I hate to break it to you, but you do not have the flu."
"Sure I do."
"No, you don't."
"You're an ortho guy, not an infectious-disease czar."
"You're not having an immune response here, Whitcomb."
She felt her own throat. Thought about the fact that she wasn't sneezing, coughing, or throwing up. But, hell, where did that leave her?
"I want to have a CAT scan on your head."
"Bet you say that to all the girls."
"The ones who present with your symptoms? Absolutely."
"And here I thought I was special." She shot him a weak smile and closed her eyes. "I'll be okay, Manello. Just need to get back to work."
There was a long silence, during which she realized that his hands were on her knees. And he was still up close, leaning over her.
She lifted her lids. Manuel Manello was looking at her not as a doctor would, but as a man who cared about her would. Shit, he was attractive, especially like this... except something was off. Not with him - with her.
Well, duh. She had a headache.
He leaned forward and stroked her hair back. "Jane..."
"What?"
"Will you let me set up a CAT scan for you?" As she started to shut him down, he interjected, "Consider it a favor to me. I couldn't forgive myself if there was something wrong and I didn't push on this."
Shit. "Yeah. Okay. Fine. But I don't need - "
"Thank you." There was a moment's pause. And then he leaned in and kissed her on the mouth.
Chapter Thirty-six
On the Other Side, Vishous stared down at Cormia and wanted to shoot himself in the foot. Following her wobbly revelation that she'd never seen a male before, he felt god-awful. It had never dawned on him that she'd known only females, but if she'd been born just after the last Primale died, how could she have ever met the opposite sex?
Of course she'd be terrified of him.
"Jesus Christ," he muttered, drawing hard on his hand-rolled, then tapping on it. He was ashing on the amphitheater's marble stage, but he didn't give a f**k. "I totally underestimated how hard this would be for you. I assumed..."
He'd assumed she'd be hot to trot for him or some shit. Instead, she was no better off than he was.
"Yeah, I'm damn sorry."
As her lids peeled back in surprise, the jade color of her eyes gleamed.
In what he hoped passed for a gentler tone, he said, "Do you want this... ?" He moved the hand that held the cigarette back and forth between them. "This mating?" When she stayed quiet, he shook his head. "Look, I can see it in your eyes. You want to run from me, and not just because you're scared. You want to run from what we're going to have to do, right?"
She brought her hands to her face, the heavy folds of the robe riding down her thin arms and choking the crooks of her elbows. In a small voice she said, "I couldn't bear to let down the Chosen. I... I will do what I must for the good of the whole."
Well, wasn't that the theme song for the both of them.
"As will I," he murmured.
Neither of them said another word and he didn't know what to do. He was no good with females to begin with, and he was even worse now that he was damaged goods from letting Jane go.
