“Oh. Um, well … I …” I turn to glance in the direction of my family. “I’m actually supposed to be at an anniversary party.”
“Right. That’s probably why you’re …” He takes a step back and gestures over me with his left hand. His ring finger is bare, and unlike mine, absent of the indentations or tan lines that would suggest he wore a wedding band before. “I mean, why you look so lovely. I should let you get back to your husband.”
My lips quirk at his awkward demeanor. “My great-grandparents are actually the guests of honor. Sixty years,” I explain. “But don’t you need to get back to your own party?”
“Eh, I doubt anyone will miss me,” he says with a self-deprecating shrug.
“Not even your date?”
His dimpled smile grows wider, and I think he might be blushing and not just red from the hives now. “No date. What about you?”
I shake my head. “It’s actually just me andTanteVerna at the singles table.”
“Well, we can’t leave sweet Aunt Verna all alone, can we?” he replies adorably, scratching his neck again.
“Wait a second.” Leaning in closer to get a better look, I tip his chin up and find a line of raised welts forming. “Aren’t you supposed to go to the emergency room after using that EpiPen?” I ask, ignoring the strange urge to press my lips to his neck. Maybe it’s because he smells so good—good enough to eat.
And I haven’t had a nice meal in a while…
“Ah, that’s not necessary,” he replies after a second, his voice hitching.
“Are you sure?” I drop his chin, but I don’t move away as I allow my eyes to meet his. “You still sound like you’re having trouble breathing.”
His tongue darts out to wet his lips, drawing my gaze down to his mouth as he fumbles to speak again. “It’s probably just a side effect of the medicine. Then again, it could also be the beautiful woman touching me.”
I stifle a grin. “And the hives are completely unrelated?”
He coughs lightly. “Hives? What hives?”
My hormones get the best of me for a second, and I graze a fingertip down his neck, eliciting a shaky exhale from him.
“What, these old things? Nah, that’s nothing,” he says before he growls in defeat and reaches up to scratch, making me laugh.
“You should at least let one of your doctor friends check you out,” I suggest, though I can’t keep a flirty quality from seeping back into my tone.
“I’m fine, really, just a little itchy,” he tells me, rubbing his palm over his chest now. “It’s not my first time.”
“Oh, so you’ve already popped your EpiPen cherry?” I lift an eyebrow and watch his face grow visibly darker again.
“I’m also a doctor,” he offers shyly, dodging my question. “Just not the kind that usually treats anaphylaxis or dermatitis.”
“That explains why you’re too stubborn to go to the ER, but not why you’re here alone,” I muse, crossing my arms. “I’ll play along, though. Are you some kind of surgeon with crazy work hours? Or maybe you’ve spent the past year on a charity mission in a third-world country?”
His lips twitch. “I may have used the second one as an excuse before, but I’m an OB-GYN—a maternal-fetal medicine specialist. While my hours aren’t all that bad, sometimes I travel to work at different clinics and hospitals.”
“Hmm. And you’re straight?”
He snorts and pushes his collar aside to scratch at his shoulder,and I notice a brown cord hidden beneath his shirt. “I’mveryfond of women. You could even say I have a healthier appreciation for the female body and all its inner workings than most.”
An unexpected giggle bubbles out of me, but I’m unsure whether it was triggered by the sight of his collarbone or his witty comeback. Either way, he’s sexy enough to turn me into a simpering teenager, and I can’t remember that happening to me since … Well, ever.
“And how do I know you weren’t faking an allergic reaction just to hit on the first woman willing to help you?” I take another step closer, but his posture straightens and his throat bobs as if he’s intimidated.
“I think the hives have ruled that out. But if you’re asking me whether I’d purposefully eat a peanut just to get you to put your hands on me again, I’m afraid my answer is going to sound lamer than you think,” he says, though he doesn’t deliver the line as confidently as he could.
Could he really be this shy and wholesome? There’s no way anyone this fine would still be available and not a total creep, right? Not to mention, he’s a doctor—a specialist, no less. What’s the catch? Where are all the red flags?
“So did you ask me out for coffee because you want to get to know me or because you think you have a shot at getting me back onto my knees before the end of the night?” I venture, lifting my chin daringly. He chokes, to my equal surprise and delight.
