Barbara Boswell - That Marriageable Man!

“I thought the same thing. Fortunately, I brought some basic necessities with me in my car. Towels, clothes and shoes, some kitchen stuff. It won’t be so bad.”

“You do have a Pollyanna view of things.” He liked that, Rafe decided. It was a refreshing contrast to his own outlook that sometimes bordered on pessimism and gloom. Often bordered on pessimism and gloom, he conceded. “Never mind that you might not have a bed or a chair or even a plate to eat from, you’re all ready to heal the sick. What’s your branch of medicine? Are you joining an established practice or going solo?”

“I’ll be with the Widmark family practice. I start on Monday, so I have a few days to get settled in my house—if the truck arrives on schedule. I’m a psychiatrist,” she added.

“A shrink?” Rafe was taken aback.

Did shrinks have some kind of secret tricks of the trade to get people to confide their inner thoughts? The idea spooked him.

He looked less than thrilled, Holly noted. She was accustomed to some people’s uneasy reaction to her profession and strove to put him at ease. “Don’t worry, I don’t analyze every word of everyone I meet. I don’t go trolling for prospective patients, and I promise not to try to bulldoze you into psychotherapy.”

Rafe saw the open friendliness in her expression, the shining warmth of her eyes. He was lusting for a psychiatrist who could probably explain why, tracing his feelings back to the womb or something. Worse, not an iota of sexual tension was evident on her part while it hummed through his body like electricity across the wires.

He ran his hand through his hair, making a few renegade strands stand on end. Though her profession dealt with interpreting dreams and fantasies, the classy, personable Dr. Casale would probably faint from shock if he were to reveal the erotic images chasing through his mind right now. Because she starred in every one of them.

Rafe glanced again at her ringless hand. Not all married women wore wedding rings. And might not a psychiatrist be unconventional enough to do away with defining symbols like rings?

“So when will your husband be joining you?” Not his smoothest opening, but Rafe gave himself points for being direct. Well, it was worth half a point at least.

“I’m not married,” replied Holly.

“Your fiancé, then. Is he moving here with you?”

“I don’t have a fiancé.”

“How about your boyfriend? A live-in, or are you doing the long-distance bit?”

“I don’t have a boyfriend, either.” Holly shook her head. “You’re beginning to sound like my mother grilling me for information.”

“Feel free to grill me right back,” he invited.

“I’d better not. You got so nervous when I told you I was a psychiatrist, you’d probably suspect me of diagnosing you if I started to ask questions.”

“I’m not nervous. Or married or involved with anyone.” Rafe supplied the answers anyway. “Are you in—”

“If you ask me if I’m looking for Mr. Right, I will not be responsible for my actions,” she warned lightly.

“Is that what all your mom’s grilling is about, finding Mr. Right?” Rafe laughed.

“It’s not only my mother. My sister and my aunts and cousins are just as persistent,” Holly admitted. “They all love to play matchmaker and so far I’ve been their only failure.”

“You present the ultimate challenge, huh?”

There was a certain note in his voice... Holly was quite perceptive when it came to the nuances in tone or language, a necessity in her profession. She comprehended subtext—and knew he wasn’t talking about her mother’s matchmaking anymore.

Holly lifted her eyes and saw him, really saw him for the first time. She knew there were all sorts of subconscious reasons why she’d remained immune to his striking masculine appeal until this moment. She’d been fatigued from the drive, preoccupied with her new surroundings. Uncertain of his eligibility and unwilling to be attracted to another woman’s man?

Bingo. Forget about being tired and preoccupied, now that she knew his status her feminine radar had been fully activated. Holly took in every male detail.

His hair was thick, straight, and black as coal, worn a little longer than the very short, very trendy cuts currently in vogue. He had a long straight nose and well-shaped sensual mouth. His smooth shaven jaw, his skin the color of polished bronze, was strong and firm with high, sculpted cheekbones. And his eyes...

Holly felt herself being drawn into his gaze. He had the most fascinating eyes. Arched by jet-black brows, they were almondshaped and very dark. Compelling eyes, burning with intelligence.

And something else. Something alluring. Daring.

She pulled her eyes from his, yet her gaze didn’t leave him. It lingered on his broad shoulders and muscular arms. He was so tall. Though she’d always tried to reason away such a superficial concern, a man’s height mattered to her. She was attracted to tall men; Rafe Paradise fulfilled that requirement quite well.

Where was her mind taking her? An unnerving combination of excitement and alarm tingled through her. Holly tried to shake it off, but a slow heat began to suffuse her, kindling in her midsection and spreading upward to her face and lower, lower—Her heart jumped. This primitive physical reaction was so unlike her. She was not the sort of woman who looked at a man and felt her insides turn to jelly. She was sensible, logical; too much so, according to her family. Far too prone to rational explanations and intellectualizing, also according to them.

But right now, sensible, logical Holly felt the totally irrational urge to run away from Rafe Paradise and the internal chaos he’d incited in her. Suddenly she was as jittery as a shy eighth grader face-to-face with her first big crush. It was appalling!

“I—I’d better go unpack the car.” Her voice, breathless and higher than usual, sounded strange to her own ears.

Rafe cocked his head and stared at her. Her cheeks were flushed and she was breathing rapidly. He watched the outline of her breasts rise and fall beneath the sky blue cotton of her shirt.

Holly felt as if he were looking through her, that he could see the riotous confusion taking place within her and was fully aware of his potent effect on her. Maybe he thought she was coming on to him! After all, she’d blatantly revealed the lack of a boyfriend, fiancé, or husband in her life. She’d let him know that she was single and available! Mom and the rest of the family cupids would be thrilled. Holly winced.

She fairly raced out of the room and down the stairs. When Rafe joined her outside, resentment shot through her. He had effortlessly accomplished something that no other man in her life had ever done. Rafe Paradise had reduced her—a self-confident, self-assured professional woman—to the level of a quivering adolescent!

“Are you okay?” he asked.

His voice—deep, gravelly, and low, the same voice she’d previously been listening to with no untoward effects—suddenly affected her like a physical caress. Holly shivered.

“Y-yes, I—” she tried to think of something to say. Some excuse to offer for her manic bolt from the house. And couldn’t She felt like an idiot. Maybe she really ought to read The Rules to learn some clever quips to disguise this sort of wildly emotional reflex. Not that she expected it to happen to her again—not ever again!

She and Rafe stared at each other for a long moment.

The silence was shattered by the sound of a young, very disdainful voice coming from the vicinity of Holly’s car. “Hey, know what? Your music really sucks! I mean, totally.”

Startled, Holly and Rafe turned to stare at the teenage girl who was sitting behind the wheel of the Chevy Cavalier, going through the container of compact discs that had kept Holly alert and entertained during her long drive from Michigan.