TOO HOT TO HANDLE Read online

  "Yeah, and I'm right. You are so easy to read. Whenever you get mad or upset, that vein in your forehead sticks out. I don't want Rita. The only person I thought about when I was stuck sitting with her was you. You're the only one I want, so you can calm down now. Wanna know what I think?"

  She pulled her hands from his and crossed her arms between them. She would have tapped her toe if she could. Damn boot. "No, but I'm sure you'll tell me."

  "I think we need a united front. We need to tell our families that we're together."

  "You have no idea what you're going to unleash if my mother knows we're together. I told Mama we were keeping it light."

  "Hey, I don't mind."

  "My mother's goal in life is to get me married off, and she'd love to have a doctor in the family. She's a hypochondriac—you'd save her a fortune in medical bills. Believe me when I say you don't want to go there."

  He leaned against the desk, crossing his arms and legs in front of him, and stared into her eyes so hard Annabelle wondered if he saw more than she knew. She really wished she'd paid more attention when they were talking about body language on all those news programs.

  The whole crossed arms thing wasn't giving her any warm, fuzzy feelings.

  "Maybe it's you who doesn't want to go there."

  "Mike, I don't know what it is you want—"

  "You don't?"

  Okay, so she was supposed to do what? Become a mind reader? The only thing she could read right now was he was angry bordering on furious. Did he want to stir up a hornet's nest? Put them under a microscope for all to inspect? "Do you think this is the best time to dissect"—she pointed to him and then herself—"this?"

  He set the mug on the desk with a thud. "Maybe you need to take some time and think about what it is you want from"—he pointed to her and then himself—"this."

  "What did I do to make you angry at me? I'm trying to help you out here. I'm trying to warn you about the consequences of your actions. If my mother thinks there's something serious between us, we'll be hounded until you run shrieking into the night about being railroaded into marriage."

  "Why are you trying to hide the fact that we're together?"

  Mike stepped forward. She stepped back. He was well past angry now. They did the two-step until Annabelle backed into the wall. They were nose to nose. He turned red. Her vein throbbed in time with her foot. He licked his lips, and her eyes widened.

  She knew she had to explain herself. "You, me, this … thing between us. I thought it was—"

  "Sex."

  "Hey, don't give me that. I told you I liked you a lot, and I do."

  "Yeah, but I just upped the stakes. I love you."

  "Hold on. You said you think you love me."

  "I'm pretty sure I love you."

  "You hardly know me. I'm not so great, ya know. You said yourself I'm difficult. And I have bad luck. My first boyfriend died, and my second almost got killed."

  "How?"

  "I caught him doing the makeup lady next to a dead body. He was lucky there were no sharp instruments around."

  "Why are you trying to talk me out of this? Is the thought of me being in love with you so terrible?"

  He was too hot, too close, too nice, too dangerous. "No. I just don't know if I'm capable of falling in love with anyone ever again. I don't know if I want to take that chance."

  "I'm no expert, but I don't think falling in love is something you choose. I didn't wake up one morning and think, I'm going to fall in love with Annabelle Ronaldi today—it just happened."

  "Have you ever been in love before?"

  "No."

  "Then how do you know? Maybe you just like me a lot. Maybe you're mistaking lust for love. It happens. They even write songs about it."

  "Look. I'm not expecting you to feel the same, but I would like you to go back in there with me to tell everyone we're together. Don't worry about your mother. I can handle her."

  "Yeah, but I'm not sure I can."

  There was a noise outside the office door. A smile transformed Mike's face. "You might not have much choice. It sounds as if we have an audience."

  Mike reached over, opened the door, and exposed a strawberry blonde woman with the same gray eyes as his—she had to be his mother, Annabelle's mother, and Vinny with his arm around a bleached blonde woman. If Annabelle had to guess, she'd say it was Vinny's wife, Mona. Fabulous.

  Vinny stepped forward. "So, what's the deal wit you two? We came to see if you need help. You got everything under control here, Mikey?"

  Mike didn't look as if he believed him, but he didn't look angry either. "Thanks, Vin, we're good. Aren't we, Belle?"

  Her stomach started churning again; all she could do was nod.

  Mike put his arm around her. "Mum, this is my girlfriend, Annabelle Ronaldi. Belle, this is my mum, Colleen Flynn."

  "Annabelle, lovely to meet you."

  Annabelle grabbed Mike's coffee cup and drained it. She choked on the after-burn. She should have known better.

  Mike smiled and patted her on the back.

  "Nice to meet you, too." She croaked.

  Mike's mother came forward. "Annabelle, are you feeling all right?"

  If her head weren't swimming so badly and her stomach weren't threatening to rid itself of the liquid fire she just swallowed, she'd almost think this was comical. "Thank you, I'm fine."

  Mike gave her that diagnostician look, the same one he gave her when she ripped apart her ankle. Sheesh, sometimes hanging with a doctor was annoying. It wasn't helping that she was slowly but surely dying of embarrassment.

  "I probably should have eaten something before I left home, but I'm afraid it takes me longer to do everything since I hurt my ankle. I was even late to Mass."

  Mike didn't look the least bit repentant.

  Richie joined the throng outside the office door. Vinny clapped his hands and then rubbed them together. "I'll just put our tables together, and we can get to know each other. Whada'ya say?"

  Everyone must have agreed because he and the woman next to him scurried off. Richie put his arm around Mama—who'd been strangely silent—and smiled at Mike's mom. "Come on, ladies. I'll walk you back to the table. Mike, Annabelle, we'll see you in a minute."

  Mike ushered his mother out and passed her off. "Thanks, Rich." He shut the door. "That wasn't so bad. Was it?" He kissed her forehead. "Now, come on. Everyone's waiting for us, and you need to get something to eat. You scared me there for a minute. You're not much of a drinker, are you?"

  Chapter 10

  When Mike and Annabelle returned to the table, there was no place for them to sit together. He'd be damned if he was going to sit alone, or worse yet, sit with Rita while Annabelle sat with Ben.

  "Rita, I want to introduce you to my girlfriend's boss. I'm sure he'd love to hear all about your work. He owns an art gallery."

  Rita smiled up at him. "Oh, I'd love to meet him. We'll have so much in common. You know, I'm considered something of an artist myself."

  "I can tell. I don't know how you do what you do. It's definitely an art."

  Mike helped Rita out of her chair and turned to Annabelle. "Have a seat. This will just take a moment."

  Rita made a few adjustments to her dress to show off her assets and nodded at Mike, who was only too happy to dump her on his nemesis. He walked her over to where Ben was seated.

  "Ben, I'd like you to meet my friend Rita."

  Ben stood and gave Mike a look that was tantamount to conceding the race for Annabelle—today at least. "Nice to meet you, Rita." He took her hand in his to shake, but didn't release it.

  "Rita, this is Ben Walsh." Mike pulled out her chair while Ben held her hand as his eyes made the trip from Rita's cleavage to her Care Bear belly button ring.

  Mike left Ben to his meal and his consolation prize and went back to Annabelle. She and his mother were chatting. The only thing between them was his empty chair. "There, Ben should be occupied for a while." Mike sat, put his arm around Ann
abelle, and kissed her temple.

  She took a sip of water and gave him a Mona Lisa smile. "Rita is an artist?"

  Mike couldn't wipe the grin from his face. "You might say that."

  "What exactly does she do?"

  He held Annabelle's hand, studying her manicure. "She does women's nails and paints little pictures on them sometimes." Mike watched her try unsuccessfully not to laugh.

  "That really is cruel."

  "To whom, Ben or Rita?" He figured being stuck with Rita was a lot less painful than the other things he'd contemplated doing to Ben. "Ben doesn't look as if he has a problem with it."

  "No. I just hope he doesn't give me a hard time tomorrow at work."

  Annabelle's mother whispered to her aunt Rose, all the while keeping one eye on her and Mike—probably making notes for the wedding.

  She'd never noticed before how often Mike touched her. It was as if being under Mama's watchful gaze gave every brush of his hand meaning. Every time he spoke to her, played with her hair, or put his arm around her, she felt as if she was being judged.

  She wanted to strangle Mike for giving Mama a reason to start the constant questions, the constant advice, and the constant annoyance she received when she so much as went on a date. After this demonstration, Mama would start shopping for a new mother-of-the-bride dress as soon as the stores opened tomorrow. At least Annabelle no longer lived with her parents. She'd have to take a lesson from Becca and screen her calls.

  Annabelle tried to pay attention to the dinner conversation buzzing between her parents and Mike's mother. The easy camaraderie between Vinny, Mona, and Richie—she'd have to find out what was up with that. And the curious looks from Aunt Rose.

  Mike, to his credit, stood up to his second interrogation—this one by Papa—the smooth yet insistent pressure by Mama, and the gypsy stare by Aunt Rose.

  Annabelle tried unsuccessfully to shut out the echo of Mike's words in her mind. "I think I love you." Dear Lord, had he known how badly she didn't want to hear that, he never would have told her.

  Why couldn't he keep things simple? He came over, he cooked, they ate, they talked, they had sex, sometimes they slept, sometimes they didn't, and then he left. It was the perfect relationship before he dropped the "L" bomb.

  It wasn't as if she didn't feel something for him, because she did. She just did an admirable job avoiding even thinking about it.

  She took a sip of her wine and moved the food around her plate. Mike watched and made her feel guilty for not eating. She couldn't possibly eat any more. She felt sick, her ankle throbbed, and she just wanted to curl up in bed with an ice pack and forget today ever happened.

  Mike kept checking the time.

  "What's wrong?"

  "Nothing. I have to get back to the hospital. Someone's covering for me, and I told her I'd be back by three. It's already one thirty, and I want to take you home and help you get settled in."

  "Are you sure?" She was really glad he wanted to. Her mother wouldn't get bent out of shape if the news of her leaving early came from Mike.

  "Yeah, especially since I don't know when I'll be able to see you again. My work schedule between now and Memorial Day is more insane than usual, since I'm covering for people in exchange for the weekend off."

  Annabelle smiled. "I take it you want to leave now?"

  "You don't mind leaving a little early?"

  "No, not at all."

  Mike whispered to his mother, who turned toward Annabelle. "That's fine, Michael. Don't mind me. I've wanted to visit with Vinny, Mona, and the children anyway. I'm sure Annabelle's mother won't mind you seeing her home properly, would you, Maria?"

  Mama smiled and made a shooing motion. "Go, go. Of course, you want to spend time together. I remember what it was like when I first fell in love with my Paulie."

  Annabelle couldn't believe her ears. Apparently, neither could Rich. They looked at each other and then at their mother. Rich laughed and stopped abruptly, ending in a grunt. Annabelle grinned, thankful she was out of reach.

  Mike pushed his chair back and stood. "I'm afraid Annabelle and I have to leave a little early. I want to take her home before I have to get back to the hospital."

  Of course, her whole family smiled and nodded, which was good. She didn't think Ben even noticed, which was better. If he had, she'd have hell to pay tomorrow. But Ben didn't seem to have a problem with Rita. He looked as if he was enjoying himself, which was more than Annabelle could say.

  She gathered her purse while Mike retrieved her crutches. "Bye, Mama, Papa, Aunt Rose. Richie, will you take care of this, and let me know how much I owe you?"

  "Don't worry about it. Take good care of that ankle. I'll call you later."

  "Thanks, Rich." Annabelle rose and took her crutches. "Mike, are you ready?"

  He pulled out his wallet, and Vinny waved him off.

  "Go. Take care of your girlfriend. Come by for dinner sometime, and we'll talk."

  She waited for Mike as he kissed his mother good-bye and then made the rounds with her family. Papa shook Mike's hand hard enough to make him wince. Annabelle cringed as he shook Mama's hand. She leaned over and whispered something to Aunt Rose, who, much to Annabelle's mortification, took Mike's face in her hands, kissed him on both cheeks. "You're a good boy. Everything with your job and with Annabelle will work out in time. Have faith … and make sure you got a lot of antacids."

  Mike, who obviously wasn't used to dealing with crazy people, seemed so out of his depth he just nodded and smiled. It was a pained smile, since Rose pinched one of his cheeks before she released him.

  Annabelle tugged on his suit jacket. "Let's go." She shot Aunt Rose a look that would scare most people. It always worked on Ben.

  Aunt Rose only laughed. "Don't look at me with that tone of face. You come talk to your aunt Rose. I'll tell you a thing or two. Not that you'll listen."

  Annabelle took her crutches from Mike and did her best to run out of there. They wove their way through the crowded bar, and when they hit the waiting area, Mike stopped her and ran his hand down her back. "That wasn't so bad now, was it? My mum likes you. I knew she would."

  She slung her purse at him. "It was a disaster! You heard my mother. And I can't believe what Aunt Rose told you. I swear, sometimes I think the woman is a witch."

  "She said I was a good boy, and then something about my job and you… She was weird, but nice. Hardly a witch."

  "Yeah, you say that now. You've never seen her give someone the evil eye. Believe me, you don't want to get on her bad side. She says stuff, and the next thing you know, it happens. She scares the crap out of me."

  "You think she's psychic?"

  "I don't know what to think. Are we going to stand here all day, or are you going to take me home?"

  "I'm going to get a cab. Sit here. I'll be right back."

  When Mike returned for Annabelle, she practically ran from the restaurant. He helped her into the cab, slid in beside her, and while pulling her close, gave the cabbie the address. He liked the way she fit against him, and he never tired of touching her. He loved the way she felt, the way she smelled, and the way she tasted.

  He wanted to soak up as much enjoyment as possible before leaving her. Things at work were getting worse, but he told himself he'd worry about that after Memorial Day. Maybe spending a weekend with Annabelle would help him figure out what direction he wanted to go in on a career level and a personal level. He was paying big for a weekend off, and paying in advance. Annabelle and their relationship were worth it. Now if he could only get her to believe that.

  Tossing his lab coat on the hook in the break room, Mike opened the back door of the practice and stepped out into the alley in search of a sandwich, a cup of real coffee, and a temporary release from the hell the office had become. He was tired of all work and no life. Tired of the constant censure he received from the partners. Tired of the dirty looks, the way all conversation stopped when he entered the room. The tension in the office ran hig
her than the Empire State Building. When he saw Millie, he wondered if she was doing the same.

  Mike was happy to see her. He'd noticed she'd been preoccupied all morning, and he intended to speak to her and find out what was bothering her.

  "Thank God you left. I need to talk to you, but it has to be away from here." As she talked, she backed out of the alley.

  He took Millie by the arm, stopping her. "What's going on? Are you okay?"

  "I'm fine, but I'm worried about you." She waved her hand, urging him to follow. She led him to a hole-in-the-wall Lebanese place a couple of blocks away. He'd worked two blocks away for two years, and he'd never noticed it.

  They grabbed a table, and a waiter brought them water. Millie pushed her menu aside. "Get the lamb kabob. It's amazing."

  Mike nodded his assent, and Millie, obviously familiar with the menu, ordered for both of them.

  After the waiter left, Millie took a long drink before she spoke. "I've never told anyone at work where I go on my lunch hour, because I don't want to see them any more than I have to. You're the only one I've brought here. No one else knows about this place."

  "Okay."

  "Something happened that you need to know about. When I came in this morning, I took a phone call from a Mr. Tuggle. At first, I thought he was a patient. I asked if I could help him, and he began asking a lot of questions about the practice, and more specifically, about you. When I asked what these questions were in reference to he said he was doing a survey of pulmonary practices, which would make sense, except for the questions that were specifically about you."

  "What kind of questions?"

  "He asked what kind of doctor you were, whether you were ambitious, easy to work with, knowledgeable, good with patients, that kind of thing. At first, I thought someone was trying to get you into trouble, since the partners aren't happy with your refusal to look the other way when it comes to Dr. Meyer. But he wasn't looking for dirt. I thought you should know someone is looking at you."

  Their food was delivered. Mike could see why Millie ate there almost every day. The food was healthy, tasty, and reasonably priced. If that wasn't enough of a reason to love the place, the relaxing atmosphere cinched it. He was sure if he'd been there alone, the lulling music and the trickle of the waterfall on the opposite wall would have put him to sleep. The tranquility of the place, a full stomach, and an average of four hours of sleep a night over the past three weeks had him ordering a double Turkish coffee.