TOO HOT TO HANDLE Page 5

  Stepping away, Mike placed the wine on the bar separating the small kitchen from the dining area. Annabelle turned, stomped her bare foot, and tipped her head back to meet his eyes. "I want to kill him. I'm so sorry."

  Mike took both her hands in his and was about to kiss the pout off her lips when Rich went to the bar, ostensibly to check out the wine. Mike had seen guard dogs less conspicuous.

  He rolled his eyes and coaxed a smile out of her. "If this isn't a good time, I understand. Do you want some time alone with your brother?"

  "No, it's okay. It wouldn't do any good to leave me alone with him now. It takes time to plan the perfect murder. Besides, he can't stay forever."

  Mike wasn't too sure about that.

  Rich came around the bar and helped himself to a plate and silverware. He made room for himself at the table between the plates Annabelle had set. He gave Mike a sly smile. "What did you make, Annabelle?"

  "Antipasto, pasta with artichoke pesto, garlic bread, and a Caesar salad."

  "Ah, I knew dropping by was a good idea. You better put that water on to boil. You do know you have to boil the water, right?"

  Annabelle shot Rich a look that would annihilate mere mortals. The jerk hooked his thumbs into his jeans pockets, rocked back on his heels, and smiled. "I'm starved."

  She put the pot of water on the stove to boil and turned to Mike. "Do you want to open the wine?" She glared at her brother. "I could use some." After finding a corkscrew, she handed it to Mike.

  "Red or white? The white's not chilled yet."

  She pulled the salad from the refrigerator and passed it to Rich without a word. "Why don't you open the red, and I'll put the other bottle in the freezer."

  "Sounds like a plan."

  On the way back to the kitchen after placing the cheese on the table, she smacked Rich upside his head. He only smiled.

  Mike poured the wine and brought two glasses into the kitchen. Ignoring Rich, he handed Annabelle a glass and raised his. "To you." He touched his glass to hers and then sipped the Cabernet while he held her gaze.

  Rich held up his glass. "Salute."

  Annabelle groaned and took a drink. The color of her face turned a similar shade of red as the wine. God, she was sweet.

  When they sat down to dinner, Annabelle took the middle seat, for which Mike would be eternally grateful.

  The tension rolling off Rich was palpable. Mike felt as if he was fifteen again being given the touch-her-and-I'll-kill-you look by his date's father.

  "So, Mike. It is Mike, right?"

  Mike nodded. Rich grunted and then shot an accusing look at Annabelle. She smiled back serenely, but her eyes told a different story. Mike suspected they were playing footsie under the table—the kind that left bruises.

  Rich served himself antipasto and passed it to Mike, who offered it to Annabelle first.

  "No, go ahead, Mike. Guests first."

  So far, Annabelle was up by two points. Mike sat back to enjoy the show. As an only child, he'd always wanted a sibling to count on, drive crazy, and embarrass. He suspected it wasn't always fun, but never boring either.

  Mike piled the antipasto on his plate and took a bite.

  Rich wiped his mouth on his napkin. "Mike, do you work?"

  Mike swallowed a forkful. "Yes."

  "What do you do?"

  Annabelle glared at her brother. "He's a doctor."

  "I'm a pulmonologist," Mike added. Annabelle and Rich both stared at him—Annabelle with a look of confusion and Rich as if he'd discovered a dirty secret.

  Rich winked at her. "That's a lung doctor."

  She stabbed an olive as if it had a picture of Rich's face on it. "I know what it means."

  "Where did you go to school?"

  "Undergrad at NYU, medical school, Columbia. I did my residency and fellowship at Presbyterian."

  "Ever married?"

  "No, you?"

  Rich shook his head. "Any children?"

  "No, you?"

  Rich never stopped eating. "Nope."

  Annabelle wiped her mouth. "Richie, would you please stop with the interrogation? All you're missing is a bare light bulb, handcuffs, and water board. Enough."

  He nodded. "Sure, I'll be happy to change the subject." Rich scooped up a bowl of pasta, grated cheese over the top, and pasted on a smile of innocence, which had Mike's spidey sense buzzing like an air-raid siren.

  "So, Annabelle. How's Ben?"

  She shot another visual dagger at Rich before commenting. "Ben Walsh is my boss."

  "Annabelle is a sales girl at his art gallery."

  "No, I manage the gallery. I do sales, but I also discover artists, display their work, plan showings, and manage the sales force."

  Rich caught Mike's eye before continuing. "Annabelle was engaged until a few weeks ago."

  Well, that was news. Mike studied her. She seemed more embarrassed than heartsick at the mention of it. What do you say to that? I'm sorry? But Mike was anything but sorry. Better to keep his mouth shut.

  Rich continued on his self-appointed mission. "Ben and Annabelle are close."

  Annabelle choked on the wine she sipped. She coughed, her eyes watering. Mike and Rich both came out of their chairs, racing to see who could give her the Heimlich maneuver first. She held up her hands to ward off both of them. "I'm fine."

  Rich didn't seem the least bit guilty for embarrassing her. "Yeah, well, I heard Ben came running back to town as soon as he heard you were single again."

  "He had the trip scheduled. I can assure you, his visit has nothing to do with me. Ben is a lot of things, but he's not the white knight type. Not that I need one. A white knight, that is."

  Rich nodded. "A-huh. Sure."

  She ignored Rich and touched Mike's hand. "Ben is my boss and my friend. That's all."

  Rich's silence spoke volumes.

  Annabelle shifted in her seat. "Mike. What do your parents do?"

  "My mother is a court reporter."

  She smiled. "Wow. That must be interesting. My mom's a housewife. She never worked outside the house."

  Rich continued. "Your mom and dad still together?"

  Mike wiped his mouth on his napkin. "No, they're not."

  "What's your dad do?"

  "He's a doctor. A cardiologist. I've never met him."

  "Aren't you curious about him?"

  Mike shrugged. "Not really. I know everything I need to know about him. He was doing his residency when he and my mum were dating. They'd talked about getting married. He'd gone home for Easter when she found out she was pregnant. She was waiting for him to come back to tell him in person. You can imagine her shock when she saw the announcement of his engagement to someone else in the society pages. Her parents didn't handle it well. She went back to Ireland to stay with her aunt and had me. We didn't come back to the States until I was two. He doesn't even know I exist, and that's just fine with me."

  Rich wiped his mouth on his napkin. "Yeah, I see your point. So, are you a Met or Yankee fan?"

  "Mets."

  "Islanders or Rangers?"

  "Rangers, Giants, and Knicks."

  Rich nodded, the mood shifted, and Annabelle visibly relaxed. She seemed happy with him. He wasn't sure who he was trying to impress more, Rich or Annabelle.

  Mike knew enough about big brothers not to take the lack of trust and blatant skepticism personally, and it was cute the way Annabelle reacted to Rich. More bluster than bite, she did her share of eye rolling and shooting Rich dirty looks, but in the end, she seemed to appreciate he cared enough to make a pain in the ass of himself. Mike respected him for that, too, because of how protective he was of his own mother. He suspected worrying about a little sister would be worse, especially since Mum never dated.

  After dinner and dessert, it became abundantly clear that Rich did not intend to leave before Mike did.

  Annabelle stood, and Mike followed and began stacking dishes.

  "Let me clear the table."

  Annabell
e couldn't believe it. "No, that's okay. I'll take care of it." Usually when men helped, all they helped with was making more work. Cleaning the kitchen was bad enough without any "help."

  "I insist. Just grab the wine, and let me clean up. It's the least I can do after you cooked."

  Annabelle shrugged. She didn't want to be rude. She took the wineglass, sat at the breakfast bar, and figured it'd be five minutes before she would be forced to take over.

  She was wrong. Mike definitely knew his way around a kitchen. And Rich, the pig that he was, instead of leaving them alone, took up the rest of the space pretending to help. He all but forced her out of the room.

  Mike sent her a wink and ordered Rich around like the incompetent helper he was. Unfortunately, Rich never got that. Mike threw a dish towel over his shoulder, rolled up the sleeves of his blue oxford shirt, and got down to some serious cleaning.

  She really wished that Rich would leave. He quickly lost his feigned interest, and after five minutes, he disappeared from the kitchen, parked himself in front of the TV, and turned on a game. When he kicked off his shoes and asked for a beer, it became obvious he wasn't going anywhere.

  Annabelle brought the salad bowl in from the dining room and took a towel out of the drawer to start drying.

  Mike stopped what he was doing, turned off the water, and took the towel out of her hands. "No you don't. Why don't you just refill your wine and keep me company?"

  "Oh, um … okay." Annabelle never realized what a turn-on it was to watch a man work in the kitchen. Maybe because she'd never seen one. Well, except for the chefs on TV. Emeril never did it for her, but Mike was a different story.

  "Would you hand me those glasses?

  Annabelle blinked and pulled herself out of her musings. "Sure."

  She passed them to him one by one as he washed them, taking care not to clink them around in the dish drain like most guys would. He methodically washed the dishes. He took his time and was thorough. Drying them well before replacing them in the cupboard.

  "Mum and I always shared kitchen chores, cooking and cleaning up, but most of the time I'd do it. She always worked so hard."

  "That's nice. In my house, Richie was the prince, and Papa was the king. Neither of them lifted a finger. Rosalie and I were expected to learn to be good homemakers. Neither of us ever met Mama's high expectations."

  Mike laughed as he put his back into scrubbing the pasta pot. His shirt pulled taut across his back. He had really nice hands, and when he bent to put the pot away, she got to see his great butt again in a pair of faded 501s. She was tempted to give it a pat. Every now and then, he'd stop what he was doing, dry his hands, and turn his attention to her as if he could read her mind. When he wiped down the stove, the pendant light hanging there shone in his blond hair and showed off the contours of his muscled forearms. Annabelle showed Mike where the few things she'd used went. Every brush of his hand sent tingles shooting through her. The way he stood behind her and placed the wineglasses high in the cabinet above—his body flush against hers—seemed like a strange kind of foreplay. She'd never realized bumping into someone in the kitchen could be such a turn-on. By the time the last pot was dried and put away, she was practically panting.

  He folded the towels and hung them on the door-pull of the refrigerator. "All done."

  When he turned, Annabelle made sure she was right in the way. "Thanks for helping."

  Mike swallowed, his arms came around her waist and pulled her close, right before he dipped his head to kiss her.

  The man kissed like a dream. He wasn't one of those come-at-you-with-his-tongue-sticking-out kissers, or the kind that thinks he's got to grind his mouth into yours in order to show he's enjoying himself. No, Mike was the perfect combination of soft but firm, hot but controlled, and oh man, he knew how to take his time. He kissed her as if he had all night, teasing her lips with his until she couldn't stand it and grabbed him. The man knew how to follow her lead too, which earned him a full-frontal kiss. Yes, things were humming right along. Unfortunately, by the time they'd forgotten Rich, he was in the refrigerator getting another beer. Annabelle was so frustrated she wanted to scream, and Mike could do nothing but stand behind her.

  Annabelle walked Mike to the door. "Thanks for coming. I'm sorry for… Well, you know."

  He waved good-bye to Rich and kissed her on the cheek. "Thanks for dinner. I'll give you a call in a couple days."

  Annabelle was sure of two things. First, she'd never hear from Mike again. Second, Rich would never bother her on another date, since as soon as Mike was out of hearing range, she planned to kill Rich. Slowly and painfully.

  She turned, only to find Rich had donned his jacket and had a hand on the doorknob. "Oh no you don't. You're not going anywhere until after I've murdered you!"

  "Come on. What did you expect me to do? Ma was going on and on about you having a date with a doctor. How did I know he wasn't one of the assholes she always threw at you and Rosalie? I couldn't take the chance you'd end up with a brainier version of Johnny DePalma."

  She didn't even try to defend Johnny. He was an asshole. "Rich, just because you're my big brother—"

  "Look, I promise not to bother you again unless you start seeing someone else. Mike seems like a good guy. If I'd known he was Nick's friend, I would have left you alone. But hey, he didn't seem to mind the fact I horned in on your date."

  "Yeah, but I did. I minded a lot. I'll be lucky if I ever hear from him again, thanks to you."

  Rich wrapped his arms around her and pulled her in for a bear hug. "Don't worry, princess, he'll call. The poor guy couldn't keep his eyes off you. He's got it bad." He kissed her on both cheeks and then gave her a noogie before turning and walking out the door.

  She changed into jogging gear. She definitely needed to let off some steam and sexual frustration.

  Since he had nothing better to do and needed a distraction, Mike walked to his mother's apartment. If he went home, he'd sit there thinking about Annabelle and all the things he wanted to do with her and to her.

  The kiss he'd planted on her even before he said hello gave him pause, especially since he'd spent the whole trip over there lecturing himself. He was a doctor. He was known for his control and stability. That was before he met Annabelle Ronaldi. He saw his reflection in the glass door of his mother's building and wondered what had changed.

  He took the stairs to the third floor and let himself into his mother's apartment without knocking, as if he'd never moved out. "Mum, I'm home." He was brilliant. He wanted to keep from thinking about Annabelle, and he'd succeeded. There was absolutely no way he would think X-rated thoughts about anyone—even Annabelle—in the presence of his mother.

  Colleen Flynn stepped out of the kitchen drying her hands. "Michael, what a nice surprise. Tell me, have you eaten your dinner yet?"

  He gave her his obligatory hug and kiss and waited until she rubbed the lipstick off his cheek. "Yeah, I did. I was on my way home. I haven't seen you in a while and thought I'd stop by."

  "You've got a night off, have you?"

  "Two. I scheduled it so I could go to Nick's wedding last night and wouldn't have to be on call early this morning. I ended up at the hospital anyway."

  "When was the last time you had two days off in a row without going into the hospital or the office at all?"

  He shrugged. He couldn't remember.

  She put the kettle on for tea and took a crumb cake out of the refrigerator. "Well, I'm glad you're here for whatever reason. Not that you need a reason to come home. You know that, don't you?"

  Mike took the teacups and plates out of the cupboard. "I know, Mum."

  He put the crumb cake on top of the plates, and before taking the pile off the counter, he reached for a crumb and earned a hand slap.

  "Michael Christopher Flynn, you know better than that. Now go set everything on the table while I make the tea."

  Mike sat at the table and watched his mother fix tea like he had a million times bef
ore. She glanced at him and smiled before measuring the tea leaves for the pot.

  "You do look tired. Have you been working around the clock again, or didn't you get any sleep after Nick's wedding?"

  "Both. You know how it is. I have to put in a lot of hours until I make partner, then things will slow down."

  "I've watched you push yourself since you were a boy. Pushing to get good grades, a scholarship, into medical school, the right residency, the right fellowship, and now partnership. When will you stop pushing and start living?"

  "I'll get some sleep tonight. I don't have to be back in the hospital until early rounds tomorrow."

  She walked to the table and set the teapot on the hot plate.

  Mike stood while she sat and then watched her pour the tea, fixing his the same way she had since he was a child.

  "Ah, you were always a good boy, my Michael. I'm glad you'll sleep tonight, but I'm more concerned with your life. Don't you want more in your life than work?"

  He drank his tea and almost choked on it as he remembered the way Annabelle looked sleeping in nothing but a garter. Yeah, he wanted more than work. A whole lot more. "I want more. I just don't know if it's the right time."

  "It's never going to be the right time." She took a bite of cake, sipped her tea, and placed her cup gingerly on the saucer. "You can't plan when to have a life. You need to have a life and plan when to work. I was hoping you'd meet someone who would take your mind off work for a while. None of the women you've dated so far ever touched your heart."

  "I did meet someone at the wedding. Nick's new sister-in-law."