Page 47 of Just One Look

Dinner had been intense, though. Hadn’t it? It had felt that way, and not just sexually.

But definitely sexually.

Whatever it had been, that door was closed now. Which was good. He did not need complication. He’d just spent the entire drive thinking that he didn’t need complication.

He unfastened his own seatbelt and said, “Hang on. I’ll see you to your door. Also, I’ll just point out that when the lady keeps talking after you stop the car, it generally means that she’s not ready for the night to be over. So to speak. Except that this is so clearly not that. Cheers for getting my hopes up.”

“Oh,” she said. “Or it could just be that she thought of something she wanted to say, and she hung around until she said it.” And slammed the door.

* * *

He was following her.It didn’t feel predatory, so why? Inside the house, Webster was barking, slow and deep. At the bottom of the hill, the traffic was creating its usual dull roar, while out farther, the lights of the Harbour Bridge were reflected in the ruffled surface of the water, streaks of teal and blue and purple and gold. Lit up for something, probably. For who knows what, but it was beautiful.

She had her keys out of her purse already when she turned to Luka and said, “I don’t have to kiss you goodnight. It’s not a requirement.”

The skin around his eyes crinkled. “No, you don’t. I said I’d see you to your door, though, and I’m doing it. Manners, eh.”

“Thank you for dinner,” she said. “I don’t mean to be ungracious. It was all extremely romantic. Very sensual, also. I can see why the models want to date you.”

Oh, boy. This was why she didn’t go out with guys like this.Manlyguys.Celebrityguys. Guys way above her pay grade, because he was laughing.

Well, better to amuse him than to break down in tears after his speech about how she didn’t believe she deserved pleasure. She’d never been to a therapist, but she was guessing that was the kind of thing they’d tell you. That must be a fun time.

It had either been too much insight coming from a kind place, or seduction. She wasn’t sure which was more awkward to deal with, but either way, it scared her. Maybe she ought to have a fling during her reboot, but it wasn’t going to be with him. He was way too much for her. He was the wrong guy.

He said, “Thank you.” Gravely.

Time to go inside before she said anything even more stupid. She opened her mouth to say, “Goodnight,” but what came out instead was, “Surgeons don’t keep dates. Surgeons stand you up. I even did it tonight, because of the dog, but normally I do it because somebody fractures their spine in a car accident or gets shot in the right frontal lobe, which means I’m actually able to do something about it besides look at their films and say, ‘No,’ but I need to do it right then. Whatever the reason, surgeons don’t keep dates. They also work too much, and when they’re not working, they crash. And possibly read surgical journals. Also, I’ve been told that I have stunted emotional reactions. Which isn’t ideal, apparently.”

Webster was barking louder, like he knew Luka was out here, and he wanted to wrap himself around Luka’s big, strong, commanding, alpha-male self. Luka said, “Understood.” Gravely again.

“You’re laughing,” she said. “I can tell. I’m just telling you, because you said, uh, sexual things. And because I’m sure the girl always shows up for you. She might be late, in that way women supposedly aren’t ready on time because they keep changing their clothes or whatever, or because the man somehow enjoys a woman not being punctual, which isnotmy experience, by the way, but she’s probably not performing a cervical fusion on a sixteen-year-old kid who dove into shallow water, which means she doesn’t show up at all, and all you get is a text from a resident and possibly a cold dinner.”

“Rugby players are terrible to date as well,” he said. “Away from home half the time, and when theyarehome, they’re on restrictive diets and have to go to bed early. Also generally sore, especially if they’re forwards. My one full day off is Wednesday, when I’m home, which I may have mentioned isn’t often, and even when Iamhome, I’m playing on Saturday night. And my emotional reactions may not be up to par, either. It’s been mentioned.”

He was so tall, she had to look up, and she could nearly feel the warmth of him. The size of his hands and feet, too, the depth of his chest. He wasn’t touching her, so why did it feel like he was?

“So that would be stupid,” she said. “Also, I’m bad at relationships. The furniture shopping and future planning and weekend getaways and deep conversations and so forth. Bad.”

“Me, too,” he said. “Good at sex. Bad at relationships. Or so I hear.”

“And I’m not even good at sex. So that would be terrible.” She was repeating herself. She needed to just goin.

He said, “Probably so. You could still do that scent shopping sometime, though, if you find you don’t have the penetrating gunshot wound after all. David Jones is open until nine on Thursdays and Fridays.”

“Oh,” she said. “Well … good to know.”

“If you found yourself unexpectedly free,” he said, “you could let me know, and I could meet you. You could have the resident text me. If I give you my number, that is. It could be a spontaneous occurrence. A non-date, eh. No promises to break.”

“The resident doesn’t text unless Ican’tcome,” she said. “They’re not my secretaries.”

“Ah.” He was smiling a little now. Also, she realized, he’d shaved tonight. Because he’d been meeting her, maybe. For a date.

Which had turned into induced dog-vomiting.

Exhibit A.

He said, “So this would be you doing the texting.”

“Well, yes. If I were inviting you to come along. Spontaneously.”

“If you were inviting me,” he agreed. “There’s a steakhouse near David Jones that isn’t bad. Steak could be called for after a hard day of surgery, not to mention the rigors of scent shopping. Calamari and oysters for starters, too. You might enjoy that.”

“If I invited you,” she said, “I’d pay.”

“If you invited me,” he said, “I’d let you.”