That Marriageable Man!. Barbara Boswell
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and a sky blue T-shirt tucked neatly inside the waistband of her shorts. Her complexion had an iridescent ivory glow and her hair, a rich brunette shade, was thick and curly and tumbled nearly to her shoulders. He gazed at her dainty features; her wide-set brown eyes and well-shaped generous mouth were particularly riveting.
And while he studied her, she was opening both doors of her car to more easily unpack it. Rafe shook his head. He wanted her, but she didn’t seem aware of him at all. What a stupid predicament !
Get your ego in check! Rafe commanded himself. For all he knew, Holly Casale was happily married with eyes for no other man but her husband. Which made his sharp sudden desire for her even more unseemly.
His lack of female companionship of late was finally taking its toll on him, Rafe decided grimly. When he began lusting after strangers and begrudging their lack of response, it was definitely time to resume dating, however daunting the logistics. He tried to remember where he’d put Lorna Larson’s business card. The trash compactor in the kitchen? The wastebasket in his bathroom?
“Trent says he lives here,” Holly said conversationally as she reached into the car for her canvas overnight bag.
“That’s right. His little brother Tony does, too.” Rafe watched the material of her shorts hug the sweetly rounded curve of her bottom as she bent to lean inside the car. His mouth went dry.
“Your Little Brother and his little brother both live with you? How did that happen?” Holly was curious. “I know it’s not usually the case in the Big and Little Brother program.”
Even her voice was sexy, Rafe thought dazedly, unable to tear his eyes away from her. Her soft husky tones managed to sound both soothing and stimulating, an unexpectedly arousing paradox.
He looked at her left hand clutching her bag, at her long elegant fingers, the rounded nails painted with pale pink polish. She was not wearing a wedding ring or an engagement ring. Rafe found himself fantasizing about her lovely, ringless hand doing all sorts of things...
He forgot what she’d asked him, what they were talking about.
“I was a Big Sister when I lived in Ann Arbor,” Holly continued chattily, grabbing a black bag with her other hand. “It was a nice break from the craziness and pressure of med school and my residency. My Little Sister, Stephanie, is all grown up now, but we plan to stay in touch.”
Rafe’s eyes darted to her black bag, the traditional physician’s bag. And she’d mentioned med school. His jaw dropped. “You’re a doctor?”
“And you’re incredulous that I am. Should I be insulted?”
“You look too young to be a doctor. And way too pretty,” Rafe said bluntly. He gathered a huge pile of clothing on hangers into his arms.
“These days everybody pretty much accepts the idea of women doctors,” she said dryly.
They walked side by side to the front door of her condo.
“I accept the idea of women doctors,” Rafe said in defense of himself. “What I said was that you looked too young and pretty to be one.”
Holly rolled her eyes. “That kind of pseudo-compliment is impossible to respond to.”
“It wasn’t a compliment, pseudo or otherwise, it was simply an observation. I have nothing against women doctors. In fact my little sister is in her third year of med school right here in Sioux Falls, and doing really well, too.”
“Does she look young? And pretty?”
“Touché, Doc.” Rafe conceded her point with a chuckle. “Yes, to both questions. Eva is young and pretty and very capable.”
Holly inserted her key in the lock and opened the front door.
Rafe followed her into the empty condo and glanced around. “It’s the mirror image of my place.” He thought of the gang inhabiting his half of the duplex, the kids, the dog. “But a lot neater. Certainly quieter.”
Holly set down her bags on the floor of the L-shaped living room and fixed her gaze upon one long wall. “That must be the adjoining wall Trent said he and his brother use to pound out messages in Morse code.”
“And you wondered why the real estate agent was so eager to give you such a great price on this place.”
He guffawed rather slyly, Holly thought. He was kidding again, right? “I’m renting, with an option to buy,” she hedged.
“So you have a safe out. A wise choice.” Rafe peered at her from around the mountain of clothes he was holding. “Where do you want me to put these?”
He watched her. She was all huge eyes and translucent skin and long, long legs. Much to his consternation, he remained in a state of acute arousal despite hauling a hundred pounds of clothing. But he obviously conjured up no sexual interest in her.
Rafe groaned.
Holly reacted at once. “Oh, I’m so sorry! Here I am rambling on, and you’re standing there with that cumbersome load.”
She’d completely misinterpreted his tortured groan. If she only knew! Rafe was tom between laughing and groaning once again.
He did neither.
“I guess the clothes should go upstairs in my bedroom.” Swiftly, Holly led the way up the narrow staircase to the largest of the three bedrooms.
On the other side of the inner wall was the wall of his own bedroom. Rafe tried not to think about how close—the proverbial so near yet so far—he would be to her when he was in his bed and she was in hers. Without waiting for further instruction, he dropped the hangers over the steel rod in the closet. The clothes swung wildly.
“Thank you so much,” exclaimed Holly. “I know how heavy those—”
“Don’t thank me yet. There’s still most of your car to unload. When does the rest of your stuff get here?”
“According to Mrs. Yoder, the agent who took the message from the moving company, hopefully tomorrow.”
Rafe rubbed his jaw. “Anytime I hear ‘hopefully’ I fear the worst. Expect that truck to show up sometime next month.”
“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