Moonlight Over Manhattan(61)

“I’m doing it for Madi.”

He raised an eyebrow. “The dog cares about my well-being?”

“If you die, she will be unsettled again. She needs stability.”

“It’s good to have a reason to cling to life.” His dry tone told her he had to be feeling better.

She sent mental thanks to Susan. “Have you taken your meds?”

“I have.” He walked carefully to the bed. Before that remark about her being beautiful she would have helped him, but now she decided it was safer to keep her distance. She no longer knew the rules of this relationship.

She shook her head. “You look pitiful. Do you want to sleep some more? Watch TV?”

“I don’t have TV in the bedroom.” He collapsed onto the freshly made bed. “The bedroom is for two things only. Sleep and—”

“Okay, I get it.” She interrupted him quickly and reached for the throw. She didn’t want to hear about the things that had happened in that huge bed of his. On balance she’d preferred it when he had less to say for himself.

“For a woman of almost thirty—”

“How do you know my age?” She pulled the throw over him.

“I treated you in the ER. I was going to say that for a woman of almost thirty, you’re shy about sex. Tell me about your previous boyfriends.”

She gave a start. “Are you delirious?”

“No, but I feel like crap and I want distraction.”

“Then you don’t want to talk about my boyfriends because there’s not a lot of distraction there.”

“There haven’t been many?”

“I never really saw the point of dating for the sake of it.”

“So I was right.”

“About what?”

“You’re not the type for casual sex.”

Up until she’d met him, she would have agreed but right now she wasn’t sure.

She seemed to think about nothing but sex when she was with him. Serious, casual, right now she would have taken whatever was on offer.

She was agonizingly aware of him watching her as she moved around the room.

“I suppose I’m more of a relationship sort of person.”

“I guessed that about you. Tell me about the last guy you had sex with.”

“Excuse me?” Her cheeks flamed. She never talked about sex with anyone. Not even her sister. Why would he ask her that question? And why now, with the sun spotlighting her every reaction?

“I’m trying to even the score. You’ve undressed me and seen me almost naked. That gives me certain rights.”

“It gives you no rights.”

“Well I’m taking them anyway. Tell me about the last guy you dated.”

She picked up the clothes he’d dropped on the floor, not because she particularly felt the need to tidy, but because it made it easier to hide her face. “Charlton Morris.”

“Where did you meet him, how long did it last and why did you break up?” He started coughing again and this time she looked at him without sympathy.

“That’s your punishment for asking so many questions, none of which are your business.”

“I was supposed to be taking you on a training date. Consider this research.”

“I don’t need a training date. I don’t plan on dating a man who makes me feel so uncomfortable I have to be coached to get through the evening. I want someone I’m comfortable with. How hard is that?” She threw his clothes into the laundry hamper as if they were personally responsible for her deficiencies in that area.

“Hard. It’s not easy to meet people, least of all someone you feel comfortable with.” He reached for his water and it was so obviously a struggle that she took pity and handed it to him.

“Sit up. And you probably need another dose of antibiotics. I like Susan, by the way. You should marry her. She’d be good for you.”

He choked on the water. “I’m not marrying anyone ever again, least of all Susan.”

“Why ‘least of all’? She came round here after her shift to check on you. She cares about you.”

“And I care about her. But all we have is friendship. If it turned to anything more we would kill each other in a day.”

“You could try being less sure of yourself all the time. That might make you a little more endearing.”

He put the glass down, spilling some of it. “So next time a patient is bleeding out you want me to tell him I’m not sure what I’m doing? Believe it or not, when people are sick they want to feel as if they’re in good hands. They want confidence.”

“Tell me about your marriage. What went wrong?” She mopped up the water he’d spilled.

“That’s a personal question.”

“No more personal than the ones you were asking me.”

“But you didn’t answer.”

She shifted the pillows behind him so that he was more comfortable. “I told you about Charlton.”

“You told me nothing about Charlton. Was he good in bed?”

She paused, the pillow in her hands. She didn’t know whether to put it down or suffocate him with it. “I don’t know. I didn’t sleep with him.”

“Why not?”