shook her head. “I want to hear more about your date with Gage.”
It was a change of subject but not quite the one Megan was hoping for.
“It wasn’t a date.”
Her sister’s brows lifted. “You were having dinner with a man yummier than anything on the menu—what would you call it?”
“A burger and fries.”
Ashley shook her head. “You wouldn’t have had the nerve to ask him out again—not without some serious bribery or blackmail being involved—so he must have invited you. Which means, obviously, that he’s interested.”
“Or maybe he just didn’t want to eat alone. You said it yourself,” Megan reminded her. “Gage is like the yummiest thing on the menu—the juiciest sirloin burger with all of the fixings. I’m the pickle spear they throw on the side of the plate. No one really wants it and it’s not particularly appealing, but it takes up space.”
“That’s so not true,” Ashley objected, then sucked in her breath and gritted her teeth.
Megan, understanding that another wave of pain had hit, turned the bean bag over. “Okay?”
Ashley nodded, exhaled slowly. “How are preparations for the trial going?”
“They’re under way,” Megan said, relieved to abandon the topic of Gage Richmond for now. “We’re scheduled to begin administration of the drug to the first group next weekend.”
She didn’t often talk to her sister about her work, partly because Ashley had no interest in what she was talking about. But a couple years earlier, she’d started doing some independent research in the hope of finding a drug that would not just help alleviate the symptoms of endometriosis for women who were trying to have children but improve their chances of conception.
About a year earlier, when she’d finally made some progress, she’d taken it to her boss at Richmond Pharmaceuticals and received official approval—and a budget—to continue her research. And now the drug whose development she had spearheaded was going into the clinical-trial phase.
“When will you know if it works?” Ashley asked, obviously anxious for some good news.
“It’s hard to say,” Megan told her. “The subjects will undergo testing at prescribed intervals throughout the next twelve months.”
“A whole year?”
Megan knew her sister felt as if she’d been waiting for forever already, and to wait another twelve months seemed interminable.
“Well,” Ashley said philosophically. “At least you have a reason to look forward to going into work every day.”
“I’ve always enjoyed my job,” Megan reminded her. “But, yes, I am anxious to see the results of this trial.”
Her sister smiled. “I wasn’t referring to the trial. I was referring to you spending a lot more time with Gage Richmond.”
Megan refused to admit how much she was looking forward to that. Because she would never hear the end of it if her sister had the slightest clue about how hard and how fast her heart beat whenever Gage was near, how her knees got weak if he stood close, and how everything inside of her felt all hot and quivery if he so much as smiled at her.
No way would Megan admit any of that to her sister. She wasn’t sure she was ready to admit it even to herself.
Chapter Seven
It had been years since Gage had worried about asking a woman out on a date. Maybe he’d been spoiled in that it was rare for an invitation he’d issued—be it for dinner or dancing or a more private evening—to be refused. Or maybe he hadn’t really cared one way or the other. When he thought about calling Megan Saturday afternoon, though, he was unexpectedly apprehensive.
But he’d promised her a rain check, and he intended to deliver. Of course, she might already have plans, and he could accept that. Or she might simply not want to go out with him, but he didn’t want to acknowledge that was a possibility.
When the phone rang, he was both annoyed and relieved by the interruption. He snatched up the receiver. “Hello?”
“Gage Richmond, it must be my lucky day that I managed to catch you at home.”
The sultry feminine voice was vaguely familiar, but Gage was having trouble filling in the details. “Who is this?”
The laugh was rich and warm. “I should be offended that you have to ask, but it has been a while. It’s Norah Hennesy.”
Norah Hennesy.
Tall … dark hair … luscious curves. and very, very flexible.
They’d dated for a few months more than two years earlier, and had gone their separate ways when she grew frustrated by Gage’s refusal to commit.
“It has been a while,” he agreed.
“Much too long.”
Gage didn’t need to be hit over the head to figure out why she was calling. And while he’d occasionally rekindled affairs with ex-lovers in the past, he wasn’t in the mood to go another round in the mating game with a partner who was looking toward a radically different finish line.
“So I was thinking,” Norah continued, “that we could maybe get some dinner at Chez Henri and get reacquainted.”
Chez Henri was an exclusive and expensive French restaurant where they’d frequently dined in the past. Gage had never quite figured out if Norah liked the food as much as she liked being seen there, but he’d never objected because the restaurant was close to Norah’s apartment and dinner had inevitably led to drinks back at her place and, if he felt like staying, breakfast in the morning.
It had been a long time since he’d had … breakfast with a woman, but her offer did little to pique his interest. Or maybe it was the fact that when he tried to picture the slumberous and satisfied morning-after look in her eyes—he simply couldn’t. Because he couldn’t remember the color of her eyes. He only knew that they weren’t violet.
Whoa—where had that thought come from?
“Gage?”
He forced his attention back to the woman on the other end of the phone. “That’s a tempting offer,” he lied, “but I already have plans for tonight.”
“Oh.” He could hear the disappointment in her voice. “Maybe another time?”
“Actually, I don’t think so, Norah.”
“You’re seeing someone,” she guessed.
He started to deny it, but then he thought of Megan again. “Yeah, I am.”
“Well, then, maybe I’ll try again in a few weeks,” she said.
He frowned at her response, at this confirmation that everyone knew his reputation, and that no one ever expected his relationships to last—least of all Gage himself.
Even after he ended the call, he wondered how to define his relationship with Megan, or even if it could be called a relationship. She was a coworker, and maybe she was becoming a friend, but beneath everything else was an underlying physical attraction that was as baffling as it was intriguing.
He’d never known anyone like her—sweet and sexy and blissfully oblivious to her own appeal. And maybe it was this uniqueness that fascinated him.
Not that he had any intention of getting himself all tied up in knots over a woman just because she had eyes that haunted him in his sleep and lips that were so soft and sweet and so incredibly and passionately responsive.
No way. Especially not with the vice-presidency on the line.
He picked up the phone again and dialed her number, anyway.