Millionaires' Destinies(102)

When Beth opened the door, her eyes widening in delight at the sight of the flowers, Mack felt something shift inside him. He had the funniest feeling that few men had ever bestowed such a simple gift on her before, probably because they mistook her cool, professional demeanor to mean that she didn’t appreciate the more feminine pleasures in life.

“Oh, Mack,” she said softly, burying her nose in the flowers. “What on earth made you think to do this?”

“A gentleman caller always brings something for his hostess,” he recited, grinning at her.

“Remind me to thank your aunt for drilling those manners into you,” she said. “I hope I have a vase big enough for all these. Did you buy out the shop?”

Actually he had. The man had been ready to close and had given him a deal on all of the bunches that remained in the cooler. There had been lilies and roses, baby’s breath, snapdragons and some other colorful, fragrant blooms he couldn’t identify. Impulse had made him take them all. If anyone on earth deserved to be pampered a bit, it was Beth after a day like today. He only wished flowers could brighten his mood as easily. Better to concentrate on Beth.

He could think of all sorts of ways she ought to be indulged. Maybe he’d get her one of those spa days he’d heard women talking about, one with a facial, massages, wraps and who knew what else went on behind those discreet doors.

“Mack?”

“Hmm?”

“Where’d you go just then?” she asked.

“I got a little lost envisioning you in a seaweed wrap,” he said just to watch the color in her cheeks deepen.

“What an odd imagination you have,” she said, leading the way into the kitchen.

“Have you ever had one?” he asked.

“My time and my budget don’t really run to seaweed wraps,” she said, clearly amused. “Have you had one?”

He shuddered. “Hell, no, but I hear women talking about that kind of stuff. I thought you might like it.”

“Who knows? Maybe one of these years, if I ever get a whole day off, I’ll try one,” she said. “Seems like a waste of money to me.”

“Being pampered is never a waste of money, especially not with the kind of work you do. You need to take better care of yourself.”

She regarded him curiously. “Is this some new mission you’re on? It’s not enough that you cheer up Tony, now you’re intent on cheering me up, too?”

He thought about it and decided it was. It didn’t have to mean he was falling for her or anything. It was just common decency to worry about someone who spent her life worrying about others. “Yep,” he said. “I’m making you my project.”

“Don’t you have an entire football team to worry about? That’s what? Eleven men?”

He chuckled. “On the field at any given moment. There are a lot more on the bench. Remind me to get you a manual explaining the basics.”

“It would be wasted. Besides, you’re missing my point that you have your own responsibilities. Those should keep you busy enough.”

“Not the same thing,” he told her. “Besides, those guys have trainers who worry about whether they’re eating properly, getting enough exercise and generally staying fit. Who worries about you?”

She shook her head as she poured him a glass of iced tea. “I’m an adult and a doctor. I can pretty much look after myself.”

“But do you?”

“Of course I do.”

“When was the last time you took a day off?”

She hesitated so long, he knew she was having to really think about it. “Ding,” he said as if calling time in a game. “Too long. That must mean it’s been weeks, if not months.”

She frowned. “Actually I was off last Saturday,” she retorted, then sighed. “But I got called in around eleven-thirty and never got away.”

“That’s exactly what I’m talking about. You’re not invincible. What happens if you get so worn down, you get sick?”

“I don’t get sick.” She gave him an exasperated look. “I appreciate your concern. I really do, but it’s misguided.” She poked her head in the refrigerator. “Your choices are scrambled eggs or…” Her voice became muffled until she withdrew and gave him a chagrined look. “Or poached eggs or an omelet, assuming this cheddar isn’t too hard to grate.” She held up a pitiful-looking block of cheese.

Mack shook his head. “Where’s your phone?”

“Right behind you on the wall,” she said. “Why?”

He was already punching in a familiar number. “Do you have some sort of aversion to meat?” he asked her as the phone rang.