Page 252 of Love Bites

“How are things going with the house?”

“Fine and dandy.” I’d stopped by to replace the laundered towel I’d used to wrap Addy’s wound but had been too gutless to do more than inch open the front door and slip it inside. Then I’d scampered back to my Bronco, peeking over my shoulder at the upstairs windows the whole way, expecting to see someone standing there watching me. That what’s-behind-door-number-one game still made my armpits clammy.

“Are you busy tomorrow night?”

“No,” I said, assuming Jeff didn’t have plans to stab me in the heart with his butter knife at lunch.

“How about having dinner with me?”

“I’d love to.”

“Great. I’ll pick you up around six. No need to dress up, I have a little surprise for you.”

What kind of surprise? The sparkly kind from one of his jewel cases? No, that couldn’t be. He’d want me in a nice dress if he was going to lavish me with diamonds. Wouldn’t he? “I can’t wait.”

The back door to Doc’s office opened. With a leather satchel in his hand, Doc crossed the parking lot, his eyes locked on me.

I almost dropped my phone, all thumbs suddenly. “Okay, then, see you tomorrow.”

“Yes, you will,” Wolfgang said and the line went dead.

“Another client?” Doc asked as he unlocked the passenger door for me.

I shoved my cell in my purse. For some reason, I didn’t want Doc to know I’d been talking to Wolfgang. “Um. Sort of.”

“Ah. Your boyfriend.”

“He’s not my boyfriend.” I inspected my cuticles, avoiding his grin, hating how he could read me like a fifty-foot billboard.

“Planning date number two?”

“Something like that.”

“Good.”

I huffed mentally. The jerk didn’t have to be so damned happy about me going on a date with Wolfgang. Hell, just the thought of Natalie sitting across the desk from him had me growling and pawing at the dirt for the last hour.

Doc held open the car door for me. The scent of heated leather mixed with his cologne floated around me. A gray plaid blanket lay folded on the seat.

“Just toss that in the back seat,” he said.

I hesitated in the doorway, trying to wrestle my pheromones back into submission.

“What’s wrong? Are you allergic to plaid?”

I hit him with a glare.

He grinned in response. “Let’s roll. He’s waiting for us.”

I flung the plaid blanket into the back and dropped onto the warm bucket seat.

As he crawled behind the steering wheel, I turned to him. “Who’s waiting for us?”

“Mr. Harvey.”

Adding the title in front of Harvey’s name made him sound like an elementary school teacher instead of a dirty, old buzzard. “I thought we were going to look at a house.”

“We are. Mr. Harvey’s.” Doc backed out of my parking spot.

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