Heart Murmurs Read Free

and his pouting cronies were shooting daggers from the dartboards. “No. I don’t think that would be wise.”
    She was right, of course. So, Vince didn’t waste another minute. He took her hand and tugged her—protesting all the way—through the throng and right out the door of the Subtle Knife. Reputation be damned. Once they were out on the sidewalk, he let himself enjoy the sight of her hip-hugging blue jeans, simple tank top, practical boots. She hadn’t dressed for anyone, and yet she might as well have been wearing lingerie, because he felt completely seduced. “What is it with you, Dr. Gupta?” he marveled, quietly.
    “What is it with you , Dr. McHenry?” Her eyes snapped with fire as she wrenched out of his grip, rubbing her wrist. “Are you insane, or just so used to getting your own way that you don’t give a damn what anyone thinks?”
    “A little of both, probably.” Vince left her sputtering and huffing as he stepped to the curb and put his hand out for a cab. It was well after rush hour, but it didn’t take long for a yellow cab to acknowledge the hail and pull up to them. He opened the back door and then turned. “Well?” he prompted, mimicking her earlier tone perfectly.
    Her expression was completely unreadable, her posture guarded. She was holding on to the strap of her small, functional purse like it was a lifeline. He watched her chest rise and fall as she took a deep, steadying breath…and then she climbed into the taxi.
    ****
    This wasn’t actually happening. At any moment, her alarm was going to go off, and she was going to realize she’d never left the bed in the on-call room. Anu pinched her thigh, hard, through the material of her jeans. But aside from the stinging sensation, she remained where she was: in the back of a taxi with Vince. Vince, who was no longer just Vince in her head, because he’d asked her to call him by his given name. The car was zipping uptown, the eastern European driver weaving through the light traffic like an expert, and she had no idea where they were going. On both a literal and metaphorical level.
    Vince was watching her carefully, studiously, with those keen dark eyes, and asking her questions about her life that she could pretty much answer on autopilot: She’d grown up in Philly, she liked Thai food, and Adele, and her favorite author was Tolkien. All the while, she was aware of him sitting just a few inches away. He wasn’t a big man, but he seemed to fill the entire cab with his aura, sprawling confidently in the seat, one arm slung across the back. His dark blue silk shirt and designer slacks practically screamed money and power. He’d lived all over the world, he told her with more than one note of pride. He liked French cuisine and the Beatles and doing the New York Times crossword puzzle.
    “I like puzzles in general, and you, Anushka, are a puzzle.”
    A shiver went up her spine, even though she was warm—overheated, sweating, burning—not cold. She’d said he could call her Anu , never mentioning what it was short for. “I’m not that complicated.” She shrugged, hoping her voice didn’t betray her internal chaos. “You, however, have completely bucked the expected pathology. Being seen leaving the bar with me is going to have everyone reworking their Vince McHenry hypotheses.”
    “Good.” He smiled, too wide and too wolfish. “You don’t stay at the top by being predictable. You have to take informed, educated risks.”
    “What’s educated about this?” she demanded. “What’s Dr. Vince McHenry going to gain?”
    He cocked his head, mouth twitching in what was either amusement or disdain. Or an allergic reaction to shellfish. “I don’t know, Anushka. Why don’t you tell me? Since you have me so pegged. Is there anything to gain here?”
    “No.” She had to stop looking at him. Before she scrambled her wits like the tasteless eggs they served in the caff every morning. He was too handsome, too confident, too…