Love Gone Mad Read Free Page A

one’s attraction to another. It could be inborn, something beyond control, hormonal—maybe pheromones, some elemental attractant—that draws a man to a woman and makes someone irresistible. And he suddenly realizes he’s nearly leaning across the table, even trying to get a whiff of Megan Haggarty’s hair or her milky skin. And he’s aware at that moment that approaching women was always emotionally charged with some nascent fear he’d be spurned, or worse, he’d be laughed at.
    Megan Haggarty picks up her sandwich and bites into it, eyes still fixed on the page. He recalls first seeing Peggy devour a sandwich. He’d thought back then—nothing original, for sure—the heartier a woman’s appetite, the more robust her sexual hunger.
    It’s kid stuff, pure fantasy .
    She sets her sandwich back on the paper plate. A perfect half circle is gone. There’s scalloping where her teeth severed the bread. Her throat moves up and then down as she swallows. Adrian notices that she’s tall, maybe five ten, though he can’t tell for certain. Peggy was tall, too, as have been all the women he’s desired.
    “Your soup’s getting cold,” she says, her eyes still riveted on the book.
    His throat closes; it feels like a thicket of thorns forms deep inside.
    She looks up now, directly at him. Those eyes—emerald-green rings around hazel irises—are simply gorgeous. Be careful, Adrian tells himself. He grins—caught looking—and he sees a smile form on her bow-shaped lips. Her teeth are perfect, and dimples form on her cheeks as she smiles.
    And she closes In Cold Blood .
    He’s trumped Capote. Adrian wonders if it’s possible a connection is forming. Or will she simply toy with him because now she thinks he was copping glances like a teenager? Maybe she thinks he’s a flirt, a third-rate Casanova trying to score.
    “Are you new here?” he asks.
    “I’ve been here for two years.” Her head tilts.
    “Funny, I haven’t seen you around.”
    How lame. What a contrived opener … Adrian tells himself.
    “Well, Dr. Douglas,” she says, a smile filling her voice, “the neonatal ICU’s very far from the cardiac surgery center.”
    So she’s read his name tag. Small triumph, he thinks, but he’ll take it.
    “And I rarely come down to the cafeteria.”
    “How come?”
    “Oh, we’re very busy with the newbies. But we get a little time off.”
    And of all things, he finds himself wondering what she does with her time off. It could be spent with her husband and kids, he thinks. Or, if she’s single—which seems unlikely—she could hit the local bars with her girlfriends, go clubbing, drinking, and dancing, or maybe troll the Post Road gin mills, where lonely singles guzzle their nights away, often looking to hook up.
    Alone and single? Megan Haggarty? Not a chance .
    “I grew up on long shifts, too,” he says.
    “You must keep very busy fixing God’s mistakes.”
    He laughs, suddenly aware that she’s wise to the swaggering bravado of chest-cracking surgeons. “So, you’ve met cardiac surgeons,” he says, grinning self-consciously.
    “Oh, yes, but you don’t seem to be like the rest of them.”
    “You mean grandiose?”
    She nods and smiles with her eyes.
    “Just filled with themselves? Real gunslingers?”
    She laughs; her mouth opens. God, those perfect teeth.
    “Where were you before Eastport?” he asks.
    “At Yale-New Haven.”
    “ Me too.”
    “Our six degrees of separation,” she says, canting her head. Her earrings tilt.
    “It’s a small world.”
    “When did you come here?” she asks.
    “Two years ago. Same time you did.”
    There’s a brief pause. The cafeteria noise hits a crescendo.
    “What made you leave the center of the medical universe?” he asks, hoping he doesn’t sound too cynical, even bitter about Yale.
    “Oh, lots of things …,” she says, her voice trailing off.
    She won’t talk about it; he’s certain of that.
    She must be very smart, Adrian decides.