parted, and there stood, not Rudy, but Trevor March. He was wearing a stethoscope and a white lab coat over jeans. The coat hung open to reveal a beautifully sculpted bare chest.
“What seems to be the problem?” he asked.
“I’m dying. I have West Nile virus. Or maybe bubonic plague,” she informed him.
“Let’s listen to your heart,” he said. Instead of using his stethoscope he pressed an ear to her left breast. “A rapid heartbeat.” He pulled away and looked into her eyes. “Your pupils are dilated and you’re flushed.”
“What have I got, Doctor?”
“Nothing that can’t be cured by a night with me.” He pulled out two chocolate bars and said, “Take these and call me in the morning. I make house calls. Or better yet, you can make the house call.” Then he kissed her on the cheek, winked at her and left her sitting on the bed, holding a chocolate bar in each hand.
The nurse returned to the room and handed her a piece of paper. It was pink and shaped like a heart.
“What’s this?” she asked. “A prescription?”
“Dr. March’s address,” said the nurse, who suddenly looked like Athena.
“What happened to Dr. Nichols?” Sophie asked.
“He’s not available. And why do you want Dr. Nichols? He’s old enough to be your father.”
“Um,” said Sophie.
Nurse Athena glared at her, pulled out a hypodermic needle the size of a hunting knife and snarled, “Get out of here before I have to use this on you.”
Sophie got out of there and the next thing she knew she was standing in front of a two-story house made entirely of chocolate. The front door opened and there in the doorway stood Trevor March. He’d changed out of his white coat and jeans and was now wearing nothing but red underwear with little candy canes on them.
“Come on in,” he called. “What are you waiting for?”
She went up the front path—made of white chocolate slabs—and stepped onto the chocolate porch.
“How are you feeling now?” he asked, and slipped an arm around her.
“Not so bad,” she said.
“Come on back to my bedroom. I’ll make you feel even better,” he said, and kissed her neck. “Here, let me take your coat. Let me take your everything.”
He took his time taking and Sophie was only down to her bra and panties (red with little candy canes—they matched!) when she awoke with her heart beating, her hair damp and her throat dry. She was sure she was flushed. Was her subconscious trying to tell her something?
She frowned. Her subconscious needed to shut up. Trevor March the chocolate man seemed like a pretty great guy. But she didn’t need a great guy. She needed a doctor.
6
“How much you want to bet a certain doctor will be looking for you this morning?” Denise said to Catherine as they entered the dining room for breakfast.
“That would be nice, but really, I’m not interested,” Catherine said. “I’m in no shape to be thinking about a relationship.”
“Shipboard romances aren’t relationships. They’re a fun diversion,” Denise argued. “I can tell you right now, I intend to enjoy flirting with Charlie. You should enjoy yourself, too. You never know. Sometimes those diversions can lead to something serious,” she added.
“I doubt it,” Catherine said.
“Who says you can’t fall in love more than once in a lifetime?”
“Someone who’s not sure she’ll have a lifetime ahead of her.” There was a depressing thought. Her chances of surviving this were good, but sometimes that dark road beckoned and she couldn’t help but go down it.
“Don’t say things like that,” Denise scolded. “You’re going to be fine. You should live like you believe that.”
“I don’t know if I do,” Catherine said with a sigh. “There are no guarantees.”
“Okay, then,” Denise said, “all the more reason to live life to the fullest right now. Will you look at this spread?” she said as they approached the breakfast buffet.
It was, indeed, a spread. Set up in the middle of the dining room, it offered every imaginable breakfast food—pastries, cheeses and cold cuts, a variety of breads, fruit, yogurt, cereals, coffee, tea, milk, juices and fruit. And an omelet station with a chef standing ready that drew Catherine like a magnet.
What would she like in her omelet?
Cheese, bacon, tomatoes, peppers and onion.
No problem.
She watched as the chef poured in premeasured egg, swirling it in the pan to make sure it reached the edges, adding ingredients, expertly folding it all and then sliding a perfect, golden-brown omelet onto Catherine’s plate.