The Man Ban

by Nicola Marsh

  “He loves you.” Harper flung her arms wide. “When are you going to give him a break?”

  Lydia must’ve had a recent shot of Botox, because Harper glimpsed a flicker of a raised eyebrow but not much moved above it.

  “Why am I the bad guy in all this?”

  “Because you kicked him out.”

  Anger pinched Lydia’s lips. “You don’t know anything about this—”

  “Exactly, Mom, I don’t know because you’ve told me nothing, and I’m sick of being caught in the middle. Either divorce Dad and put him out of his misery or sort this out if you want to. Either way, this limbo land you’ve both been existing in has got to stop.”

  Lydia gaped. “Tell me what you really think.”

  Harper blew out a shaky breath. “I haven’t wanted to get involved because your marriage hasn’t got anything to do with me. I love you both and I want you to be happy. And whatever the reason behind your shock separation, neither of you seem to be happy at all. Neither of you has moved on, which is pretty damn telling after so long, unless you’ve got feelings for each other still. In which case . . .” Harper shrugged. “Sort your shit out.”

  The fact Lydia didn’t chastise her for cursing meant her mom had some serious stuff on her mind. After a long pause, Lydia’s shoulders slumped, and her mom had never slumped a day in her life, her posture as perfect as the rest of her.

  “I’ll make us tea.”

  Harper didn’t have the heart to say she didn’t want tea, she wanted to know what the hell was going on, but she followed Lydia into the kitchen.

  “How did things finish up in New Zealand?”

  “Good. The jobs in Auckland and Lake Taupo went well. You already know I met Jock McKell, and the owner of the hotels, Wayne Storr, e-mailed me on a job well done, so I’m hoping to get more work out of it. And I got some downtime in Lake Taupo to look around; it was great.”

  Harper felt her cheeks heat at the memory of exactly how great things between her and Manny had been in Taupo, and her mom paused, halfway between setting out the china and spooning leaves into the pot.

  Lydia’s eyes widened. “Did you meet someone?”

  Busted.

  Harper knew she’d have to give her mom something or Lydia wouldn’t let up.

  “I ran into a friend over there actually. Total coincidence.”

  “A good friend, going by the color of your cheeks.”

  “I met him at Nishi’s wedding, and he ended up helping me out with my styling jobs over there.”

  “Really? What does he do?”

  Harper had hoped to leave Manny’s job out of it because she knew what would happen once she announced it. Lydia would book the nearest chapel and reception hall.

  “He’s a doctor,” she murmured, not surprised when the teacup in her mom’s hand clattered against the saucer.

  “Let me get this straight. He’s a doctor and he volunteered to play your assistant styling food?” Lydia beamed. “He’s got the hots for you, big-time.”

  “Yeah, well, the feeling is mutual, because he’s incredibly hot.”

  Harper fanned her face. Like it would do much. Every time she thought about gorgeous Manny naked, she overheated.

  Her mom wolf whistled. “This is a very pleasing development, sweetheart. After that blasted Colin, I thought you’d sworn off men.”

  “I could say the same about you, Mom.”

  “Touché.”

  The kettle whistled, and Lydia poured boiling water into the teapot and replaced the lid to let the tea steep.

  “Are you going to see him again?”

  “Maybe. Probably. He wants to.”

  “But?”

  “I’ve got a lot going on, what with this Storr job just finished and me needing to use it to boost my profile. My savings aren’t the best, and I’d like to change that fact.”

  Lydia waved away her concern. “Your father and I can always help you out financially. But how often do you find a hot doctor?”

  “Is the tea ready?”

  Lydia shook her head and poured. “You deserve to be happy.”

  “Once again, I could say the same about you.”

  As her mom placed a cup of tea in front of her, Harper glimpsed vulnerability in her dart-away gaze. “I will talk to your father.”

  “Good.” Harper took a sip of tea and sighed. Nobody brewed like her mom, and she could thank Lydia for her tea addiction over coffee. “Have you thought any more about opening your own salon like we discussed?”

  “That’s one of the things I want to talk about with your father.” Her mom’s gaze drifted to the dining room and the many gift baskets on the table. “I know you won’t understand this because you’re too young, but when you live with someone for over three decades you become complacent. You get taken for granted. The resentment builds until one day you can’t take it anymore.”

  “Is that what happened between you and Dad?”

  “It’s more complicated than that.” Lydia gave a little shake of her head as if waking up from her musings. “Anyway, enough about me. Let’s get back to this doctor of yours.”

  “He’s not mine,” Harper said, while a small part of her wished he was.

  40

  Being chief of ER had its perks, but picking up the slack when Manny’s best doc called in sick wasn’t one of them. He’d worked back-to-back shifts the last two days, snatching sleep in the break room when he could. He hadn’t known whether to be relieved or annoyed he couldn’t contact Harper in that time. As for Izzy, he’d taken her at her word when she said the blood test results wouldn’t be in until today.

  The moment he set foot in his apartment, he shrugged off his jacket, dumped his satchel, and reached for his cell. He’d checked it occasionally during his rare breaks, hoping for a call or a text from Harper, but she’d remained frustratingly silent. Then again, what did he expect? They hadn’t made any promises to each other. They’d kept things casual. An “I’ll see you when I see you” type of arrangement. It didn’t stop him hoping she might’ve missed him enough to fire off a simple text.

  He toed off his shoes and headed for the modular couch that took pride of place in his apartment. He’d fallen asleep on it more times than he could count. Long hours at the hospital didn’t make for binge-watching the latest thriller series. He hit Izzy’s number and waited. She usually picked up on the third ring; it took nine. The concern he’d kept at bay ratcheted up. Did she have bad news and didn’t want to tell him?

  “Hello, Manish. How’s work?”

  “Crazy busy, but that’s not why I’m calling. Did you get your test results yet?”

  “No, there’s some delay at the lab, so it should be tomorrow or the next day.”

  “They couldn’t give you a definitive time frame?”

  In fairness, labs were overworked and all the demands in the world couldn’t hurry up results—he’d tried many times.

  “Manish, I’m of the philosophy that no news is good news, so why don’t you take a chill pill?”

  He barked out a laugh. “Where on earth did you hear that?”

  “Felicia said it on my favorite soap opera last night.”

  “Watching those things will addle your brain.”

  “At eighty-six, soap operas addling my brain is the least of my worries, considering advanced-age dementia will do that regardless.”

  “Stop being so wise.”

  “And stop being a worrywart. What will be will be.”

  Manny knew his gran, and behind her flippancy was a hint of inevitability, like she knew something was wrong and was expecting the worst. It made his gut twist.

  “You’ll call me as soon as you hear anything?”

  “Yes, yes.” She made a disparaging snorting sound that had him grinning. “So you’ve been busy at work?”

&
nbsp; “Manically so.”

  “No time to call that Harper then?”

  Worse luck. “For someone who doesn’t approve of her, you sure do like to harp on.”

  Izzy groaned. “Your puns are as woeful as they’ve always been.”

  “Love you too, Iz. I’m on duty again tomorrow, but call me anytime, okay?”

  She grunted her agreement and hung up, leaving him helpless. He hated feeling like this. It had been the same after his mom’s heart attack, when he couldn’t do a damn thing to save her. That old feeling of inadequacy was back, making him want to drive over to Izzy’s right now and demand she tell him what the hell was going on.

  But he had to trust her. She said she didn’t know anything, and he had to believe her. Besides, another day or two wasn’t that long.

  Resting his head on the back of the couch, he ran his fingers through his hair. Who was he kidding? Waiting to hear her test results would drive him insane.

  Unless he had a suitable distraction . . .

  He needed sleep, desperately, and the last thing he wanted was to treat Harper like a booty call. But losing himself in her beautiful body would take his mind off his worries . . .

  Before he could second-guess his decision, he picked up his cell again and called Harper. She answered on the second ring.

  “Hello, handsome.”

  His heart leaped irrationally at the sound of her voice. “I hope you’ve got caller ID on your phone and you know it’s me.”

  “Isn’t this Jock?”

  He growled. “Don’t you dare compare me to that asshole.”

  Harper laughed and it hit him in the chest. He loved how the sound of her laugh made him feel lighter instantly. He’d made the right decision in calling her.

  “So how’s my favorite doctor?”

  “Exhausted after back-to-back shifts the last forty-eight hours.”

  “Is that your way of apologizing for not calling me?”

  “You could’ve called me.”

  “I’m an old-fashioned gal and prefer the guy to do all the chasing.”

  “Babe, I don’t need to chase anymore. I know you’re a sure thing.”

  “I think you just insulted me.”

  “I complimented you.” Damn, he loved her quick wit. “What are you up to?”

  She hesitated, and he heard the faintest sound of traffic in the background. “I’m out, about to head home.”

  “Fancy some company?”

  He held his breath like a lovesick teen asking the girl he secretly adored to the prom.

  “Yeah, that’d be nice. But I live all the way out in Ashwood, and don’t you need to rest after working so hard?”

  “I can rest. Later.”

  “So this is a booty call, huh?”

  “Only if you want it to be.”

  He heard her soft sigh. “I want to see you. What happens after that? Let’s play it by ear.”

  Manny wanted to make light of it, to focus on the wordplay. But he wanted her to know how much it meant to him to see her, so he said, “I’ve been operating on autopilot the last two days, and I’m bone-deep tired, but I want to see you too. It’s all I can think about.”

  “I’ll text you my address,” she said, her tone husky. “See you soon.”

  When she hung up, he grinned like an idiot before dragging his tired ass to the shower.

  Soon couldn’t come quick enough.

  41

  Harper hated the vitiligo treatment.

  More to the point, the time suck it involved. The closest skin clinic that had one of the special phototherapy machines was thirty minutes away, so it was an hour return trip three times a week. And while the treatment itself didn’t take long—she’d built up to eighty seconds being zapped like a roast chicken—she hated the vulnerability of it all.

  Taking off her clothes. Wearing goggles to protect her eyes. Standing naked in the small cylindrical space while every inch of her body was blasted with high UV. She wasn’t a big fan of the warnings either, that long-term treatment increased the risk of skin cancer. But she had no option. Either get treatment or risk the patches extending. The dermatologist said she was progressing slower than he’d like but she could see the improvement. He’d taken photos pre-treatment and at regular intervals since. The patches were shrinking, but she’d prefer them gone. He’d warned her that might never happen and she may need to continue treatment for however long was necessary.

  She just wanted it to finish.

  Stupid, really, because having an autoimmune disease meant she’d have this for the rest of her life. But the treatment would decrease with time and with it, some of her resentment, she hoped.

  She loved her parents, she really did, but a small part of her would never get past how stress had probably triggered this and the timing coincided with their shock separation. Not that she’d ever tell them, but she knew her increasing annoyance with their situation stemmed a little from her resentment.

  It didn’t seem right to blame them; the dermatologist had assured her this kind of thing could be triggered at any time, and while stress was the most likely culprit, it could be caused by other stuff. But her life had been surprisingly angst-free fourteen months ago; she’d been in a stable relationship with Colin, she’d had a steady income from catering on the side while building her food-styling portfolio, and she’d been looking ahead to the future.

  The only rough spot had been her parents’ separation, so it stood to reason she blamed that as her stressor. She’d tell them eventually—not the part about blaming them, but about her disease. They’d been too self-absorbed since the separation to notice anything going on with her. Her dad wouldn’t notice anyway, and her mom had simply made a comment once about her makeup application being flawless.

  That’s the thing about good foundation and concealer. They hid a multitude of flaws.

  After having filled a script for the ointment she used on her face—it cost a small fortune, another not-so-fun part of the vitiligo—she’d headed for her car when her cell rang. When she’d seen Manny’s name on the screen, she’d contemplated not answering for a moment. Having treatment didn’t leave her in a great mood. But as it turned out, answering his call had been the best thing she could’ve done. There was something about Manny that never failed to bring a smile to her face, and the thought of spending some time with him would lift her spirits. She needed that lift.

  After spending the last few days updating her website and adding the Storr jobs to her portfolio, she hadn’t had a single call. Not that she’d expected instant success, but styling Jock McKell’s food should lend kudos to her site. If there hadn’t been a significant uptake in booked jobs by the end of the week, she’d have to go back to cold-calling, and she hated that. Nothing screamed “loser” like being told “thanks but no thanks” repeatedly.

  She texted Manny her address when she got home, and he responded with a “c u in 45.” It gave her time to have a speedy shower—she hated the smell of her skin after treatment, comparing it to slightly burned chicken—put her “mask” on, and do a quick tidy. Scooping clothes off the chair in her bedroom, flinging them into the closet, checking for stray bras, and finally lighting a ylang-ylang scented candle, serving a dual purpose of minimal lighting and making the room smell divine.

  For she was in little doubt they’d end up in the bedroom.

  Manny had sounded beat on the phone, so the fact he was willing to come over meant one thing.

  He wasn’t interested in talking.

  Neither was she. She always spent an hour or two after treatment trying to distract herself, either with a favorite rom-com or a new book, anything to take her mind off the relentless mundane visits to the clinic.

  Tonight, not talking and sex with Manny seemed like the perfect distraction solution.

  When her doorbell rang, ex
citement sizzled through her and she bounded to the door like an eager puppy. Opening the door, she had to use every ounce of willpower not to fling herself at him.

  He looked amazing.

  Despite the shadows under his eyes from little sleep and the stubble peppering his jaw, he looked like he’d stepped off set from one of those medical dramas she never liked but her mom watched obsessively. Dark denim molded legs she remembered in exquisite detail, an olive-green T-shirt highlighted his chest, and those slate-gray eyes glinted with intent.

  “I missed you,” he said, soft, seductive, and she was a goner. His sincerity slayed her. No game playing. No bullshit. Just a genuine declaration of how he was feeling. Could this guy be any more perfect?

  “Same here.”

  She opened the door wider and waited until he was inside before closing it and stepping into his arms. It was as simple as that. No words. Just a silent conveying of . . . something she daren’t label for fear of getting it wrong and ruining everything.

  The embrace reminded her of their parting at the airport. So much to say but neither wanted to take that final step to admit this thing between them may be more than a fling.

  “You have no idea how much I needed that,” he said, easing away to smile down at her. “It’s been a rough few days.”

  “Come in, have a seat. Have you eaten?”

  “You don’t need to feed me,” he said, a second before his stomach rumbled.

  Sheepish, he shrugged, and she led him by the hand to the couch. “Sit. Relax. I haven’t eaten either, and it’ll only take me two seconds to put a cheese platter together.”

  “Sounds good. Need a hand?”

  “I’ve got it.”

  “Good, because I’m so exhausted I couldn’t lift my ass off this couch if I tried.”

  She smiled and traced his cheek with a fingertip, incredibly pleased to be proven wrong. This wasn’t just a booty call for him. He’d genuinely wanted to see her, and it made her want to hug him again.

  “Be back in a sec.”

  She threw together some Brie, Camembert, cheddar, grapes, and quince paste on a platter and added a bowl of crackers, something to nibble on while they cozied up on the couch. A totally couple thing to do she hadn’t anticipated, but now that he was here she wanted to make the most of it.