He sipped his wine and looked at me over the glass. “We do all right.”

“All right? Look at this place!” I waved my hands around the ornate, mostly mahogany, mostly gold-leaf-decorated room.

Neal laughed. “I inherited Forsyth Manor, Pauline.”

A house with a name. I loved that! “Oh. Well, I’m sure you and Doc Cook do pretty well. I’ve seen the results, and now Goldie will benefit too.”

“Glad he’s doing so well.” He leaned over and took one of the hundreds of forks from near his plate and started on his salad.

Not wanting to appear “country hick,” I did the same and decided I’d had enough of the flora arrangement for one night. “But,” I said, swallowing, “I have seen some women there who look as if they are…repeat customers.” I’d almost used Ian’s “frequent flier” term.

Neal paused his fork midair. “Yes, there are some.”

Oh boy, I needed him to expound on that, but suddenly the salad was more interesting to him than my conversation as I watched him poke around the arugala. Okay, the tiny grape tomatoes, fresh buffalo mozzarella and red peppers were delicious, but that wouldn’t get me anywhere.

I set my fork down for a minute. “I can’t imagine having so much work done. I mean, I think I’d get therapy before I allowed the ‘Michael Jackson’ syndrome to run my life.” I chuckled.

Neal ate his forkful and smiled. “People are strange sometimes, Pauline. Especially when it comes to appearance.”

“Oh, no doubt. But do you ever refuse to operate on someone?” Going for the gold, I thought. No time to waste.

Neal set his fork down too. “Odd dinner conversation.”

Damn! Did he suspect me of snooping? Did he think I was trying to get a freebie nose job? Or did he think I was plain nuts?

“Then again, with two medical folks, I guess it’s really expected.” He laughed.

Phew again.

“Yeah. I’ve heard conversations during surgery. You guys. I mean, sometimes they border on risqué!”

“We have to do something to keep our minds occupied.” He laughed and took his fork again.

While he ate, I said, “So, do you? Refuse some patients I mean?”

“Sure. Some of them become obsessed. Ever hear of BDD?”

“You mean that is a real disorder? I saw a show on it once on TV.”

Neal told me everything I already knew about BDD, some about what I didn’t know and then some about the practice. “So, sometimes I think of quitting when Dr. Cook gives in to those damn patients who need therapy more than plastic surgery.”

Neal’s eyes darkened. His hand shook as he set down his fork. Yikes. Not a good sign in a surgeon. But at least he was honest about not wanting to work with a crook. Well, he didn’t out and out call Dr. Cook that, but I knew that was what he meant.

Progress in Newport tonight!

Pierre came in with a tray of lobsters all stuffed with what I guessed was plenty more shellfish like clams, scallops and shrimp. The maid carrying a dish of something that smelled heavenly followed him. Yum. I could live like this, I told myself.

I glanced over to see Neal thanking the servants. It impressed me how he treated them so well and not in any condescending way. Neal was the catch of the day. I wondered why he wasn’t already caught, filleted, and married.

“Have you ever been married, Neal?” Okay, pressed for time, I was getting more brazen.

He looked up from his lobster. “Once. Long time ago. You?”

Eeks. That didn’t sound amicable. “Nope. Never. Well not yet.” I stuffed my mouth with stuffing.

He laughed. “Good for you. Wait for Mr. Jagger.”

Did he say Jagger?

“Excuse me?”

“I said Mr. Right. You know, your soul mate.”

“Oh, yeah. Soul…mate.” Jagger? Ha!

What the hell? I pushed that stupid thought from my head, took a slice of French bread, dipped it in the drawn butter and shoved it into my mouth despite a trillion calories dripping off the end. Jagger indeed. “Yeah, I’ll do that.”

“I don’t think I can move, Neal. I ate way too much. It was all so wonderful,” I said to the servants as they hustled about cleaning up. “Thank you, guys.”

Neal chuckled. “Let’s have an after dinner drink in the library.”

That sounded oh so very Newport chic.

I forced myself up, and before I got my chair moved, Neal was at my back, holding onto me and guiding me to the doorway. Yeah, Pauline Sokol could learn to live like this.

Once in the library, Neal poured us two glasses of some syrupy kind of liquid. I didn’t even want to know what it was. After all the wine, I was already feeling way too happy.

He handed it to me; I sipped, took another and thought it was better than a hot fudge sundae. When I went to drink again, he touched my hand. “Easy does it. That stuff is pretty powerful.”

Then I could have my way with you, I thought.

Pauline Sokol is a lush, I thought as I sipped the last drop of the fabulous after dinner drink Neal had poured me. I wanted to ask for seconds, but when the more than likely solid gold clock on the mantel chimed then started to wobble, I figured I’d had enough alcohol for the night.

Neal sat next to me observing. No doubt he thought I was snookered too. I took in a very deep breath, blowing it out slowly and hoping the alcohol would dissipate with every respiration. I really wasn’t fall-down drunk, but merely feeling very good-and my tongue loosened with every word.

“How did you know where I was staying?” flew out of my mouth on one of those exhalations.

At first Neal looked puzzled. His forehead wrinkled.

How adorable. “I remember you mentioning that I was at the lodge. Funny that just popped into my head.” I waved my hand and hoped it looked genuine. “No need to answer.”

“Ian…Ian had mentioned it when I’d asked how I could get in touch with you.”

“You wanted to ask me out?”

Neal smiled. “In all honesty, Pauline, what I meant was that if I needed to get in touch with you about Mr. Perlman.”

Gulp. “Is my face red or what?” I tried to sink down into the expensive leather-this one burgundy-couch. No such luck.

“In all honesty again, I did want to ask you out too.” He leaned near and touched my face.

“Careful. You could get third-degree burns by touching my skin.”

He laughed, pulled me closer and whispered, “I love your wit. You make life seem so wonderful as you spread your charm.”

Yikes. I took his face into my hands and planted a kiss smack on his lips-and what he returned with was not just a thank-you.

My insides had been toasty warm from the liquor, but with Neal so near, inhaling his expensive, I’m sure, cologne and his arms pulling me closer until I felt his heart beat against mine, I was damn hot.

He trailed his kisses along my cheek, hitting spots that jolted pleasure as he made his way down my neck.

I sighed.

He moaned.

Before I knew it, we were on the Aubusson carpet, Neal’s chest was against mine and the buttery leather soothed my back as he eased me down-all the while kissing every part of me. With one swift movement he had the room darkened to a sensual dim. Sometimes, when he moved, I could barely see him…but always felt him near.

Thoughts of fraud, liquor and…Jagger suddenly became a fog of gray in my mind. Nothing like the present, I thought as Neal’s lips caressed mine. I arched back and sighed.

“Will Pierre come in?” I whispered as I ran my fingers through Neal’s hair. I wasn’t used to sex in a servant-run mansion.

In all honesty, I wasn’t used to sex-period.

Neal chuckled, tickling my skin. “Don’t worry. Pierre is the height of tact.” Light kisses that he worked up my cheeks then down to the base of my neck felt fabulous.

We came face-to-face; he kissed my lips then moved near my ear. As he nibbled and kissed me into Nirvana, I felt his warm breath and heard his soft breathing, which made the idea of lovemaking all the more intense. Even his eyebrows, tickling my skin like tiny butterflies, had me nearly unable to move.