“Does it get you into trouble?”

“No, because most of the time, I do the consults. I even see the point of the consults. It slows me down. In medicine, to be too quick is often not good.”

“Are you always this rational?”

“Most of the time, yes.”

“That’s also like my dad. Rational.”

“Why do you sneer when you say that?”

I laughed. “I apologize. It is a compliment—even though I’m saying it like it was an insult. My dad is very rational. It makes him really good at what he does.”

Koby caught my eye. “And how is he as a father?”

“He’s … very caring. In general, I’d say we have a good relationship.”

“I enjoyed meeting him.”

Suave, I thought. The man was diplomatic. I said, “He was a bit miffed with me.”

“Why?”

“Because I didn’t tell him you were black.”

“The color of my skin is important to him?”

“No. I think he was just taken aback. On the positive side, he thought that you were a good guy.”

“That sounds promising. Unless you don’t like good guys.”

“No, I like good guys very much. I just haven’t done a very good job of choosing them in the past.”

Koby was quiet.

“You don’t know me,” I said.

“But isn’t that what dating is for?”

I looked at the flowerless rosebushes. “True.”

Koby studied his dust-coated hands. “So … this lack of good guys … Is there like an ex-husband in the picture?”

“No … thank God for that.”

“So you … you’ve never been married or …”

I studied his quizzical face. “No, I’ve never been married. No kids, either. I’m a free agent. What about you? Have you ever been married?”

He shook his head, but his eyes seemed rife with relief. “Cindy, there’s nothing wrong with experimenting, no? That is what youth is for. And it’s good that both of us have never been married. One less piece of baggage.”

“I’ve still got plenty to deal with.”

“Don’t we all.”

Abruptly, he took my face in his hands and kissed me hard. When I didn’t object, he kissed me again, this time long and slow, his teeth nibbling my lips, his tongue dancing against mine. It was a kiss filled with lust and desire, a kiss that was hot and vibrant. He wrapped his arms around my waist and pulled me into his body, his hands sweeping over my rear, his erection digging into my hip. I didn’t mean to do it, but the next thing I knew, I was stoking the engine, so to speak.

Not that it mattered, but the man was more than proportional.

Who the hell was I kidding?

It mattered.

He closed his eyes and moaned. “I am sweaty.”

“You smell like a man,” I told him. “That’s just fine with me.”

Eventually, he did shower. We both did … together … an act almost as intimate as the ones that preceded it. As he soaped my back, he kissed the nape of my neck, a sinewy arm snaking around me, his hand resting on my breast. I looked at his fingers, at his nutmeg-colored digits against my pale, freckled complexion, and for a moment, I fantasized about the progeny we’d produce—café au lait skin, with brown eyes and thick, thick hair. I always hated my complexion, and welcomed the thought of it changing in the next generation.