Save the Date (19 page)

“Enough!” She jerked the cord on the blinds, only to have the blinds come crashing down, smashing her tea glass beneath it. “Great,” she mumbled. “Just great.”

Using a magazine, Lucy swept up what glass she could. Some how, some way—this was all Alex’s fault.

Lucy sat down on the arm of the couch and the water immediately soaked into her pants, but she no longer cared.

She had to get out of this house before she started to mildew. There was plenty of work to be done at Saving Grace, like finalize their Fourth of July party and call Marinell’s counselor. She’d even scrub some toilets with her own toothbrush just to stay away from home.

Her shoe crunched as she stepped away from the heap of blinds. Spying two more pieces of glass, Lucy bent down.

A telescopic lens pressed to the window, nearly jolting her out of her pink shoes. “Hey!”

A stinging pain registered, and Lucy looked down at her clutched hand. Opening her fingers, a piece of glass, no bigger than a bottle cap, dropped to the floor. Along with a few drops of blood.

“Uh-oh.” The ache barely registered.

But the blood—that completely captured her attention.

Chills skittered across her skin. Beads of sweat bubbled on clammy arms. “This is bad,” she heard herself say. “I gotta . . . I gotta sit down.”

She held up her hand. Watched the blood trickle down her wrist in a rapid path of red. Felt the earth sway.

And promptly passed out.

So maybe he had lost his temper. And there was a slight chance he had crossed a line with Lucy this morning. But he’d pledge his allegiance to the Cowboys before he’d turn into one of those men who drank soy lattés and talked about their feelings. Did she think it was mere coincidence that he had played for a team called the Warriors? Not a Colt. Not a cute little Dolphin. He was a
warrior
. And right now he was an angry one. He’d been trying to call her the last hour and she had the nerve to ignore him. All he got was the chipper voice-mail message that reminded him of laughing eyes and blush-tinted lips.

First he noticed the short, bald photographer slinking near Lucy’s magnolia tree. Then Alex caught sight of his partner digging through the trash can at the curb.

“I don’t think you’re going to find what you want in there.” Alex’s fists itched to speak for him as he stood behind the man sifting through coffee grounds and banana peels.

The prowler jerked upright, a gold anchor charm dangling off his shiny gold chain. “I—I was just, uh—”

“That trash can belongs to the elderly neighbors,” Alex said through clenched teeth. “If you’re that hard up for Depends and Super Polident, you’re not charging enough for your work.”

The loser didn’t even bother to explain. His tattooed fingers dropped the lid and he took off in a run, his buddy already gone.

It was one thing to target a political candidate, Alex thought as his loafers sliced through Lucy’s lawn, but it was another to go after her. Wasn’t it enough their picture appeared somewhere nearly every day? And while he appreciated the publicity, he didn’t want Lucy harmed in any way. He was used to living in the fishbowl. She, however, was not.

He pounded on the door. Waited. The resident assistant at Saving Grace had told Alex he’d find Lucy working at home, but there was no answer. The door handle turned easily in his hand, giving him his first niggle of concern. She always kept that door locked.

“Lucy?” He stepped inside, catching a whiff of the damp aroma.

Then he saw her.

Sitting up against her living room wall, her head lolled back with blood covering the side of her face.

“Lucy!” He dove to the floor beside her. “Where are you hurt?”
God, help me
. Rage warred with panic as he ran his hands over her body.

“My hand.” Her words slurred like she had chugged a six-pack on her way home. “I hate blood.” Lucy leaned forward until she was eye-to-eye. “Really grody.”

“Okay.” His heart slowed enough so that the logic could squeeze back in. She was all right. “Let’s see that hand.”

She turned her face and held it out. “First the floods came, then the sky fell.” Her weak giggle was not amusing him. “Broke my favorite tea glass. Got it at a flea market. Vintage Pizza Hut. Princess Leia.”

She tried to sit up, but Alex held her down with his other hand. “No way.” He inspected the cut, then tugged his tie loose, yanking it off his neck, and wrapping it tightly around her hand. “Where else are you hurt?”

“Nowhere.”

“You’ve got blood all over you.”

She squeezed her eyes shut. “A gentleman would stop reminding me.”

“Unfortunately there’s not one here.”

“I passed out for a bit.” Her skin was pale as paste. “I guess my hand flopped on my face. The carpet.” She glanced at the floor. “Not that it matters. Carpet’s ruined anyway. Stupid neighbors. I’ll
never
buy her Avon now.”

She practically had Tweety birds flapping around her head. “I think we need to get you to the hospital.”

“I’d rather not.”

“Too bad.”

Careful to avoid her hand, he scooped her into his arms. “You’re really a mess.”

“Don’t let me stain your Hugo Boss.”

“I hear that sarcasm.” And for some reason it made him feel better.

The sun shone like a spotlight as he carried her to his car. He saw another camera sticking out of a shrub across the street, but he didn’t have time to deal with it.

“I’m bleeding on your leather seat.”

“I’ll bill you.” Alex reached across and buckled her in.

“This is ridiculous.” She slapped at his too-close hands. “You probably use this ploy on all your cheerleaders.”

“Just the dance team.” He ran around to his side and climbed in. “Did you see some paps today?”

With her head pressed to the seat, she took an audible breath. “Saw one right at my window. That’s when I cut my hand.”

Alex wasn’t sure exactly what that meant, but he did know it was past time to put an end to her easy accessibility. Any half-brained moron with a camera thought he was a member of the press these days. He could’ve gotten in her apartment. He didn’t even want to think about the rest.

He couldn’t erase the image of Lucy sprawled out on the floor. Visions of his brother wove their way in. Had he suffered? Had there been blood? Had Will cried out for help? “You need bodyguards,” Alex said. “And a security system.”

“Don’t think just because you wrapped my hand in one very expensive Band-Aid you’ve earned the right to butt into my life. There will be no bodyguards
or
you telling me what I’m going to do.”

“Pretend we have that kind of relationship.”

“What kind?”

“The kind in which one of us makes smart decisions.”

He could almost see the steam coming out of her ears. She wasn’t as pearly white anymore. Wasn’t shaking.

But he still was.

“I am an independent person,
Playboy
.” The smart aleck had figured out he hated that moniker. “And I don’t take orders from you or anyone else.”

Not trusting himself to talk to her anymore, he picked up his phone and made a few calls. One to a doctor friend at the hospital to let him know they were on their way. A call to her friend Morgan, because he was tired of the woman looking at him like he was a serial killer every time she saw him. The last call was conducted in caveman grunts and simple yes–no answers, because if Lucy knew who was on the other end, she would smack him with that bleeding hand.

“This is stupid, Alex.”

“We’ll be at the hospital soon.”

She was still doing some weird Lamaze breathing thing, and guilt gnawed his belly. Not because of the cut. He knew it probably looked worse than it was. But because her property, her safe haven, had been violated. All because she was connected to him.

He ran his hand down the side of her hair. It was as soft as his favorite shirt. Especially the part not sticky with blood. “You must’ve bumped your head on the floor. You have a knot above your eyebrow.”

“Don’t worry.” Fatigue had her leaning against him. “I’ll only tell one tabloid you put it there.”

“Just make sure they give you top dollar for the exclusive.”

Fifteen minutes later he pulled into the parking lot, squealing his tires like he was driving his first car.

“I am not going in there.” She stared at the doors of the ER. “I’ve already dealt with one cranky politician, an obnoxious neighbor, and my apartment falling apart.”

He sighed as he got out and went to her side of the car. She was beautiful when she was mad. Platonic was how he aimed to keep this relationship, but only a fool would miss those fiery blue eyes, that dusting of freckles dotting her nose, and those pink kiss-me lips. “Lucy, here’s something you need to learn.” He picked her up like she was delicate enough to break and pressed her head to his shoulder—more for privacy from cameras than comfort. “I’m the man in this relationship. And your bossy ways are getting a little bit grating.” He smiled over her head, feeling a little better with each step. “If you don’t want me to stray, you’d better start satisfying me with sweet words and tender sighs.”

Princess Leia was full of honey. “Kiss it, Sinclair.”

“And have you pass out again?” He walked through the entrance. “We’ll take care of your outrageous demands later.”

Yes, his Lucy was going to be just fine.

Chapter Twenty

B
ack off—all of you.” Lucy swung her feet over the hospital bed and started to rise. “Fainting at the sight of blood is no cause for a private room. And what are you all doing here anyway?”

“You’re not going anywhere until the doctor dismisses you,” Alex said from his stance beside her.

“Just sit still and show a modicum of patience.” Clare ran her fingers over the brooch at her throat. “Though your father had a weak stomach when it came to blood as well.”

And wasn’t that just the last thing Lucy had wanted to hear? She had yet to figure out how Clare had gotten an invitation to this event, but she felt confident in blaming that one on Alex. Lucy looked to Morgan for support, but she just nodded in agreement with the other two.

“It was glass.” Lucy lifted up her hand. “A few stitches.”

“And a nasty lump on your head,” Alex said. His mood had darkened, and she didn’t know why. It wasn’t like
he
was the one getting sewn up and stared at.

“And I really don’t feel like company.” She would be talking to Alex about this later. And it would probably involve some high-pitched yelling.

Clare pressed her lips and looked to Alex. “It was only a matter of time before the press started hounding her.”

He only nodded, keeping his eyes leveled on Lucy.

A nurse stuck her head in the door. “Miss Wiltshire?” Lucy knew the second the young woman recognized Alex. It was an expression she was beginning to see with obnoxious regularity. “Um . . . oh. You look like Alex Sinclair. Er, I mean you are Alex Sinclair. That is to say . . .” She stared at Alex in a trance of celebrity adoration. “Paperwork. Almost done. Going home . . . soon.”

“Thank you.” Alex gave her the smile that dimpled his cheek and made girls like Nurse All-a-Flutter think of tight football uniforms and full-body tackles.

“Uh-huh.” The woman couldn’t seem to move.

“We appreciate all the help we’ve received here. Lucy’s lucky to be in your able care.” Alex held open the door and dismissed the woman using nothing but the brute strength of his charm.

He then turned to Lucy. Who sat with her arms crossed. “Women drooling over you—does it ever get old?”

“Now, babe.” He swaggered back to her side. “Don’t let a little local anesthetic go to your head.” He sat down beside her on the bed, making her acutely aware of how fresh and clean he smelled. And she was a walking advertisement for disinfectant and latex gloves. “I have to endure all those men in your little Hobbits group, so you can put up with the occasional hot nurse or two.” He picked up her good hand and ran his thumb across her skin. “But our love will see us through.”

“There are five men in the group, and half of them live with their mothers.”

He lifted one shoulder. “The jealousy still keeps me up at night.”

Morgan cleared her throat. “So how about Lucy stays with me?”

“Thanks, but I’ll be fine at home.”

“No way.” Alex dropped her hand and stood up. “Your place is a wreck and you’re not going back home until we get you a security system.”

“You can’t go back to your apartment alone right now,” Morgan said. “It’s wet and nasty, and there’re creepy men lurking around.”

“You’re coming to my house,” Alex said.

“No,” Lucy and Morgan said in perfect unison.

“It wouldn’t look good.” Clare raised a manicured brow. “Think of your image, Alex.”

“This isn’t 1950.”

“No,” she said to him. “But for a man whose campaign strategy file is labeled ‘damage control,’ why push it?” Clare turned calculating eyes to Lucy. “She can stay with me.”

Lucy would rather sleep in her car. “I’ll stay at Saving Grace.”

“Are you going to kick one of the girls out?” Morgan asked. “Because Marinell took your last bedroom.”