Authors: Elise Marion
“I don’t intend to leave her side
for a second,” Lyle argued. “Besides, we’re not staying long. I just want to
show my face so that my mother and her country club friends will stop
discussing my mental health and emotional state over brunch.”
Lyle didn’t give Dan a chance to
answer. He slid from the car, ready to make his way up to Katrina’s apartment.
He was brought up short by a vision in turquoise and white standing on the
front steps.
“Katrina.” He swallowed noisily,
his eyes traveling over a silk, strapless top molded to her body like a second
skin. A flowing, white skirt with an asymmetrical hemline was split up one
side, showcasing one very shapely leg. A pair of strappy silver heels shimmered
on her feet. A white shawl with a colorful print was draped from her arms and
her curls were upswept, held in place by jeweled pins shaped like dragonflies,
a few stray curls falling into her face. One long strand curled against her
bare shoulder, kissing it much like he wanted to right then. Light makeup
enhanced and coral lipstick teased.
“Too much?” she asked with a
smile, parting her softly stained lips beautifully. “You said to dress up.”
Lyle shook his head, swallowing
again as he looked her over from head to toe again. “And so you did,” he
answered, holding his hand out to her. “You look beautiful. Although, you kind
of took the wind out of my sails. I was on my way up to retrieve you like a
proper date.”
She shrugged as he helped her
down the stairs and led her to the car. “I was too nervous to sit around
waiting.”
He patted her hand as he opened
the passenger door, deciding to take the backseat and let her sit up front with
Dan. “Nothing to be nervous about. You sing in front of a rowdy bar full of
drunk strangers several nights a week.”
“That is much different,” she
countered as he got into the back seat and Dan pulled off into traffic.
“She’s right,” Dan chimed in.
“These people will be just as drunk, yet somehow more condescending and judgmental.
Not to mention the botched nose jobs and Botox.”
“That’s enough out of you,” Lyle
said sternly, glaring at Dan in the rearview mirror. “I just want to make an
appearance. If you feel uncomfortable at any time, say the word and we’re gone.
Okay?”
Katrina relaxed against the seat
and fiddled with the fringe on her shawl. “I can do this. It’s not like I’ve
never schmoozed with rich people before.”
Lyle almost made a joke about her
rubbing elbows with the Goodfellas, but clamped his mouth shut at the last second.
The last thing he wanted to do was spill her secret to Dan. He made a mental
note to ask her where her protection was for the evening. He knew it couldn’t
have been easy to convince them to stay behind.
He made the rest of the ride in
silence, content to allow Dan and Katrina to make small talk. He was relieved
as well as uneasy when they arrived in front of his parents’ five story,
neoclassical townhouse. The beautiful white structure seemed to glow in the
moonlight, its windows blazing with yellow light that spilled out onto the
street.
Lyle pressed his hand
reassuringly to the small of Katrina’s back as they navigated the stone steps
leading up to the door. The sooner they entered, the faster he could get
Katrina to his penthouse and in the pool, he told himself. His skin tingled as
his mind conjured the image once again, and he could almost feel the slippery
slide of wet flesh beneath his fingertips. He clenched and flexed his fingers
several times and forced the image away, focusing on placing a look of affected
boredom on his face for his parents and anyone else they would encounter.
Yet, as one of the staff hired
for the evening swung the door open with a polite smile and waved them into the
vestibule, it was hard for him to maintain the façade. It was as if Katrina had
transformed and was suddenly at home standing on herringbone floors and beneath
a twelve-foot ceiling dripping with glowing crystal. The mahogany staircase
framed her in a lovely portrait enhanced by dark, polished wood, and the vibrancy
that she seemed to carry with her everywhere. He stood frozen in the doorway as
he watched her walk into a home he had always thought of as stark and cold, and
it suddenly seemed inviting. Dan nudged him into action, and he stepped
forward, taking her arm and snapping his gaping mouth shut.
They were led to the second floor
to the gallery, a room filled with his father’s art collection. It was where
his mother preferred to entertain for more intimate soirees. Heads turned and
murmurs rippled through the gathering of about thirty as their entrance was
noticed instantly. Katrina was like a vibrant, tropical bird amongst a flock of
drab, black and white penguins with her colorful ensemble and bright smile.
Lyle stood a bit straighter, a smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth, as he
noticed the stares of appreciation she received from the men and glares of envy
from the women. He was willing to bet Katrina’s attire was worth a quarter of
what some of their designer cocktail dresses cost, yet she outshone them all.
It made him proud.
“Lyle, darling!” His mother was
sweeping forward with his arms outstretched, a tight smile stretched across her
surgery-sculpted face. Her navy cocktail dress was understated yet rich, and
she held the slender stem of a champagne glass in one hand. “So glad that you
could make it. Oh, and you’ve brought Dan!”
Dan swept forward and took
Vivian’s outstretched hand and kissed it dramatically. “Vivian,” he murmured
with a charming grin. “Always a pleasure.”
“It’s a good thing you’re here,”
she said, leaning in with a conspiratorial whisper. “There are several eligible
bachelorettes I’d love to introduce you to.”
Dan’s grin widened. “Steer me
toward the blondes who’ve had one too many cocktails and have a propensity for
bad decision making.”
Vivian tittered, jabbing him with
her elbow playfully. “Oh, you!”
The two laughed together, and
Lyle rolled his eyes. His mother had always had a bit of a crush on Dan. Most
of the women in their circle did.
“Oh my,” Vivian mumbled as her
eyes fell on Katrina, standing silently at Lyle’s side. “Dan, you mustn’t
behave so badly in front of your date. Please, introduce me.”
Lyle’s jaw tightened as Dan
lowered his eyes uncomfortably. “Mother, this is Katrina Giordano. She is here
as
my
guest. Katrina, this is my mother, Vivian Cummings.”
Vivian blinked rapidly as if
surprised and pressed one hand to her bosom. Lyle resisted the urge to roll his
eyes and shoved his hand—which was now clenched into a fist—into
his pocket. “Welcome,” Vivian said as she stepped forward and extended her hand
to Katrina. Lyle didn’t miss the sharp, shrewd way she assessed her from head
to toe. Katrina took it all in stride, shaking Vivian’s hand and tilting her
head in an elegant nod.
“Nice to meet you,” she said with
a genuine smile. “Your home is so beautiful.”
Vivian preened like a peacock
under the compliment. “Thank you, darling. It was lovely to meet you, but you
must excuse me, lots of guests to greet, you know.”
Katrina nodded politely and
Vivian moved on, shooting Lyle a glance that meant she’d talk to him later
before disappearing back into the crowd. Lyle ignored her and went about trying
to find the wine. He had a feeling that Dan had been right, and they’d both
need large quantities of it before the night was over.
_________
KATRINA
SIPPED HER drink slowly, her eyes tracing the lines and planes of the sculpture
in the corner of the gallery. After mingling at Lyle’s side for over an hour,
she’d met so many people her head was spinning, and she could barely keep them
all straight. Dan had disappeared into the crowd shortly after she was
introduced to Vivian and was now chatting up a group of three women, who all
seemed to have fallen in love with him. She’d been nibbling on tiny hors
d’oeuvres and trying her best not to say or do anything to embarrass Lyle.
It had been some time since she’d
been to a party like this, and she was very acutely reminded now of why she’d
always hated them. All of these people with their false smiles and polite
facades irked her. What she wouldn’t give to be hanging out at a barbeque in
her sneakers with a beer in hand. But, that was her world. This was Lyle’s
world, and if she cared about him, she had to try her best to fit into it when
he asked her to.
A soft smile came over her face
as she thought of him while gazing at the very stunning sculpture. It was
abstract, but the curved lines and shapes struck her as two bodies passionately
intertwined. It was a profound piece and brought all sorts of erotic images to
mind. She cared about Lyle; she was willing and ready to admit that. Katrina
knew she was setting herself up for heartbreak when it could never last, but
she’d promised herself that she would enjoy the now and stop worrying about the
later. She didn’t even know how much longer she would live if the Pirellis kept
gunning for her the way they were. It was a morose thought, but it was the
truth.
“A stunning piece, don’t you
think?”
Katrina turned toward the
masculine voice at her side and found a man she recognized as Lyle’s father
standing beside her. She’d seen him from a distance, talking business just
beyond a set of French doors in a cigar smoke-filled sitting room. Now he was
beside her. He was the very image of his son with a few lines and wrinkles
around his eyes and mouth. Silver streaked the dark brown hair at his temples,
and his eyes sparkled shrewdly, the same color as his son’s. He was every bit
the intimidating, ruthless lawyer turned Supreme Court Justice Lyle had painted
him to be. Everything about him, like Vivian, screamed breeding, class, and old
money. He glanced down at her with a mixture of distaste and curiosity on his
face, as if staring at something he wasn’t sure he approved of just yet.
“I haven’t been able to stop
staring at it all night,” she admitted with a sheepish smile, hoping to break
the ice a bit. “Now that I’m close enough to really appreciate it, I’m afraid I
won’t be able to turn my back on it.”
“I know what you mean,” he said
with a nod—but not a smile in sight. “I bought this piece a few years
ago. The artist was up and coming at the time, a young man by the name of
Steven Rosling. He is quite in demand now, one of New York’s most talked-about
artists. I don’t suppose you know of his work?”
Katrina actually had heard of
Rosling and had even seen some of his work while wandering in a gallery, but
knew that the question was not one that required an answer. This man, like his
wife, wanted her to know that they could see through her politeness and nice
clothing. She was common, and they could smell her coming a mile away. She
merely squared her shoulders and stared up at him wordlessly.
“Katrina, right?” he asked,
folding his hands behind his back. She nodded. “We have yet to be introduced. I
am Weston Cummings, Lyle’s father.”
“I know who you are,” she said
coolly, turning her gaze back to the sculpture. “Even if I didn’t, you and Lyle
look too much alike for you to be anyone else.”
Weston nodded. “I am sure you
know that my son has recently broken off a very serious arrangement.”
Katrina winced inwardly at his
words.
An arrangement
. Was that how these people thought of love and
marriage? No wonder so many of them looked so unhappy. Katrina wondered if Lyle
had ever witnessed a couple truly in love while growing up. Despite their turbulent
lives, her parents had been crazy about each other, and she’d always known
that. Even after her mother left Victor, it had been obvious.
She nodded again. “Yes, I do.”
What else did he want her to say?
“Good. It would be a shame for
you to become too attached and end up hurt. Lovely girl like yourself wouldn’t
deserve that kind of pain. A man with that sort of baggage . . . well, it’s a
sticky situation, don’t you think?”
Oh, he’s good,
she thought wryly. The subtle warning was laced perfectly through his
tone along with a dash of frigid civility.
Point taken.
“Well, you know,” Katrina said
with a lazy shrug, as she raised her glass to her lips, “I’m really only in it
for the sex anyway.”
A strangled sound from Weston’s
throat was the only indication that she’d ruffled him. She smirked and turned
to face him, her confidence bolstered. She couldn’t resist twisting the knife
just a bit.
“I mean,” she continued when he
didn’t respond, “you would not believe how good that man is with his hands. Oh,
but it’s not all about the hands, you know, the man has stamina. Maybe it’s all
that heartbreak over the last woman that makes him rattle a headboard the way
he does, but when he gets going . . .” Katrina trailed off and pretended to be
embarrassed, lowering her eyes and giggling with just the right amount of
coyness. “Oh dear, I’ve said too much. Oh well, at least now you won’t have to
worry about me, Weston. I’m a big girl, and I think I can handle however things
pan out with me and Lyle’s . . .
arrangement
.”
With that, she swiveled on her
heels and turned her back to him, quickly putting as much distance between them
as possible. She drained her glass along the way, her cheeks flaming with
embarrassment and anger. Pissing off Lyle’s father probably hadn’t been the
best idea, but her temper had gotten the best of her. Not bothering to find a
member of the catering staff to take her glass, she simply dropped it down into
a potted plant in the corner and moved on, quickly ducking down a dimly lit
hallway. She breathed a sigh of relief at finding herself alone and leaned
against the wall, hoping to pull her thoughts together before finding Lyle.
Hopefully, she could convince him to get her the hell out of the house before
his mother caught wind of the incident in the gallery or, before she was
forcibly removed from the premises.
_____
Morgan Dyer was a very attractive
woman. Lyle was not blind; this was plainly obvious even for a man who wasn’t
looking to see it. Dark hair, porcelain skin, sharp yet delicate features and
cool blue eyes were all offset by a slender, athletic figure wrapped in
expensive silk. The CFO of Stanley & Baker Investment Firm, she was the
perfect image of the cool, confident professional woman; heels not too high,
understated jewelry, simple makeup, minimalist hairstyle. Her posture commanded
respect and her gaze said that she was not one to be trifled with. She was
powerful, smart, and she knew it. Lyle didn’t doubt she’d had to fight for most
of her career for respect and was now beyond that point. She commanded it,
plain and simple, and wouldn’t tolerate anything less. He admired that.
She was everything he had once
wanted in a woman, and in his younger years he’d have pursued someone like
Morgan relentlessly. He’d dated her type for years before meeting Holly, who
was nothing short of kind and sunny. She had been a departure from the norm for
him, and now with Katrina it seemed he was stepping further away from what he’d
thought he wanted, as well as what his parents still aspired for him.
His mother’s reasons for setting
up this meeting were obvious. Morgan was a professional, came from
money—he’d heard somewhere that she was a Harvard grad and heiress to a
sizeable fortune—was well connected, and best of all, eligible. Vivian
was matchmaking and could care less about Morgan’s charity project. That
project was the only reason he’d agreed to meet her; he was genuinely
interested in what she was pitching, and the fact that she happened to have a
nice pair of legs wasn’t swaying him. He’d already had an even more stunning
set of legs wrapped around his waist, and the memory made him anxious to get
back to her. Lyle hadn’t wanted to leave her alone, but he was counting on Dan
to run interference. Hopefully, this meeting wouldn’t take too long.
“Thank you for agreeing to meet
with me, Dr. Cummings,” Morgan said after they’d shaken hands. His mother had
closeted them in the study. Conveniently, the fireplace was lit, lending an air
of intimacy to the paneled room. Lyle sat down in a wingback chair near the
window after she’d settled into the matching one close to it. “I do not
normally mix business with pleasure, but when your mother agreed to arrange an
introduction, I jumped at the chance. I have heard a lot of wonderful things
about you, Lyle, and I believe that you could be a great asset for Healing
Hands International.”
Lyles’ eyebrows shot up. He had a
hard time believing that a woman who’d graduated at the top of her class and
climbed the corporate ladder twice as fast as any man in her field would ever
know anything about him. Here with him was a woman who’d been touted by many
financial magazines and journals as a financial genius, her shrewd business
sense having made Stanley & Baker what it was today.
“I’m flattered,” he said. “I’ll
admit I’m not very familiar with Healing Hands. My mother didn’t exactly give
me a lot of details.”
Morgan nodded, her posture ramrod
straight as if she’d been made to sit in the uncomfortable straight-backed
chair. Lyle shifted a bit and crossed his legs. “Allow me to give you the
basics for now. I have some material with me that you can take home and read
over, and of course I will give you my card so that you can contact me when
you’ve reached a decision. First, I want to start by saying that Healing Hands
is a very personal project for me, one that I’ve invested a lot of time and
money into. My father was a surgeon, and he was very passionate about his pro
bono work. Medicine is a business, Dr. Cummings, but he never saw it that way.
He was always looking for a way to give back to those in need. He worked with a
team of anesthetists, scrub nurses, and others who were willing to donate their
time free of charge to those who needed it most.”
“Sounds like a very honorable
man,” Lyle said. Morgan’s lips shifted a bit into what he assumed was a smile
for her. It did nothing to warm her cold features.
“He was,” she said simply before
moving on. “I began the Healing Hands initiative because I want to offer what
he was willing to give to as many people as possible, specifically those in
areas of the world where medicine has not advanced as far as it has here. Let’s
face it, Doctor, we are very privileged in our country. Most congenital birth
defects are caught before babies are even born, and some are even preventable
before birth. Those defects that aren’t preventable are caught early and cured,
and many of those sick babies go on to lead perfectly healthy lives. I want to
offer that chance to other, equally deserving children in impoverished
countries.”
Lyle frowned. “Forgive me for
saying so, but it seems that what you need is a team of pediatric specialists.”
Morgan folded her hands in her
lap. “On the contrary, Doctor. I am in need of several teams of highly
qualified surgeons in all areas of expertise. Plastic surgeons to fix cleft
palettes, General surgeons to operate on hernias and a host of other defects,
and of course, Cardiothoracic surgeons to operate on patients of all kinds with
congenital heart defects. The list goes on. I hope to open several Healing
Hands medical centers in Haiti, Africa, South America, and several other
countries around the world, keeping them staffed by a rotating group of
volunteers willing to donate their time and knowledge to the cause.”
Lyle’s stomach clenched with
excitement and his blood sang at the idea. It was brilliant, and a medical
charity was something he had always wanted to take part in. He’d been so busy
working to get published, make a name for himself with innovative procedures,
and settle down with a wife and start a family, he hadn’t thought about it
seriously in quite some time. It had seemed like a foolish dream, one his
father would never approve of. Taking time off to work in an impoverished
country for no money would earn him no respect from Weston.
“I know that it is a lot to ask,”
Morgan continued. “We are asking for at least one year’s commitment. More, if
you are willing. You are one of the most innovative and hard-working surgeons
in your field, Doctor, and I knew when your name came across my desk you’d be
the right man for the job. Of course, you would have your pick of staff to work
under you and full control of the Cardiothoracic department of whichever
Healing Hands medical center we assign you to.”
“Wow,” Lyle said, blinking
several times as he took it all in. “You’ve given me a lot to consider,” he
said, his mind racing with the possibilities. He’d never given an idea like
this much time to brew in his mind. He’d never allowed it to take root and
blossom before, but now it had him excited.
Why not
? He asked himself.
Who was to say that he couldn’t do it? It was the offer of a lifetime; not one
that promised financial gain, but one that could fulfill him in ways marriage
to Holly, or being published in prestigious medical journals, or being
recognized for his work in mitral annuloplasty and coronary bypass grafting
could not.