The Groom (21 page)

“Don’t say it,” she cried,
flinching as the exertion caused more pain in her chest. “Please, I can’t stand
to hear you say it now. Don’t make this harder than it has to be.”

Lyle snorted, shaking his head in
disbelief. “I don’t think this could be any more difficult. You’re not doing
this because you’re afraid for my life. Don’t lie to me, and don’t lie to
yourself. You want to punish yourself for what you think you’ve done.”

He was only partly right, but
Katrina would be damned if she let him know that. The fact still remained that
while he was anywhere near her, he was in danger.

“I’m tired,” she said, turning
her head and closing her eyes. “I think you should just go.”

Silence stretched between them
for several minutes and for a while she began to fear he wouldn’t leave. The
longer he stayed, the harder it became for her to avoid looking at him, to tune
out the frantic pounding of her heart as she realized what she was about to do.
Lyle wouldn’t take no for an answer, which meant she was going to have to take
drastic measures to save him from himself. As much as he cared about her, and
as good as it made her feel, she refused to let him die because of it. She
breathed a sigh of relief when he finally spoke again.

“Fine.” His voice was clipped and
strained but also riddled with fatigue. “I’ll go for now because I know you
need your rest after surgery. But this isn’t over,” he warned. “Do you hear me,
Kat? I’m not giving up on you, so you can just stop trying to push me away. I
won’t let you.”

With that, he was gone, and
Katrina allowed the grief she felt to overtake her. She grabbed a spare pillow
and buried her face in it as she sobbed, not caring about the searing pain in
her chest any longer. It was nothing on the pain her soul felt at what she was
about to do. Lyle meant every word he’d said, she knew this. He would never let
her go. So she would have to be the one to walk away. Just now, she knew she
didn’t have the strength, so she would call on the one person who would make it
happen. Once she set this in motion, there would be no backing out. No matter
how much she might want to.

Swiping at the tears staining her
cheeks, Katrina pressed the call button for a nurse. When she appeared, Katrina
was slightly more composed outwardly.

“Are you all right?” the nurse
asked. “Are you in pain?”

“Yes,” Katrina admitted. “But no
more Morphine, please. I just paged you because I need a favor. Are there a
couple of Italian gentlemen hanging out in the hallway?”

The nurse shifted uncomfortably,
and Katrina knew that Victor had been keeping tabs on her. It was to be
expected after all that had gone down.

The nurse nodded. “They’ve been
here since you came out of surgery and they rotate in shifts. The staff here
has a running bet on who’s in this room to warrant such heavy security. You
must be pretty important to someone.”

“I’m nobody,” Katrina answered
with a shrug. “Nobody important anyway. Can you send them in, please?”

The nurse nodded, backing toward
the door. “Right away.”

When the two hulking figures in
black—one of whom was Lucca—appeared in the doorway, Katrina sat up
a bit straighter in bed.

“Call Victor,” she said, her
voice steady for the first time since she’d awakened. “Tell him I’m ready.”

_____

Lyle paced his office like a
caged lion three days later; sweat breaking out along his brow as his mind
raced.

“Who approved the discharge?”

“Dr. Ames.”

Lyle cursed under his breath and
turned his glare on Dan, who stood flirting with a scrub nurse just beyond the
open blinds covering his office window.

“When did the ambulance take
her?”

Dr. Thomas eyed him warily and
Lyle was sure the young intern was wondering if he’d lost his mind. First his
freak out after Yolanda’s death and now this. “This morning, sir. Dr. Ames
signed the paperwork, and everything was in order.”

Lyle nodded but remained silent,
hands on his hips. After a while, Dr. Thomas seemed to take this as a dismissal
and disappeared. The door to his office hadn’t even swung closed when Dan appeared
on the other side of it, his grin wide as he seemed to be saving the nurse’s
phone number into his contacts. Lyle was on him in a matter of seconds. His
hands gripped Dan’s collar as he drew him into the room forcefully.

“Damn you, Dan, why would do something
like this without consulting me first?”

Dan shrugged out of Lyle’s hold,
his face schooled into a mask of calm as if he’d been expecting Lyle’s
outburst. “Because I knew you couldn’t make a rational decision about this.”

“I am the head of this goddamned
department,
Dr. Ames
! Everything that happens here—”

“Is
not
subject to your
approval when another attending surgeon makes the call!” Dan interjected, his
voice firm. Lyle deflated as he fell back into his chair behind the desk. He
was being an ass, and Dan was right. He didn’t need Lyle’s permission to
discharge a patient with good reason. “She wanted a transfer,” Dan said gently,
taking one of the chairs on the other side of his desk. “She told me you
wouldn’t let it happen if she asked you, and she made me promise not to say
anything until she was gone. What was I supposed to do?”

“You’re my friend,” Lyle argued
lamely. “You should have told me anyway.”

Dan sighed. “Patient
confidentiality, Lyle. We might be friends, and she might have been your girlfriend,
but my oath comes first, the hospital comes first, my job comes first. You’re
letting this whole situation cloud your judgment.”

“She isn’t just my girlfriend,
Dan. She’s . . . she’s everything.”

“And she doesn’t want you
anymore, Lyle. You have to let her go.”

Lyle’s fist crashed down on the
desk. “It’s not that simple,” he said, his teeth grinding together in anger.
“She feels guilty about what happened, she thinks it’s all her fault, and she’s
doing this out of some misguided notion of protecting me.”

“It’s not her fault,” Dan agreed,
“but she does have a point.” He leaned in, his voice lowered to a hissing
whisper. “You
killed
someone with an epi pen for God’s sake!”

Lyle’s mouth formed a thin line.
“I did it for her, and I’d do it again.”

“Listen to yourself! You don’t
even sound like yourself. Honestly, you haven’t since you met Katrina.”

“I thought you liked her.”

Dan sighed, pinching the bridge
of his nose tightly. “I do like her. I’m crazy about her, just like everyone
else is, and you know that. But, loving someone isn’t enough.” His voice
lowered on that last bit as if afraid his words would hurt but knowing he had
to say them nonetheless. “Sometimes, it’s just not the right time. The
circumstances won’t allow it. Can you imagine how hard it has to be for her,
knowing that you’ve had a gun to your head because of who she is? Would you
really put her through that again? Being selfish? Because you want her and you
won’t take no for an answer?”

Lyle shook his head, even though
he knew that Dan was right. Katrina had done what he had been unable to do.
She’d let him go.

“It hurts,” he said, lowering his
head to the desk. “I thought watching Holly walk out on me was hard. That stung
my pride more than anything else. This . . . this is something I don’t know how
to handle.”

“Go home,” Dan said. “Get
yourself together. Take the weekend, I’ll cover your surgeries and handle your
residents. Play a round or two of golf, have a few drinks, go swimming in your
pool, and hit a punching bag as many times as it takes to get this out of your
system. It’s over, Lyle. There’s no more fighting to do. All you can do now is
move on. Starting now.”

Dan stood and exited the office,
leaving Lyle staring blankly after him.

Was it really so hopeless? Did
Katrina’s leaving him really spell the end of it all? It seemed like there
should be more than this. At least, that’s what all those romantic types had
always led him to believe. When Jack had stolen Holly from him at their almost
wedding, he’d led Lyle to believe that these kinds of things worked out for
people who believed and wanted it bad enough. Jack had wanted Holly badly
enough to risk it all, and he’d won. Lyle had done the same for Katrina and
still came out the loser in the end.

It just didn’t make any sense.

_________

Six weeks later . . .

“IT DOES
MY heart good to know you’ve finally come to your senses, cara mia.”

Katrina avoided Victor’s gaze,
her eyes tracing the floral pattern of the wallpaper coating the room around
her. The French doors to the balcony of the room she’d been recovering in were
thrown open, allowing in the cool air that smelled of summer-turned-autumn.
September was approaching and, with it, her trip to Venice.

After Victor arrived at the
hospital, they’d arranged her transfer to another facility; one that Katrina
knew for a fact was run by an associate. Once she was approved for an actual
discharge, she was transported to Victor’s three-story penthouse atop one of
Manhattan’s most exclusive luxury towers. There, she’d been catered to in grand
style as she recovered and rested up for her trip.

She had decided not to fight it
anymore. She was Victor’s daughter, and as much as she’d tried to run from it,
there was no escape. It had followed her and trickled over into the new life
she’d tried to make.

There were no more tears to be
shed. Every ounce of grief had been poured out several times over. Grief for
Alessandro—whose funeral she’d been unable to attend—grief for
Lyle, grief for herself. She was done mourning, and a pragmatic sense of peace
about the whole situation had come over her. In Venice with her Nona, she would
be safe, and, more importantly, she would be out of Lyle’s reach.

He’d tried to find her, to
contact her for the first few weeks after she’d left Mount Sinai. His voice
messages had gone from pleading to angry rants in which he accused her of
selfishness. Then they’d stopped altogether. Angie texted her pictures of
bouquets he’d had delivered to Parson’s in the hopes that they would reach her.
After a while Katrina begged her to stop. She couldn’t stand to know that Lyle
was out there, still hoping she would change her mind. She couldn’t stand to
let herself want to go running back to him. It was why she wouldn’t see him
again, not even one last time before she boarded her flight for Venice. She
couldn’t be certain that one look into his eyes wouldn’t change her mind, and
she was determined to go.

“No more,” she whispered as she
turned to finally look at him, the man who had sired her. “No more death. I’m
tired, Victor. I just want to get away.”

Victor sighed and nodded, his age
beginning to show in the deep lines around his eyes and mouth. “I know, cara, I
know. Everything has been arranged. Your Nona cannot wait to spend time with
you in Italy. I am sending you with as much money as you will need for a very
long time. Eat, shop, drink . . . do whatever makes you happy. I just want you
safe.”

Katrina choked back a sarcastic
laugh. Safe? Sure, she’d be safe. Happiness, though . . . that was another
thing altogether. On her first day out of rehab, she’d promised herself that
she would never live another day in misery, that she would live each day in the
pursuit of happiness without relying on the vices that had once controlled her
life. Now, she looked back on that person who’d emerged fresh-faced from
treatment and saw her as a fool. There was no happiness to be found in her
life, and even when there was, it could hardly be held onto before it was
ripped away again.

“I’m tired,” she said with a
forced yawn.

Victor stood and nodded in
understanding. “Of course, forgive me for being so thoughtless, cara. Rest
well.”

The moment she was alone, she
lifted her cell phone from its place on the nightstand and dialed Angie.

“Hey!” Angie said on the other
end, the soft buzz of activity muffled behind her voice. Parson’s would be
opening for the night, and the first of the evening crowd would be just
trickling in. “I was just about to call you.”

Katrina frowned. “Really? Why?”

“I got a phone call the other day
from someone looking for a singer. She said she’d heard of you through a friend
and wanted to book you for some kind of charity ball thing. I told her you were
recovering from surgery and weren’t working right now but that I’d check with
you to make sure you didn’t want to do it. She says it’s for a good cause, and
it sounds like it pays well.”

Katrina sighed. It was on the tip
of her tongue to turn the gig down. She knew it made sense to lay low until her
trip to Venice, but she hadn’t sung in weeks and she missed it. Now that her
strength was returning, she was itching to perform, to do the one thing that
brought her happiness and never let her down. One last gig, she decided, one
last performance and then she was done. It would be her good-bye to New York.
She reached for the pad and paper on the nightstand.

“Did she leave a number?”

“Sure did,” Angie said before
rattling off the digits. “She’ll be happy to hear from you. Her name is Morgan
Dyer.”

_____

The preparations for his trip to
South America had progressed at lightning speed. One week. That’s how much
longer he had before he set off to begin his one-year stint as part of the
Healing Hands project. Lyle could hardly wait to put the city behind him
because everywhere he went, Katrina haunted him. Even the tiniest things
reminded him of her. The hot dog stand they liked to eat at near Central Park,
Ki Sushi, the Bow Bridge, even his parents’ townhouse where he’d watched her
put their stuck-up friends to shame with her beauty. Then there was his
apartment. There wasn’t a single corner of it that hadn’t been invaded by her
light and warmth, and now he could hardly stand to be there.

He’d gone about choosing his
staff for the project like a madman, choosing files and booking interviews back
to back until he’d assembled the team he wanted. He sped through Morgan’s
checklist of things to do before he could leave the country, even getting all
of the required immunizations as close together as was allowed. Everything was
arranged, including finding a couple to sublet his penthouse while he was away.
Twila came along with the arrangement, and would work for the couple—on
Lyle’s dime—until he got back. He couldn’t bear to possibly lose her too.
Now, he could leave with the knowledge that at least one person who loved him
would be waiting when he came back.

If he even decided to come back.

There really was nothing else to
come back to, and Lyle had enough money in his savings to add to his trust fund
to live off for a very long time. He could spend years working with the Healing
Hands project without looking back. The prospect was promising, something he
clung to fiercely, as there was nothing else. More than anything, he hoped that
this decision would bring him some sense of peace and purpose, even if it did
not completely fill the other voids gaping open in his life.

He stood now, dressed in tux and
tie at a celebration dinner to kick off the start of the Healing Hands project.
Five facilities were opening back to back, including his, the first of many to
be launched across the world. He was leaving much earlier than previously
planned to assist in the setup of his facility. Morgan Dyer’s charity project
was a smashing success, and she’d wasted no time putting together an event to
celebrate it. He’d invited Dan to attend with him, declining the offer of his
mother to find a suitable woman for him to escort. He refused to pass the night
making small talk with some investment banker’s daughter.

He’d been at the event for a
little over an hour and so far, speeches had been made, Morgan had been praised
for her kind heart and charitable nature, and dinner had been served.
Entertainment and dancing had been promised, but Lyle was more than ready to go
home.

“Hey, I’m going to get out of
here,” he said to Dan as he found him in the corner of the room, chatting up a
waitress in black slacks and vest. The waitress seemed to have forgotten the
tray of champagne she was supposed to be serving as she blushed and batted her
eyelashes at Dan. “You coming, or are you catching a cab home?”

“Excuse me,” Dan said to the
waitress. “I’ll find you later. Conversation to be continued.”

Lyle rolled his eyes as the
waitress sauntered off, drink tray once again balanced on her shoulder. Dan
grasped his shoulder and steered him toward the bar, where stronger drinks were
being poured. “Come on,” Dan urged, flagging down the bartender. “Why don’t you
hang around a bit longer? I hear the entertainment’s supposed to be good.”

Lyle shrugged. “I’m sure it is,
but I’m sick of making nice with a bunch of people I don’t too much like.
Besides, I’m not done packing yet.”

Dan scoffed, rolling his eyes
before ordering two drinks. “I happen to know Twila finished packing your stuff
days ago. Lighten up man, this is a party.”

A retort died on his lips as the
six-piece jazz band struck up their instruments on the low stage in the corner
of the room. The dance floor filled as a seductive Jazz rhythm flowed out over
the room. But, it wasn’t the band that had his attention. It was the singer, a
tall Amazon wrapped in a long, black dress that caught his eye. Her voice
worked its way up his spine and clenched his heart, squeezing it painfully,
cruelly. She swayed in front of a microphone stand, her hair swept up on top of
her head in an elegant twist, diamonds glittering in her earlobes. Her lips
were painted a daring red, causing his eyes to zero in there as she belted the
lyrics to “Fever,” her fingers snapping near her hip in time to the music.

Lyle turned to find Dan had
disappeared into the crowd, leaving him alone with his drink still sitting on
the bar. He swallowed past the fist-sized lump in his throat before taking a
sip. His insides lit on fire, but he knew it wasn’t because of the Scotch. It
was that damned voice, reaching down into his soul, those sultry eyes rimmed in
dark eyeliner as they surveyed the room, working the crowd in the way she
always did. It was that damned body, hips swaying, breasts thrust high in a
gown perfectly molded to her figure. It was the sight of her, here, now, after
he’d been starving for just a glimpse of her for so long. It was powerful and
overwhelming, hitting him like a well-timed fist to the gut.

You give me fever, when you
kiss me

Fever when you hold me tight

She purred the lyrics and they
caressed his insides. Her breathless whispers on some of the notes sent blood
rushing through his body and straight to his groin, lighting his skin on fire
as he flexed his fingers around the glass and chugged, hoping to douse the
flames licking at his insides.

Fever, ’til you sizzle

What a lovely way to burn

It wasn’t, it really wasn’t. It
was hell, this burning, the wanting of something that was so close to him yet
so far away. He circled the room, jerking at the collar of his shirt as he
watched her, listened to her, captivated by her the way he always had been and
always would be. Time was supposed to heal all wounds, and he’d thought that he
was healing. Now, each wound was fresh, torn open, and he found that time had
done nothing to heal him. Time had caused him to want her even more.

She sang her heart out and he
knew it was her first time since the shooting. He could feel her happiness; it
coated the air around him and only added to his misery. How could she be so
happy when he was so miserable? How could she smile and sing of love and starlit
skies when all he could think of was snatching her off that stage, throwing her
over his shoulder, and disappearing into the night.

Song after song, she held him
captive when he told himself he would leave. Song after song, he told himself
he hated her for what she’d done to him when he knew that the opposite was
true. And when she finally finished her set, telling the crowd that she was
taking a break and would return in half an hour, he stalked her, his body
gravitating toward hers of its own accord. When she disappeared behind the
curtain, he was right behind her.

_____

Katrina heard the footsteps
behind her a second too late. Before she could pick up the hem of her dress and
run from the ominous sound of dress shoes clicking toward her, someone had overtaken
her. She squealed, her heart pounding in fear as rough hands grasped her arms,
spinning her around to face her pursuer. The scream died on her lips, but the
pounding of her heart actually increased. Fear became horror as she stared into
a pair of hazel eyes, shooting sparks of gold at her through green flames. His
name was on her lips, but she could say nothing as he stood looking at her, his
eyes raking over her from head to toe.

She’d taken pains with her
ensemble for the night, hoping to portray the elegance that the evening
required. She hardly ever dressed in such subdued tones, but found herself
proud of the way she looked in the figure-hugging, strapless gown as Lyle’s
eyes caressed her curves with appreciation.

Then, his gaze met hers again and
she melted, her lips parting on a moan of surrender as he pulled her against
his body. His lips crashed down over hers without preamble and heat surged
between them, arcing and enveloping them both as he propelled her up against a
darkly shadowed wall. His hands on her body were rough, brutal, punishing, as
well as pleasuring as he drank from her mouth like a starving man.