The Groom (6 page)

“Seriously,” Katrina muttered.
“Bleeding. To. Death.”

Katrina’s sarcasm was a welcome
distraction. He turned to lower her onto the couch, propping her head up onto
the arm of the couch.

“You said you lived in an
apartment,” she mumbled as he grasped her calves and stretched her legs out
across the couch. They were so long that her feet touched the edge of the other
arm of the sofa.

Lyle sat on the edge of the couch
beside her and removed the handkerchief. The bleeding had blessedly stopped.

“Welcome to my humble abode. Lie
still and relax while I go find my medical bag. We’ll get you fixed up in a jiffy.”

Lyle turned from the couch and
just barely caught Katrina’s mumbled, “Humble abode my ass.”

He turned and found himself face
to face with Holly, who was shifting uncomfortably from foot to foot and
seemingly unsure of what to do or say now that she was here. He cleared his
throat and glanced down at his loafers.

“Do you, um, know where my bag
is?” he asked, his face going hot with embarrassment. He knew his cheeks were
apple red.

“In the closet, behind your
winter jackets.”

He nodded, remembering now where
he’d stashed his bag of medical supplies. “Would you mind giving me a hand
since you’re here?”

“Of course. I’ll clean the
wound.”

“Great. You know where everything
is.”

He left the room quickly, as
sounds of Holly bustling around the kitchen followed him. As he entered the
master bedroom he paused, leaning against the door and dragging in large
amounts of air. It seemed he just couldn’t get enough precious oxygen.

Holly. She was here. What could
she possibly want? If the gleaming rock—one not gifted by him—on
her left ring finger meant anything, it was that she’d wasted no time
remarrying her ex-husband. The thought made his fist curl as anger surged
through him again, hot and swift. It took a few seconds before he remembered
Katrina. The poor, battered singer from Parson’s needed his help, and that was
his first priority. He moved quickly to the closet and found his bag, sighing
with relief as he realized he had everything he needed on hand.

When he got back to the living
room, Holly had kneeled beside the sofa and was waiting patiently for him to
arrive with the supplies. He rifled through the bag and produced a pair of
latex gloves and a package of sterile gauze, which he handed to Holly.
Katrina’s eyes stilled as they came to rest on him.

“When’s the party?” she asked,
curiosity edging the question as she gestured toward the gifts.

Lyle cleared his throat and
jerked at his collar uncomfortably. “Party’s over I’m afraid. Now let’s have a
look at that gash.”

Holly moved the slightly
blood-tinged gauze away from Katrina’s face and stepped back, dropping it into
the bowl on the coffee table. Lyle reached into the bag and snapped on a pair
of gloves before sitting on the edge of the sofa again. His hip came to rest
less than an inch from Katrina’s body, fitting neatly in the curve of her
waist. Her scent flooded his senses, like a mixture of exotic fruit and spices.
Her hair—the beautiful, wild coif he’d admired before—was splayed
out over the black leather behind her head, the strands a ginger brown against
the dark fabric.

“I’m going to numb you a bit so
you shouldn’t feel much,” he said, trying not to stare too hard. It was
difficult with her head tilted at just the right angle to show off her slender
neck. The thin straps of her flowing, ruffled top left her shoulders
tantalizingly bare. “But first we’ll disinfect the wound.”

He used a cotton swab to
disinfect the area with Betadine before reaching into his bag for a small vial
of Lidocaine. Katrina’s eyes widened as he retrieved a sterile syringe from his
bag. He frowned as he unwrapped it from its sealed packaging.

“Don’t like needles?” he asked
with a practiced, reassuring smile.

His eyes followed the motion of
her right hand as she unconsciously trailed it over her left arm. He tried not
to react to the sight of the unmistakable proof of heroin addiction, ugly
needle scars and track marks tracing a path up and down the limb. They were old
... old enough to be healing and Lyle guessed she’d been to rehab months ago.
Their eyes met, and she shrugged as if it were no big deal.

“I try to stay away from
needles,” she said, her voice a low whisper.

Feeling like a jackass for
embarrassing her, Lyle grasped one of her hands with his gloved one.

“It’s okay. Just a few pricks.
Trust me, you want to be numb for this procedure. He split you pretty good so
we’re looking at about five sutures. You don’t want to feel that needle going
in and out.”

She released the breath she’d
been holding and relaxed against the arm of the couch. Her hold on his hand
loosened and she nodded.

“Okay.”

His smile was genuine that time.
Nothing beat the feeling of gaining a patient’s trust. Lyle had himself
convinced that it was the only reason for the warm, fuzzy feeling that stole
over him as she closed her eyes and waited for him to do his work. She flinched
at the first injection, but relaxed after that, and soon he had her numb.
Holly—who was an experienced nurse practitioner at a small family
clinic—helped him by handing him the necessary tools when needed. Once
Katrina was sewn up, Lyle stood back to admire his handiwork.

“I’m no plastic surgeon, but
those are some fine sutures if I do say so myself. Should heal up nicely with
minimal scarring.”

“Great, can I go to sleep now?”

Lyle chuckled as he removed his
gloves with a snap. “What about that slice?”

“Mmmm,” she mumbled as she turned
onto her side, wrapping her arms around one of the couch cushions. “Sleep
first.”

She closed her eyes, and Lyle
decided to let her rest for now. He’d be sure to check on her again in the
morning but decided sleep would be good for her while she could get it. Her
head would hurt like hell when she came to.

Holly stood by quietly, her hands
clenched tightly in front of her. She looked as if she were about to endure a
root canal. Lyle decided to have mercy on her and lead the conversation.

“You want some coffee or
something?” he asked. It would at least give him something to do to keep from
staring at her. It felt so odd having her here now, when he’d once thought she
belonged. Now he could see how out of place she was and wondered if that was
how she’d felt in his life.

Then why take the blasted
ring?
he wondered.

“Sure,” she said, following him
to the kitchen and perching on one of the bar stools.

Lyle busied himself with making
the coffee, taking his time but knowing that they were eventually going to have
to have this gut-wrenching conversation. Well, at least gut-wrenching for him .
. . she had a husband to go home to now.

Once he’d stirred in the cream
and sugar, he handed Holly her coffee and elected to remain standing with the
bar and kitchen counter between them. He took one sip of his coffee before
meeting her gaze again.

“I think I asked this before but
we were interrupted by my patient. What are you doing here, Holly?”

_________

HOLLY
STARED AT him with wide eyes, her hands clenched tightly in front of her.

“I just couldn’t leave things the
way I did. I felt like we at least needed to talk. I need you to understand
that my decision wasn’t easy.”

From where Lyle had stood, beside
a minister and his best man at the top of a church aisle, it had looked pretty
damn easy, but he didn’t want to say so. He could see tears welling in her
eyes, and the last thing he wanted was to be responsible for making her cry.
Even after the pain she’d caused him, he couldn’t be that vindictive.

“You were still in love with your
ex-husband. There’s nothing to explain. I think you were pretty clear on that,”
he said.

Holly sighed, wrapping her hands
around her mug and slumping her shoulders. “I didn’t
know
I still wanted
him. I need you to understand that. After being apart for two years, I thought
I was done with him, ready to move on with my life.”

“But you weren’t.”

She didn’t respond. There was
nothing she could say to that. Lyle decided to ask the one question that had
been plaguing him since the moment he’d watched her walk out of his life
forever.

“Did you ever really love me? Or
was I just there, convenient?”

She glanced up at him sharply,
her eyes wide and lips parted. He’d shocked her. Good. She’d shocked him by
walking out of their wedding.

“That’s a really hard question to
answer, Lyle,” she said, her voice low.

“No, it’s not. You either love
someone or you don’t.”

“It’s not that simple!” Her voice
rose a bit, and the feisty Holly he knew came to the surface. “It’s not always
so cut and dry.”

Lyle folded his arms over his
chest defensively. “Then explain it to me. Because it was pretty cut and dry
for me. I loved you. I wanted you. I asked you to be my wife because I wanted
to be with you forever. It was that simple.”

Holly sighed and ran a hand
through the strands of hair that had come loose around her face. “I did love
you,” she whispered. “But I didn’t love you the way I should have in order to
be a good wife to you, Lyle. You deserve so much more than I could give you. I
know you don’t want to hear that right now, but maybe someday you’ll
understand. The love I have for Jack . . . that’s what you deserve, and I just
couldn’t give it to you. God, I wanted to. You’re so good. You are one of the
best people I know, and you’re so loyal and dependable.”

“Those are traits people use to
describe golden retrievers,” Lyle said with a sarcastic scoff. “Glad to hear
that ‘sexy,’ ‘passionate,’ and ‘romantic’ are on your long list of desirable
traits.”

“Lyle!” she exclaimed, coming to
her feet, turning those pleading eyes on him.

“I get it,” he said with a wave
of his hand, brushing her comment off nonchalantly even though it was eating
him up inside. “I’m not that guy and I never have been. I’m a surgeon. I’m pragmatic,
I’m intelligent, and I’m practical. Jack comes charging into our wedding with
the wind in his hair, wearing his heart on his sleeve, and I knew I’d lost you.
I knew I could never be that guy.”

Holly stepped forward and looked
up at him, her hand coming up to his face tenderly. Lyle sighed and lowered his
eyes. He couldn’t look into her eyes and see love for someone else there. It
had been hard enough to endure on what was supposed to have been the happiest
day of his life.

“I wish that I knew how to say
what I feel without hurting you,” she said gently. “But it seems like I’m only
making it worse, so I’m going to go now. I just wanted you to know that I do
care about how you feel, and I am sorry for hurting you. But in the end, I
think we would have both been miserable if we’d gotten married. I hope that
when you’re ready to try again, you’ll meet the right woman for you. She’ll
make you happier than I ever could have.”

She dropped her hand from his
face and reached into her purse. Lyle glanced down with blurred vision at the
small, square, black velvet box she’d left on the kitchen counter before
turning to leave. Lyle lifted it and clenched it in his fist, knowing that
Holly’s engagement ring was inside. It burned like a hot coal against his palm.

“Holly?”

She paused, turning to glance
back at him over his shoulder. “Yes?”

“Can you do . . . something . . .
with all of this?” He gestured toward the pile of wrapped packages tied with
satin ribbons and bows. “I just don’t know what to do with it all.”

Her smile was sad as she nodded.
“Of course. I’ll take care of it.”

Lyle nodded back and turned
toward his bedroom, wanting to put as much distance between them as possible
before he was tempted to do something stupid like falling to his knees and
begging for another chance. She’d already made enough of a fool out of him.
Placing the ring box back onto the counter and deciding to deal with it later,
Lyle left the room without looking back.

“Thank you.”

Once alone, Lyle crossed over to
his bed and sank down onto it, raking his hands through his hair. He pulled at
the strands mercilessly, needing the pain to remind him that this wasn’t a
dream. This was happening. At some point, his life had become something empty
and hollow that even the woman he loved didn’t want to be a part of.

He wasn’t sure how long he sat
there, staring at the wall and waiting for the sounds of Holly moving around
the living room to cease, but when he opened his eyes hours later, the sun was
climbing in the sky outside of his window and the sounds of banging pots and
pans were driving beneath the crack in his door.

_____

Katrina moved about the kitchen
of the enormous penthouse clumsily, the pounding of her head inhibiting her
from sharp and swift movements. Still, she continued on in her attempt at
making breakfast for Dr. Lyle, the man who had probably saved her life the
night before.

When she’d awakened on a black
leather couch in a strange living room, it had taken her a moment to remember
where she was. Her head was spinning, and at first she’d thought she was having
a nasty hangover and had awakened on the couch of some stranger. Panic gripped
her as she slowly remembered leaving Parson’s after her set—completely
sober—and being attacked on the street by one of the Pirelli family’s thugs.
She didn’t have to be told why he was attacking her or who’d sent him. After
Victor’s warning, Katrina knew full well what was happening. She shuddered as
she remembered the tight grip of calloused fingers around her throat and the
menacing gleam of a knife in the moonlight.

Thank goodness for Lyle. He’d
come thundering through that alley like a knight in shining armor. He’d even
stitched her up after and let her crash on his couch.

Once she’d been able to sit up,
fighting nausea with every fiber of her being, Katrina stumbled into the
kitchen with one mission in mind. What did one do for the man who’d saved her
life? Katrina wasn’t sure, but she figured breakfast was the least she could do
and probably all a former drug addict and lounge singer could offer.

So here she was, snooping around
a stranger’s kitchen, completely out of her element in the kind of home she’d
only been able to afford before she’d left the Giordano Family. Everything
about this place screamed wealth and class, reminding her of a perfectly placed
display in the Pottery Barn window. It was a far cry from her colorful
apartment, with everything smoothed over in clean lines and curves and done in
shades of black, white, gray, and beige.

As her eggs began to cook,
Katrina changed the disposable pod in the one-cup coffee maker on the counter
beside her before sliding an empty cup in place of her full one. Sipping at the
strong brew, Katrina sighed in appreciation at the robust flavor before adding
a spoonful of sugar and a dash of cream. She fumbled for a spatula in the
drawer beside her before quickly stirring her eggs, satisfied that she’d
properly turned the stainless steel, gas range up to the perfect temperature.
Bacon popped and sputtered on the range beside the eggs, and two perfectly
toasted bagels were resting on pristine, white square plates, ready for a
coating of cream cheese.

As Katrina turned off the eggs,
deciding that they were just the perfect consistency, she noticed the tiny
black box resting on the counter. Curiosity drew her eyebrows together as she
reached for the box, gasping as she opened it to reveal the giant, golf
ball-sized diamond nestled against black velvet. She whistled as she lifted the
ring by what she was quite certain was a platinum band.

She was so entranced by the
pinpoints of light and color dancing off the prisms inside of the princess cut
ring that she didn’t hear the footsteps behind her until it was too late.

“Good morning,” said a gruff
voice from behind her, causing her to jump at least a mile high in surprise.
The ring slipped from her grasp and clattered to the white tiles noisily as
Katrina spun to face Lyle. He was gazing down at her through a pair of sleek,
black rectangular frames, a light sprinkle of morning stubble scraping his jaw.
In the light of the sun coming through the floor to ceiling windows behind him,
his eyes were a tawny amber, like a lion’s, nearly matching the dark blond
shade of his hair.

“I apologize for scaring you,” he
said as he knelt to retrieve the ring from the floor. Katrina held the jewelry
box out to him with shaking hands.

“I’m so sorry,” she said. “I
wasn’t trying to be nosey.”

Lyle shrugged as he placed the
ring back in the box and snapped it closed. Katrina didn’t miss the pained
expression that flickered across his face as he did so. “It’s no big deal.
Something smells good in here.”

Katrina’s eyes widened as she
remembered the bacon still sputtering and popping on the stove. She turned and
reached for the pan, moving it from the lit range before her perfectly crispy
bacon turned into burnt, un-chewable swill. Just before she could let go, bacon
grease spattered up and out of the pan, landing on the inside of her arm.

“Shit!” she spat as pain spread
across her skin like fire. A red blister was already forming where the grease
had gotten her. Lyle was behind her before she could turn around, one hand
extended toward hers. Katrina placed her hand in his sheepishly and blushed as
he turned her arm over to inspect the small burn on her wrist. “I promise you,
I’m not always so accident prone.”

“Last night definitely was not an
accident,” he said, as he turned on the faucet and held her wrist under the
cool stream. She sighed in relief as the cold water made contact with her
burning skin. “I wish you’d reconsider calling the police.”

Katrina resisted the urge to
laugh. Going to the police on one of the Pirelli’s thugs would be a waste of
time. Never mind the fact that she could barely remember his face well enough
to give a description; this was New York and there were muggers aplenty. The
NYPD would sweep her case under the rug they way they did all petty crimes in
which there were no possible suspects or leads. There were just too many
criminals and not enough dedicated cops.

“I’m sure he learned his lesson
after you knocked him senseless last night,” she said instead with a
noncommittal shrug. “I don’t think he’ll be attacking anymore innocent women.”

Lyle frowned as if he wanted to
argue, but didn’t. “You didn’t have to do this,” he said, gesturing toward the
spread on the counter with his free hand. “You took a pretty nasty blow to the
head last night. You should be resting.”

Katrina shrugged and took her arm
back, drying it with a paper towel. “All better,” she said with forced cheer,
even though her skin was still smoldering. An ugly blister was starting to form
in the middle of the angry red circle. Lyle reached into one of the kitchen’s
many drawers before offering her a tube of burn cream and a Band-Aid.

“You very likely saved my life
last night,” she said with a shrug as she slathered the burn with the ointment
before covering it with the bandage. “Scrambled eggs are nothing compared to
that.”

“It’s a nice morning out,” he
said, reaching up into a cabinet and coming down with a wicker tray. “I like to
eat out on the patio on days like this. If you think you can manage the stairs,
of course.”

Katrina managed a little smile as
she lifted the two coffee mugs and set them on the tray between the two plates,
her hand brushing his as he swooped in with sugar and cream. “I think I can
handle stairs. That sounds great.”

Once the tray was loaded, Lyle
took it and gestured toward the staircase leading up to the second floor.
“Right this way.”

She followed Lyle up to the
second floor. It was mostly one large, open room. A set of work-out machinery
and weights took up one corner of the large room, which was lined with mirrors.
A sound system rested near the equipment, and a large, flat-screen T.V. was
mounted on the wall in plain view of the little home gym. In the middle of the room
was a pool, the bottom of which was glass. Through it, she could see through to
the bottom of the first floor. Above them was a vaulted ceiling with a skylight
that let in a great deal of warmth and light. Another large, picture
window—much like the one downstairs—offered a spectacular view of
the city.