Authors: Elise Marion
Lyle gestured to a sliding glass
door just to the right of the picture window, which she opened to find the
patio. It was large, jutting out from the side of the building. Potted plants
and comfortable, cushioned patio furniture lined the patio, and she knew that
the stringed lights and lanterns strung up across the railing and on the awning
overhead made the place glow beautifully at night. A large gas grill took up a
large part of one side of the patio and faced a long, curved, white
marble-topped bar complete with beer tap and gleaming stools.
“Wow. This is nice.”
“I can’t claim responsibility for
it,” he said with a laugh as he laid the tray on a nearby wrought iron table
with two matching chairs. He held one out for Katrina and she slid into it, her
darting eyes still, taking in the small, decorative touches that screamed of a
woman’s influence.
“Yeah, no man I know pays this
much attention to detail,” she said as she noticed small little lanterns lining
the patio’s railing. She then became uncomfortable as she realized that she
knew absolutely nothing about the man she was about to have breakfast with. She
eyed him as he reached for his coffee cup, foregoing the sugar and cream and
sipping gingerly at the hot, dark liquid. Lean, chorded muscles stretched and
bunched in his forearms and biceps and Katrina noticed that the T-shirt he was
wearing was like a second skin against broad shoulders and a tapered waist.
Obviously, he spent a lot of time in the little gym just inside the double
doors.
Sunlight kissed his hair,
bringing it alive with golden highlights and gave his eyes the same tawny amber
hue she’d admired just a few minutes before. Sitting here, in such a relaxed
pose, he seemed more fitting for a Gap ad than a hospital, but Katrina was not
fooled. Something about the way he carried himself screamed wealth, class, and
a bit of rigidness. The tension in his neck and shoulders belied the relaxed
pose he seemed to be putting on for her benefit. Did she make him
uncomfortable? Good God, was he married?
Katrina cleared her throat. “So,”
she said slowly as she poured in a liberal dash of cream between sips of
coffee, “that blonde woman that helped you stitch me up last night . . . she
your wife?” Her eyes widened as she remembered finding the little jeweler’s box
on the kitchen counter. “Oh wow, was that ring in there for her?”
For some reason being here alone
with him when he possibly had a fiancé or wife made her uncomfortable,
especially given the way she’d just admired his washboard stomach and chest.
His face and neck flushed crimson
and his mouth tightened at the corners. “It was,” he said, his voice low and
rough. “She came here last night to return it.”
Katrina’s face grew hot with
embarrassment. She was constantly sticking her foot in her mouth, but this
little slip-up took the cake. Now that he’d said it, she realized that the vibe
between Lyle and the blonde visitor had been tense and strained.
“I’m sorry,” she said, stirring
the untouched scrambled eggs with her fork. “It really isn’t any of my
business.”
Lyle shrugged, sitting up a bit
straighter as he bit into a slice of bacon. “I live here alone,” he said after
he’d chewed and swallowed. “My housekeeper, Twila, is the one that decorated
this space. I host a mixer for the residents at work up here every year, and
it’s a nice space to entertain in.”
“What kind of doctor are you?”
she asked, happily pouncing on a subject that had nothing to do with Lyle’s ex
or the uncomfortable meeting last night.
“I’m a surgeon,” he replied as he
bit into a half of a bagel. She cringed as she slathered hers with cream
cheese, wondering how on earth he ate his dry. Her eyebrows shot up.
“A surgeon? I wasn’t expecting
that. What kind of surgery do you do?”
“Cardiothoracic: hearts and
lungs.”
“So saving lives is a daily thing
for you, huh?”
Lyle’s face softened a bit, the
tension around his mouth melting away as he turned and smirked at her, amused.
“I tend to do my life-saving with a scalpel, not fist-fighting in dark alleys.
Last night was a first for me.”
“I’m grateful you started coming
to the bar. I haven’t seen you until a few days ago, and I know all the
regulars. No offense, but you aren’t exactly the Parson’s type.”
He glanced up at her, and his
eyes seemed to burn straight through her as he watched her through the lenses
of his rectangular frames. “I was having a bad day . . . the worst day of my
life, actually . . . and Parson’s was the first place I came to that was
serving alcohol. The girl at the bar told me that Parson’s had one of the best
live acts in the city and that I should stick around for the night. She was
right.”
Katrina smiled as she remembered
watching him with this friend the night before—seeing that lone tear
rolling down his cheek. She wasn’t a vain person, but she’d always hoped that
her singing could touch people in that way. Getting that sort of reaction from
a guy who was obviously very restrained in his emotions was one of the most
rewarding experiences of her life.
“Thank you,” she answered. “I
love to sing. It’s all I’ve ever really wanted to do.”
“Is it how you making your
living, or more like a hobby?”
Katrina frowned and stared into
her coffee cup as she remembered a time in her life when she had more money
than she knew what to do with and unlimited access to the habit that could have
taken her life at any moment.
“It’s how I make my living,” she
answered. “I sing mostly at Parson’s, but I have a few other gigs as well.
During the day I teach music to inner city kids at a community center. I
certainly can’t afford to live like this”—she waved her hand to indicate
the beautiful patio and penthouse beneath them—“but it’s satisfying. I’m
sure you feel the same way about being a surgeon. It’s definitely a more
important job than lounge singing.”
Lyle turned to face her, resting
his elbows on the table and leaning in. Katrina’s heart leaped into her throat
as he removed his glasses and set them on the table between them. Without the
aid of the frames shielding his face, he looked much more vulnerable, and she
felt stripped bare as his eyes traveled from the top of her head to her
shoulders, left exposed by her spaghetti-strapped top.
“I wouldn’t be so quick to say
that,” he said softly, the harsh lines around his mouth fading as he tilted his
head slightly, studying her closely. “What I do is amazing, it really is.
Surgery is complex, beautiful . . . it’s miraculous. But I have never inspired
in anyone the kind of emotions and feelings you seem to stir up in your
audience. I, for one, can say that every time I’ve come into Parson’s and heard
you sing, I felt as if you were singing to me and only me. I’m sure every other
guy in the room felt the same way and that, Katrina, is no small thing. It’s a
rare gift that you have and you should know how precious it is.”
Katrina blinked, speechless and
taken aback by Lyle’s words. She’d gotten a lot of feedback from people after
her sets, mostly praising her voice, looks, or stage presence. But no one had
ever said anything like that to her. Ever.
I felt as if you were singing
to me and only me.
If only he knew how true that
was the night she’d sang “Your Eyes.” While it was one of her favorite songs,
she hadn’t planned it as part of her set. Something about Sad
Guy—Lyle—sitting there, watching her from across the room with that
haunting stare of his, had brought it out of her. That night, she had been
singing to him, but how could she say that out loud without sounding like a
complete nut?
“You’re too kind,” she said with
a smile. “My singing never saved anyone’s life, but it’s nice to know someone
feels that way about it.”
He nodded. “I do, and I’m sure
I’m not the only one.”
Katrina stood and glanced at her
watch, acutely aware of the fact that it was nearly ten a.m., and she was still
wearing the previous night’s clothing and makeup. Lyle shot to his feet as
well.
“I should go,” she said. “Thanks
again for stitching me up.”
“You really should follow up with
your doctor,” he said, coming forward and inspecting her wound. His hand came
up toward her face, and she allowed him to grip her chin, turning it slightly
and pushing back a wild lock of her hair to get a closer look. “I’m sure you
don’t have a concussion, but it’s obvious that you’re tired and you’ve only
been awake a few hours. You need rest. No singing tonight.”
Katrina frowned. “No singing?”
“I strongly advise you to take it
easy for the next couple of days. I’m sure everyone will understand. If you
have any dizziness, blurred vision, or problems remembering, call me at this
number or come by the surgical floor at Mount Sinai. Anyone there can point you
in my direction.”
Katrina accepted the smooth,
white card with Lyle’s name, department, phone number, and Mount Sinai’s
address embossed in black letters. She tucked it into her back pocket. “Sure
thing. I’m sure I’ll be fine.”
“And you’ll take it easy tonight?
Tomorrow too?”
She had to laugh at his stern
expression. “Yes, Doctor. I will do my best.”
He nodded. “Good. I’ll walk you
down and hail you a cab.”
“Sure,” she agreed, allowing him
to usher her back into the house through the double doors. Once inside, she
scooped up her purse and guitar case, wincing as she noticed the mess she’d
left in the kitchen. “Maybe I should clean that up before I go.” She wasn’t the
best of housekeepers but Katrina didn’t feel right about leaving a mess behind.
She’d bothered Lyle enough.
“What part of ‘take it easy’
don’t you understand? I’ll handle that. Let’s get you in that cab.”
They walked to the elevator
together, taking it down silently. Within minutes he had her in the back of a
taxi and had even slipped a few bills out of the wallet in his back pocket to
pay for it. Before Katrina could thank him, the cab was off, and she could do
no more than wave as Lyle’s long frame was swallowed up in the crowd milling about
on the sidewalk in front of his building.
_____
Lyle waited until the cab was out
of sight before turning to go back into his building. He nearly tripped over
Twila, who stood behind him, staring up at him with a hand on one ample hip. He
smiled sheepishly down at her.
“Good morning,” he said, finding
that he surprisingly meant it. “And here I thought I’d chased you away.”
“Humph,” she snorted, adjusting
the enormous purse slung over her shoulder. “It’d take more than a grumpy
Yankee to chase me away from the best job I’ve ever had. Well, are you going to
tell me who the girl is?”
He smiled and crossed his arms
over his chest. “Aren’t you going to let me apologize? And I don’t know what
you’re talking about.”
“No, I will not give you the
satisfaction of accepting your lame-ass apology,” she turned on her heels and
sashayed toward the entrance, leaving Lyle with no choice but to follow. “But
you can tell me about the girl. And don’t say ‘what girl?’ like I didn’t see
that tall, pretty Amazon woman you just put into a cab.”
“She’s just a girl who was in
need of some medical attention last night,” he said as they stepped into the
elevator together. Lyle smirked as he was vaguely aware that what he’d just
said could have been misconstrued.
“Played doctor all night, did
you?” Twila remarked as the elevator stopped on his floor. She swept in and
dropped her purse on the kitchen’s bar. “She even made you eggs.”
“I was going to clean that up,”
Lyle said sheepishly, feeling as if he’d been caught doing something wrong.
Meanwhile, Holly was probably waking up next to Mr. Romantic without a care in
the world.
“Nonsense,” Twila said as she
bustled about the kitchen, working to clean up Katrina’s mess. “I gotta make
sure I earn that raise you’re going to give me in apology for your behavior the
other day. Are you going in to the hospital today?”
“No, but I’m on call, and I may
go in briefly to check on Yolanda.”
Twila smiled sadly as she ran a
sink full of dishwater. “How is that poor girl?”
“She’s alive and hopeful, which
is more than I can say for a lot of people.”
“Good to hear. Well, go on about
your business and holler if you need me. Lunch’ll be ready at the usual time.”
“Twila.” Lyle’s chest swelled
with affection for the woman who’d become like a mother to him as she glanced
up, elbow deep in sudsy water. “Thank you,” he said gently, hands shoved deep
in his pockets, “for everything.”
“What do you want, boy, a hug?
You’re welcome. Now get on out of here and let me work.”
Lyle laughed and shook his head,
obediently retreating to his bedroom. After checking his pager to ensure he
hadn’t missed a summons from the hospital, he decided that a good, long swim
was in order. His recent stay at Heartbreak Hotel had included way too many
trips to the bottom of a Scotch bottle for his liking, and a good workout was
just what he needed to start the day. As he quickly donned his swim trunks and
retrieved his goggles and towel, a certain sultry singer’s face lingered on the
edges of his mind.