“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
Back 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?”
&nbs
p; “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.”
“We have a very nice couch there.” Lucy did not want to be in Clare’s house or hear any more excuses for Steven Deveraux.
“It’s a good solution.” Alex typed something in to his iPhone. “And it’s temporary. Until I can get you a security system installed and some twenty-four–hour protection.”
Morgan stood up and glanced at her watch. “So this is settled?”
“Oh, it’s settled.” Alex’s face dared Lucy to argue.
Morgan gave her friend a light squeeze. “You sure you’re okay? I would stay, but I’ve finally got an appointment for Chuck to try on tuxes.”
“I’m fine. Go. Do your wedding planning.” As Morgan eased out the door, Lucy felt panic slip inside the room in her place. She was alone with two people who wanted things from her that overwhelmed her conscience and addled her brain.
Alex turned to Clare. “She’ll go home with you.”
“I have friends I can stay with.”
“Friends with a security detail in their carriage house?” Clare asked.
“No.” Lucy took a drink of the water beside her. “Though Christina Meyer does have a schnauzer.”
“This will give us a chance to get started on our homework.” Clare was back to using that uppity voice. “And Julian can keep an eye on your injuries. He’s good at that.”
“But—“ Lucy looked to Alex, but he was finishing up a text.
“I’ve got to make a quick call. You two settle this among yourselves.” He disappeared, leaving her in Clare’s clutches.
Clare’s lips thinned as she took Alex’s place beside Lucy on the bed. “Alex tells me you two are serious.”
Seriously insane. “Does he?”
Clare watched her for a few uncomfortable, silent moments. Like she was telepathically scanning Lucy’s brain for all her hidden secrets. Lucy shifted and looked away.
“You need help. It’s time you accepted that,” Clare finally said. “I’ve watched you at recent events. You’re a wreck.”
“My grandma for a matter of weeks and already you’re spoiling me with compliments.”
“But you have enormous potential. Given the fact that you need a large amount of assistance in a short period of time—basically a miracle —I’m your only option.”
“Is this supposed to charm me into agreeing?”
Clare clasped her delicate fingers around Lucy’s. “My dear, the election is two months away. As his girlfriend, you represent a wife-figure. Ring or not, you are important to his campaign.”
Her head was beginning to throb worse than her hand. “Why are you doing this?”
“I would be lying if I said it was simply because you needed me— though you do.” Clare stared at their joined hands, one still pink with lingering youth, and one lined and veined with age. “I need you, Lucy.”
Lucy went on alert at the shift in Clare’s tone.
“My recent dip into the Lord’s wading pool has convinced me that I have a lot of amends to make,” Clare continued. “Come and stay with me for a few days. I’ll teach you everything I know about the political life, and when you’re ready, you can ask me about your father. But I won’t push. I shall be content just to have the opportunity to get to know you a little better.”
Lucy chewed the inside of her jaw and prayed the Tylenol would kick in soon. Why was life getting so complicated? This was why she had lived an honest life up until now. Deceit was way too much drama.
“Put your bitterness aside for now,” Clare said. “When this election is over, you can go back to hating me. I don’t blame you. But you might be just the thing to turn the tide for Alex. We can make that happen. Together.”
“Why do you care if he wins or not?”
“We’re old family friends.” Clare smiled wistfully. “And it’s clear that he’s ready for the world to see who he really is. That’s something I relate to.”
“I need some air. I’m going to go find Alex.”
Lucy slipped off the bed and let her feet rest on the floor. Swinging open the door, she marched down the hospital hall in search of her fake boyfriend. She stopped to listen for girly shrieks or purring coos, but hearing neither, she just kept walking.
She finally found him in a waiting room, standing with his back to her, next to a faded blue couch somewhere in the color range of cornflower and ugly.
“Hey, Kat.”
Lucy’s flats halted on the peel-and-stick tile floor.
“It’s good to hear your voice,” he said. “I’m sorry I couldn’t return your call right away. I hope I’m not interrupting, but I really needed to talk to you—”
Heat crawled up Lucy’s neck. While she had been getting the guilt trip from Clare on the need to be Alex’s perfect lady, he had been out here. Calling his girlfriend. Or one of them.
“Can we meet?” Alex nodded. “Perfect. Just the two of us.” Like a cheetah aware of its prey, Alex pivoted. And locked his sights on Lucy.
There was no surprise on his face. Only barely concealed annoyance.
“Talk to you later.” He hit a button and slipped the phone in his pocket. “Were you dismissed?”
Lucy advanced on him, trying to decide if he was worth tearing apart. “I have had the worst day. First, there’s a water park in my house. Then some shutter-happy boys peek in my window.” She took another step—close enough to smell the spice of his cologne. It probably cost more than her hospital bill. “Then someone drags me to the hospital for stitches when a butterfly bandage would have done just as well. Then I’m given the command that I’m not allowed to stay in my own apartment.”
“Sounds like you’ve had a rough one.” His voice was whiskey deep as his gaze dipped to her lips.
“And now,” she hissed. “Now I come out here and find you on the phone with a member of your harem, plotting a little late-night meet-and-greet.”
His mouth quirked. “Jealous?”
Lucy chalked it up to a miracle that she didn’t spew dragon fire. “Jealous? Of her? Of you? Of you and her?” The nerve of this man. “I pity that woman, whoever she is. If you can’t even stay faithful to a fake girlfriend, you sure as heck can’t be loyal to a real one.”
Alex glanced over her shoulder. “You should probably keep your voice down.”
“I will not.” The man wasn’t even looking at her! “You can’t just order me about. I don’t want to stay with Clare, for your information. Besides, what good will it do for me to brush up on political trivia when my intended is shacked up with some bimbo at the nearest Motel 6?”
“You know I have better taste in motels than that.”
He drew his eyes away from the hall until they locked on hers.
“Don’t you have anything to say for yourself, Alex?”
“Yes.” His gaze wandered to her mouth again.
Then his head lowered as he pulled her close, and his lips covered hers. “This.”
If Alex Sinclair played football as good as he kissed, Lucy knew he’d have an entire treasure chest of Super Bowl rings.<
br />
He pressed nearer, cupping her face in those strong hands.
Lucy murmured a protest against his lips, but it was useless.
“Close your eyes,” came his muffled command.
She started to argue, but the day had sucked out all the energy from her body. She leaned into him, hating the way her heart raced in tempo. The way her skin all but sizzled beneath his touch. Sliding her arms around his back, Lucy allowed the most notorious player in the South to kiss her right in the middle of the hospital waiting room.
His hand journeyed across the slope of her neck as Roman candles took flight in her head. While his lips made a feather-light trail across her cheek, Lucy listed all the reasons she should be telling him to stop. And she was going to. Any second now.
This was a complication. This was wrong. This was . . . heaven.
“Okay, they’re gone.”
He stepped away. Brushed a piece of lint off his oxford shirt.
And yawned.
Lucy stood rooted in her spot, her eyes blinking in rapid succession. What had just happened?
He had just—
And then she had just—
She followed the direction of his stare and turned to see the retreating back of two men carrying cameras.
Paparazzi. Of course.
“Nothing like mauling a woman in the ER.” Lucy was impressed at how positively bored her voice sounded.
“You didn’t seem to mind.”
She wanted to wipe that grin right off his face.
“You know, maybe I shouldn’t be the only one getting a tutor here, Alex.” She fluffed her hair, felt the remnants of dried blood and forced a smile. “Because that performance was a little underwhelming.”
She saw the sparks ignite in his eyes before banking to a smolder. “Is that so?” He closed the gap between them and looked down that chiseled, arrogant nose. “Care to call the photographers back and try again?”
Chill bumps danced along the back of her spine. So this was what it was like to play with fire. “I guess your football performance isn’t the only thing that’s diminished in the last year.” She patted his chest. “But don’t worry. I won’t tell anyone. Part of my job is to protect your reputation.”
Save the Date Page 15
