“You are a family member of one of my patients. I can’t have a romantic involvement with you. How do you think it would affect Katie?”
Bill folded his arms. “Are you still treating Katie, all the way in New York? I’m pretty sure she fired you once you dropped that wrecking ball on our marriage.”
Taylor hesitated. “Er, yes, that’s right. She felt, with my role in the divorce, that perhaps it was best to use another therapist.”
Bill stepped closer. “So you no longer counsel Katie. She is no longer your patient, and hasn’t been for some time.”
“Yes, but—”
“It’s a yes or no question, Taylor.” He took another step toward her. “Would a connection between the two of us be considered illegal?” Not that that would worry him.
She frowned. “No. It’s not illegal—but it’s—it’s unethical.”
“Are you worried about what other people will think? Because I’ll tell you now, I don’t give two hoots what people might say about us.”
“Yes, you do, otherwise you wouldn’t be trying to keep your PTSD a secret.”
Bill’s eyes widened. Ouch. She’d hit him right on target.
Her expression was completely serious. “Just like you, I have a professional reputation to protect. My reputation, my abilities, were called into question, and I’ve had to work hard to counteract that. I don’t want to risk it all by behaving inappropriately.”
He smiled. She kept saying that as though it mattered. She had no idea how inappropriate he wanted them to be. He traced her cheek with a finger. “I appreciate that you’re disciplined and honorable, that you value your integrity, and that you care for the people around you. These are some of the qualities I most admire about you.” His gaze dropped to her breasts. Tonight she wore an indigo dress with a low crossover neckline that framed and enhanced her cleavage. Inappropriate images of what he wanted to do with her, in and out of that dress, filed through his mind.
“Well, thank you, Bill. I’ve grown to appreciate some of your finer qualities, too,” she said, and his smile deepened at her earnestness. “Your dedication to your family, your inner strength, your courage. But—we can’t do this.” Her voice dropped to a whisper as he leaned down to her. This time, though, she didn’t pull away, didn’t try to stop him.
“I have been more emotionally intimate with you,” he murmured, using her own words against her, “than anybody else. Ever. This is more than just a physical attraction for me, Taylor. You can’t deny you feel something for me.” Even now, her breath gusted across his collarbone, and he could see the fluttering pulse point in her throat accelerate.
“Yes, I want you, Bill, and that’s the problem. I feel guilty over our kiss in your office.” He frowned, and she held up a hand. “Don’t get me wrong, I thoroughly enjoyed it, but don’t you see—this isn’t right.”
He couldn’t believe it. She was saying no? He cupped his hands around her face. “You would deny us? Deny this?”
He lowered his mouth to hers, taking her lips in a long, hard kiss that fanned his desire. She moaned beneath his lips and clung to him—clung—in surrender. Her mouth opened beneath his and he slid his tongue inside to rub against hers. His pulse thundered in his ears and his body hardened. She wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him closer. He could feel her trembling in his arms. She wanted this, wanted him, and yet—she didn’t?
He lifted his head, and they were both panting. He knew she felt something for him, she’d admitted it. But he didn’t want her to regret a night of passion in his arms. He wanted more than one night. He wanted forever—but he wanted her to want it, too. No regrets. He respected her too much to seduce her into a situation she would feel remorseful about.
“You say you want a man who will fight for you? I am that man,” he told her hoarsely, earnestly. “I know you have strong reservations about us. I think we are right together, not wrong, but I want you to feel that, too. I don’t want you to compromise your morals, or the reputation you so value. I’m willing to fight for you—but are you willing to fight for me? Are you willing to face the naysayers and the critics? You want your man to be willing to risk everything—are you willing to risk everything for me? Live your truth, isn’t that what you’re so fond of telling me? What about you? Can you do that?”
He stood back from her. “I’m going to give you time. I’m going to let you decide if you want me enough to fight for me. It won’t be easy, but if you’re prepared to walk through that fire, I’ll be right there, beside you.”
He kissed her hard and quick. “But don’t keep me waiting too long. I’m not renowned for my patience.”
She wore a stunned expression as he backed away from her. He gritted his teeth as he turned and crossed the cold marble foyer to her front door. His body screamed at him in frustration, need clawing in his gut, but he opened the door.
Leaving Taylor was one of the hardest things he’d ever done.
*
Taylor sank down into the armchair, gaping. He’d walked out. He’d kissed her, and it had been so good, and he’d walked out. She put her hand to her forehead. That was what she wanted, right? For them to keep their relationship platonic?
Then why did it feel horrible? He’d given her an out. He’d respected her. She realized he could have kept kissing her, and she wouldn’t have resisted. No, she would have stripped him there and then, and made love with him in front of the fire.
She rose and braced her arm against the mantel. But he’d stopped—because he respected her. For once, she didn’t want to be respected. She’d wanted him to sweep her away with desire. Her fist clenched. Who knew being respected could be so darned frustrating?
She shook her head. Bill Spencer had wanted her. They had shared so much since she’d seen that first episode in his office. He was indomitable. He hadn’t allowed PTSD to conquer him, he was fighting the good fight and he was keeping his own faith. She admired him. Sure, they’d had their moments over the years, but recently she felt like she’d gained more of an understanding, a deeper comprehension of where he’d come from, and where he intended to go, despite the trials that he faced.
He was remarkable, and in his own way, honorable. He’d left her in no doubt—he was the kind of man who would fight for her. She’d seen him in action with his family. Once you had Bill’s loyalty, you had a resolute ally. She believed him when he’d said he’d fight for her.
And then he’d turned the tables on her. Was she willing to fight for him? Was she willing to face the possible condemnation that a relationship with Bill Spencer might bring? Was she willing to sacrifice her reputation, her practice, for a relationship with Bill Spencer?
The man was so frustrating. He challenged her on every level. It would be so easy to let him take control—but he’d backed off. He wanted her to take control. Of all the irritating, annoying, exasperating, honorable, ethical things he could do—he wanted her to make the choice.
So, what would her decision be?
*
Taylor sipped her coffee as she quickly scanned the review sites on her laptop. She really needed the caffeine. She’d slept through her alarm—had she even set it? She’d been cranky and just a little distracted when she’d eventually crawled into bed. She hadn’t slept well. She’d tossed and turned. She’d drunk copious amounts of chamomile tea. All the while, she’d been thinking about Bill and his departing words. Did she want him enough to face down the backlash that might come her way?
Not only had he physically frustrated her, the man had deprived her of sleep.
She looked up a popular fashion review site. The critics had already posted their opinions of the new collections from Forrester Creations. She frowned. BILL SPENCER COLLAPSES said one headline.
She toggled the screen to flick to another site. Oh no. There were a lot of comments about the showing, most of them about Bill’s erratic behavior. She placed her coffee cup on her bedside table and leaned forward. She tried Google, and winced when sh
e saw all the reports listed for Bill Spencer. While most of them made positive comments on the collection, there were an alarming number of articles on Bill’s “drunken antics.”
“He’s going to hate this,” she whispered. The gossiping, the rumors—the man normally had a thick hide when it came to innuendo, but she knew he was sensitive over this issue.
She remembered what it was like when she was in the depths of her battle with alcohol. She’d wanted to curl up in a dark hole some place and just forget about the world. She remembered the strain, the pressure to pretend that everything was all right, when it was all, in fact, imploding. The depression, the devastation and trying to live up to others’ expectations—it was like a slow emotional death.
Bill would be going through his own personal hell. Liam and Wyatt would definitely see this—as would Katie in New York. Brooke, Eric and the rest of the team at Forrester Creations—everyone he respected and cared about—would see these stories. He’d be embarrassed, humiliated.
How would the strain affect his PTSD? Anxiety heightened and worsened the effects of post-traumatic stress disorder. More visions, flashbacks—this could mean a setback in his treatment.
Her phone rang, and she glanced briefly at the screen before she held it to her ear.
“Good morning, Liam,” she said.
“Hi, Taylor. I’m just letting you know—Dad’s called a press conference.”
Taylor frowned. “What?” She’d thought the last thing Bill would want was more media attention.
“Haven’t you seen the reports? It’s all over the internet and the tabloids. Fashion Buzz released a story about Dad passing out in a drunken stupor at the fashion show. Dad’s decided to take them on. He wants me there.”
Her jaw dropped, and she blinked. “He’s going to take them on?” What did that mean?
“Yeah, after this morning’s papers, he said, ‘enough is enough,’ and called for the conference.”
“Did he see how the collections went?” If the coverage was all focused on Bill, that was an enormous amount of pressure, even for the man who was used to creating a splash and then sitting back to watch the drama unfold. Hopefully he’d noticed it wasn’t all doom and gloom for him.
“Oh, yeah, Taylor. The actual reviews of the show are great. You and Caroline have created quite a frenzy with the Mystique line.”
“But there is still a lot of attention on Bill.” She had to learn to expect the unexpected from Bill. She hoped he’d thought this through, that he was well prepared for the grilling he was going to get.
Liam hesitated. “Um, yeah. Look, he’s going to take the podium in an hour. I have to go. I just thought you should know.”
Taylor rubbed her face. “I appreciate the alert. I’m on my way.”
If Bill was going to face the media, it could go very well—or very badly.
Either way, she couldn’t let him do it alone.
Chapter Twelve
“Do you know what this is about?” Brooke whispered to Taylor as Taylor entered the showroom. The elegant blonde stood next to Eric, who was watching the whole situation with mild curiosity.
“I have my suspicions, but I don’t know for sure,” she said.
“Can you give me an idea? What kind of damage control are we going to need?”
Taylor arched an eyebrow. “We’re talking Bill Spencer. I have no idea, but this could go well—or it could get ugly. Obviously, though, he wants to make an address. We should give him the opportunity.”
“He has our support, Taylor,” Eric told her. “Congratulations on the Mystique line, by the way. The reviewers loved it. But I always knew they would.”
She smiled at his encouragement. “Thank you, Eric. That means a lot to me.” It did. She was surprised. Having his approval, all of Forrester Creations’ approval, was like salve to a wound that was only just beginning to heal. Eric was all class—totally gullible when it came to Brooke, but a very generous man, all the same.
“Does this sudden press conference have anything to do with Bill’s weird behavior last night?” Brooke whispered, frowning.
Taylor sighed. Brooke seemed uncomfortable with Bill’s condition, and she’d known the man intimately. How was the general public going to react?
“Ah, Taylor, you made it,” Liam said from behind her, and flashed a smile. “Why don’t you come up to the front?”
Wyatt winked as he approached her. “Come on, we Spencers don’t bite. Much.”
Taylor smiled at Bill’s recently discovered son. He shared similar coloring as his half-brother and father, but he had a glint in his eye that was part imp, part trouble. So like his father.
“Ah, I’m not sure …” Taylor started to say, then she saw Bill enter the room. He looked gorgeous, refreshed, his handsome dark looks drawing the attention of every woman in the room. His vitality gleamed in his smile, sparkled in his eyes as he greeted Jarrett Maxwell with a grin and a handshake. He looked—relaxed.
In contrast, her eyes felt tired and gritty, and she’d just burned a hole in her stomach from worrying about him. How did he do it? Obviously he hadn’t spent the night wrestling with his conscience, for starters.
He made his way through the crowd, stopping to speak to some of the journalists, until he stood in front of her.
“Taylor. Thank you for coming.”
“I wouldn’t miss it,” she told him warmly, sincerely. Whatever happened between them, she still valued their friendship.
“Will you stand up there with me?” he asked, and she could see a faint glimmer of uncertainty beneath his bravado.
She nodded. “Sure.”
He took her hand and led her up to the podium. Cameras flashed, and reporters called out questions, until Bill finally raised his hands, and the room fell silent.
“Thank you all for coming. Recently you may have seen some greatly exaggerated reports of me in the press,” he began, his voice deep and carrying. “Well, I’m here to address those rumors.” He shot a quick glance at Taylor, and she smiled her encouragement. She was so proud of him. She realized how difficult this was for Bill.
“As you all may know, recently I was in a plane crash. I lost a friend in that crash, Jack Marshall, a loving husband and father.” He paused, and made eye contact with several journalists. “Since then, false stories have been reported about me having a problem with alcohol. I want to go on the record—I am not, nor have I ever been, an alcoholic. I enjoy a good scotch as much as the next man, but I know my limit, and I know when to stop.”
Bill rested both hands on the podium. “What you may not know is that since the accident I have sought treatment for post-traumatic stress disorder.”
He paused. Taylor glanced anxiously over the crowd. Both Eric and Brooke wore stunned expressions. Some of the journalists showed excitement, as though on the scent of a good story. Others merely mirrored the shock.
Bill waited until the hue and cry subsided. “I will admit I tried to hide this. I was ashamed,” he said, shrugging. “But then I discovered that I’m not alone. There are several thousand men and women out there who are fighting their own battle with PTSD. Brave men and women, who have experienced events that neither you nor I can comprehend.
“I learned that PTSD is a normal reaction to a traumatic situation, but I’ve also learned that we, as a society, have attached a stigma to this condition that I, for one, am not prepared to wear. I have met amazingly strong, resilient people through the course of my counseling, a lot of whom have fought for our country, and who deserve better than the stigma they receive upon their return.”
Bill smiled. “Recently I told a friend to take a chance, regardless of what others might think, to live the truth, and I realized that I needed to do the same.” He shifted to look at Taylor. “So here I am, telling the world that I have PTSD.”
Moisture filled Taylor’s eyes, and she tried to blink the tears away.
“How long have you had PTSD?” a reporter called out.
Bill turned back to the crowd. “I started experiencing the first symptoms—nightmares, flashbacks—shortly after the accident. I didn’t know what was happening, but it didn’t stop.” He smiled with self-deprecation. “I hoped that it would just go away, but if you don’t face it, it won’t.”
“What made you tell us about it today?” Jarrett Maxwell called from the back of the room.
“I found that while a lot of people are diagnosed with PTSD, it’s still not really talked about very much, and there is a lot of misinformation and misconception, even prejudice, out there. If my talking about it gets you guys talking about it, and gets some real information out there to people who really need to know—whether they’re experiencing some of the symptoms, or someone they know is affected by it—then that can only be for the good.”
Taylor clasped her hands together as Bill answered more questions. He was patient, approachable, and sincere in his responses, and she smiled. He had created a dialogue about PTSD, an awareness that would definitely help others, and he had the media eating out of his hand. He’d wanted to keep this secret buried, but was now throwing it out there, regardless of what others thought. She could already see the growing respect from the reporters.
“What have you learned about PTSD that you want others to know?” a female reporter said, and Taylor couldn’t help noticing the reverence with which she asked the question.
“I’ve learned that you have to have courage and face your fears,” Bill replied. “And it pays to have the support of your family and friends,” he said, sparing a look in his sons’ direction. Liam and Wyatt gave him the thumb’s up, proud smiles brightening their features. Bill’s words struck a chord deep inside Taylor, a rumbling echo that nearly consumed her. He was facing his fears in a sensational way. Could she do the same? Could she fight like that for her man?
“I see Dr. Hayes there—is she your counselor?” Jarrett called out.
Collision Course: The Bold and the Beautiful Page 11
