by Debra Dixon
“No, that’s not it! This isn’t just about me. It’s about you.”
“Then help me understand why you walked out!” He grabbed her arms and pulled her to his chest. “You owe me that. Say it, Mercy. Tell me why you’re afraid of loving me.”
“Because someday you’re going to flip the switch on your personal emotions exactly like you do in the emergency room,” she yelled at him, hurt, angry, and scared. All of those feelings made her cry, and in combination they were deadly. She gave up and let the tears flow as she whispered, “Someday you’re going to stop caring, and there isn’t a damn thing I can do about it.”
“Yes. There is.” Gently, he reached out and curved his palm along her jaw and rubbed a tear away with his thumb. The hard part was over. For her anyway. She’d said the words. She’d gotten her fear out. Now it was up to him to make her believe. The only way to do that was to tell her the truth.
“What you can do is give me a chance to prove that who I am and what I do aren’t the same thing. More than anyone else, you ought to understand. Who are you really? Midnight Mercy or Mercy May? What you do isn’t who you are.”
She closed her eyes and fought for control again. His touch was so seductive. He was always so good with words, twisting everything until it made sense. Pulling away from him, she brushed a hand across her wet eyes and paced. “Nick, what I do is make-believe. What you do is real. It’s not the same.”
“Sure it is, chère. Almost everything about my life until I met you was make-believe. After my parents and Catherine were killed, I didn’t have the guts to practice real medicine, so I chose emergency medicine. I didn’t have to give away a piece of my soul to every patient.” His voice hardened. “God forbid that I should let myself feel something real, that I should let myself care for someone beyond the generic caring of one unknown human being to another.”
Abruptly, Mercy stopped her pacing. The self-damnation in Nick’s voice captured her complete attention, and he didn’t even know it. He was sitting on the staircase staring at his clasped hands, forcing himself to continue.
“And then I met you. The pretending got harder after that. And tonight, for the first time, it was impossible. You see, chère, in emergency medicine, the injury is supposed to be the important thing. You do the best you can, and you walk away. Only tonight I couldn’t walk away. I keep thinking about the thirteen-year-old kid I couldn’t save. A kid who was named Tommy, had braces, and played the trombone … that he was proud of his blue ribbon … that he grabbed my hand and wouldn’t let go.” Finally he looked up. “And I knew I couldn’t pretend not to care anymore. No matter how much it hurt.”
Nick’s pain was real, so real Mercy could feel it in every pore of her body. His knuckles were white from how tightly he clasped his hands, as if he were forcing himself to tell her everything. When he ran a hand across his face, taking a deep breath, she tensed. Instinctively, she knew the worst was yet to come.
Pulling the gold chain out of his shirt, Nick rubbed the medallion between his thumb and forefinger. “I was fifteen years old when my sister was born. This was Catherine’s, a gift from me the day she started school. She wore it every day for two years.”
“Patron saint of children,” Mercy said, closing her eyes against the wave of uneasiness that flowed over her. When she opened them, she had somehow moved closer to Nick. Close enough to touch his shoulder in support if she wanted. And she wanted to. She wanted to sit down beside him and tell him it didn’t matter anymore. That she didn’t need to hear this. But she didn’t. She let him say what he needed to say.
“Yeah, patron saint of children and the patron saint of travelers. Catherine gave it back to me the day I left for medical school. She thought I needed it more.” Nick shoved himself up from the stairs and walked away from her. “She and my parents were killed in a boating accident the next day. She was eight years old, and it tore my heart out. A voice on a phone regretted to inform me that my world had just been blown apart.”
“Oh, my God.”
He turned and continued as if Mercy hadn’t said anything. “I raised Catherine just as much as my parents did. I walked the floor when she was sick. I held her hand when she needed a big brother. See, chère, before I met you, I knew all about heartbreak. I knew all about caring. The one thing I don’t know was the people who come through my emergency room. If I did, then I’d have cared, and I couldn’t care about them. I couldn’t let them tear my heart out every day.”
Mercy was crying again, this time for Nick’s pain. She took a step closer, but Nick stopped her from reaching out with a shake of his head. He wasn’t finished.
“You were right about me. I tried to turn off my emotions. I didn’t want to know too much. Every time a patient died, I didn’t want to carry them with me. I didn’t want to think of Catherine dying all alone. I didn’t want to think of losing the people I loved. I even managed to pretend for a while. But I can’t anymore. I can’t because I’m in love with you. You brought me back to life somehow.”
Mercy’s heart thumped heavily against her chest and any thought she had of walking away from this man vanished. As Nick extended his hand she let him pull her close.
“I wear this medallion because I can’t let go of the people I love. You’re one of those people, chère. I want to marry you. I’m not going anywhere. You should have believed me when I told you I wasn’t near through with you. And never will be. Nothing you can do is going to change the way I feel or make me disappear.”
All of her doubts vanished. Knowing that everything she wanted was hers, Mercy tried not to cry as she said, “How could I make you disappear? I can’t even make you take no for an answer.”
“Then say yes.”
“Yes.”
“Now say I love you.”
Her eyes shining, Mercy repeated, “I love you, Nicholas Octave Devereaux.”
“Mais yeah, chère. Let me show you how we seal an engagement on the bayou.”
Mercy laughed as he slung her over his shoulder in a credible caveman imitation and carried her up the stairs. When he deposited her on the bed, Mercy told him, “You know we have to tell Sophie first. She’ll never forgive me if she hears it somewhere else.”
“Darlin’, she knew it before we did. She’s already got her mother-of-the-bride dress all picked out. Now kiss me.”
“With pleasure.”
THE EDITOR’S CORNER
Welcome to Loveswept!
There’s no better way to kick off the summer than with sultry hot reads … which is why we’re releasing four sizzling romances in June.
ABOUT LAST NIGHT is Ruthie Knox’s sexy and smart second eBook original for Loveswept. This rollicking story will make you laugh while tugging at your heartstrings—it’s the perfect read for when you’re relaxing under the sun. And while you’re at it. check out RIDE WITH YOU. another fantastic book from Ruthie.
A steamy and passionate love story full of seductive promises … Gayle Kasper’s HERE COMES THE BRIDE centers around a reformed bad boy and the virtuous, blushing heroine who falls for him.
THE WEDDING CHASE by Rebecca Kelley is a sparkling and witty story where a charming rogue’s moment of weakness leads to a dangerous liaison with an independent beauty. You won’t want to put this exhilarating read down.
Business turns into pleasure when sparks fly between a wealthy divorcé and an intriguing interior decorator in Sally Goldenbaum’s utterly disarming story, MOONLIGHT ON MONTEREY BAY.
If you love romance … then you’re ready to be Loveswept!
Gina Wachtel
Associate Publisher
P.S. Watch for these terrific Loveswept titles coming soon: July brings Elisabeth Barrett’s debut e-original novel, the brilliant DEEP AUTUMN HEAT. Kristen Kyle’s incredibly appealing THE LAST WARRIOR, and Adrienne Staff’s stunning KEVIN’S STORY. And in August, we have Sally Goldenbaum’s sensual FOR MEN ONLY and Linda Cajio’s moving JUST ONE LOOK. Don’t miss any of these extraordinary reads. I pro
mise that you’ll fall in love and treasure these stories for years to come.…
Read on for excerpts from more Loveswept titles …
Read on for an excerpt from Linda Cajio’s All Is Fair …
One
It was his thirty-sixth birthday.
As a waiter cleared away the remains of his birthday dinner, Morgan Abbott absently touched the silvering temples of his chocolate-brown hair and decided that birthdays were overrated, embarrassing, and only fussed about by people whose birthday it wasn’t. After all, he was thirty-six. and not a nine-year-old, excited about presents and birthday cake. He didn’t even like desserts anymore.
But George Boswick, his friend and business associate, had insisted on celebrating this milestone by taking him out for drinks and dinner at an elegant North Shore Chicago restaurant, since he, Morgan, had been away from home on a business trip on his birthday. George and his wife had even provided a kind of date for him to make the party a foursome.
Morgan glanced at his date. Lisa, an attractive blonde, was a junior executive in the accounting department of George’s electronics supply company. She had just the right amount of brains, ambition, and soothing personality to take her far in the corporate world. As chairman and chief executive officer of Abbott Industries Morgan knew that she was exactly the kind of person he wanted working for him. Lisa knew it, too, he thought, as she gave him a polite, yet acknowledging smile that meant she was happy with her job, but was open to another company’s offer of more money and quicker promotions.
Realizing he was vaguely thinking of her only as a prospective employee, Morgan ruefully chuckled under his breath. He was getting too damn old.
He silently conceded that recently there had been very few women in his life. In fact, there had been very few women in his life, period. Running a corporation demanded all his time.
Briefly closing his eyes, he wished he could find the woman who would be his first priority in life.
Instantly Morgan gave himself a silent lecture. Making a silly birthday wish at his age! He had never met a woman challenging enough to take the place of Abbott Industries in his life and probably never would. Lisa was certainly someone who could understand his often twenty-hour workdays, but she wasn’t a challenge. Nothing about her was new or different. There were no hidden facets to discover. One quick reading of her résumé, and he could accurately guess the rest. Lisa was the typical, career-oriented, no-nonsense modern woman. He saw too many Lisas striding purposefully along AI’s corridors to be more than mildly interested in her.
A slight grimace crossing his sharply etched features, Morgan decided why he was still a bachelor at thirty-six. He was damn picky.
Amused by his private thoughts, he absently gazed around the crowded dining room. And instantly froze, when he caught sight of a lone woman standing in the entryway. She was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, and she was looking directly at him.
His gaze roved over her oval face. Delicate reddish-brown brows arched over wide, dark eyes, contrasting alluringly with her milky skin. A hint of a sensual smile played on her full lips. Lips made for a man’s kisses. Her nose was slim, and her chin was raised at an almost haughty angle. Flaming red hair was wrapped in an intricate chignon. It seemed too heavy for her slender neck, yet she held her head proudly.
Her beauty would have drawn second looks anywhere, but it was her dress that left the other diners gasping. The long-sleeved gown of black crepe fit like a glove over her slender body, covering her from neck to toes. But it was cut on a diagonal between her breasts, shockingly exposing the flesh of the right side of her upper body under a sheer black net sparked with diamentés and tiny black crepe flowers. Only the breast itself was modestly covered by a large crepe flower, a winking stone nestled in the center directly over her nipple.
Morgan couldn’t take his eyes off it.
The woman spoke to the maître d’, then turned back in Morgan’s direction. She gazed coolly around the room for a moment before she followed the maître d’. Her walk was lithe and graceful, and Morgan knew he could have watched her movements for hours. She was a goddess come to life. The thought popped into his head that if he had wanted a birthday present, she would have been it.
A hush had fallen over the restaurant, and heads turned in her wake. The men were more than appreciative; the women enviously disdainful. Realizing she was actually coming to his table, Morgan felt his heart leap and begin to pound its way out of his chest. As he continued to stare at her everything seemed to fade into a gray mist until he and she were the only ones in the room. A still-functioning corner of his mind cursed his schoolboy reaction to the woman, and sternly told him if he didn’t snap out of it he was going to make a fool of himself.
That thought penetrated his numb brain, and he managed to politely stand when she reached his table, vaguely aware that George had also stood. He didn’t even take notice of George’s wife and Lisa as they sat stiffly, glaring at the female stranger.
The woman stood directly in front of him, and he found her even more impossibly beautiful. Her brown eyes locked with his. For a moment he thought she was angry, until she smiled an impy little grin that belied all her regal elegance.
His face beginning to heat, he wondered if she was a birthday surprise arranged by George. Belly dancers, singing telegrams, and strippers were popular gifts nowadays for the American male.
Morgan fervently prayed she wouldn’t burst into a chorus of “Happy Birthday.” Or worse, start stripping to her bikini!
Suddenly her arms wound around his neck, and she kissed him. Her lips were petal-soft, a butterfly’s caress to tease and tantalize, and her breasts pressed against his chest, the small mounds causing an ache he had never felt before. Perfume, as light as dew on the morning grass, seemed to enfold them in a private cocoon.
It was the sweetest kiss he’d ever received.
She quickly broke the embrace, and Morgan opened dazed eyes, expecting to see her standing before him. But she wasn’t there.
Wild-eyed, he glanced around the dining room, only to discover the woman had completely vanished, while all the diners were staring at him as if he’d suddenly gone insane.
Dark red staining his cheekbones now, he instantly turned to George and demanded, “Who was that woman?”
“I thought you knew her!” George said. “Because I certainly don’t.”
“George! Stop playing dumb. My birthday surprise was very funny, and a little embarrassing, but I’m not angry. So don’t be afraid to admit you hired her.” He chuckled dryly. “At least, I’m not as angry as I would have been if she’d started belly-dancing in front of me.”
“Morgan, I didn’t hire her. Believe me, I wouldn’t be afraid to admit it if I had. But I never saw that woman before in my life.”
Morgan stared at George in confusion. George’s consternation was too genuine: he obviously had no idea who the beautiful redhead was. Morgan looked around the room to see if he could spot a familiar, laughing face, then drew his brows together in puzzlement when he didn’t find one.
“Well, whoever she is,” he said with a lopsided grin, “she forgot to wish me a happy birthday.”
Morgan stepped out into the searing heat of a Dallas summer day. He smiled in satisfaction at Peter Scarborough, the head of his Dallas office. Having just acquired a small oil company, Abbott Industries’s power base was growing in leaps and bounds. This phase of his business trip had certainly been most successful.
“Hey! Watch it, lady!”
Morgan stopped dead and nearly snapped his neck as he turned in the direction of the shouted warning. At first, he didn’t recognize her, then the flaming red hair rang a loud bell. It was she! The kissing “birthday present” from the restaurant.
But what was she doing in Dallas, Texas, three days after Chicago? In hot-pink shorts, a green T-shirt, and on roller skates?
Morgan watched in disbelief as she enthusiastically skated toward him. All her cool sophisticat
ion was gone, and her red hair was in two ponytails, sticking straight out above her ears.
She braked slightly when she reached him, stopping within inches of him. Her hands tangled in his hair and she kissed him soundly on the lips. Then, giving him that thoroughly impy grin, she skated off, disappearing around the corner.
“Who was that?” Peter asked in a surprised voice.
Morgan barely heard him, his thoughts more occupied by the way her breasts had delightfully jiggled the words on her T-shirt: “Kiss a Gorilla Today.” Somebody was pulling a fast one on him, he thought, and when he found out who it was, he’d kill him.
“My question exactly, Pete,” he said finally. “My question exactly.”
One week later, Morgan smiled politely at his companion as they stepped into the elevator of the Waldorf-Astoria Hotel. Sultry and sensual, Carla always expected a wild time in New York nightclubs, and a wilder time in bed. Tonight Morgan found her dull and boring. More than once during the evening he had caught himself wishing that she were taller and less chesty. And had stunning red hair.
It had been seven days since he had seen the woman. He didn’t know why he should be thinking about her, but he was. Who was she? Why had she kissed him again? Which one of his friends was putting her up to it?
Those questions, and others like them, had constantly intruded these past few days, while he was at meetings, touring manufacturing facilities, on construction sites, reading blueprints. At night, he found himself lying in bed for hours, speculating on the unanswerable answers.
When he had arrived in New York this morning, on the third leg of his business trip, he had immediately called Carla, an old girlfriend, hoping she would be a very effective remedy for the redhead. Carla had failed miserably.
Morgan didn’t pay attention to the people who filed into the elevator after him and Carla. He glanced at Carla, and she smiled back, catlike, and snuggled up against his side. Carla always clung, he thought absently, and sighed inwardly. He didn’t have the slightest desire for her.
