He raised an eyebrow. "You dragged me in?"
"Didn't I?" I studied him. "I didn't give you much of an opportunity to bail out of it. I was only thinking about myself and my fifteen minutes of fame as the star in an Elinor fantasy. But what about you? You were right in the middle of working with a matchmaker. Presumably trying to find a wife. And now?"
I threw my hands up but quickly let them drop and wrung them anxiously. "I'm assuming you've either put the matchmaking on hold, or gone stealth with your dates so you won't blow our charade. What woman will be happy with being kept in the shadows while you parade about publically with me? How will that look years from now on your silver wedding anniversary when you tell the story of how you met? You'll be in the doghouse for life, you know that?"
He grinned.
"I appreciate it. I really do. But no matter what option you chose, it's not good for you. You're giving up too much."
He took a step into me. "It's not?" He took my hands. "Are you sure?"
My breath caught. "I didn't mean to interrupt your life. I didn't mean to back you into this."
His smile was devastating as he backed me into the wall. He suddenly became Jamie, dark, fiery eyes, passion, and all. He smiled on just one side of his mouth, and cocked his head in Jamie's characteristic way.
I wondered if he was mimicking Jamie consciously. Or if this was just his natural mannerism.
"Blair, do you really think a slip of a woman like you could back me into anything?"
I was tall for a woman. I couldn't remember ever being called a slip of a woman. And yet I was dwarfed by him in every sense of the word. I would have laughed if I hadn't been mesmerized by the dark look of desire in his eyes.
I stared back up at him as defiantly as Elinor. "I think I could make you do almost anything, Austin. If I really wanted to. I've studied human psychology enough to know many tricks."
"I'd like to see you try." He caught the back of my head in his large, warm hand, angling his lips near mine, catching my butt with his free hand, pulling my hips to his. "I like you, Blair. Very much. I'm sure you could make me do many things. But only if I wanted to do them in the first place."
Before I could protest, his lips came down on mine, insistent. Bruising. Skilled almost beyond imagination.
I hadn't expected him to know how to use his tongue like that. To tango with mine. Or to know how to apply just the right pressure to my lips. To relent and be gentle just when I needed it. To caress my lips until I melted in his arms. And then to attack again with intensity and control, rendering me powerless to resist him.
He claimed to be a geek, but he kissed like a Casanova. If I'd been able to think at all clearly, I would have idly wondered if the matchmaker was responsible for this skill. If she was, I should thank her. What other prowess had she taught him?
But my mind was filled only with him. As long as his lips were on mine and I was pressed between him and the wall, there was no room for anything coherent to penetrate my mind.
When he finally released me, my lipstick was all over him. I was breathing hard. And his long auburn hair was tousled where I'd run my fingers through it.
"I hope that settles that," he said with a look of triumph.
"For the moment." I grinned at him.
There was a moment, just a moment, that passed quickly, when both our defenses were down and I could have gotten him into bed. Or he could have gotten me. I would have taken no persuading at all.
But I knew about his matchmaker's advice to keep things platonic until you were sure you wanted to be exclusive. And he knew about my broken heart. It really wasn't a good idea. And yet…
He made no move, but I sensed it took all his willpower to resist the temptation. In a strange twist, I was moved by it. He wasn't taking advantage of my emotional vulnerability. And if I was allowed to hope, it meant, I think, that he believed we could be more. That it was better to give us a chance than to act impetuously. It made me want him even more. I took a ragged breath and studied him.
"I think I'd better reapply my lipstick before we go." I used my thumb and rubbed at a dab of pink lipstick on the corner of his mouth.
"It's all over me?" He grinned. "Is it a good color on me?"
I laughed. "I'm not sure about that. But it does add authenticity to our 'romance.'"
* * *
Erica's house was on a bluff overlooking Puget Sound. It was set well back from the road on a meandering private driveway, totally obscured from view. I've heard it said that the definition of luxury is privacy. Of having your home invisible to the public eye. Her house certainly fit the definition. When the house came into view, it was impressive. A beautiful home with a three-car garage and gabled roofs.
And then, as Austin kept driving, I realized my mistake. That wasn't the main house. That was her guesthouse. The main house was a mansion of significant size, something Gatsby might have lived in. A tiled circular drive in front, laced with an intricate design. A huge separate garage offset from the house. How many cars did Erica and Bob have? The sense of quality permeated even the perfumed air around the place.
I'd visited many manor houses and castles in the UK, but I'd never been a guest at a house like this. Erica had even more money than I imagined. Than I could imagine. Or, at least, her husband did.
While my eyes were wide with the magnificence of the home, Austin seemed unimpressed.
"Isn't that the most beautiful home you've ever seen?" I whispered, full of wonderment.
He laughed. "You're easily impressed."
"Am I?" I shook my head. "And you're not?"
"Lazer's main place is nicer. Newer and more to my taste, at least."
Erica had hired a valet to park cars. He opened my door and helped me out.
Austin handed control of his car over to him and took my hand. "All right. Are you ready to play the challenging role of my girlfriend? Can we fool your friends? These brilliant doctors and entrepreneurs?"
"I believe we can." I squeezed his hand. "If we throw ourselves into the role."
Huge planters filled with spring flowers, obviously artfully planted and arranged just for this occasion, flanked the entrance to the mansion and were probably the source of the perfume. A maid greeted us at the door, took our coats, and showed us to the living room.
Erica spotted us as quickly as if she'd been watching for us. Her gaze ran over us, mostly taking Austin's measure. It was clear from her expression she liked what she saw. She came to greet us. "Blair!"
As she hugged me, I was struck by how thin and small she seemed.
"And this must be Austin." Her gaze ran over him. "What? No kilt?" She put on a beautiful, playful pout.
"Sorry to disappoint." He was charming and good-humored, as always. But he looked at her as if he was trying to place her. As if she was vaguely familiar. A hint of a frown creased his brow. I expected him to ask if he knew her, but he rather pointedly didn't.
"Oh, you don't. Believe me." Her eyes were alight with mischief and appreciation. "You really do look like Connor Reid. I suppose you've never heard that before!"
"You might just be the first." Austin relaxed, grinned, and nodded. "Thank you. That's high praise."
She patted his arm. "You have to meet my husband. Bob has been looking forward to meeting you since I told him about you." She leaned close and whispered, "He wouldn't usually admit it because it's not macho, but he's a big Jamie fan. He's Scottish, you see. They're very clannish."
"Aye," Austin said, putting on his accent. "He sounds like my granda."
His response delighted her. Erica wedged herself between us and took each of us by the arm, guiding us smoothly through her throng of guests, introducing us to dignitaries along the way. Easily recognizable names from the business, political, and philanthropic communities. People with money and power. And loose pocketbooks, their own or the public's. It was one of those types of parties.
If I had been interested in power and prestige, I would have been t
hrilled to be there. To use it to my advantage. But it was wasted on me. For the moment, all I wanted in life was to help Beth and my patients. To put my broken heart behind me and get to know Austin better.
I made a note to apologize to Austin later for dragging him to this. It was soon apparent we were there as the celebrities of the moment. The entertainment.
Erica was the consummate hostess. Charming. Pleasant. Full of smiles. She remembered everyone's name and little personal details about each of them. She asked them the tiny, seemingly specific questions that please people and get them to talk.
Did your son make the baseball team?
I saw that your granddaughter won the riding championships. You must be thrilled. Will she be moving on to the regionals?
How is your mother doing? Has her memory improved any with the new therapy?
People are easily pleased and impressed. All you have to do is focus on them. Erica, like many doctors, had an excellent, and trained, memory. She used it here to draw people in and ingratiate herself to them. This was her type of party. She craved power and money. She was in her element here in the midst of the powerbrokers of the city and state.
I'd only known Erica a few weeks, so it wasn't surprising I'd never seen this side of her. But I wasn't particularly surprised by it. She thrived in this environment. No wonder her much older husband had fallen for her. She'd shown him just how useful she could be.
Finally, we managed our way across the room to our host. He sat in a plush chair at the windows with his back to us.
I was familiar with what Bob looked like, at least at one snapshot in time. A painting of him hung prominently in the hospital. When you gave as much money as he did, that was how they rewarded you. In the portrait I was familiar with, he was a stout, robust man in his early sixties. Healthy looking. The kind that had been athletic in his youth. Maybe a former college football player. Gray hair. Bald spot on top. Serious expression, full of his importance—at least, as caught by the artist. From the back, and seated, his bald spot was even more prominent, his hair thinner and wispier.
The view over his head out the windows momentarily diverted me. There was no word to describe it except spectacular. Perched on the cliff high above it all, you felt almost as if you were flying. The windows were sculpted and placed to practically disappear and enhance the illusion.
"Darling," Erica said, catching her husband's attention and releasing our arms to put her hands on his shoulders. "You wanted to meet my new friend Blair and her wickedly hot boyfriend Austin, the cosplayer."
As Bob stood and turned to face us, I was immediately struck by the ashen color of his skin and the effort it took for him to stand. As he welcomed us, he broke into a dry, hacking cough.
"Oh, darling," Erica said. "Please sit. Let me get you some water." She signaled a waiter who was passing drinks around.
"I've drunk so much water my ankles are swollen," Bob said, but he sat back down without further protest. "You're going to drown me with all the liquid you pour down me." He took the glass from Erica all the same and took a sip.
It was hard not to notice he was out of breath from the simple exertion of standing. He set the glass down on a nearby end table and shook our hands. His were cold and icy.
One look at him and I knew the truth—his heart was failing. Rapidly. This man was dying. Right before his physician's wife's eyes.
Chapter 4
Blair
Erica had never mentioned her husband's heart problems. Maybe it was too personal. Too much to deal with while working with so many cancer patients. But as I watched them interact with each other, it was obvious that while he was proud of her, and adored her, he was almost afraid of her. And she had no love for him. Outwardly she gushed and fussed over him, but it was a thin veneer over her disdain.
Maybe it wasn't as obvious to everyone. For their sake, I hoped not. I had the advantage of being her friend and hearing her talk about him at work, confiding in me.
She thought he was dull, a bore, and that he had slowed down since she married him five years ago. Slowed to the point he wasn't any fun anymore. No vacations. No activity. Not much of anything. If only he lost some weight. Instead he seemed to be putting it on. Lack of activity.
She liked to talk about how she had him on a special diet and exercise program to get his vigor back. He was fighting it. And nothing was working.
Bob liked Austin almost on sight. Two Scots will always get along. He was soon deep in conversation with Austin about the upcoming local Highlander games, plying him with questions, and wondering if there was any way to use Austin to fundraise for the hospital.
Erica took my arm. "Sorry about that. Bob won't let Austin go anytime soon. Let me introduce you around a bit more."
Austin shot me a resigned look.
I'm sorry, I mimed.
When Erica and I had stepped a decent distance away, I jumped her about Bob. "Why didn't you tell me about Bob's heart problems?"
"Shhh," she said. "He doesn't want people knowing."
I looked at her like she was crazy. "There are plenty of doctors from the hospital here. They can see it as well as I can."
"But they keep quiet about it to soothe Bob's vanity," she said. "He likes to think he's strong and virile. And in his mind, he is. He's still very sharp." She sighed. "He's on heart-strengthening medication and under the care of the best cardiologist in the state. He'll be fine. He just needs time and care. The meds take time to rebuild the heart."
"I'm sorry," I said. "It must be hard for you."
"It is what it is," she said, looking away. "You dance the dance, you pay the piper."
It seemed an odd thing for her to say. Until I followed her line of sight directly to a tall, well-built man who'd just arrived. I guessed he was in his early forties. A full head of hair, but graying at the temples in a way that made him look distinguished and intellectual. His stylish glasses added to the effect. He wasn't classically handsome, but he was striking and attractive enough in his own way.
The admiring look on Erica's face gave her feelings away.
My breath caught. Erica, no. No. I hoped no one else saw what I did. I wanted to warn her to be careful. If I had known her longer, or better, I would have.
Before I could get a word out, she put a hand on my arm. "You have to meet Dan. He's impossibly brilliant." She waved to him. "Remember? I told you about him. Such a coincidence he's your boyfriend's boss. It really is a small world." Her voice had a kind of reverence in it that was uncharacteristic of her. "His mind is a thing of beauty." She sighed. "It's rare to find a man as intelligent as he is. He could be very useful to us."
I frowned. That, too, was an odd thing to say about a man she was obviously entranced with.
As he approached, I held my breath, mentally shouting at Erica to be careful. He arrived and hugged her a little too tightly. Did they think Bob was blind?
When Dan released her, Erica introduced us.
Sometimes you have a gut reaction you can't explain. I'd learned to trust my instincts. The appraising way he looked at me made me uncomfortable for no real reason. It was just a little too familiar. I hoped Erica didn't pick up on it. I lifted my chin to let him know I wouldn't cower. I wouldn't be his conquest.
"So you're Austin's Elinor." His gaze ran over me, intense and appraising. "I've followed your story in the news. I like your hair down." Even his grin was leering. "Your red dress was striking. I wish I'd seen it in person. The fabric looks luxurious. I imagine it's soft beneath your fingers."
Douche. I ignored his blatant hint. I wasn't going to volunteer to wear the dress for him. Not ever. But particularly not with Erica right there. I ignored his innuendo and kept smiling, vowing not to antagonize him for Austin's sake. To give him a chance. Or enough rope to hang himself.
"How long have you been into cosplay?" he said.
"I'm not a cosplayer. I just love Jamie. My aunt is the genius behind the dress. She thought it would be fun for me to go t
o Comicon dressed as Elinor. She made the dress." I hoped that set him straight.
"In all the years I've known Austin, I haven't met anyone who could outdo him as far as costumes go," Dan said. "He's a hell of a tailor. I bet your aunt could teach him a thing or two."
"Beth was a professional costume designer years ago," I said, proud of both her and Austin.
I felt Erica's disapproval. She didn't like Dan's attention on me.
"Dan is working with me on the new predictive outcome software and app for the center." Erica’s voice was full of admiration as she launched into a brief overview of their work.
I knew about the research she and others on her team were doing into using artificial intelligence to predict short- and long-term survival rates specifically geared toward the circumstances of each patient, not general statistics. The app also predicted the outcome and success of various drugs and treatment methods.
The hope was that with our goal of patient-centric care, the app could help physicians chose the best, most effective, most cost-effective treatment for each patient. The app was another tool in a physician's arsenal. It wasn't meant to supersede their experience and training, or their human touch.
There were several apps already on the market from other sources. But most of them were only available for the more common cancers, and rudimentary. Erica was working on incorporating the rarer forms of cancer and more variables into the app to get more accurate results.
"I didn't know you were involved in Erica's research," I said to him as a light bulb went on for me. "You must be a very busy man. I thought your company specializes in digital security?"
Erica was proud, and protective, of her project. She had a grant to do it and was clearly looking for fame. She would be as famous as Jarvik and his heart. Or Heimlich and his maneuver. Some people can't help craving fame.
Dan nodded and smiled intimately at Erica. "We are." He caressed her with his gaze. He was obviously as impressed with her as she was with him.
Almost Elinor: A Jet City Novel Page 4
