by Francis Ray
Wanted. What exactly did she want from him?
Increasingly, he knew what he wanted from her—her warm, willing, and wild in his bed. His hand clenched on the knob. He’d thought about it with increasing and annoying regularity. He’d caught the look in her eyes a couple of times and knew she might not be thinking of intimacy, but she was definitely interested.
He’d think she was after him if he hadn’t approached her first. He usually ignored people who irritated him. Perhaps even then he had wanted her. But it wasn’t going to happen. As he’d told her. He didn’t date staff members.
“Dr. Mathis, can I help you?”
Lost in thought, he glanced up to see Gwen Owens, a social worker at the hospital. In her late thirties, reasonably attractive with a good figure, she’d made several overtures to him when he’d first arrived. He hadn’t been interested then or now. “No, thank you, Ms. Owens. I was just about to go into Ms. Thomas’s office.”
Gwen shook her head of reddish-gold hair. “I heard about the disgraceful way she acted toward you. You would be within your rights to speak to her supervisor. She had no right to question you.”
The door suddenly opened and Sabrina stood there, a hard frown on her pretty face. It was directed at Gwen. “Hello, Gwen. Don’t let us keep you,” Sabrina said. “I know how busy you are.”
The woman’s red lips tightened, then she smiled at him. “Dr. Mathis, if there is ever anything I can do for you, please don’t hesitate. My door is always open.”
“So I’ve heard,” Sabrina muttered.
The other woman glared at Sabrina. The rumors about Gwen’s “openness” to doctors was well known.
Sabrina’s startled eyes widened with embarrassment. Cade realized that once again, she’d spoken without thinking it through first. He thought to soothe the incensed older woman. He’d heard she could also be vindictive. “I appreciate the offer, Ms. Owens. It’s good to know you’re there to help if patients need you.”
“Thank you,” Gwen said, somewhat mollified.
“Good-bye.” Urging Sabrina back into her office, Cade closed the door.
“I didn’t mean to say that,” Sabrina said, staring at the floor. “The way she lives her life is none of my business.”
“Then why say anything at all?”
Her gaze flickered to him and away. “Bad manners.”
He frowned down at her. “Why don’t I believe you?”
Shrugging, she waved him toward a seat in front of her neat desk. “Please have a seat. I don’t want to take too much of your time.”
“Still laying it on a bit thick,” he said, but he started for the chair. A flash of color caught his attention. Instead of sitting, he stared at the painting behind her desk.
Sabrina saw the direction of his gaze, and came to stand beside him. “It’s good, isn’t it?”
“Very.”
“Kara painted it for me. The next time you see her, you can tell her.”
“So she doesn’t spend a lot of her time holding a table in the cafeteria for you,” he said drolly.
“Hardly,” Sabrina said. “We have much more important things to do. Like discuss her amazing work, and how she’s going to be rich and famous one day.”
Cade stared down at the top of Sabrina’s sleek head of hair. She barely came to the middle of his chest. He outweighed and outranked her, but she wasn’t afraid to stand toe to toe with him. His attention switched to a safe topic. “The painting is peaceful, but at the same time it grabs your attention.”
“A contradiction, just like a certain doctor I know,” she said, going behind her desk.
His gaze snapped to her. She had a sassy mouth. He could too well imagine it on his, her mouth roaming over his body.
Her brown eyes narrowed. Her nostrils delicately flared. Her body responded to him with just a look. What would happen if he actually touched her?
He wasn’t about to find out. “You mentioned you needed to see me.”
She swallowed, swallowed again. “Yes.” Bending, she lifted an oversized hot pink gift bag with THANK YOU in large letters on it, and gave the bag to him. “This is for you, from Clarissa and her classmates and friends.”
He stared at the bag.
“It won’t bite,” Sabrina said with a smile. “Her father brought her by this morning. She gave me a hug and a card too.”
Cade took the bag. He didn’t know what to say.
Sabrina leaned against her desk and folded her arms. “I’d say you made an impression on her.” She motioned toward the bag. “She enlisted her friends at her school, the art teacher, and her Sunday school class to write you notes thanking you for helping her mother feel better so she’d come home and they could do things together.”
For the first time in months, he thought of his own birth mother. He’d wished for her to come get him, take him away from his hellish life, but she never did.
“The children touch you the most—with their innocence and trust and love,” Sabrina said. “Every child deserves to grow up with loving parents.”
“That’s impossible for some people, and we both know it,” he snapped.
“The authorities never found my father. The man my mother was living with refused to take me, saying he wasn’t my father. DNA tests proved he wasn’t.” She folded her arms. “My mother was never off drugs long enough to give a thought or try to get me back from the foster home, which probably saved my life.”
“I’m sorry,” he said. He knew what it was to be unwanted, unloved, to be reminded every second that you were nothing.
She shrugged carelessly. “It happened. We’ve both seen cases where the child didn’t survive. I was blessed to find parents who love me.”
Despite his best effort, his features hardened.
Her arms slowly unfolded. She stared at him a long time. “You didn’t, did you?”
A burning rage that he’d thought he’d buried erupted. He never wanted anyone to know his shame.
Sabrina shrank back from him, then took a tentative step toward him. “Cade.” She reached for his arm. He stepped back. He didn’t want her to touch him. Once he would have given part of his soul for a simple touch.
“Please forgive me. I speak—”
He whirled and headed for the door. She caught his arm, felt the muscles bunch. “Please. Yell at me if you want. Please. I can’t stand the thought of me hurting you.”
He tugged his arm free, then he was gone, the door snapping shut behind him.
Sabrina stared at the closed door. Tears rolled down her cheeks. She’d hurt him. This time she wasn’t sure he’d ever forgive her, and she couldn’t blame him.
Ten
Tuesday evening Kara stared at her reflection in the mirror over the dresser in her bedroom and wanted to cry. She looked “ordinary” in the dark navy suit and simple white shell. Nothing stood out or invited a man to take a second look. She didn’t even have any pretty jewelry to wear.
On her bed were several suits and dresses that she’d tried on. None of them made her look any better. She’d never been this anxious about what she wore on a date. She shut her eyes. This was not a date. Her eyes opened.
Lying to yourself is a bad sign, Kara. She should have listened to Sabrina. Sabrina might not date, but she knew women’s psyches where men were concerned. She also wasn’t afraid to go after what she wanted. Kara had been tempted to call her. But Kara had made the decision and now she had to live with it.
The doorbell sounded. Kara blew out a breath and picked her purse off the chair in her bedroom.
In the den, she was surprised to see her mother watching television. After her father died, her mother wouldn’t sleep in their bedroom. She’d moved to the guest bedroom down the hall, then complained about being cramped.
Tired of hearing her complain, Kara hired Fred to tear out the wall of the connecting bedroom and remodel the rooms into one for her mother. One of the additions her mother insisted on was a 44-inch TV. The den had the same 19-in
ch RCA her parents had when Kara was a child.
The doorbell sounded again. Her mother casually picked up her glass of Pepsi and sipped. Kara knew her mother was purposefully waiting for Tristan to arrive. How she’d act was anybody’s guess.
Kara went to the door and opened it. Her heart did a quick, unsettling jerk. Dressed in a lightweight wheat-colored sports jacket, white shirt, and chocolate-colored slacks, he looked mouthwatering. “Hello, Tristan.”
“Hi, Kara. You ready?”
“Yes.” So what if she had vainly hoped to see a hint of appreciation in his green eyes despite her putting him off-limits.
“A man with manners would come in and speak,” her mother said from behind her.
Kara wanted to hang her head. Instead she opened the glass door and stepped aside for Tristan to come into the house.
“Good evening, Mrs. Simmons,” Tristan greeted.
“Kara might trust you, but I don’t.”
“Mother,” Kara said, embarrassed.
“I hope to change your mind, Mrs. Simmons. Your daughter has talent and I want to help her find an audience for her paintings,” Tristan said.
“No doubt … for a price.” Her mother practically sneered.
“Good night, Mother.” Kara left the house. Tristan followed. On the porch, she paused. In the driveway was an expensive-looking black sports car.
“I didn’t know what you’d wear and I didn’t want you struggling to climb up into the truck,” he explained, leading her to the car and opening the door.
“I might have known you’d have another car.” Seated, she buckled the the seat belt he handed her.
“Actually, I prefer the truck,” Tristan told her before he got inside and started the motor. “It belonged to my dad. He died when I was three, but Mother kept it for me.”
Her mother had sold her father’s car a week after they buried him. She said there was no sense paying insurance on a car to sit in the garage; besides, she needed the money to pay bills. She’d used the money to go to an exclusive spa. “I like your mother.”
“She likes you too.” Tristan took the ramp to the freeway. “She’s excited about placing the paintings in the model home.”
“I’m grateful she wants to help, especially after my bad behavior,” she said, remembering her mother’s rudeness tonight. “My mother … I’m sorry. She—”
His hand briefly rested on hers. Startled, she glanced up at him. “She’s just worried about you.”
She wasn’t, and they both knew it. “Where are we going for dinner?”
“Someplace quiet where we can relax and talk.” He exited the freeway and headed toward downtown. “I thought tomorrow night we’d go over the selection again.”
“Fred loves working with wood and helping me frame them,” she said, relaxing a bit as he turned into the West End, a popular tourist attraction that had a lot of casual restaurants.
“I still can’t believe you frame them yourself,” he said as he slowed down to pull behind another car.
“The pricing of odd-size or large canvases is outrageous,” she said. “Besides, I like finishing the wood, selecting the matting.”
“People are going to be lining up to buy your work once they know it’s all handcrafted.” He grinned at her. “You’re going to be a sensation.”
Kara grinned back. “I’m going to hold you to that.”
“We’re here,” he said.
Kara looked around, saw the palm tree neon sign for the Palm, an upscale restaurant, and shrank back against the seat. “We’re eating here?”
“Yeah. They have great food and we’re early enough to miss the evening crowd.”
A smiling young man in white slacks and shirt opened her door. “Welcome to the Palm.”
Tristan stared at her when she made no move to get out of the car. “What’s the matter?”
How could she tell him she wasn’t dressed right? The Palm was a five-star restaurant. She’d passed it several times but, because it was so expensive, had never eaten there.
“Would you rather go someplace else?” Tristan said.
Kara saw two couples, the women in pretty summer dresses, go up the steps leading inside. Once again she wished she had listened to Sabrina. Kara wanted to feel confident, beautiful, and she felt neither.
Tristan pulled out his billfold and extracted two bills. “Sorry, fellows.”
“No. This is fine.” Reminding herself that this was a business meeting, she got out of the car. Tristan rounded the car and curved his arm around her waist. She didn’t think of protesting. She needed the boost his nearness gave her.
“They have great seafood and steaks,” he said as they entered.
“Welcome to the Palm,” a woman greeted at the podium. “Two for dinner?”
“Yes, thank you,” Tristan said. “A quiet table.”
“Certainly, sir.” The woman led them to a high-backed booth, then moved aside.
Kara sat down in the leather booth, careful not to pull the white tablecloth from the table as she slid in. She expected Tristan to sit on the other side. He sat beside her. She had no choice but to slide over. The hostess handed them menus.
“What would you like to drink, or would you prefer to wait for the wine steward?”
“White wine,” Kara said.
“Hennessy.”
“They’ll be right out. Enjoy your dinner.”
Tristan opened his menu. “Anything look good to you?”
You, popped into Kara’s head before she could control the thought. She hid behind the menu, but she couldn’t ignore him; the heat from his body burned though her clothes.
“I’m having salmon. How about you?”
She lowered the menu and found his face inches from hers. She didn’t want to be attracted to Tristan. Somehow she knew he could hurt her worse than any man before him.
His fingertips brushed across her chin. “Believe in yourself. Believe in me.”
“Hello, Tristan.”
Tristan tensed beside her. Kara looked up to see a beautiful woman in a gorgeous red silk suit. Short stylish black hair framed her face. An onyx enhancer surrounded by diamonds hung from her neck. Matching earrings graced her ears. She exuded confidence and wealth.
“Hello, Gizzelle.”
“Aren’t you going to introduce us?” she asked, her voice smooth and cultured.
“Kara Simmons. Gizzelle Adams,” Tristan said tightly, obviously not wanting to make the introduction.
Kara nodded. Gizzelle did the same, but didn’t move. Kara sensed the woman and Tristan had once been more than friends. Had she been one of the things he became bored with?
“How is your mother?” Gizzelle asked.
“Fine,” Tristan clipped out.
“Please give her my love,” Gizzelle said, staring at Tristan with greedy eyes.
“Sure.”
Gizzelle’s gaze finally moved to Kara and stayed. Kara felt as if she were being evaluated and found lacking. She sat up straighter.
“The hostess is waiting on you,” Tristan said.
Gizzelle didn’t even look in the direction of the woman standing a few feet away. “If you ever need a hair stylist or a personal shopper, Tristan has my number.”
Tristan shot to his feet. His face was hard. “No I don’t, and Kara doesn’t need your help.”
Gizzelle stared at Kara, smiled coldly, and said, “Spoken like a man who is only thinking about one thing.”
“You’re pushing it, and you really don’t want to do that,” Tristan said tightly.
“Just trying to help. People in our influential circle can be so cruel to outsiders,” she said, and looked at Tristan. “Perhaps we’ll see each other again.”
“I can’t think of a single reason why either of us would want to.”
Her head snapped back, and the self-assurance faded from her face. She shot a killer glance at Kara then finally moved away.
Trying to control his anger, Tristan sat back down. Gi
zzelle still got to him, but not in the way she wanted.
“Your drinks. Are you ready to order?”
Tristan gave the waiter their food order and menus. As soon as the waiter left, Tristan turned to Kara. “I’m sorry for that.”
He’d overlooked her mother’s bad manners so she should reciprocate. Besides, the woman had reminded Kara that Tristan wasn’t for her. His association with Gizzelle was none of Kara’s business, but she heard herself ask, “Is she one of the things you became bored with?”
“She became bored with me.” He picked up his cognac. “We were married less than a year and we’ve been divorced a year.”
Kara placed her hand on his arm. “People do things they regret later on. Like my bad behavior.”
He wasn’t surprised by her concern or by the way his body reacted to her touch. She got to him in the best way. “You were pissed off and scared. My ex was uncaring and gleeful. She wanted a partnership more than she wanted me.”
“I think she’s discovered that some accomplishments aren’t worth what you give up to get them,” she said.
His hand covered hers. “You care about people. Bess said you called today to check on them. You didn’t have to do that.”
Her hand trembled beneath his, but she didn’t pull away. “My obligation doesn’t end when a patient leaves the hospital. I wanted them to know I’m still there for them.”
“I’ve met a lot of people who care about the money and not the job. They make everyone around them pay for their unhappiness,” he said. “Bess said you helped them get other services. You went beyond what you had to. Just before you called yesterday, Zachary had called to say Dale had another buddy bring him more beer. I could have kicked his butt for wasting his life.”
So, that was the reason he had sounded impatient. “It’s hard when you care for a person and they don’t seem to care about themselves. Alcoholism is a complex disease.”
“You’re right, but I could still kick his butt.”
Kara almost smiled. Tristan didn’t appear to be a man who tolerated weakness in himself or others. Her smile faded. He would have put her mother in check long ago.
“I’m glad Bess has you to help her.”
“I like helping people. As for those you mentioned earlier who just want a job, I bet you don’t have them working for you for long,” she said, sure of her answer.
