Grace clutched her chest as if heartbroken along with him over Mia’s bad luck in the mother department. He’d stopped blaming himself for choosing such a self-centered person to marry, hoped he’d change enough in the character-reading department before he’d ever invited anyone else into his life.
He’d tried to keep a distance from the emotions roiling inside him as he told the story. He hadn’t opened up to anyone but his sisters about it, and it had been so long ago, and he still hadn’t told the entire story tonight. Because it was too gruesome to go into. He rubbed his chest, where it still hurt like hell whenever he relived that chapter of his life.
“I packed up my daughter and made a vow that she’d never know rejection like that for the rest of her life.”
Things went dead quiet. He stared at the carpet, found a small red plastic toy piece and picked it up. Set the empty and smashed beer can on the table. Anything to avoid Grace’s somber stare. He felt it on the side of his face, though, and knew that eventually he’d have to look at her.
She touched his shoulder and squeezed it. “You did the right thing. Mia is an amazingly self-assured girl, and it’s all thanks to you.”
He glanced up seeing her total acceptance of his decision to bring his daughter to another country, leaving her mother far behind. And it meant everything to him.
But Grace was too close. Her mouth was right there….
Grace’s body went hot with emotion as Mitch unraveled his story. He was a strong, admirable man for going to bat for the innocent party, his daughter. She’d never met a man like that. Mia was the most important person in Mitch’s life, as every child should be to their parents.
He’d veiled his hurt by acting imperturbable, but she sensed his pain, experienced it as if it had happened to her. Her heart wrenched for both Mitch and Mia. Wanting nothing more than to comfort him, she leaned in, at eye level with his sad downward-looking eyes. His hand went to her cheek, and slowly his gaze lifted to her mouth. He traced her lower lip with the pad of his thumb, scattering warmth along her jaw. It trickled down her throat and reaching deep into her chest.
His careful yet steady gaze traveled higher, to her eyes, and seemed to ask the question, was this all right, he and her sitting on his couch, touching each other?
Only a second passed for her to make up her mind. Yes, it was. In fact, she wanted to kiss him.
Evidently, he’d beat her to the decision, as his mouth covered hers in the sweetest, sudden embrace. The physical connection sent a shock wave throughout her body.
They straightened up on the couch, leaning against the cushions, as she wrapped her hands behind his neck, pulling him nearer, pressing her lips closer, enjoying the last of his day-long scent and that evening stubble.
His warm, soft kiss almost made her forget how messed up she was. How she couldn’t let anyone close. Ever again. But right now she didn’t want to think about those tired old excuses, she was too wrapped up in the moment and only wanted to think about kissing Mitch.
He angled his head so their mouths fit just so, then moistened the crease of her lips with the tip of his tongue. He shifted again to feather tiny kisses around her lips and over her face, on to her earlobe for a quick nip and tug, then back to her mouth to kiss deeper, releasing a chill bomb. She relaxed, slipped into his rhythm and need, met his tongue with the tip of her own, as all resistance to his bold kiss melted away.
She sighed into the feel of his lips as he took her mouth over and over, marveling that they were kissing, and tasting the beer they’d shared, fully aware she wanted so much more with him.
But she could never have a future with a man like Mitch. With any man, especially Mitch. It was senseless to kiss him, to start anything, even though this first kiss would be tattooed in her mind for the rest of her life.
Why toy with the affections of a man with whom she couldn’t be completely open? Why taunt Mitchell, who deserved a normal woman, something she could never be. He’d already met his quota of messed up, distant and damaged women with his ex-wife. That was enough for his lifetime.
She let her thoughts pull her out of the moment. Far back in her mind, she couldn’t help but think he still loved his ex-wife. Why else would he keep her picture out all these years?
Mitch clutched her arms—she sensed his passion shift from exploration to need. Or maybe he’d felt her hesitation as her thoughts had wandered again and again to his ex. His kisses grew hungry, desperate. They seemed to chase after her as she mentally withdrew. His need frightened her. She could never be what he wanted. If she stayed here, he’d expect more than she could give. She couldn’t bear to see the disappointment in his face if he saw her burns. It would rip her heart out.
Though she longed for the comfort and thrills his lips promised, she needed to keep it real. For her sake and for his. Kissing was an entry-level drug—it led to desire and ultimately to sex. Grace Turner didn’t get naked with men any more.
She broke away from his lips, struggling to catch her breath. “No wonder they call you Lips.” She hoped to lighten the mood, to smooth over the sudden end to their make-out session.
“I’d rather you didn’t call me that,” he said, touching her, pulling her close again.
She hadn’t a clue how she’d find her way home, but she needed to get away from Mitch. She’d call a cab as soon as she could think straight.
Since the attack, it wasn’t in the stars for her to live a normal life so why pretend?
“I have to get home,” she said, pulling herself away from his arms.
His eyes betrayed the confusion and sexual desire he struggled to hide. “Why, Grace?”
“We can’t do this, Mitch.” She stood and rubbed her folded arms as if she was freezing. “It’s not a good idea.”
“I’m just kissing you.”
Grace straightened her clothes, trying with all her power to gather her composure. “That seemed like a hell of a lot more than just kissing.” She gazed at him, but couldn’t withstand his smoldering stare, so she looked away. “I guess I’m not ready, then.”
Her eyes found the front door and focused. She’d get to her cell phone and call that cab company. Leaving was her only hope to save face. Get out of that door. Leave. Now.
“I’d never push you to do anything you didn’t want to.” He stood and moved toward her.
“I know, but I might be the one to push myself.” She inched away.
Mitch’s confused expression intensified, bordering on hurt. She owed him an explanation, didn’t dare give it. He’d never understand. Besides, the way he’d looked so sadly at his ex-wife’s picture earlier when he’d told her the story, the way he still kept it around as if continuing to pine for her, Grace had a deep suspicion that he’d never stopped loving her.
Not even in a perfect world, under ideal circumstances—even if she were the person she’d used to be—there wouldn’t be room in his life for her. His heart was still hung up on the mother of his child, and he probably didn’t even know it.
She grabbed her purse off the adjacent chair and strode for the door, afraid to look back, fishing inside for her phone on the way.
She’d almost made it home free when Mitch’s firm grasp on her arm swung her round.
CHAPTER SEVEN
MITCH’S MOUTH CAME crashing down on Grace’s again. He kissed hard and rough this time, pushing her against the door through which she’d tried to leave.
He took her breath away, thrilling her as he fought to get her back where they’d just been, near enough to heaven to feel it. She let him have his way with her lips, not ready to end this dizzying moment. His hands skimmed every part of her arms, sides, and back as if he couldn’t feel enough of her. The desperate kiss nearly broke her heart, as he seemed to pour into it every bit of emotion he’d held back during his story.
Grace understood his reckless need to have her, and it took every last bit of her self-control not to join him. To give in. To let him take her. If things had only been
different …
She pushed away from his shoulders, dazed by his ragged breath and dire need for her. Intoxicated by his palpable desire, she forced herself to focus. This couldn’t happen. They couldn’t be together, no matter how right it felt or how mesmerizing his kisses were.
“I’ve got to go.” Somehow she’d found her voice as she’d ended the kiss.
He swallowed, obviously practicing self-restraint, and backed off. But his eyes tore into her, stripping her naked. “Remember this.” His commanding tone dropped over her like whiskey and honey. “Think about what we could have.”
Even now, knowing she had to end it, the breath from his voice and the nearness of him sent chills across her shoulders and chest. Her tight breasts ached for his attention. Every part of her cried out for his touch.
She couldn’t look another second at the messy-haired, smoldering-eyed, sexiest man she’d ever seen … or kissed. All she could do was turn the knob on the door and escape.
He might have physical needs, and she understood there was definitely chemistry between them. But as hard as it would be to open up to any man again, to stand naked, exposed and scarred before him, she especially couldn’t open herself up to heartache with a man who still loved the mother of his child.
Grace had been dreading the Cumberbatch meeting on Tuesday night. She’d managed to avoid Mitch all day thanks to a heavy surgery schedule at Kate’s, but now, after hours, they’d be forced to come face-to-face because of the consultation.
It seemed everyone had left the clinic. The building was quiet and almost spooky. She wasn’t even sure Mitch was on the premises.
Not wanting to be late, she’d come right to the clinic after her last surgery, and still wore scrubs. She hadn’t bothered to change into street clothes and had simply thrown on her knee-length doctor’s coat from her office. Tucking a thin white cotton scarf into the neckline of her top, she turned up her collar then headed down the hall to the “special” consultation room.
The clinic records verified that many a famous person had sat in this very room waiting for various minor procedures, from royalty to politician to musician to actor to reality star. The list was long, and she’d promised never to divulge their names to a soul.
With nerves skittering throughout her body, and hot memories of their kiss racing through her mind, she opened the door to find both Mitch and Davy Cumberbatch already sitting at the meeting table. Someone may as well have suddenly rung Big Ben’s bell from the rush of her anxiety taking on wings and flying free at the sight of Mitch. She needed to get a grip.
Oh, and there was Davy, too.
After taking a sip of bottled water, she offered a polite smile to both men, avoiding Mitch’s penetrating eyes, then used her old charm-school training to walk across the room slowly and steadily, as if she had a book balanced on her head.
Mitch stood, looking at her as if he hadn’t seen her since forever, ravenously eating her up with his eyes. His gaze ran hot, oozing with longing, then pulled back to a fully professional expression.
She’d been transported back to last night, was right there with him on the desire level, seeing him for the first time since their kisses. The mere thought sparked a pool of heat, its warm rivulets coursing throughout her body. Her cheeks grew hot. She needed another drink of water and took it before sitting down.
Finally, she looked at Davy, who hadn’t bothered to stand, just sat there like a prince without manners. Gaunt, his sallow skin showing the evidence of hard living and self-indulgence, it seemed hard to imagine the legions of loyal fans he’d made over the past three decades. The image she’d been working with on her computer must have been several years back, in a healthier time. That could prove to be a problem, and further reason for her to refuse him his wish.
“Mr. Cumberbatch, I’m a big fan, it’s a pleasure to meet you.” She’d take one for the clinic and lie through her teeth, mark it off as being a team player.
Life came back to his battered face. He smiled. “Hey, Doc.” He glanced at Mitchell. “You didn’t tell me about the hot doc.”
Grace could tell Mitch had reverted to diplomatic skills for the sake of the Hunter Clinic, as she had. He forced a smile, though she’d glimpsed a flash of anger in his charm. “We don’t like to divulge all our secrets. You can relate to that, right, Davy?” Mitch winked.
The sarcasm and condescension skidded right over Davy’s over-dyed elfin-styled punk hairdo, which seemed a tad ridiculous on a fortysomething male in the first place. She couldn’t quite bring herself to call him a man, since his reputation remained more in the petulant and spoiled-boy realm. The sad thing was, if she’d been bold enough to tell him what she really thought, he’d just laugh and take it to the bank. Why should he care what anyone thought of him, when he was rolling in dough from his well-documented antics?
Finally, introductions were over and Grace took a calming breath, fighting the need to use disinfectant on her hands. “Let’s get right down to business, okay?”
Davy nodded. Mitch sat straight and stiff, palms opened and flat against the table, wearing a well-rehearsed poker face.
Grace flipped open her laptop and went directly to the graphic program and the file she’d created on Davy Cumberbatch.
She showed him his natural face, before the recent barroom brawl, then superimposed the mock-up of his surgical cosmetic requests. After a few magic keystrokes his face morphed into an odd combination of the artist formerly known as Cumberbatch and the king of rock and roll, Elvis.
She used her big-guns software to create a 3D effect then rotated the virtual head three-sixty degrees so he could see himself from all angles. It wasn’t a pretty sight, far from a match made in cyberland. On the contrary, the image on the computer screen looked near grotesque. More like a cartoon character. Grace used this graphic to drive home her point.
“As you can see, what you think you want isn’t in your best interest.” Without waiting for the stunned expression to fade from his face, she flipped to another screen and a far more agreeable rendition of Davy the rocker. At least, she thought so. “In this version, I’ve toned down the heavy Elvis influence and allowed the natural characteristics of your face to remain, giving a hint of the king but not superimposing your face with his. We can also remove some of the adipose tissue from above and beneath your eyes to give you a more youthful appearance.”
“Adi-what?”
“Fat. See here and here?”
She pointed out his puffy lids and bags, waited for him to take a look.
“I’ve also given you some nips here and tucks there …” she gestured toward his real-life jaw and cheeks then focused back on the computer screen “… slenderized your nose, shortened and shaped the tip in a more classical way, and made the cheek implants smaller than your original request. But they work very nicely, don’t you think?”
She swallowed and looked his way. Davy narrowed his eyes and studied the second computer image, not saying a word—though he didn’t look happy. He glanced at Mitchell, as if he’d step in and make things right, put the “hot doc” in her place.
Davy turned back toward Grace. “It doesn’t look a bit like Elvis, does it?” He hit her with a deadly stare, and she refused to look away. She’d be damned if she’d let him bully her.
Grace braced herself for a fight. And she’d surely lose if Mitch took Davy’s side and they ganged up on her. Did Mitch really believe in giving the patient whatever they wanted no matter how bizarre the outcome?
She took a breath and held it, using all of her control and concentration not to blink.
“I agree with Miss Turner, Davy.” Mitch broke the standoff, utilizing his natural affable charm. She breathed again and shifted her eyes to his, wanting to thank him. “The second image is far more complimentary to you.” He tore his glance away from Grace and homed in on Davy. “And though you won’t look like Elvis, let’s be honest—could anyone? The point I believe Miss Turner is making is do you want to be the ne
w and improved Davy Cumberbatch or a caricature of someone else for the rest of your life? It’s your call.”
Grace wanted to hug Mitch on the spot. Oh, wait, that wouldn’t be a good idea after last night. She flashed him a quick smile, but yanked it back immediately, not wanting to come off smug in front of the rocker. That would be like coming down to his level and there was no way she could compete with Davy Cumberbatch when it came to being pompous.
Davy slumped down in the luxurious white leather club chair, giving the impression of a defeated teenager. Sullen, looking as if he’d just swallowed castor oil. “You made me go through rehab for this? I told you I wanted Elvis, and I always get what I want.” He spoke through clenched teeth, his ring-covered fingers tightly balled into fists on the table.
Grace instinctively moved back in her chair, bracing herself, as if another brawl might break out.
“Very well,” Mitchell said. “I’ll refer you to another top-notch plastic surgeon, one more willing to give you exactly what you want.” Mitchell stood, and reached out his hand for a shake. “Unfortunately, it won’t be here at the Hunter Clinic.”
Davy took his time getting up, his lanky legs seeming a bit wobbly. He never completed the handshake, just blew off Mitch’s proffered hand. Once he’d made it to his full height, several inches shorter than Mitch, he glanced upward with something short of hatred coloring his dark, tiny, deep-set eyes.
Then he glanced her way. The biting stare made Grace swallow hard, tightening her core. She would not let him get the best of her. Angry that she’d given him the power to make her feel uncomfortable, she got up and stepped close to him, then looked into those stabbing eyes. “I hope you’ll reconsider.” She tried her best to sound professionally earnest, hoping to overcome both his ire and the anger burning inside her. Why should she care? “I’ll forward my graphics to your personal email. Maybe you’d like to have another look at them and think about how you’d like to look from now on.”
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