Men Made in America Mega-Bundle

by Gayle Wilson, Marie Ferrarella, Jennifer Greene, Annette Broadrick, Judith Arnold, Rita Herron, Anne Stuart, Diana Palmer, Elizabeth Bevarly, Patricia Rosemoor, Emilie Richards

  “I’m very sorry,” she said, her voice quiet. “I wish I could help.”

  His fingers contracted. “Don’t let go, Amy,” he said simply.

  She closed her eyes and held his hand, and the minutes dragged and dragged, with people coming and going, voices raising and lowering, children crying and then laughing. It was a long time before a white-uniformed doctor came to find Worth.

  The big man went off with him, a few yards away. The doctor talked and Worth listened, looking more grim by the minute. The doctor shook his hand, nodded and walked back down the hall.

  Worth didn’t move for a minute. He stood smoking his cigarette as if he wasn’t sure what to do. He glanced at Amelia, indicated that she should stay where she was, and went off down the hall.

  When he came back, he looked worse than ever.

  “Do you have a car?” he asked blankly.

  “Yes. Mine. It’s just outside.”

  He followed her out the door, and she hesitated about asking him anything, at least until they got away from the hospital and that terrible black look left his face.

  He got in beside her, hardly noticing where he was, and lit another cigarette as she struggled to crank the old car. Finally she was able to pull it out of the parking lot.

  “He doesn’t think it’s a heart attack,” he said minutes later. “He’s more inclined to believe it’s angina. But he isn’t volunteering anything past that, and he won’t commit himself until he runs a battery of tests, including an angiogram in the morning, if she’s stabilized.”

  “Oh,” Amelia murmured. She knew what that meant, but she wasn’t telling him. An angiogram, not the simplest of diagnostic tests, would tell them if there was a blockage or a faulty valve in the elderly lady’s heart. And a positive reading on either of those possibilities could mean open heart surgery. Poor Mrs. Carson!

  “They took her straight to the cardiac intensive care unit.” He ran a hand through his ruffled black hair. “That means three visiting periods a day, about ten minutes each. I want to go back, but I need to change clothes and get my own car.”

  “Is there anything I can do?” she asked.

  “Yes. You can stay at the house and protect me from the world for the next two days. I can’t cope with business and grandmother at the same time.”

  “I’ll go to my apartment and pack a bag,” she agreed without protest. “If you’ll leave me a list of people who might call, and what I’m to tell them, I’ll handle the rest.” She turned a corner, the car clanking at the effort, and Worth suddenly seemed to realize where he was.

  “My God, it runs,” he exclaimed, looking around at patched upholstery and peeling paint and listening to the ticking roar of the engine.

  She was glad of the distraction. It might take his mind off the worry. She glanced at him. “Shhhh!” she said quickly. “If you insult it, it stops dead in traffic.”

  “How can you insult something that looks like this thing?” he asked, his dark eyes incredulous. “I had no idea it was in such terrible condition or I’d have bought you something better!”

  “You aren’t buying me anything, Mr. Carson,” she informed him. “I can support myself, thanks.”

  “On tuna fish sandwiches and a car that’s half wrecked,” he nodded.

  “I like this car. It has character.”

  “What it has,” he returned as she pulled into his driveway, “is a warped frame, a sticky valve, a shot transmission. And how much do you have to pump the brakes to get them to work?” he demanded.

  She flushed, and his eyes narrowed.

  “You’ll drive the Mercedes if you have to go anywhere,” he said shortly. “I’ll take the Rolls to the hospital.”

  “Worth…”

  “Don’t argue with me, sweet,” he said quietly, and the endearment from a man who never used endearments kept her mum.

  She parked the car in the garage and cut off the engine, cringing when it sputtered and knocked and pinged to a halt.

  He got out, opened her door and fished in his pocket for a set of keys. He put them in her hand and closed her fingers around them. They were still warm from contact with this body.

  “Don’t argue,” he repeated, searching her eyes. “It’s insured to the hilt. If you put a dent in the fender, I won’t even scowl, all right?”

  “I’ll be terrified,” she said with a sigh.

  “It’s just like yours, only smaller.”

  “Smaller, and wildly expensive.”

  “Inverted snob,” he murmured, and managed a weary smile for her. He bent and brushed a kiss across her lips. “Come on. I’ll make a list of names for you.”

  He threw an arm around her and kept it there all the way to the house.

  It took several minutes for him to acquaint her with the possible callers. He had business interests everywhere, including a project in South America that was waiting for a signature and would demand his presence for several weeks once the papers were signed.

  “But what about your condo on the north side,” she asked.

  “I do have executives,” he reminded her. “The secret to success is having capable underlings and knowing when and how far to delegate. I’ll manage. Anyway,” he added on a sigh, “it’s not an immediate problem. Grandmother is.” He checked his watch. “I’ll need to get there within the hour, or I won’t make the third visiting period. Got everything you need from me?” he asked as she went through the neatly scribbled list.

  “Yes, I think so,” she agreed. “I’ll only be away for a few minutes,” she promised. “Just long enough to get what I need from my apartment.”

  He nodded and started toward his room down the hall.

  “Worth,” she called.

  He turned, big and sad and looking as if he had a ton weight on him. “Yes?”

  “She’s tough as old combat boots,” she said. “She even told me so. If I were a gambling woman, I’d bet on her.”

  “So would I. But she’s seventy-five, Amy.”

  “My grandfather,” she told him, “is eighty-three and plows his own garden.”

  He smiled. “I like you, Amy Glenn,” he said, before he turned and went back down the hall.

  She was intimidated by the Mercedes, but she managed not to scratch it as she drove back to her apartment. She stopped by to tell the Kennedys what was happening and that she’d be away for a few days. They told her not to worry, they’d look after her things, and then offered any help she needed. She almost cried at the unexpected kindness. But, then, they were kind people. She thanked them and quickly drove back to the big, lonely house.

  Baxter let her in, his face drawn with worry. He’d been with the family twenty years, Mrs. Carson had told her, and his silver-haired elegance went with the crystal chandelier.

  “Has there been any word yet from the hospital?” Amelia asked him the minute she was inside.

  “No, Miss.”

  She slumped a little. “I’d hoped…”

  “Yes, Miss, so had the rest of us,” he murmured. “She’s such an indomitable person.”

  “A very, very unique lady,” she agreed. “Mr. Carson says it’s an excellent hospital, very modern. And they can do so much for heart problems these days,” she added hopefully.

  “It’s all that fried food she loves,” Baxter grumbled. “Cook will humor her, and she coaxes her. It isn’t good for a weak heart.”

  “Aha,” she said, wide-eyed. She smiled. “When she comes home, I’ll tell on her. Mr. Carson will take care of that!”

  He actually smiled, then quickly caught himself. “Miss, if you hear anything after I’ve gone home…”

  “I’ll be glad to call you, Baxter,” she replied. “I know I haven’t known her as long as most of the staff, but I care about her, too.”

  He nodded and went back to his duties. Amelia went down the hall and then stopped dead. Which room was a guest room? She knew which was Mrs. Carson’s. She bypassed it and opened the next door.

  She peeked i
n. King-size bed, immaculate green patterned bedspread, green drapes and cream carpet. She knew without glancing at the discarded clothing in the big armchair by the bed that this was Worth’s room. She closed the door quickly and went along to the next room. It was done in pinks and creams, very pretty and obviously a guest room. She went in and put her small overnight bag on the bed. It looked odd there, so battered and worn against that luxurious spread. She took it off and put it on the carpet. Then she went back to the den and sat down at Worth’s big desk to wait.

  He didn’t call, but several other people did. Most of them were on the list. But there was a woman, a Mrs. Cade, who wasn’t on the list, and she seemed to know him very well. Amelia fielded the questions that were shot at her as best she could, while she withered inside with jealousy. Worth, she thought achingly. Oh, Worth.

  “I’d like him to call me as soon as he comes in,” Mrs. Cade said firmly. “I am sorry about his grandmother, but this is urgent.”

  What in the world did she think a heart attack was? Her Scottish-Irish temper got the best of her, and she said so.

  There was a stunned silence on the other end of the line. “No one speaks to me like that,” came the stilted reply.

  “I just did,” Amelia said shortly. “And if you want Worth, you can wait until he has time to call you. Maybe you’ve never had anybody you love in a life-or-death situation, but he’s pretty torn up right now, and the last thing he needs is to be hounded by some insensitive woman!”

  “You insolent little…Who are you?” the voice demanded.

  “I’m the tooth fairy,” Amelia replied sweetly. “Do remember me if you shed any fangs.” And she put down the receiver, hard.

  He’d kill her, she thought miserably. But that horrible woman shouldn’t have been so rude and unfeeling.

  There were several other calls. She did the best she could, and finally, about nine o’clock, the phone stopped ringing. Thirty minutes later, Worth came in.

  “Well?” she asked, rising from the desk, stiff from so much sitting.

  He glanced at her, rubbing a weary hand around the back of his neck. He looked worn. His face needed shaving, and there were new lines around his dark eyes, his tight mouth. His shirt sleeves were rolled up, and he was carrying his light jacket over one arm. He tossed it into a chair and stretched.

  “She’s awake and cussing like a sailor,” he said dryly. “They’ve given her something for pain. In the morning, after they’ve run the angiogram, Dr. Simpson can tell me more.” He sighed and sat down beside his jacket in the chair. “Amy, he thinks it may be a blockage. Or several of them. He mentioned the possibility of bypass surgery. Her enzymes are normal. He says that means it wasn’t a heart attack. But she’s short of breath and she has an arrhythmia. If it’s what he suspects, it will get worse, and eventally she will have a heart attack. She’s been having weak spells, but she didn’t want to worry me, so she didn’t say anything.” He laughed mirthlessly.

  “I know about bypass surgery,” Amelia said, searching his tired face. “It has a very small risk factor, and most patients are back at home only a week later.”

  “So he told me,” he returned. “But it’s going to be a damned long few days.”

  “I’ll keep you going,” she said, and smiled. “Can I get you something to eat?”

  “I don’t think I can eat, Amy.”

  “Some coffee, then? Or a stiff bourbon?”

  “The bourbon, and then coffee,” he said. He went to the desk and thumbed through the notes. He scowled and glanced at Amelia warily. “How long ago did she call?”

  “Mrs. Cade, you mean?” She felt uneasy and averted her eyes. “About an hour or so,” she said.

  He stared at her. “What did she want?”

  She shifted from one foot to the other. “She didn’t say,” she said coolly. “She only said it was urgent.”

  He got up while she poured his bourbon into a glass and handed it to him.

  “Thanks,” he said absently. He was still staring at the piece of paper.

  “She’s very rude,” Amelia blurted out, avoiding his eyes. “And I was rude, too. If she’s a friend of yours, I’m sorry.”

  “She was a little more than a friend, several months ago.” He turned away. “I’ll return these calls now. Good night, Amy.”

  She knew exactly what that meant. Thanks, kid, but get out of my way, I’m busy. He didn’t have to say it, his attitude did.

  “Baxter asked if you’d call him, too, and tell him how Mrs. Carson is,” she said as she went toward the door.

  “Baxter can damned well wait,” he said curtly. He sat down behind the desk and picked up the receiver. He didn’t even look up as he dialed the Cade woman’s number.

  Amelia felt sick all over. She closed the door gently behind her.

  Well, now she knew who Mrs. Cade was, she told herself. Obviously, that was one of his women.

  She felt empty and cold. She went to the guest room and put on her simple white cotton nightgown and took down her long hair. Well, it looked as if she was very soon going to be out of a job. If Mrs. Carson had to have that bypass, she’d need a nurse, and she wouldn’t be in the market for a companion. And while Worth had tolerated Amelia, and teased her, and even made a small pass at her, it wouldn’t cost him any sleep if she left. He’d told her often enough that he never wanted to commit himself again. Where, where, did that mysterious woman belong in his life? Was that the kind of woman he liked, insensitive and uncaring and aggressive? Apparently his ex-fiancée had been such a type as well. She laughed bitterly. How sad that she herself was such a wilting wallflower. Perhaps if she hadn’t been a repressed virgin, she could have rushed out in her gown to seduce him. Hmmm.

  Seduce him. She thought about that for all of one wild minute, and then quickly dismissed it from her mind. What a time to be thinking of such a thing, when his grandmother was desperately ill. Poor old Jeanette. She liked her employer very much. She was going to miss the feisty old lady.

  Minutes later, she was sitting in front of the vanity mirror, brushing her long hair, when the door suddenly opened and Worth stepped into the room. He looked worried. His jacket was back on and there was a dark, grim look in his eyes. For a few seconds, she didn’t think he even realized that she was dressed for bed.

  “I have to go out,” he said abruptly. “Will you listen for the phone, and take any messages? I’ve called the hospital already to give the number where I can be reached.”

  Her pale blue eyes searched over his face like loving hands. His face was hard and drawn and his own eyes looked bloodshot. He was worried enough about his grandmother, why did that awful woman have to come along now to upset him even more? Amelia knew that was where he was going, he didn’t even have to tell her.

  “I’ll listen for it,” she promised coolly.

  He seemed to notice then what she was wearing; she could see the sudden spark of interest in those haunted eyes. He smiled slowly, noticing the thinness of the white gown and the subtle contours of her body so nicely revealed by the lamplight shining through the sheer fabric. With her long, dark hair like a silky curtain around her shoulders and down her back, she had the look of a fairy.

  “Well, Miss Glenn,” he murmured thoughtfully, “I expected that you’d wear pajamas.”

  “Actually, I prefer sleeping in briefs and nothing else,” she said sweetly, “but that’s when I’m at home.”

  “Don’t mind me,” he mused. “I’d hate to interrupt your routine.”

  “I told you before, Mr. Carson, I don’t do private performances,” she reminded him. She put the brush down. “Was there anything else?”

  “Yes. But I don’t have time,” he said with a wicked glance at her body and then at the bed.

  “Stop that,” she said stiffly.

  “Why?” he asked.

  Her eyes followed him. He seemed to find that disturbing, because his own narrowed, quietly assessing. And all at once, he pushed the door shut and moved
toward her.

  “No,” she whispered. She got to her feet. That made it worse, because the gown was cut low in front, and the curves of her breasts were sharply revealed.

  But he kept coming, stopping when he was practically against her. His big, warm hands rested on her shoulders, caressing, while his eyes feasted on her.

  She could feel her heart going wild, her body reacting to that closeness. She adored him. The masculine scent and feel and warmth of him was getting to her.

  “You have to go out,” she reminded him breathlessly.

  “I know.” He touched her hair, sliding his fingers through it in a silence that throbbed like a heartbeat. Or was it her own heart, audible?

  “Worth,” she breathed, and looked up at him.

  His hands framed her face. He searched her eyes, finding quiet anguish there, but not understanding it.

  His dark eyes closed. He rested his forehead against hers. “Don’t be afraid of me, Amy,” he said quietly. “I don’t want anything. I just want a little reassurance, okay? Something to help me make it through the next few hours.” His nose nuzzled hers. His big hands moved down to her waist, lightly caressing. Then suddenly and swiftly, his long fingers spread, until the tips of them were just under her breasts. Until she could feel the teasing pressure, and her body began to tremble, because she wanted to know how it would feel, if he put his hands there, and she could feel their warmth and expertness.

  “Then why…why don’t you go to her?” she asked bitterly, hating the way her body reacted to him.

  He straightened. His head lifted, studying her face. “Well, well,” he murmured dryly. “Is that where you think I’m going, Amy, to work off my worry and frustration in some woman’s bed?”

  “Aren’t you?” she asked stiffly.

  “Wouldn’t that be like sitting on a clam bed and sending out for baked clams?” he asked.

  Her eyes sparked at him. “I’m a repressed virgin, remember? I don’t even know how!”