Healing Kiss, page 3
He made a face at his grave reflection, but it didn’t stop him from remembering. She had gotten engaged to another man, a neurologist who worked at the hospital, a few days after their breakup. For a while, it seemed everywhere he went, Angelina and her doctor fiancé were likely to appear. The sight chipped away at Tristan’s sanity.
He ducked his head, wanting to avoid the starkness in his reflection. But he couldn’t stop the memories.
Not long ago, Angelina cornered him at a party. She said she’d made a terrible mistake and ended her engagement. She begged Tristan for another chance. He’d refused. He had his pride, and it didn’t escape his notice she returned only after he’d become wealthy. He wanted her back, but he’d be damned if he’d make it easy for her.
He dropped the razor but managed to catch it before it hit the floor and turn it off. He had no idea how much longer he could resist her advances. Tonight’s party was only a warm-up. Tomorrow, the hospital was hosting its biggest fundraiser of the year, and he would be the primary benefactor. There would be no avoiding Angelina.
He turned the razor on again and eyed his bloodshot eyes in the mirror. If only he had known she was the event coordinator when he had agreed to participate. Too many people were counting on him to back out now.
He brought the razor back up to his face, but his hand shook, and he had to pause and take a moment to breathe. Hell, after the encounter tonight and his mom’s concussion, he was more keyed up than the day he’d sold his software company and became the richest man in the state.
I want you back.
Angelina had whispered the words in his ear, and it had been all he could do to keep from responding. If he hadn’t had Zoey Mills on his arm, would he have said yes? Thank God, the mystery woman had been available and a quick study, playing the part of his date with ease.
You didn’t give me much choice.
No, he hadn’t given Zoey a choice. Amazing she’d cooperated when he thought about it.
He managed to move the razor in slow, steady circles over the remaining five o’clock shadow, ignoring the continued heat in his veins. Unlike Angelina, Zoey hadn’t wanted his attention. That much was clear when he’d had to chase her down in the elevator. That and whatever prompted her to comfort little Annie Logan, his accountant’s daughter.
He unplugged the razor and splashed his cheeks with his favorite aftershave, wincing at the sting. Maybe it would cut through the fog in his brain. The moment Angelina appeared and he’d decided to make her think Zoey was his girlfriend, he’d felt like he’d been sucked into a bottomless whirlpool, and there was no escape.
He smoothed his fingers over his jaw. Despite Angelina’s presence—or maybe because of it—he couldn’t ignore the feel of Zoey’s soft curves pressed against his side. And her smell—like warm strawberries. His fingers had caught in her hair and brushed against her scalp, and he’d discovered something else intriguing.
The mystery woman wore a wig.
He washed his hands, drying them with one of the plush white hand towels the interior decorator had purchased. Zoey’s reasons for wearing the wig were probably complicated. And he didn’t need any more complications in his life right now. But it was in his nature to solve problems—he couldn’t help himself. And the mysterious Zoey provided a welcome diversion from Angelina.
He removed his clothes and then crossed to the bed to put on the fancy outfit. Maybe she wore the wig because she had cancer and lost her hair? But she hadn’t looked sick. No, with her rosy cheeks and sun-kissed skin, she had looked vibrantly healthy.
He put on the crisp white shirt, tucking it into his slacks, then sat on the bed, slipping on his socks and the shiny black dress shoes. What other secrets lurked behind Zoey’s expressive green eyes? Had she been as shocked as he by their closeness? Was that why, after trying to avoid him, she’d practically begged him to visit her friend?
He scanned the bed until he spied his cell where he’d dropped it, then he pocketed the phone and took a last look around the room. His stomach churned, but he ignored it, flicking off the light and leaving to greet his guests.
He stood in the doorway of the large room and studied the noisy and colorful scene. A jazz band played in one corner, loud enough to be heard from every room but soft enough not to disrupt the buzzing conversations taking place around him. Candles sparkled from centerpieces on the tables, lending the room a romantic look in the dim light. A few couples swayed together on the dance floor. The smell of prime rib caused his stomach to growl, reminding him he hadn’t eaten since lunch.
He entered the main room and scanned each face he saw, his gaze passing over prominent government officials, CEOs of companies, sports celebrities, and local news reporters.
No Zoey Mills. More than likely, he’d never see her again.
An odd pang tightened his chest muscles. Had he honestly expected her to show up at his home tonight? An hour ago, they’d been strangers. Strangers who’d shared a poignant moment. Poignant enough to have him considering blowing off his own party until he’d gotten the text from his mom’s caregiver, Nancy, telling him his mom was in an ambulance.
He nabbed a drink from a passing server, tossed it down, and tried to squelch the twinge of disappointment in his gut. Why should he care if Zoey showed up at his party? Was he that desperate?
As if in answer, a high-pitched, familiar laugh rose above the din. Angelina. His stomach sank. She was chatting with a Cleveland Cavaliers basketball player—a tall, good-looking rookie who was the talk of the fans this year. Tristan gritted his teeth and practically ran to the bar for another drink.
It was going to be one of those evenings.
Lillian parked behind the line of black limousines in Tristan King’s wide driveway and sat for a moment to calm her erratic heartbeat. She eyed the sprawling white mansion, which must be on at least ten acres of wooded property. The place looked even bigger than in the photos her Google search turned up. The front porch covered the length of the house, set off by white pillars and a series of dormer windows. Every room in the three-story house was lit up like Christmas.
She rubbed her cold hands together. The thought of looking into Tristan’s suspicious blue eyes and pleading with him to visit her sister put a stitch in her side, so she had trouble catching her breath. And she was risking her life coming to such a prominent party, where the press were likely to be present. But what other choice did she have? Sitting in a car, fretting over the coming meeting, was not going to cure Hannah.
She crossed her fingers, stiffened her spine, and whispered a quick prayer that no one recognize her. Then she forced her body into action—shut off the engine, grabbed her purse, and exited the vehicle.
She followed a couple of last-minute party guests toward the entrance. Lanterns lit the paved walkway and the stone steps leading to the massive front porch. The double doors were opened wide in welcome, a waft of warm air greeting her.
Lillian stepped through the door and into the grand entranceway and gave herself a mental shake. I don’t care how nervous he makes me or how it felt to be pressed against his body. I’m here to convince him to save Hannah. Nothing more.
She paused and marveled at the beautiful curved wooden staircase leading to the upper levels, and the humongous, sparkling crystal chandelier hanging from the high ceiling. A discreet security system blinked green from a corner. Had she ever seen inside a house so grand? Certainly a far cry from her one-bedroom apartment in Boston she’d chosen for its affordable rent. She gazed at the foyer, which led into another massive room, filled with hundreds of chattering guests like penguins in their finest.
Lillian smoothed her hands down the little black dress she had been fortunate to pack and fingered the jewelry she’d hastily purchased at a discount boutique. None of it could compare to the expensive baubles the other women were wearing. She could only hope she fit in enough not to draw attention.
Nabbing a glass of red wine from a passing server, she gazed across the room. Power tingled along her nerve endings, and a flurry of goosebumps shivered down her spine. Tristan’s energy. He was nearby. She was sure of it.
Lillian searched the room for him, her gaze bouncing from guest to guest, never lingering too long on any one individual. She recognized the mayor of Cleveland and an Olympic ice-skater she’d seen on television. And then she settled on a blond man talking with a tall, slim redhead. Angelina. The man’s back was to her, but her heartbeat sped up at the military cropped hair and familiar profile.
Party sounds faded into the background as if her ears were stuffed with cotton. The blood chilled in her veins, and she froze in place, unable to think, breathe, move, a terrifying certainty in her gut.
Dominic Raines? The head of Kinetica? What was he doing at Tristan’s fundraiser?
Her heartbeat sped up until it thundered in her ears. She reminded herself that she was in disguise, and Dominic was only Kinetica’s front man and not one of the doctors who had experimented on her mother. He’d be unlikely to recognize Lillian. Before she could look away, Angelina glanced her direction and their eyes connected. Lillian’s heart fluttered, and sweat broke out on her forehead.
She turned fast and plowed into a hard chest, the familiar scent of a cool ocean breeze washing over her. Tristan caught her in his arms, but it was too late. The glass of red wine she held was captured between their bodies. Some of it splashed onto her dress and his pristine white shirt.
A look of surprised pleasure flashed across his face so quickly she wasn’t sure if she imagined it. “Steady now. Where are you off to?”
“I’m sorry,” she gasped. “I was looking for you.” Could Tristan be working with Dominic Raines? Why else would the CEO be at his party?
She drew in air, working to calm her erratic heartbeat and to think instead of panicking. If Tristan worked for Kinetica he would have kidnapped her from the hospital parking lot earlier instead of inviting her into his home. Besides, lots of prominent people were at his party, and Kinetica was based in Cleveland. It wasn’t an unlikely scenario the CEO would be one of Tristan’s guests. Dominic and Tristan probably ran in the same social circles.
Tristan plucked the glass from her hands and set it on an empty tray nearby. “Good, I was looking for you, too. “
“You were?”
“Yes, I was hoping you’d show tonight.” He smiled, giving her a glimpse of a dimple in one cheek. “How’s your friend?”
“Not well.” She darted a look behind her. Dominic Raines still spoke to Angelina, who was giving her the evil eye. She had to get out of here. “I…that’s why I came, actually. Can we go somewhere private to talk?”
He studied her for a moment, but she couldn’t read the glint in his eyes. “Come with me.”
She trailed him through the room, winding her way around the other guests. It seemed to take forever to move through the crowd, although Tristan must have sensed her urgency because he never stopped until they reached the opposite side of the room. Every now and then someone would call his name, and he would give a polite nod and keep moving. The entire time she kept her head down to avoid Dominic Raines and Angelina, while the clock ticked on her sister’s life.
Eventually, they exited the room, and Tristan led her down a long hallway. She swiped moisture from the back of her neck. Where was he taking her?
“Here we are. My office.” He flicked on a light and led her into a large room with a vaulted ceiling. The entire wall on the right was made of glass, which she could only imagine looked out on the wide expanse of lawn and woods she’d seen behind the house. Caramel-colored leather armchairs sat in front of a wide mahogany desk with a desktop computer, and a matching couch and flat screen TV made up the wall on the left. Bookcases filled with books ran floor to ceiling behind the desk. In between the shelves hung a gorgeous painting of the night sky over the lake.
He shut the door and gestured toward the armchairs. “You’ll want to clean your dress, I’m sure, and I need to do the same. There’s a sink in the garden room next door. But first, have a seat.”
She sat on the edge of one of the chairs, picking at the hem of her dress and crossing and uncrossing her ankles. He strolled to a cabinet to the right of the desk and opened shiny doors to reveal bottles of liquor and sparkling glasses.
“Wine, beer, martini?”
“Huh? Oh, yes.”
Tristan gave her an odd look. “You want all three?”
“Oh…no, I meant those are all good options.” God knows she could use all three.
He poured them each a glass of white wine and handed one to her. He held up his glass, and when she realized he wanted to toast, she clinked her glass with his. “Cheers,” he said.
“Cheers,” she echoed. She resisted the urge to down the drink but took a small sip.
“Well?” he asked.
“What?”
“You wanted to tell me about your friend?”
She set the glass on a coaster on his desk. “Yes, yes I do.” A cold chill passed through her. Maybe she should make an excuse and leave? But what would happen to Hannah if she did?
She fingered her earrings and then the back of her neck. The room was hot. Too hot. According to her research, Tristan was a brilliant technologist and philanthropist and the state’s most eligible bachelor. He’d donated millions to medical research to find a cure for his mother’s illness, but there was no indication any of the benefactors had been the company she abhorred.
She crossed her fingers, filled her lungs, and prayed she wasn’t making a fatal mistake. “My friend is not doing well.”
“I’m sorry.”
“The thing is…she’s fighting for her life. She’ll die if she doesn’t get help.” She wound her arms around her middle.
Tristan moved to her side, pressing a warm hand on her shoulder, like her father had done earlier tonight. The reminder had her fighting tears. He removed his hand and moved away, leaving an aching loss in the hollow of her stomach.
“You said she caught a virus?”
“Yes, it’s called Hantavirus Pulmonary Syndrome, or HPS. She got it from hiking with her friends in a national park. There’s no known cure. Her dad thought it was a cold at first. But she’s in the late stages of the disease. She can barely breathe. I can’t stand to see her like this.”
“Have you talked to her doctor?”
“He can’t help her any more than he already has.” She could feel his eyes on her, digging for secrets. “But maybe you can.”
He crossed to the bar and filled a glass with what looked like brandy. “How much?”
“Pardon?”
“She doesn’t have insurance? You need help with the bills? How much money do you need?”
All the oxygen left the room, strangling her vocal cords. “I’m not after your money.”
He turned, pinning her under his intelligent gaze, the bottle stopper still in his hand. “What do you want from me, Zoey? If it’s not money, then…what?”
She took a deep breath and met his eyes. She hated the lie she was about to tell, but there was no way she could reveal her healing ability. It was way too risky, and he’d be unlikely to believe her anyway. A man like Tristan believed in ones and zeros—in computer logic—not faith in things unseen. “I’d like you to come with me…tonight…spend time with my friend.”
Tristan let out a laugh that sounded both surprised and wary. “How’s that going to help? I’m a software developer, not a doctor.”
She pushed back her chair and stood, pacing. Lillian never paced. She was the calm one—she had to be. “My friend is a computer geek. She adores you. She’s a big fan of your gaming and productivity software and business acumen. She also greatly admires your philanthropy.”
“And you think my visiting will miraculously cure her?”
She stopped pacing and faced him. “No, but it would lift her spirits. She has to fight if she wants to live, and meeting you—her hero—might give her the boost she needs to survive.”
He didn’t answer but turned and put the stopper back on the bottle of brandy and then tossed down the contents of his glass.
She took a couple of steps toward him. “I would never have come here if the situation wasn’t desperate.” Without thinking, she placed a hand on his arm. The contact burned into her palm. “Listen, I know you have no reason to help me. But there must be something I can do to convince you.”
He glanced at her hand and then turned and lifted one dark eyebrow, a question in his gaze. Her stomach, which was already as twisted as a pretzel, quivered.
“What exactly are you offering me, Zoey?”
She withdrew her hand, wild heat flooding her face, but for Hannah’s sake, she stayed in place. He was considering her request, and Kinetica’s minions hadn’t shown up to grab her…yet. For the first time since she’d concocted this crazy scheme, she felt a twinge of hope. “I’m a talented nurse. I could offer you and your family my services.”
He didn’t respond so she rushed on, following the mental script she’d prepared to convince him. “I have an outstanding track record. I keep up with the latest procedures and am assigned the hardest cases. I’m great with patients—at easing fears and listening to confidences and consoling their loved ones when they feel all hope is gone.” She hadn’t worked as a nurse for two years, but she still managed to eke out a living caring for an elderly neighbor in her apartment complex. Hopefully, he’d take her at her word.
Lillian had trouble recognizing all the emotions crossing Tristan’s face except for the last one, which looked like cynicism. “I see you’ve done your homework. You obviously know about my mother.”
