Sweet Talk

  “They were short staffed, so I’m filling in,” she said. “How are you doing, sweetie?”

  “I’m good.”

  “Yes, you certainly are,” she replied, looking past Olivia to Grayson. “That’s one fine man you’ve got there.”

  Olivia agreed. Grayson was one fine man.

  “Has Jane been admitted again?” Kathleen asked. She knew everything that went on inside the hospital, and she’d made it a point to keep up with all the Pips. “Is that why you’re here?”

  “No,” Olivia answered, “not this time.”

  “Jane certainly has had a rough go of it,” Kathleen said.

  “She says she’s doing better, but I don’t believe her. Neither does Collins or Sam.”

  “Dr. Pardieu is back from his medical conference, and you know what a miracle worker he is. He’ll sort it all out. Why are you here then?”

  After Olivia quickly explained, Kathleen called radiology to see how much longer Henry would be. “He’s on his way up now. Did you have a big evening planned? You’re all dressed up.”

  “Dinner at Veronique’s,” she answered.

  “Oh, that’s fancy,” Kathleen said. “I don’t believe I’ve ever seen you with makeup on. You look lovely. Let’s see what you’re wearing.”

  Smiling, Olivia unbuttoned her coat and held it open. “Gorgeous,” Kathleen raved. “The fabric is divine.”

  Grayson had finished the paperwork and came up behind Olivia. Kathleen introduced herself and asked, “Have you and Olivia been dating long?”

  “We’re not—” Olivia began. She’d seen the speculative look in Kathleen’s eyes and thought she should explain that they weren’t actually dating, that the evening was more of an obligation for Grayson because of the investigation.

  Grayson cut her off. “For a while now,” he said.

  “Then you know Olivia’s a hellion, don’t you?” the nurse said, smiling. “She gave us such trouble when she was about your nephew’s age. Made all of us love coming to work just to see what she’d do next.”

  “Kathleen’s being polite,” she said. “I was a holy terror back then.”

  Grayson leaned down and whispered, “Back then?”

  “My break’s over,” Kathleen said. She hugged Olivia. “They’ll put Henry back in bay four. It’s the second curtain on your left. Why don’t you wait in there?”

  As soon as Kathleen hurried away, Olivia said, “I should stay out here. Have Ralph and Ralph left?”

  “Yes,” he replied. “But you’re coming with me. Henry will be happy to see you. He asks about you all the time.”

  “He does?” she asked, smiling.

  “Yeah, he does. I have to make up all sorts of terrible stories about you.”

  They walked to the curtained-off bay Kathleen had pointed out. Henry’s shoes were on a chair in the corner with his coat. There was another chair on the opposite side of the bed.

  “Why don’t you sit here while I go see what’s taking so long,” Grayson said.

  He was on his way to the elevators when the doors opened, and Henry was wheeled out by an orderly. The child had blood all over his face. There was a jagged cut that started at the top of his hairline above his right temple and ended at the tip of his eyebrow. He also had a bloody nose.

  Grayson’s breath caught when he saw all the blood, but he concealed his appalled reaction because Henry was watching him. “How are you doing, Henry?” he asked, his voice filled with sympathy.

  The child was trying hard not to cry. “It hurts,” he whispered as he was wheeled past. “Ralph said they’re going to put a needle in my head. A big one,” he added worriedly.

  Henry spotted Olivia just as the orderly stopped the wheelchair. He was so happy to see her, he bolted out of the wheelchair and ran to her. She was getting up when he threw himself into her arms, nearly knocking her off her feet.

  “Don’t . . .” Grayson called. But it was too late. Henry had his arms around Olivia’s waist, and his bloody face was pressed against her chest.

  “I’m glad you came to see me,” he said.

  “You certainly have had more than your share of injuries lately, haven’t you?” she said sympathetically. “Let’s see what you’ve done to your face.”

  He stepped back and looked up at her. “The nurse cleaned it, but it started bleeding again.”

  “Does it hurt?”

  He nodded. “A lot,” he admitted. He noticed the front of Olivia’s dress was covered in his blood, and he became teary eyed again. “I ruined your pretty dress.”

  Her smile was filled with tenderness. She brushed his hair out of his eyes and said, “That’s okay. It’s old.”

  Henry moved on to his major concern. “They’re going to put a needle in my head.”

  Grayson stood there watching her as she listened to Henry’s worries. She couldn’t have cared less about the dress now. All she wanted to do was comfort the child.

  Grayson’s heart swelled with his love for her. He probably should tell her how he felt, he supposed, but he knew what would happen. She would panic and bolt. He understood how her mind worked now. She’d run, all right. She wouldn’t get far, though, because he was determined to spend the rest of his life with her. Getting her to agree was going to be a challenge.

  Grayson filed the problem away for another time and went to his nephew. He picked him up and placed him on the bed, then tilted his head to the side so he could get a better look at the damage.

  “Did you break your nose?”

  “No, he didn’t, and he doesn’t have a concussion.” The emergency-room physician gave the news. “He just banged his head. The plastic surgeon on call is already here finishing up with another patient. I thought, because of where the cut is, a plastic surgeon should do the repair. He wants me to go ahead and numb the area and clean it.”

  A nurse placed a metal tray on the counter. Henry spotted the needle and grabbed his uncle’s arm. Grayson calmly assured him that the needle would take away the hurt, and as soon as the area was numbed, Henry relaxed. By the time the plastic surgeon arrived, Henry was laughing at a story Olivia had told him.

  They didn’t leave the hospital until after ten, and Henry was sound asleep in the back of Grayson’s car before they pulled out of the hospital drive.

  “Thank you,” Grayson said to Olivia as he checked on his nephew in his rearview mirror. “Having you there made it easier on Henry.”

  “I’m just glad he’s okay,” she answered. “Henry’s a great little boy.”

  “I’m really sorry about tonight,” he continued. “The evening didn’t exactly turn out the way I’d planned.”

  “There are more important things than dinner at a swanky restaurant,” she said.

  “We’ll celebrate another time,” he promised.

  “You haven’t told me about the gun,” she reminded him. “Are you sure they’ve found the gun that shot me?”

  “Yes, ballistics confirmed it. It’s a match. No question.”

  “And?”

  “Ray Martin’s house. They found it inside Martin’s house. No fingerprints, though. The weapon had been wiped clean.”

  “But the police had already gone through that house from top to bottom. How could they have missed anything? And how did they know to search again?”

  “A guy called. He didn’t give a name, just identified himself as a neighbor. He said his son and some of his friends had gone into the abandoned house and found it.”

  “So, it was Martin after all. A simple motive: revenge,” she said. “I was sort of hoping Simmons had done it. He could have found out about Jorguson and Martin and planted the gun. I was hoping my father’s sleazy partner would never see the light of day again.”

  “Your wish may come true anyway,”
he told her. “We picked him up at his D.C. office. He was just beginning to shred documents when we got there. We’ll not only indict him for his part in your attempted kidnapping, but if we find what we think we’ll find in those files, we’ll be able to get him for his part in your father’s Ponzi scheme as well. Unfortunately, he’s already posted bail so he’s free for now, but he’s got a lot of prison time ahead of him.”

  “You didn’t think it was Martin who shot me, did you?”

  “No, I didn’t,” he admitted. “But finding the weapon . . .” The sentence trailed off, and he shook his head.

  “Do you know what this means? With Martin locked up, the case is closed. My case anyway. No more bodyguards.”

  She was smiling until he reminded, “And all the death threats on your phone?”

  “Oh.” The burst of optimism was gone. How could she have forgotten the calls?

  “That’s right,” he said. “The bodyguards stay.”

  “Maybe for a few more days,” she conceded. “Surely, all the anger about my father will die down soon.”

  “It’s going to take longer than a few days.”

  She knew he was right. “I’m paying the bodyguards.”

  “No, you’re not.”

  She counted to ten. It didn’t help. “I’m going to insist.”

  The set of his jaw told her he was going to be stubborn. “Insist all you want.”

  She decided to table the discussion since she wasn’t winning. Besides, her asthma was kicking up. The cold night air had triggered the wheezing. She opened her purse and only then realized she didn’t have her inhaler.

  “Grayson . . .”

  He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out an inhaler. “Here you go.”

  She used it and, without thinking, handed it back to him. It wasn’t until he drove into his garage that she realized where he was taking her.

  “You should have dropped me at my building. There’s a guard right inside the door.”

  “I can’t take you home yet. We haven’t had dinner.”

  He parked the car and came around to open her door. “McDonald’s is open,” she said.

  “I’m going to prepare a gourmet dinner for you.”

  “Really?”

  “How do you feel about hot dogs?”

  TWENTY-NINE

  Olivia tried to say good night to Grayson at her door, but he was having none of it. He backed her into her apartment, kicked the door shut, and jerked her into his arms.

  “I want you.”

  From gentleman to caveman, she thought. The transformation was extremely arousing. She tried to remember why she shouldn’t go to bed with him. Oh yes, they needed to talk. “Grayson, I need to tell you—”

  “Now. I want you now.”

  He didn’t give her time to argue. He kissed her hard and then proceeded to tell her in the most graphic detail exactly how he was going to make love to her. By the time he finished, her legs had turned to Jell-O.

  He was waiting for her permission. She wrapped her arms around his neck and spread her fingers up into his hair. “You do have a way with words,” she whispered.

  Just tonight, she promised herself. Just one more night. Then she would make him leave.

  Their need for each other was fierce, and their lovemaking was wild. Grayson wasn’t gentle, nor was she. Her lips were swollen from his kisses, and his shoulders wore scratches from her demanding touch. When Grayson finally summoned enough strength to move away from her, he was panting for breath, and his body was covered with a fine sheen of perspiration. Her scent mingled with his, clinging to the air around them.

  “Oh my.” Olivia sighed.

  “Your voice is hoarse,” Grayson told her.

  “I might have screamed.”

  “Might have?” he asked, grinning. “You were . . . demanding. I got a little rough, didn’t I?”

  “I got a little rough, too.”

  Now or never, he thought to himself. It may not be the best timing, but he was going for it regardless, while she was still recovering. He moved so quickly, she didn’t have time to react. Pinning her to the bed, he said, “I have something to tell you.” He cupped the sides of her face with his hands, holding her captive.

  She looked wary. “Yes?”

  “I love you.”

  Tears came into her eyes. “No. You can’t love me. I should have—”

  “I love you,” he repeated firmly.

  “Grayson . . .”

  He kissed her forehead. “You love me, too.”

  She pushed against him. “That doesn’t matter,” she cried out.

  “I sure as hell think it does.”

  He rolled onto his back and stared at the ceiling. She tried to get up, but he grabbed her hand and pulled her back down. She landed on top of him. Holding her prisoner with his arm wrapped around her, he forced her head down on his shoulder and said, “Calm down, sweetheart. It’s going to be all right.”

  The irony in the situation wasn’t lost on him. He was having to soothe her because he’d told her he loved her.

  Olivia was desperately trying not to cry. “I let this go too far,” she whispered against the side of his neck. “I shouldn’t have. I knew better. I really did, but you’re so irresistible, and I’m weak when I’m with you.”

  He decided to ignore her ramblings. “I want you in my bed every night,” he said gruffly. “I want to wake up with you beside me.”

  “No, I can’t . . .”

  “I love you,” he repeated. “Will you marry me?”

  Her reaction wasn’t what he would consider an encouraging one. She bolted upright and in a near shout said, “Oh God, no.”

  At the very least he should have been insulted. The appalled look on her face did smack at his ego. He didn’t get upset, though, because he was pretty sure he knew what was going on inside that wonderful, but decidedly warped, mind of hers.

  “Tell me you love me,” he demanded. His hand moved to the nape of her neck, and he tugged on her hair, forcing her to look at him. “Tell me. I know you do. I want to hear you say the words.”

  “It won’t matter,” she said. A single tear escaped and slowly trailed down her cheek. “I don’t understand why you want—”

  “I just do,” he snapped. “Tell me.”

  “I love you.”

  The tightness in his chest immediately eased. Although he already knew how she felt, he needed her to acknowledge it. The rest was up to him.

  “I won’t marry you, Grayson. I can’t marry you. You need to move on without me.”

  “What about Collins and Jane and Samantha? Can they ever get married? Will they?”

  “What do my friends have to do with this conversation?”

  “Everything,” he answered. “They have everything to do with this. And so does Dr. Andre Pardieu. Your friends were in the same experimental program under his supervision.”

  She couldn’t look at him. She dropped down beside him. “Yes.”

  He began to stroke her back and could feel how tense she was. “Your aunt told me a little about that period in your life. You were in the hospital a long time, weren’t you?” She refused to answer. He wasn’t deterred. “I know your family didn’t come to see you. You were all alone.”

  “I was glad of it,” she blurted. “I saw what my friends’ families went through. It was horrible for them. I can still see their faces, their anguish.”

  She remembered what Sam had once said after her family had visited. They’d all been crying, and Sam told her that maybe it would be better if she died because then they would be at peace.

  “You think it’s going to come back,” he said very matter-of-factly. “And you don’t want anyone you love to go through that agony. Right?”
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  She kept silent.

  “Do your friends share your fatalistic attitude?”

  “They’re realists like I am.”

  “I see.” His fingers gently trailed down her spine. “So you are willing to live your life waiting for death? What the hell, Olivia? Do you not see how crazy that is?”

  She was suddenly furious. She pushed away from him and got out of bed.

  “I don’t care if you understand or not,” she cried. She grabbed her silk robe and put it on. Her hands were shaking so, she could barely get the sash tied. “Fatalist? Ask Jane how she’s feeling these days.” She threaded her fingers through her hair in agitation. “Of the four of us, she’s the most optimistic, but what good does that do? It’s come back. I know it has, and oh God, poor Logan. He’s only just become her brother again, and now he’s going to go through hell. All those years he drank and used drugs, he was so horrible to her, and he’s desperately trying to make up for the past, but it’s too late. I don’t know what will happen to him when she dies.” Tears streamed down her face. “And Henry. What about him, Grayson? He’s already lost his mother. Do you want him to watch me die?” She put her hands up. “I’m done talking about this.”

  Grayson wanted to go to her, to comfort her, but in her nearly hysterical state, he knew she’d fight him. He sat up, casually leaned against the headboard, and said, “Okay. My mistake. Never mind.”

  His blasé tone confused her. She took a step toward him. “Never mind what?”

  “The proposal. Never mind. Forget I mentioned it.”

  “Oh.”

  “Come sit with me. I have a favor to ask.”

  She slowly walked over to the side of the bed. He put his hands on her hips and pulled her onto his lap. A wary look in her eyes, she faced him with her hands on his shoulders.

  “I want you to give Dr. Pardieu permission to talk to me,” he said.

  Her grip on his shoulders tightened. “Why? I thought you understood what I just said. Now that you have the right man locked up, my case is closed. You must move on.”

  “Yeah, right. I’m moving on,” he agreed a bit quickly. “I still want to talk to the doctor, and he can’t tell me anything unless you give permission.”