Lover Mine (60 page)

And it was very clear Mr. Spit and Polish didn’t like them.

“Here, let me show you again . . . this is what really amazes me.” Gregg reached forward and restarted the file so he could watch that figure disappear through the solid door again. “That’s pretty damn incredible, right? I mean . . . did you ever think you’d see something like that?”

“No. I didn’t.”

Something about the sound of her voice brought his head toward her. Holly was staring at him, not the screen, while cradling her mug right to her heart.

“What?” he said, checking to see if he’d spilled on his shirt.

“Actually . . . it’s about the coffee.”

“Bad aftertaste?”

“No, not at all . . .” She laughed a little and drank some more. “I just never would have guessed you’d remember what kind of coffee I like, much less go to the trouble of making it for me. And you’ve never asked me what I thought about work before.”

Jesus . . . she was right.

She shrugged. “And I guess I’m not surprised that you never believed in what you were doing. I’m just glad you do now.”

Unable to keep the eye contact going, Gregg looked out over their two pairs of socked feet, to the windows on the far side of the room. The moon was barely visible through the lace of the curtains, nothing but a soft glow on the dark horizon.

Holly cleared her throat. “I’m sorry if I made you feel awkward.”

“Oh . . . yeah . . . no.” He reached over and took her free hand, giving it a squeeze. “Listen . . . there’s something I want you to know.”

He felt her stiffen—which made two of them. He was suddenly bracing himself as well.

Gregg cleared his throat in the thick silence. “I color my hair.”

There was a tense pause—at least on his part. And then Holly broke into bubbling laughter, the sweet, happy kind that came with relief.

Leaning into him, she ran her nails through his falsely dark waves. “You do?”

“I’m gray at the temples. Really gray. I started doing something about it a year before I met you—have to stay young in Hollywood.”

“Where do you get it done? Because you’re never rooty.”

With a curse, he shifted off the bed and went to his suitcase, rummaging around to the bottom of the thing. Flashing the box in question, he muttered, “Just for Men hair color. I do it myself. I don’t want to be caught in a salon.”

Holly smiled at him so widely, she got crinkles around her eyes. And what do you know, he liked the way they looked. Gave her pretty face some character.

He glanced down at the box. Staring at the model on the front, all kinds of truths came to him, the kind that he simply couldn’t fight or even argue with. “You know what, I hate Ed Hardy T-shirts. Damn things’ll burn your retinas. And distressed jeans give me the scratch . . . and those square-toed loafers I wear bother my feet. I’m tired of being suspicious of everyone and working for money just so I can spend it ahead of everybody else on something that will be out of style next year.” He tossed the hair color back into his suitcase and liked the fact that it could sit out in the fresh air, so to speak. “Those files? On that computer? First ones Stan and I haven’t doctored up. I’ve been a fake for a long time working in a fake industry doing fake shit. The only thing that was real was the cash, and you know what? I don’t know if that’s going to do it for me anymore.”

As he got back up on the bed, Holly finished her coffee, put the computer and the mug aside, and draped herself across his chest.

Best damn blanket he’d ever had.

“So what do you want to do next?” she asked.

“I don’t know. Not this. Well, I’m kind of getting off on the ghost-hunter stuff, actually. The producer crap? Meh.” Looking down at the top of her head, he had to smile. “You’re the only one who knows about my old-man hair.”

And he had the weird feeling that the secret was safe with her.

“It doesn’t matter to me.” She stroked his pec. “And it shouldn’t to you.”

“How come I never knew you were so smart?”

Her laugh resonated through his own chest. “Maybe because you were being stupid.”

Gregg threw his head back and howled. “Yeah, maybe.” He kissed her temple. “Maybe . . . definitely. I’m through with that, though.”

God . . . he was still unsure exactly what had changed. Well, everything . . . but the precise why was unknown. He felt like someone had set him right, but he couldn’t remember who or where or when.

His eyes went to the computer and he thought of that shadowy ghost. For some reason, he had an image of a cavernous, empty room on the third floor of this house—and a huge man sitting in a chair with a pool of light hitting only his knees and lower legs.

And then the man leaned forward . . . into the light—

The pain in Gregg’s head made him think someone had
Basic Instinct
ed his temples, spearing him with a pair of ice picks.

“Are you okay?” Holly asked, sitting up. “Your head again?”

He nodded even though the motion made his vision swim and his stomach feel like he’d chugged spoiled milk. “Yeah. Probably I need new glasses. Bifocals, even . . . damn.”

Holly stroked his hair, and as he stared into her eyes, the agony faded and he felt a strange feeling in his chest. Happiness? he wondered.

Yup. Had to be. Because in all of his adult life he’d been through the full gamut of emotions . . . and he’d never once felt like this. Whole. Complete. At peace.

“Holly, you are so much more than I thought you were,” he whispered, brushing her cheek.

As those lovely eyes of hers grew watery, she said, “And you’ve turned out to be everything I wished you’d be.”

“Well, hasn’t this been the show of a lifetime, then?” He kissed her slowly. “And I have the perfect ending.”

“You do?”

Gregg nodded and put his mouth to her ear. In a soft whisper, he said, “I love you.”

First time those words had come out of him . . . when he’d actually meant them.

As she croaked out an “I love you, too,” he kissed her and kissed her some more . . . and felt like he owed the moment to a ghost.

Turned out his Cupid was a big shadow with a bad attitude. That didn’t exist in the “real” world.

Then again . . . stranger things had brought people together, hadn’t they. And all that really mattered was that the right pair ended up doing the Hallmark at the end. The means that got them there? Not what ultimately counted.

Besides, now he might be able to stop with the hair color.

Yeah, life was good. Especially when you powered-down your ego . . . and had the right woman in your bed for the right reasons.

He wasn’t letting Holly go this time.

And he was going to take care of her the right way, just as she deserved for . . . well, forever had a nice ring to it, didn’t it.

B
ack at the Brotherhood’s private clinic, Xhex stood at John’s side while Doc Jane X-rayed his leg. Once the pictures were up, it didn’t take the good doctor long to come to the conclusion that he had to be operated on—and even Xhex, in spite of her usual panic at being where she was, could see the problem on the X-ray. The bullet was just too close to the bone for comfort.

While Jane called for Ehlena and then went to change into scrubs, Xhex crossed her arms over her chest and started pacing.

She could not breathe. And that had been true even before she’d taken a gander at what was doing with John’s leg.

When he whistled softly at her, she just shook her head and kept moving, making a circle around the room. Turned out the trip by all the stainless-steel cabinets with their glass-front doors and their caged medications wasn’t a big help: Her heart thundered even more in her chest, going all Bon Jovi on her—the pounding so loud her eardrums were getting an aerobic workout.

God, she’d been struggling since the moment she’d come in here with him. And now he was being cut open and then sewed back together?

She was going to fucking lose it.

Although honestly . . . if she tried to be logical about it, that was nuts. One, it wasn’t her body getting worked on. Two, leaving that slug of lead in him was clearly not a good idea. And three . . . helllllllo . . . he was being treated by someone who’d already proven she knew her way around a scalpel.

Great rationalizations. All of which her adrenal gland middle-fingered and then carried right on.

Weren’t phobias fun.

The second whistle was a demand and she stopped opposite John, lifting her eyes to his face. He was cool and relaxed. No hysterics, no freak-out, nothing but calm forbearance of what was coming.

I’m going to be fine
, he signed.
Jane’s done this a million times before.

Jesus Christ, where the hell was all the air in this room, Xhex thought—

Like he knew he was losing her, he whistled again and held out his hand with a frown.

“John . . .” When no coherent words came, she shook her head and went back to the pacing. She hated this. She truly hated this.

As the door swung wide, Doc Jane came back in with Ehlena. The two were in the middle of a conversation about the procedure and John whistled at them. When he held up his forefinger to indicate he needed a minute, the females nodded and ducked out again.

“Shit,” Xhex said, “don’t stop them. I’ll be all right.”

As she headed for the door to call the doctor back in, a thunderous sound reverberated through the room. Thinking John had fallen off the gurney, she wheeled around—

No, he’d punched the stainless-steel table and left a dent in it.

Talk to me
, he signed.
And they’re not coming in until you do.

She had the urge to argue and the vocabulary to do it—just not the voice, evidently. Try as she did, she couldn’t manage to say a thing.

Which was when he opened his arms to her.

Cursing herself, she said, “I’m going to man up here. I’m going to so be twenty-one. You’re not going to believe how tight in the head I’m going to be. Really. For real.”

Come here
, he mouthed.

“Oh . . . hell.” Giving up, she went over and embraced him.

Into his neck, she said, “I don’t do this medical thing well. In case you haven’t noticed before. I’m sorry, John . . . damn it, I’m always letting you down, aren’t I.”

He caught her before she could pull away. Holding her in place with his eyes, he signed,
You saved my life tonight. I wouldn’t be alive right now unless you’d thrown that blade. So you aren’t always letting me down—and as for this? I’m not worried and you don’t have to watch—go and wait up at the house. It’s going to be over quickly. Don’t torture yourself.

“I’m not running scared.” Moving quickly so she couldn’t think too much and neither could he, she took his face in her hands and kissed him hard. “But maybe waiting outside is a good idea.”

After all, she couldn’t very well have Doc Jane stop in the middle to treat some pansy bystander with a case of the vapors. Or a concussion because the idiot had passed out cold on the floor.

Probably for the best
, John mouthed.

Breaking away, she put one foot after the other to the door and let in Ehlena and Doc Jane. As the physician passed, Xhex grabbed the female’s arm.

“Please . . .” God, what could she say.

Doc Jane nodded. “I got him. Don’t worry.”

Xhex took a shuddering breath and wondered how in the hell she was going to get through the wait out in the hall. Knowing the way her mind worked, she’d have John screaming silently in pain and Doc Jane removing his whole leg as the minutes dragged by—

“Xhex . . . mind if I suggest something?” Doc Jane said.

“Hit me. In fact . . . hit me. A good uppercut might help me pull it together.”

Doc Jane shook her head. “Why don’t you watch.”

“Stay here and watch what I do and how I do it and learn the whys. There are a lot of people who are terrified of medical situations—with very good reason. But phobias are phobias, whether it’s an airplane or a dentist or a doctor—and exposure therapy works. Take the mystery out of it and the sense of not being in control? The fear can’t get at you in the same way.”

“Nice piece of logic. But what happens if I faint.”

“You can sit down if you get dizzy and leave whenever you like. Ask questions and look over my shoulder if you’re able.”

When she glanced at John, his solemn nod sealed her fate. She was staying.

“Do I need scrubs?” she said in a voice that was utterly foreign.

Shit, it was so damn girly. Next thing you knew, she was going to start crying at TV ads and doing her nails. And getting a frickin’ pocketbook.

“Yup, I’m going to want you in greens. Follow me.”

When they came back five minutes later, Doc Jane took her over to the sink, handed her a sealed pack with a Betadine sponge inside, and showed her how to get properly cleaned.

“Good job.” The doctor turned off the water by releasing a foot pedal down on the floor. “You won’t need gloves because you’re not going in.”

“You got that right. Tell me, you have a crash cart around, just in case I go over?”

“Right in the corner and I know how to use those paddles.” Doc Jane snapped on blue gloves and went over to John. “You ready? And we’ll be putting you under. Given where the bullet is, I’m going to have to go deep and there’s no way in hell I’ll be able to get you numb enough.”

Gas me, Doc
, John signed.

V’s
shellan
put her hand on his shoulder and stared right into his eyes. “I’m going to fix you, don’t worry.”

Xhex frowned and found herself in awe of the female. To be that sure and certain, given what was at stake, was pretty amazing: If Doc Jane didn’t do her job right, John could be way worse off than he was now. But if she pulled it off, he would be good as new.