Read The Doctor's Runaway Fiancée Online
Authors: Cindy Kirk
“After we eat, the men are relegated to the great room to do, well, whatever they want to do. The children go downstairs. Whoever hosts is responsible for hiring the babysitters.” Meg's gaze shifted from Andrew to Sylvie. “Keep that in mind when it's your turn to host.”
Andrew saw Sylvie open her mouth, obviously to inform their host and hostess that he wouldn't be around that long and she certainly didn't have the space. But he spoke first. “Good to know.”
The ringing of a bell had them turning their heads.
“Time to eat.” Meg slipped her arm through Sylvie's and led her toward the buffet tables.
“She needs this,” Andrew murmured, almost to himself. “This connection. It matters.”
“That's the great thing about Jackson Hole,” Cole said. “It doesn't take long before you're considered family.”
A family was something Sylvie had never experienced. If she'd stayed in Boston, he doubted she'd have found it there. His sister would have made her welcome, but Corinne didn't even live in the same country. His parents, while good people, weren't the warm and fuzzy kind.
He thought of the argument he'd had with his father the night before Sylvie left. The old man had practically threatened to disown him if he married Sylvie. Though he knew his father wouldn't have gone to that extreme, Andrew had felt the need to make it clear his loyalties lay with Sylvie.
It was too bad Sylvie hadn't felt that same loyalty to him...
But the anger that had always surged whenever he thought of her leaving didn't come. Instead he was seized with a renewed determination to figure out just what had led her to leave him that particular night.
“I know you've been living in your friend's place in Spring Gulch,” Cole said as they stood back and let the others swarm the food.
“It's a nice enough place.”
“Are you thinking that's the area where you'd like to build?” Cole rocked back on his heels. “Or are you looking at the mountains?”
Andrew hesitated. While he'd made no secret of the fact that he liked Jackson Hole, he wondered where Cole could have gotten the idea he was considering moving here. Not only moving here, but building a home.
Even as he pondered the thought, his gaze settled on Sylvie. He smiled when he saw her laughing with Poppy Campbell and Meg.
He pulled his gaze back to Cole, who was sipping a Dos Equis straight from the bottle. “My home is in Boston.”
“I grew up here,” Cole said. “I got out as soon as I could and never planned to come back.”
“Why did you?”
A shadow crossed Cole's face. “A couple that I was very close to were killed in a car accident. Meg and I, we weren't together at the time, were given joint custody of their son, Charlie. His parents specified he be raised here.”
“Couldn't you have gotten around that stipulation?”
“Probably. But in the end that stipulation ended up being the best thing for Meg, for me and for Charlie.” Cole took a long pull. “I've learned those crazy things often end up being unexpected blessings.”
Andrew's thoughts went immediately to Sylvie. The way she'd left. The way he'd followed her here. The closeness that had developed between them.
Unexpected blessing?
Time, he decided, would tell that story.
Chapter Fifteen
B
y the time Sylvie and Andrew got home, it was nearly ten. Neither of them was ready for bed. Instead of having more wine, Sylvie decided to make some tea.
Andrew followed her into the kitchen, then leaned his back against the countertop and watched her. “Seriously? You didn't even discuss a book?”
“That's right.” Though he remained fully dressed, Sylvie stood in bare feet while she brewed chamomile tea. Her lips curved up. “Mary Karen Fisher started talking about going skinny-dipping. Then everyone else started telling tales.
Moby Dic
k was forgotten.”
“Moby Dick?”
He straightened. “That's the book you discussed?”
“That was the book we were
supposed
to discuss. I don't think we could have had a good discussion, because it didn't appear anyone in attendance had read it.” Sylvie lifted the two mugs and carried them to the small dinette table.
Andrew pulled out her chair, then took a seat opposite her. “You had fun.”
“I did.” She took a sip of tea. “Did you enjoy yourself?”
The men had watched a replay of that week's Monday night football game. Cole had made sure to introduce him to Joel Dennes and Gabe Davis, who spoke with him about available lots in Jackson Hole.
Andrew still wondered why he hadn't just simply said he wasn't interested. Instead he'd told them that while he wasn't interested in a mountain lot because of the distance into Jackson, he'd be willing to consider something in Spring Gulch.
The crazy thing was, he hadn't been thinking of himself when he made that decision. He'd been thinking of Sylvie. The last thing he'd want was for her to be driving down those steep mountain roads at 3:00 a.m.
He pulled his eyebrows together. What had he been thinking? Even if he wanted to stay, he couldn't. He owed it to his family, to Tommy's memory, to take this position at O'Shea Sports.
The thought made him irritable.
“Something on your mind?” Her soft voice broke through his thoughts.
He jerked his head up. “What makes you think something is wrong?”
She smiled slightly. “I didn't ask if something is wrong. I asked if something was on your mind.”
Her eyes were watchful as they studied him over the top of her mug.
“What made you leave?” The question burst from his lips with none of the finesse he'd envisioned.
“I told youâ”
“I know what you said,” he interrupted, not giving her a chance to continue. “But why that particular night? Why not before the party? Or several days later?”
“Iâ” She turned toward the window. “Look, it's starting to rain.”
Andrew glanced at the window, noticing for the first time the water on the glass, hearing the sound on the roof. It distracted him, but for only a second.
“Why, Sylvie?” His voice was soft and low now, the same tone he often used to soothe frightened patients. “Was it something I said? Or did?”
She lowered her lids but not soon enough to shield her reaction. It had been something he'd said. But what could it have been? He searched his memories but came up empty.
“I can see in your eyes I was to blame.”
“You weren't to blame.” Her sudden vehemence had him pulling back, but her hand remained in his. “Don't ever think you were to blame.”
“Tell me.” He kept his voice soft, inviting confidences. “Please.”
He wasn't sure if it was the
please
that did it or perhaps it was simply that the time had finally come for this truth to be revealed, but Sylvie expelled a shuddering breath.
When she attempted to pull her hand back, he kept hold, gently stroking her palm with his thumb.
“I'm not angry.” Andrew's gaze remained focused on her face. “I simply want to understand.”
She opened her mouth, then closed it.
He was just about to reassure her again when she began to speak.
“I never felt close to your parents.” Her voice held a tremor. When he started to speak, she hurriedly continued. “They were always cordial to me, always. But I knew I wasn't what they hoped for in a daughter-in-law.”
She held up a hand. “Please let me finish. Despite their...reservations... I could see that you were a close family, a loving one. I was happy for you.”
As he watched her blink back tears, hot anger spurted. The anger not directed at her, but at those sorry excuses for parents who'd walked out on a child, leaving her to fend for herself.
“I overheard the conversation between you and your father in the library.”
A sick feeling took up residence in the pit of Andrew's stomach. He recalled that conversation vividly, and his father hadn't minced words. “You heard what my father said? All of it?”
She nodded. “I heard what he said and what you said back to him.”
Andrew frowned. He'd defended her. Stood up for her.
“You said he had to accept me, welcome me, orâ” She swallowed hard as if there was something in her throat. “âor he was out of your life.”
“That's right,” Andrew said. “You were to be my wife. He needed to respect that decision, and you.”
“I couldn't come between you.” Tears, as plentiful as the raindrops on the window, slipped down her cheeks. “He's your father. You love him. He loves you.”
Suddenly it all made sense. Okay, maybe not all, but a good portion. “You left because you didn't want to come between me and my father?”
“I know the importance of family. I also know the kind of bond that you and your father share isn't something to be tossed away lightly. It's something to be treasured.” She lifted her drenched eyes. “Especially not over something that might not last.”
“My father and I argue all the time. Those threats were common occurrences. But we didn't mean them.” He was reaching for her, wanting to comfort and soothe, when her last comment registered. “You didn't believe we'd last?”
He saw indecision waver on her face and wondered if truth or lie would win the battle.
She lifted her chin. “No. We are so different.”
“And everyone in your life that you've loved has left you.”
Her sharp intake of breath told him the arrow had hit its target.
Andrew didn't mean to cause her pain, but he didn't need a psychiatry specialty to realize the abandonment she'd experienced as a child was at the root of all this. What he felt most guilty about was that he hadn't thought about that fact until this moment.
“I love you, Sylvie.” He hadn't known he was going to say the words until they left his lips. “I never stopped loving you.”
“I never stopped loving you, either.” Her voice was so soft that for a second he feared he'd only imagined the words until he saw the emotion in her eyes. “But it doesn't change anything.”
“We don't have to decide that tonight.” He stood and tugged her to her feet. “For now, just knowing that is enough.”
He pulled her to him, wrapping his arms around her, simply holding her close. After a second, she relaxed, resting her head against his chest.
They stood there for the longest time, not speaking, drawing comfort from the closeness.
“Will you come to bed with me, Sylvie? Will you let me show you how much I love you?”
“Loving doesn't changeâ”
He covered her mouth with his, silencing the words. Perhaps realizing that she still loved him wouldn't change all that had happened between them. But she was back in his arms, and for the first time since she'd left, all was right in his world. That was enough for now.
* * *
The only threat to Andrew's happiness in the next twenty-four hours was a report from Seth that they'd discovered more blood clots in Mrs. Whitaker's legs. The treatment that had been ordered was appropriate, but Andrew hated being so far away.
He called Fern and spoke with her for a long time.
“What's the matter?” Sylvie asked, setting a bowl of popcorn on the coffee table.
Though he'd begun to pace, he abruptly dropped down on the sofa and blew out a harsh breath. “One of my patients back in Boston isn't doing well.”
It was ridiculous, he told himself, to be so upset. Mrs. Whitaker was receiving the best medical treatment. She'd also lived almost nine decades on earth.
“She was my first patient when I started my concierge practice.” He smiled, suddenly recalling how she'd told all her friends having such a wonderfulâand handsomeâdoctor was well worth the monthly fee. “She wielded a lot of influence in Boston. I owe a lot of my success to her.”
Sylvie sat beside him on the sofa, their shoulders touching. “You care about her.”
“Of course I do,” Andrew asserted. “She's my patient.”
“You care about her,” Sylvie repeated.
He leaned his head back against the soft leather. “I do.”
With gentle, soothing fingers, she pushed a lock of hair back from his face. “That's why you're such a good doctor. You really care.”
Andrew said nothing, reveling in the sweet touch and the lilt of her voice.
“I think you need a distraction, something to make you forget your troubles for a few hours.”
“We were going to watch a movie.” Even as he said the words, Andrew knew the action flick they'd planned to watch was unlikely to hold his attention. Still, it was worth a try.
“I wasn't thinking of a movie.”
Something about the sultry edge to her voice had him turning his head.
“Put your arm around me.”
It was an easy order. He looped his arm around her shoulders. When she snuggled close, he felt some of the tension ease from his body.
“Did you ever make out with a girl on the sofa when you were growing up?”
“Sure,” he said, intrigued by the direction the conversation had taken. “Make-out sessions is practically a teenage rite of passage.”
“I never did.”
“You're kidding me.” Even as he spoke, his fingers began playing with her hair.
“I've told you my background.” She gazed up at him through lowered lashes. “I was in foster homes. Most of them were fairly strict.”
His lips curved slightly. “What made you think of youthful indiscretions?”
“You.”
Andrew wasn't sure if it was the glass of wine he'd had with dinner or simple fatigue, but he was having difficulty following this conversation. “I don't understand.”
“You're wearing jeans.”
He glanced down. It was strange how he'd quickly grown so comfortable being casual. “What does that have to do with anything?”
“You look incredibly sexy in denim.”
For a second he thought she was joking until he saw the heat in her eyes.
“You'll look incredibly sexy out of those jeans, too.” She trailed a finger down his thigh.
Andrew inhaled sharply, and need for her surged, fast and strong.
He leaned in, his face so close that if she turned her head ever so slightly, their lips would meet. “You smell so good.”
Her body quivered and she arched her neck back, giving him full access to the creamy skin of her neck. Her skin tasted as sweet as candy and he wanted to devour her.
“You missed some vital parts of your education living in foster homes,” Andrew said before taking the lobe of her ear into his mouth and sucking gently.
She gasped. “IâI hardly think kissing someone on a sofa would be considered vital, much less educational.”
Seeing no need to argue, Andrew stroked her back, smiling when he felt her begin to trembleânot with fear, he knew, but with need. Need for
him
. “I'm glad some randy teenage boy never kissed you on the sofa.”
“Why?”
He captured her hand and brought her fingers to his lips, kissing each of them, spacing out each word with kisses. “Because you're mine.”
“I wasn't yours back then,” she pointed out.
For a second he reveled in the fact that she'd accepted that she was his, and he was hers.
Andrew trailed a finger down her cheek, his eyes on hers. “You were always mine. Even before we met, even before we got to know each other and fell in love, you were mine.”
When she opened her mouth as if to protest, he closed it with a kiss that had her sighing. “And I am yours. Tell me that you're mine. I want to hear the words.”
“You know how I feel about you,” she murmured, trying to distract him by trailing kisses up his neck.
“Tell me, Sylvie.” His voice held an intensity that even he didn't fully understand. “Tell me you're mine.”
Her arms were woven around his neck, and before she rested her head against his chest, he saw her eyes close.
“I'm yours,” she whispered. “For now.”
He frowned, but before he could say anything more, she was kissing him with a heat that had fire coursing through his veins. Her hands were everywhere, tugging and pulling as she fought to rid him of his clothes.
It was a battle she was destined to win, but that didn't mean they had to race to the finish line. They had all night.
Lifting her hands from his belt buckle, Andrew cupped her head and closed his mouth over hers. The kiss started out sweet and gentle. Sylvie leaned forward and he felt the remaining tension leave her body. When he continued to kiss her as if they had all the time in the world, she wrapped her arms around his neck, sliding her fingers into his hair.
They kissed until he felt drugged with sensation. The only thing he knew was her. The only thing he wanted was her.
The kisses turned hotter, grew more intense until the fire in his blood burned as hot as the one in the hearth. He didn't just want his mouth on herâhe had to touch.
The hands that had been traveling up and down her sides as they kissed moved upward, cupping her breasts through the thin cotton shirt. Through the fabric Andrew felt the hard tips as she pressed against his palms.