Medical Romance July 2016 Books 1-6. Lynne Marshall

      Her eyes found his, deep and full of contradictions. Worry. Sweetness. Promises he had no business even considering.

      Liam’s heart stopped in his chest and then launched into a fast, skittering beat.

      Gathering the front of her dress, she turned fully and let it fall, hitting him with the full effect.

      Beautiful women in glamorous gowns were like Tuesdays in Liam’s life. But he’d never seen anything like this.

      “We have to go, Miss Watson,” Miles called. Herding Liam toward his obligations was part of his job but even with his ankle aching he didn’t want to hurry her. He wanted to look at her. Far away. Close-up. All the steps in between.

      She still hadn’t smiled at him, and he wanted it. The grumpiness plaguing her had been replaced by nervousness. She’d turned her lips in and chewed at the inside. He could act the fool, say something cute and meaningless, but...that wasn’t the right kind of smile. Not amusement. Happiness. He wanted her to smile at him because being there with him made her happy, everything else aside.

      “Of course. Sorry.” She reached toward Tom, and a small flat handbag of some kind was passed to her, but as she began moving toward Liam it was a conscious effort to square the knowledge that this was Grace with the Gracie he knew.

      She’d always been the girl next door. Pretty. Wholesome. Quietly unattainable. And he’d always wished he could attain her. Even during the time that he’d done his best to put her from his mind and had got on with living, anytime he’d seen that shade of sun-kissed light brown hair he’d thought of her. Every time he’d spoken to his best friend he’d thought of her, even if just to remind himself not to ask about her. He’d told himself she’d never fit into his world...but the truth was something else entirely. He was the misshapen one here.

      But in that dress she was the best of Old Hollywood—flowing lines and glittering, silken elegance.

      Her light brown wavy tresses had been braided somehow around her head, so the blonde highlights stood out. A style she could wear to the beach or on a picnic... He could imagine her poking daisies into the woven crown. More sweetness, and at odds with the gown and the glittering jewelry, but somehow on Grace it worked. This was how Grace would fit into his world, taking the best parts from both.

      As she got closer, he felt an overwhelming desire to straighten. Stand taller. Say something to let her know, make sure she knew... If this were a movie, a writer would have given him a great line, something that would let her know just how gorgeous she was.

      “You look...” He paused, completely at a loss. Oh, was he in so much trouble...

      “Do my scars show?”

      “Scars?” The word fit nowhere in his mind right now. “What scars?”

      She held up one of her arms and turned it so that he could see the inside.

      The pain in his ankle faded as he stepped forward, tucking the cane under his arm, and reached for her elbow so he could angle her toward the light better.

      A blast of cold shot into his chest as his eyes found what she referred to. A thin puckered line led from the inside of her arm back, around her triceps.

      Suddenly, his hands were the ones shaking. It had come from a large injury of some kind, or had it been a surgery? Something big enough he should’ve damned well known. “What the hell is that from?”

      “You’re going to get makeup on your hands. I don’t want you to have tan handprints on your tux. Believe me, makeup stands out on black material about as badly as it does on white.”

      “It won’t smudge,” Tom said from behind her, interrupting Liam’s questioning.

      And she’d said scars. Not scar. “There are more?”

      “Other arm too, but the rest are covered. Dress...”

      More? He peeled his hands off her before he lost control, and took a step backward, still not using the cane but putting her outside of the reach of his hands so he didn’t shake her until she answered him.

      “What happened? What happened to give you scars?”

      “They’re from my accident.”

      “What accident?”

      The elevator doors opened with a ding and Miles interrupted them. “The car is here, Liam. If we don’t go down now, it’s going to cut into your carpet time.”

      Confusion flashed in her eyes, and behind it regret. He didn’t know about her accident. She might as well have said the words for how clearly he could read it in her expression. Another reminder of their time apart. Or was it memories of this accident when he hadn’t come to visit her as she’d recovered?

      Stepping toward him, she pulled his cane from under his arm and put it into the appropriate hand. “We’ll talk about it later. Don’t want to be late, right? We’d better go before you have to do something sensible like spend less time walking on your injured ankle.”

      A moment later the elevator whisked them downward, leaving him with too many questions to think about. But she was right. If they didn’t go now, he’d have to move faster than his ankle would appreciate. Something else to talk about at dinner.

      “Do I match you?”

      “Match?”

      He shuffled a little back so he could see her again.

      “Like complement? Does my dress complement your tux? It’s got kind of an old-fashioned cut...”

      “It’s made to look like something from the era.” He confirmed the cut of his tux, but the nervous light that had replaced the regret in her eyes made him add, “I think it does, but really anything complements a black tie.” Her nervousness redirected his teeth-gritting focus. “Besides, I’m pretty sure I’m the one complementing you tonight.”

      “No,” she said, reaching up to smooth his jacket at the shoulders and down the sleeves. “That’s silly. You’re the star of the movie, which I’m looking forward to seeing.” She stopped smoothing, her hand resting on his chest where she’d fluffed the silk kerchief in his pocket. “Are you sure you’re up to this?”

      Fretting. Fussing. Focusing attention away from herself. Away from the scars...which he hadn’t even assured her barely showed. Later. He couldn’t bring them up again right now.

      “I’m up to it.” He’d keep her hand resting on his chest all evening, keep her there in that small space in front of him, looking up in that way that made him feel...something he didn’t want to feel. Possessive. And destructive.

      But he recognized his chance to start evening things out between them. “Even if I wasn’t up to it, I’d be up to it...just to have you on my arm tonight.”

      For a moment the worry disappeared from her eyes, a kind of wonder replacing it.

      Those were good words. Maybe not the perfect thing to say but it was close.

      He shifted her hand from his chest to his elbow as the elevator stopped and opened on the ground floor, then planted the cane and used it to lead her out.

      As they walked, she was still looking up at him, the wonder turning to shock. They passed through the lobby of red marble and dark walnut, and when they made it to the car she still looked shocked. He lifted a finger to her chin. “You’re beautiful, Grace.”

      The urge to kiss her nearly overwhelmed him. If she were his, he would’ve.

      Instead, he closed her mouth and let his hand fall to the small of her back to steer her into the car.

      Did no one ever tell this golden angel how magnificent she was?

      God help him, he was in so much trouble.

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