Medical Romance July 2016 Books 1-6. Lynne Marshall

      She didn’t say anything. Arguing with the man had done no good in anything they’d butted heads over so far. He’d only agreed to the cane after he’d proved her case for her. “How about we get it to go?”

      “No. We’re going to go in, sit at the quiet booth I’ve reserved, and if you want me to I will sling my leg up in the bench beside me to have it elevated. We can eat good food and relax with no responsibilities hanging over our heads. No one asking for interviews, or pictures. Have a little wine. Can I have wine with those pills?”

      “No. I know I say that a lot, but you always want a little bit more, don’t you? I want to go to dinner. I want to eat where I want to eat. I want to have pain pills and wine.” She shook her head, but the tension she’d been feeling had already started to drain away. Probably had started the moment that he’d agreed to use the cane. It made it easier to tease him back. “How did you stay alive this long? Luck? Your looks?”

      “Yep.” He reached over, wiggled an arm behind her around her waist, and slid her over to him. “Fate lets me get by with stuff because I’m too pretty to smite.”

      She laughed even though she knew it just egged the fool on. “So that’s why Fate sent me. I’m immune to your prettiness.”

      The car rolled to a stop and the doorman came to open their door. “You just adore me for my winning personality? Or is it my body? I feel so cheap.”

      And yet he grabbed his cane and got out of the car, stepped to the side and offered her a hand.

      “This is not a date,” she said, taking the offered hand if for no other reason than civility—even if she was currently ignoring the fact that navigating car doors in this dress wasn’t really in her usual skill set. “And no wine. Or I’m going to whine.”

      “Fine, fine. No wine. But I’m eating red meat and you can’t stop me.” He passed her hand through the crook of his elbow and led the way inside. “I come here whenever I’m in New York, they have a couple of great private booths. And if you want, I’m sure they’ll even bring out a bag of crushed ice. Which I will use, in the interests of making my date happy.”

      “This is not a date.” Grace repeated herself, this time more quietly as they wandered through the restaurant to the promised private back corner booth.

      “Okay,” he whispered back. “In the interests of making happy the lovely creature who went to the movies with me, and who is now going to eat with me, I will ask for ice.”

      They stopped at the booth and Liam sat on the side that would allow him to kick his leg up on the seat like the heathen he’d better well be if he wanted her to eat dinner with him.

      Grace took the other side, and resisted the urge to ask for the ice. He’d said he would do it.

      Knowing better than to test her on this—or at least she liked to think that was the reason—he dragged his foot up onto the seat and winked at her.

      Menus were place before them and a bottle of the vintage Liam preferred presented to him. “No wine tonight. Water. Iced tea maybe?” He looked at Grace.

      “Just water for me.” She looked at the menu, but the prospect of reading words seemed too much for her. “My feminist core is shrieking, but I don’t want to order. Can I just have whatever you’re having? I don’t think I have any room in my head to make any decisions right now.”

      “It’s harder than it seems, eh?” he asked.

      “The stop and pose, stop and smile, stop and shake hands, stop and sign things, stop and chitchat route to the movie?”

      “It was better tonight. It’s always better with someone there but, you know, as much as we’ve avoided one another for the past several years, it’s been really great to have you here, Grace. I hope that’s all right for me to say.”

      She smiled, looking down as she did so, and nodded. “You too. When you’re not being infuriating. I forgot how much of a playful charmer you can be. All I’ve really seen is Actor Man, he of the thousand faces, since... You know.”

      She cut that thought off sharply, and scrambled for something else to say. She wouldn’t bring that subject up now. Their forty-eight hours together were almost done. From tomorrow on they could see one another once a day, she’d go back to her less glittery existence, and he’d stay out in the limelight, adored by millions.

      “The little boy...”

      “Brody.” He said the name she’d missed.

      “You asked his name?”

      “He offered it. Brody, the budding physical therapist.” He lifted his pants leg and showed off the colorful bandage still plastered to his taped ankle.

      “You were really great with him. As much as you say that this stuff drains you, it doesn’t show. It didn’t show. It only showed last night because of the limping, I think, otherwise no one would’ve known.”

      “I like kids. I don’t really remember ever being that age. I mean, I remember being in kindergarten and, you know, young grades, but my life was...”

      Bad. She knew his childhood had been really hard. She had always known that his mother had died from an overdose, but she just didn’t know any real details. Before he’d told her about the book. That had cleared up all her confusion in a way that gave absolutely no other details. It had hurt him to even tell her that much, and it had hurt to hear it. She didn’t want him to have to go through anything else like that tonight.

      “Complicated,” she offered quickly, giving him an out in case he, too, wanted to avoid dissecting painful memories.

      If she had her way, she’d know every single part of him, from his past, to the way he thought, to all his future plans... But it really wasn’t her right to ask any probing personal questions. No matter how nice they both agreed it had been to be around each other again, he wasn’t going to be around that long. Once he was back on his feet, her usefulness would be at an end.

      * * *

      “Complicated.” Liam echoed the word. His childhood wasn’t high on his list of things to talk about tonight. The waiter arrived and he tried to think of the least drippy foods to order, and shifted conversation on.

      His list of things to talk about really only had two items: that night and that trench coat.

      But that felt like an after-dinner conversation. So he steered them back toward small talk, safe and focused on subjects that would make her feel comfortable.

      Memories they’d shared after Liam had been placed in foster care near the Watsons’ home, and how he’d befriended Nick.

      How she’d ended up at The Hollywood Hills Clinic.

      Why she’d left professional sports.

      Things he’d never let himself know about her, even when he’d wanted to know.

      “I saw you once at a game,” he said, as their dinner plates were taken away. “You were working on one of the players’ knees. You want dessert? I want dessert.”

      The dessert he wanted definitely wasn’t on the menu, but in the interest of sublimating his carnal desires...

      “I don’t think I need one.”

      “Split one. They have this chocolate cake thing with fruit that’s really good.” He ordered one and then took the ice off his ankle, sat up straighter, and slid toward her in the booth.

      “If you don’t want to eat it, just take one bite and I’ll pretend we split it equally.”

      “I could move over there to you so you could keep your foot elevated.”

      “It’s okay. We’re not going to be here much longer anyway. And I think that those pain tablets are kicking in.”

      With a nod, Grace went about clearing