Page 13 of The Millionaire Bachelor
Not important? How could he say that? She felt as if every layer of her being had been stripped away, leaving her flaws bare to inspection. He would study her and find her very wanting.
“Cathy, please. Just trust me. We’ve known each other two years. Surely I deserve a chance.”
She turned toward him and raised the bed so that she was more sitting up than lying down. Then she pulled her hand free of his touch and reached for the light switch.
Instantly he took hold of her wrist. “Don’t,” he said.
“I just want to turn on the light.”
“I know. You can’t.”
“Why?”
“I’m—” He shook his head. “I was in a bad car accident about three years ago. My face is scarred, and I would rather you didn’t see me just yet.”
Her mouth opened, but she couldn’t speak. Nothing was what she’d thought. Was this the reason he hid away in his house? Did he think she would find him hideous?
“I don’t want to scare you,” he said, confirming her thoughts.
“You couldn’t.”
“You don’t know that. It’s pretty bad. You’re going to have to trust me on this.”
How bad could it be? she wondered. But she didn’t have the energy to pursue the subject. For now she would trust him. And there was a bright spot in the situation. Stone couldn’t see her, either. He wouldn’t know how plain she was. Not ugly, just not pretty at all. If only she were the leggy blonde she’d told him about. If only she had been to all those places.
“Cathy, don’t,” he said. “Don’t worry about it. I understand why you said those things to me. It doesn’t matter.”
How could he read her mind? Before she could ask, a nurse came in to give her a shot. They briefly discussed the morning schedule. She would be having her surgery first thing. When the woman was gone, Cathy turned to look at Stone.
“You don’t have to stay,” she said. “I mean, I’m sure you have things to do. Important things.”
“Right now you’re the most important part of my life.”
He took her hand again and laced his fingers with hers. The touch comforted her and made her want to move closer to him.
“You never said that you’d come stay at my house,” he reminded her. “Say yes.”
The shot had been powerful. Cathy could feel herself fading. It was an effort to talk, but even as the edges of her mind began to fold over on themselves, she managed a whispered “Yes.”
* * *
Two days later, Cathy found herself half sitting, half lying down in the back of an ambulance.
“The ride’s going to be about forty minutes,” the driver told her as his assistant checked the straps on her gurney.
“I’ll be fine.” She gave the men a reassuring smile.
“Mr. Ward said we were to bring a nurse along if you thought there might be a problem.”
“That’s not necessary.” Over the past day or so, her headache had faded. The only pain came from her knee, but as she’d had surgery on it yesterday, that was to be expected. In the small bag that contained the few items of clothing she’d been wearing the night of the fire was a prescription for painkiller. According to her doctor, physical therapy would start in a few days. Everything was going according to plan.
The driver slammed the rear door of the ambulance, then the men walked around to the front and slid into the cab. Cathy clutched the metal rails on either side of her gurney, not because she was afraid of falling out, but to touch something real and reassure herself that this was really happening. She was actually leaving the hospital to go stay with Stone.
Even as she smiled, she knew tears weren’t far behind. She wasn’t sure if she was living a dream or a nightmare. Last night after the surgery, Stone had stopped by. She remembered going to sleep wondering if he would visit her again, then she’d awakened some time after midnight and he’d been sitting at the side of her bed.
They’d talked in the darkness, and for a few minutes she’d allowed herself to pretend it was just like it had been when they’d talked on the phone. But it wasn’t the same. For one thing, he’d asked her for the key to her house. The request made sense. After all, someone had to go collect her things, pick up the mail and arrange for the new mail to be held. But she hated the thought of him finding out where she lived or what her house looked like even as she told herself the fact that it was small and old didn’t matter. She kept the place clean. The garden was tidy, the hedges neat.
But it wasn’t about cleanliness or tidiness, she thought as the ambulance pulled onto the freeway and headed west. It was about being poor. She’d told Stone she lived in a modern condo. Very trendy, well decorated. It had been another part of the fantasy.
