Four Weeks Till Forever Page 10

  He was such an idiot.

  Cursing, he left La Mer and drove straight to Hilary’s office. At her desk was Sally.

  “Hello, Mark,” she said with a smile that was bordering on confused. “Have an appointment with Gavin?”

  “No. Where’s Hilary?”

  “She went home.” She frowned. “Is something wrong?”

  “Why did she go home?” It was barely three thirty, and no one in Gavin’s firm ever went home early, much less his right hand woman.

  “Didn’t you hear? She was really sick.” Sally placed an elbow on the desk and rested her chin on the back of her hand. “She was really pale. I think she might’ve even passed out.”

  A small ball of panic rolled through him. “Why didn’t she go to the hospital?”

  “She insisted. So Gavin had Thomas drive her home.”

  He swore. It had to be pretty serious for Gavin to let his chauffeur take her home. Gavin never drove in L.A. traffic.

  Bebe had said Hilary wasn’t home. So the small house was out of the question. “Is Gavin available?”

  Sally shook her head. “He’s in a meeting.”

  “How about Thomas? Do you know how to get ahold of him?”

  “Sure.” She dialed a number and handed him the receiver.

  Thomas understood the situation—for a man who did nothing except drive Gavin’s fancy cars he was remarkably well plugged-in—and he told Mark that Hilary was staying at Josephine Martinez’s condo. Did Mark need directions too?

  Mark told him that wasn’t necessary and went over to Josephine’s place. Every time the light turned red, he felt like a thirsty man just a few feet away from an oasis. Hilary was probably home alone—Josephine was far too busy to play nurse—and based on what Sally had said, Hilary definitely needed somebody to watch over her. What if she tried to get something…like water…and passed out and hit her head against a table or something? Who would be there to call an ambulance and make sure she was all right?

  The uniformed doorman at the condo was the same one who’d been here the week before. He recognized Mark instantly. “Sorry, Mr. Pryce. I’ll need to call Ms. Martinez’s unit first,” he said, shrugging his skinny shoulders apologetically. “You aren’t on the list.”

  “Are you kidding?”

  “Uh…”

  Mark sighed impatiently. “Do I look like a psycho stalker killer to you?”

  The doorman bit his lower lip. “No, but…”

  “You know I’ve been here before.” Shaking his head, Mark signed in for Josephine’s unit. “Call ahead if you want. Just don’t try to stop me.”

  Leaving the uncertain doorman behind, Mark took the elevator, which seemed to go up at a sloth’s pace. Damn it. He should just buy Hilary a penthouse unit next to his or something. This was getting ridiculous.

  When he finally reached Jo’s door and knocked, no one answered. Was Hilary too sick to get up? Had she managed to hurt herself, like in his imaginary scenario? Mark paced the corridor a bit, feeling impotent, then thought to try the door handle.

  The door opened.

  He felt a small measure of relief, then scowled. Hilary should be locking her door. The building had its own doorman and security, but that wasn’t a good enough reason to be careless with her safety. He finally understood why Gavin always seemed to want to hire an army of bodyguards for his family…because he was feeling the same compulsion right now.

  “Hello? Anyone home?” he said in a low voice. No answer. The condo was stark with very few prints on the white walls. Some would call the design minimalist, but Mark thought the place lacked something. It just looked sterile.

  He crossed the hardwood floor, trying to step quietly, and reached the end of the hall. One of the rooms had its door ajar. He peeked through and saw Hilary curled up on her side on the bed. Her blouse and skirt stretched over her curved back, and she wasn’t moving.

  Was she asleep?

  He tiptoed inside and looked at her. One hand was pressed against her belly; she looked so small and helpless, adjectives he’d never thought to associate with her. She’d always appeared formidable, thoroughly competent and strong. Her skin felt cool under his, and he rummaged around the condo until he found a spare blanket and draped it over her. She barely stirred.

  Sitting on the edge of a chair near her bed, he watched her rest. He’d never played nurse before. But he knew how it was done—he remembered his mother sitting with him when he’d been sick. She’d held his hand, smoothed the sweat from his forehead and whispered sweet nothings…sometimes even hummed to comfort him. Despite all the nannies Salazar had hired, Ceinlys had always taken care of her children personally when they weren’t feeling well.

  Would Hilary find it comforting if he took her hand and whispered sweet nothings, or would she be horrified? He could never predict how she’d react to him.

  But there was one thing she always reacted to rather predictably. So he pulled out his phone and dialed.

  * * *

  Hilary kept her eyes closed. Her head felt like it was submerged in syrup. What the heck had happened at the office? Now that her brain started to kick in a bit, she cringed. God, she’d almost fainted.

  How embarrassing.

  So what if she’d been under a lot of pressure and stress? The two went hand-in-hand. It wasn’t like she didn’t know what working for Gavin required. It was her job to ensure she was indispensable to her boss. If he asked her to pluck the stars from the sky, then pluck the stars she would.

  She should shower and get something to eat. She really needed to go back to work the next day even if Gavin fussed about it. This wasn’t like her. She’d never called in sick.

  She sighed, cranked her eyes open and immediately yelped. Her hand flew to her chest. “Oh my gosh, Mark! What are you doing here?”

  “Hey.” He gave her a small grin. “Heard you were sick, so I figured I’d check up on you.”

  “How long have you been sitting there?”

  He shrugged. “I don’t know. A few hours? I wasn’t really counting.”

  “Oh…” He didn’t have anything in his hands. “Were you…watching me the whole time?”

  “I might have dozed off a bit here and there.” He gave her an unexpectedly sheepish smile, and she had to press her hand hard against her chest to stop a pang. She hoped it was from her unusual condition, nothing more. Because if it was from Mark’s smile…

  She was in the biggest trouble of her life.

  “Do you want to eat something?” he asked. “I’ve got some soup I can heat up.”

  “You? Soup?” She blinked. “I thought you only did haute cuisine…unless you’re slumming.”

  He laughed. “No. I had the La Mer chef whip it up. He wasn’t thrilled with my chicken noodle soup order.”

  “So it’s going to be either really good or really bad?”

  “Knowing him, probably really good. I told him it was for a beautiful woman who was too sick to eat anything else.”

  She swallowed. He really needed to stop saying stuff like that…and especially stop looking at her like he meant it. She shuddered to think what her appearance must be right now. Absolutely awful. But somehow, under his sweet gaze, she felt like she was the loveliest woman in the world. Was this some kind of power men had over women? Was this why her mother hadn’t been able to wean herself from Tim, no matter how toxic he was? If Hilary wasn’t careful, she could get addicted to Mark, even knowing they would go their separate ways after his family party.

  She started to rise, but he put out a hand to stop her. “Hey, patient, you stay put. I’ll bring you your soup.” He started to move toward the door, walking backwards and keeping his eyes on her. “Don’t even think about getting up. I mean it!” He gave her one last mock scowl and vanished into the hall.

  She pulled her legs up and hugged them while he clanged around in the kitchen. This was a new experience. People didn’t take care of her when she was sick. Tim had hated being near sick kids. “T
hey’re gonna gimme their germs and shit,” he’d say and take off for days. Hilary’s mom and aunt hadn’t been very good at nursing either, basically just checking up on her every so often to make sure she wasn’t dead. But when one of them had been sick, it had been up to her to do something about it. And she’d done what she could, which had never been enough. Bebe had started running off as soon as she’d hit her teens. “I’m not getting your disease. Have fun recovering,” she’d say before taking off.

  The door opened, and Mark came in carrying a tray that had a bowl of steaming soup and a piece of thick crusty bread. “Courtesy of La Mer catering,” he announced gravely, as though he were a butler.

  She sat up, already feeling better. “I had no idea you were branching out.”

  “It’s a secret. I don’t want Luc to kill me. I’m pretty sure he knows how to make poison.”

  “Afraid he might slip a little into your fish?” She took a spoonful of the soup and closed her eyes at the sublime flavor. “This is the chicken noodle soup. My god, it’s divine.”

  “Great. So I don’t have to look for a new chef?”

  She chuckled. “You do not. And thank you. This is really lovely.”

  “Well, somebody’s gotta take care of you. Look at you, here all alone.” He gestured around. “What’s the point of a best friend roommate if she’s not here to play Florence Nightingale?”

  “I think she has to make money to pay for the condo.”

  “Ppffftt.”

  “If she doesn’t work, she doesn’t get paid.”

  “Kind of like me. If I don’t work, I don’t get laid.”

  She snorted. “I highly doubt that.” She finished the soup and leaned back against the headboard. “Um, I was thinking…”

  “Yeah?”

  “You basically need a date to avoid dating whoever your mother picked out, right?”

  Crossing his arms, he regarded her. “Riiiight.”

  She cleared her throat. Why was this so hard? She’d spent hours on research, making sure the list would be eminently suitable. “Anyway, I think if that’s what you really want, you shouldn’t go with me. Your mother will never believe we’re dating.”

  A harsh frown snapped onto his face. “Hey, we were seen at Eliza’s event.”

  “That’s irrelevant.” People had seen through her there. Mark might have been oblivious then, with so many guests milling around and distracting him, but he’d notice when the setting was smaller and more intimate. “You need a woman who’s, you know, someone that somebody like you would date.”

  “Really. For example?”

  “Meredith Lloyd—”

  He choked. “Gavin’s baby sister? Are you serious?”

  She continued, undeterred. “Beatrice Sterling.” Beatrice was from an impeccable family, superbly wealthy too. There was nothing to nitpick about the Sterlings.

  “Under the thumb of that horrible autocratic curmudgeon? No thanks.”

  “Isabelle Hall.”

  “Not marrying into a political family. That’d be worse than Barron Sterling.”

  “Well, there—”

  “Forget it, Hilary.” He swatted her suggestions away. “I’m not going with anybody but you. If you back out now, I won’t be able to avoid that woman Mom picked out.”

  Her mouth formed an O. “Really?”

  “Yeah. Look, I want to take you to the party. You, not some other woman. Why is that so hard to believe?”

  Mutely she stared at him. No man had ever wanted just her. No man had ever made her want to believe what he felt for her was true.

  His expression slowly turned into an unreadable mask. “Let’s cut to the chase, Hilary. If you don’t want to go with me, just say so. Forget about owing me a favor. People are going to know if I bring a date who’d rather be somewhere else.”

  That’s not your problem. Say no, the smarter part of her urged, but somehow she couldn’t do it. “Okay,” she said finally. “I’ll go.”

  “And this has nothing to do with that Morrigan’s thing.”

  “No.”

  His shoulders relaxed. He put the tray off on the side and leaned in until their lips were almost touching. She pulled back, eyes wide.

  “You’re going to get whatever I have,” she whispered.

  His gaze dropped briefly to her mouth. “I don’t care.”

  “You will when you get sick.”

  “Then we’ll C and R.”

  “What?” she said shakily, unable to keep her gaze from darting between his eyes and his lips.

  “Cuddle and Recuperate.” He gave her a wink that was breathtakingly sexy. “Now shut up and kiss me, woman.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Hilary pressed her warm, moist mouth against his, and he almost groaned at how much he’d missed her. He couldn’t quite believe she’d said yes. He’d been sure she would pull away like she always did. It was crazy how victorious and invincible that one simple word made him feel. Countless women had said it before, but it had never had the same effect.

  There was so much shyness in the touch, as though they’d never kissed before.

  Or maybe it was him who kissed like he’d never done it. All the other women crumbled in his memory like pillars of salt. All he cared about was Hilary.

  And with the sense of elation came a sense of responsibility—he could never hurt her. Having her in his arms like this was a privilege that made his heart sing. She made him hopeful for things he’d never dared hope for.

  Her tongue brushed against his as she tightened her grip around his shoulders, and all his thoughts scattered. All he could focus on was this gorgeous woman in his arms who was melting against him the way he’d fantasized for weeks…months…maybe even longer.

  He cupped her curvy butt in his hand, pulling her closer.

  He had no idea what it was about Hilary that made him want to be so careful around her. There was a part of him that said he’d only get one chance to make anything of this, and that any wrong move would screw it up for him and hurt her. He ran his hand along her smooth curves and groaned. Damn, she made him so hard with those sexy noises in her throat. He wanted to take this as far as they could go…have her fall apart in his arms…until he remembered the soup tray that was lying next to her.

  Shit. What kind of a jerk seduced a woman when she was sick?

  Reluctantly he pulled back. There was a question in her eyes.

  “Hey.” He kissed her on the forehead. “No hanky-panky when you’re sick. Get some rest, sweetheart.”

  She sighed. “I should’ve known you’d say that.”

  “You should have?”

  “Despite your reputation, you’re a pretty good guy.” She gave him a lopsided smile. “But if you tell anybody I said so, I’ll deny it.”

  “Okay. It’ll just be our secret.”

  It wasn’t like anybody would believe it anyway. He wasn’t the nicest guy when it came to women. There were reasons why his exes were called Quarterly Girls. And as much as he’d like to blame them for becoming boring, he couldn’t help but wonder—after all, he was the only common point in those failed relationships. Many of them had gone on to date the same guy much longer than three months. A few had even gotten married.

  He took the tray to the kitchen and loaded the dishwasher. Keys rattled at the door, and Josephine walked in. She looked fashionable as usual in a sleeveless red Dior and stilettos. A loopy two-tone metal belt cinched her small waist, and her hair was flung over one shoulder. “Oh, you’re still here. The doorman said you’d come in. What’s up?”

  “Heard Hilary’s sick, so I came by to see how she’s doing.”

  “Looks like it’s more than that.” She sniffed. “Did you cook something?”

  He laughed. “I don’t cook. I employ cooks.”

  “Huh.” Giving him an assessing look, she dumped her purse and shopping bags on the couch. He’d never seen her without at least one glossy bag from some boutique shop in the city. “Why are you really
here?”

  “I just told you.”

  “Yeah, but if you’d just wanted to know how she’s doing, you could’ve called. There wasn’t any reason for you to actually come over, much less bring food. And from the smell of it, you didn’t bring canned soup.”

  “Luc—that’s the chef from La Mer—offered to make it. You think I should have said no?”

  “You’re a terrible liar, Mark. Why would Luc do that?” She sat down. “Look, you and I both know where you want to take this. But it’d be nice if you’d just step back and let her be. She’s not in the best place emotionally.”

  Her warning set his teeth on edge. It seemed like nobody wanted him and Hilary to be together. “Are you saying I had something to do with that?”

  Josephine studied her impeccable manicure and frowned as though she’d found a flaw, which was doubtful. The kind of places women like her went to didn’t screw up. She looked up at him, grimacing like she’d just bitten into a clam and gotten sand. “No.”

  “Then what is it?”

  “Bebe’s back.”

  “Her cousin, right?”

  “That’s one word for her. And whenever she’s around, things aren’t good for Hilary. Bebe is just bad news, start to finish.”

  “I’m sensing that you don’t like her.”

  “She’s a worthless skank. She’s doing everything in her power to live just like her mother, and it bothers her that Hilary won’t. That she’s trying for something better.”

  “Yeah, Bebe told me about the whole ménage thing.”

  “Oh god, she did?” Josephine folded her arms in front of her and looked to the side, her teeth on edge. “Unbelievable. It’s like she thinks it’s some kind of badge of honor to have lived through that childhood.”

  “Well…isn’t it?”

  Her jaw slackened. “Are you serious?”

  “To survive something like that?” Mark wasn’t sure if he would’ve been able to. “It didn’t sound pretty at all.”

  “Surviving is what any animal would do. It’s making something of yourself that earns the badge. Nobody can choose how they were born and raised, but everyone can choose how they’re going to live.”