Angel in Armani

by Melanie Scott

  But apparently she’d wriggled her way into his heart deeper than he thought.

  And breathing in the smell of her hair as she held on to him, he couldn’t bring himself to feel too upset about that.

  Sara was worth getting attached to. He admired her determination to work hard and solve her own problems. He admired her guts—she’d flown in war zones, for Christ’s sake—but the fact that she was strong didn’t mean she couldn’t use a hand now and then. He could make things easier for her.

  Don’t bring home strays, Lucas. He could almost hear his mother’s precise tone in his head. His parents had never understood his impulses to try to save baby birds and feed the feral cats that he’d found hiding out under one of the garden sheds any more than they’d understood his love of baseball.

  Odd when his mother was so big on charity work. Though Lucas had come to think, perhaps unfairly, that his mother did charity work because it was expected and because, in the world of the Angelos, the men ran the business and the women ran the home and made sure some of the money went to good causes so that they could all sleep easier at night. It was stupid and antiquated and yet another reason why he’d run like hell into the arms of first baseball and then medicine when he’d gotten the chance to get out.

  Maybe after all, it was the fact that his mom didn’t really like anything that took his attention away from the things she thought were important. Which didn’t include saving strays.

  All the more reason to help Sara out. Because she wasn’t a stray. She was his. She deserved a life that wasn’t a struggle all the time.

  * * *

  As Sara took the plate from in front of Lucas and he smiled at her, her father pushed his chair back and rose from the table.

  Lucas didn’t miss the wince that crossed his face or the unevenness of his gait as he carried the salad bowl into the kitchen, following his wife.

  Beside Lucas, Sara stilled as her eyes tracked her dad’s progress.

  “How recently has your dad seen his surgeon?” Lucas asked, keeping his voice soft so Sean and Liza wouldn’t hear.

  “It’s been months,” Sara said. “He’s been doing physical therapy mostly.”

  “And he’s not improving?”

  He reached for the lasagna dish and saw Sara bite her lip.

  “He was at first but he’s been like this for a while now. Though today seems like it’s a bad one.”

  Lucas couldn’t argue with that diagnosis. Sean Charles was too thin for a man of his height, and there were light-gray patches in his brown hair that Lucas suspected were new. The dark circles under his eyes meant he wasn’t sleeping well. He hadn’t eaten much of his wife’s delicious lasagna but he had downed two beers. Plus another during the somewhat awkward small talk they’d all exchanged before dinner. The man was obviously in pain.

  Something wasn’t right. Discomfort was to be expected from a major injury—hell, even his shoulder ached now and then when he overdid it, and that was from nearly twenty years ago—but the type of pain that required self-medicating with three beers before eight p.m. was something else. “He should go back and see his ortho guy.”

  “I’ve tried to get him to,” Sara said. “But he’s worried about the money.”

  “Who was his surgeon?”

  “Garth Nixon. Do you know him?”

  Lucas nodded. He’d met the guy a couple of times. Nixon was competent but hardly brilliant. He didn’t work at Lucas’s level. And from what Lucas had seen of Sean Charles, he hadn’t brought his A game to this particular case. “He’s good,” he said. But just good. And in Sean Charles’s case, maybe just not good enough.

  “But you’re better?” Sara said softly. “Do you think you could talk to Dad, convince him to get it looked at again?”

  He didn’t think Sean was ready to take any advice from him. The looks he’d been getting from the older man over dinner had confirmed his earlier suspicions. Sara’s dad wasn’t impressed with the hotshot doctor who was screwing his little girl.

  Lucas couldn’t blame him for that. If he ever had a daughter, he’d probably want to wring the neck of any male who tried to put a hand on her. But Sara was looking at him with hope in those gorgeous blue eyes. So he had to try.

  “I’ll try,” he said. “But if he’s as stubborn as his daughter, then I’m not making any promises.”

  “Just try,” she said. She took the lasagna dish from him and balanced it on top of the stack of plates. “I’ll send him back out here.”

  Sure enough, a minute or so after she disappeared into the kitchen, Sean reemerged, looking grumpy. A blue checked dish towel was flung over his shoulder. “Sara has suddenly expressed an irresistible urge to dry the dishes. I expect that means she wants us to do some bonding or something.” He looked Lucas up and down. “Come into the den, we can have another beer.”

  “I wouldn’t say no,” Lucas said. He’d only had one. So another wouldn’t hurt. Manly and responsible, that was the impression he needed to give. So he would have one more beer and then switch to coffee.

  Sean led the way, still limping, and Lucas studied him from behind, walking slowly to accommodate the older man’s halting walk. The den was small but Sean had managed to squeeze in two well-stuffed brown leather recliners that looked well used along with a reasonable-sized flat-screen TV. The walls were lined with photos of helicopters and grinning men who were obviously former generations of Charleses.

  There were several of Sara, too, both alone and with a young guy who looked like a more rugged version of her.

  He walked over and took a closer look.

  “That’s my son, James,” Sean said with another wince as he lowered himself into the left-hand recliner.

  Lucas didn’t think the wince was entirely due to his knee. “Sara hasn’t mentioned a brother.”

  “He died.”

  Ah. “I’m very sorry to hear that, sir,” he said. “That’s a hard thing.”

  Sean nodded, hand rubbing at his thigh. “He was a good kid.” His jaw clenched.

  Time to talk about something else. It wasn’t going to win him any brownie points to poke at the man’s emotional wounds. No, he should try to stick to the ones he might actually be able to do something about.

  “Sara told me about your crash,” he said as he took a seat in the other recliner. “Does your leg still bother you?”

  “Sometimes,” Sean said. “My physical therapist said it will get better.”

  “Do you mind if I ask what the injury was?”

  Sean’s eyes went narrow. “Sara ask you to talk to me about this?”

  “No, sir,” Lucas lied blandly. “Call it professional interest.”

  “Right, you’re a bone doctor, aren’t you? Well, the technical term was something like compound fracture of the tibia and a shattered patella.”

  “That’s an impressive way to screw up your leg,” Lucas said.

  “You try being thrown from a helicopter and see how well you do,” Sean said.

  “I’d rather not, if you don’t mind. That’s a nasty injury. I’m guessing there’s quite a bit of hardware in there.”

  “Enough to annoy the metal detectors at airports, that’s for sure,” Sean said.

  “And you still get pain?”

  Sean grimaced and made a dismissive gesture. “There’s a fridge in that cabinet beneath the TV. That’s where the beer is.”

  Lucas rose and found two beers and a bottle opener. He passed one to Sean and sat back down. Sean took a swallow or two then sighed gratefully.

  “You were going to tell me about the pain?” Lucas prompted.

  “Was I?” He shook his head. “I’m guessing if I don’t tell you, Sara’s just going to keep sending you at me until I give in? She’s like a dog with a bone, that one. Doesn’t give up easily. Yes, my damned leg hurts.” He drank more beer.

  Lucas sipped his more slowly. “Patellas can be difficult when it’s a bad fracture. Is it your thigh that hurts?”

  “Thigh
, knee, lower leg. My damned left hip.”

  “That’s from the limping,” Lucas said.

  “So my physical therapist tells me.” Sean swallowed more beer.

  Lucas eyed the level in the bottle. It was going down fast. Beer might be better than narcotics but it would do almost as much damage in the end. Sara didn’t need a dad who was drinking too much. Not too mention Sean was likely to fall and just screw his knee up even more badly if he spent his days half drunk.

  “Do you mind if I take a look?” Lucas said.

  Sean eyed him. “Son, you might have charmed my daughter out of her pants but I’m not there yet.”

  Lucas almost choked on his beer.

  Sean laughed. “So you are sleeping with Sara.”

  “I think that’s between Sara and me, sir,” Lucas said.

  The smile vanished from the older man’s face. “She’s my daughter. I don’t want to see her hurt.” Sean swigged the beer again.

  “I don’t intend to hurt her,” Lucas said.

  “The road to hell is paved with good intentions.”

  “So I hear. That doesn’t change mine.”

  “Why are you even messing around with someone like Sara?”

  “What does that mean?”

  “I know who you are,” Sean said. “Sara’s not much on baseball and, honestly, neither am I, but with this goddamned leg there’s not much I can do every day and I had plenty of time to read all about you and your pals when you bought the Saints.”

  “Don’t believe everything you read in the papers.”

  “I don’t. But I doubt they got the part about your family wrong, did they? You come from money, don’t you? The big old kind of money?”

  “My family has money, yes.” Lucas said. “But I don’t see what that has to do with me and Sara.”

  Sean’s eyes—a steelier version of his daughter’s—narrowed. “You said Sara didn’t tell you about Jamie? About the way he died?”

  “No, sir.” Lucas braced himself. He got the feeling he wasn’t going to like this part of the conversation.

  “Jamie was a pilot, too,” Sean said. “Damned good one. Though Sara could probably outfly him now. She learned some tricks in the army. Sneaky stuff.”

  “She’s an excellent pilot,” Lucas said. “That’s why I hired her.”

  “Yes. Well. So was my son. And he used to work for me as well. Doing the tourist runs over Manhattan. Flying rich types around.”

  “Isn’t that what charter pilots do?”

  “Yes it is. But what they shouldn’t do is fall in love with their clients. Or in lust. Whichever.” Sean waved a hand in the air. “Jamie got involved with a girl whose dad used to charter us. He hid it from me, knew I didn’t agree with mixing business with pleasure. I don’t know whether Sara knew.”

  “How old was he?”

  “Twenty-two.”

  “That’s pretty young,” Lucas said. “Everyone does dumb things when they’re young.”

  “I know. I did my share of idiotic crap when I was his age. But I survived it. Jamie didn’t.”

  The bleakness in his voice made Lucas wince. He had his ups and downs with his family, but he definitely didn’t want to think about losing any of them. “Do you mind if I ask what happened?”

  “He was out with this girl—Callie, her name was—and they were drinking. She ran her fool Porsche convertible off the road. And the car flipped. She was thrown free. Jamie wasn’t. His neck broke.”

  “He died.”

  “Not straightaway. There was someone driving right behind them. They called the paramedics and both of them made it to hospital. She broke some bones, too, but nothing serious. Jamie—” Sean broke off, lips pressed together. Then he drained the rest of his beer. “Jamie never woke up. Traumatic brain injury, they call it. Along with the neck. We turned off the life support after a few weeks.”

  “And the girl?”

  “She went home after a week or so. As far as I know, she was fine.”

  “Did she get charged with anything?”

  “Reckless driving. But her family lawyered up and she got off with community service. Seeing as she was so young and all. No priors, apparently.”

  “That’s horrible,” Lucas said. “An injustice.”

  “Well, that’s how it goes, isn’t it? If you can afford the lawyers and can put some pressure on the DA, you’re more likely to get off.”

  “That doesn’t make it right.” Lucas felt his hand tighten around the beer bottle. This was the sort of crap he’d wanted to get away from by stepping away from his family. The we’re-better-than-them mentality that he’d come across too many times. “Did you get compensation?”

  “We talked to an attorney but it was going to cost a fortune to sue them. I couldn’t afford it. The medical bills were bad enough. The health insurance I could afford for Charles Air was pretty crappy. They didn’t cover much. Not enough for three weeks on life support in intensive care, anyway. It took me a few years to pay the bills. Which is why we don’t have many helos.”

  And why his daughter didn’t trust people with money. People like him.

  Fuck.

  “So you can see why I’m not thrilled to find Sara sneaking around with a guy like you,” Sean said.

  “What makes you think we’re sneaking around?” Lucas asked.

  Sean snorted. “I see you in the papers all the time, son. You and your two friends. Your buddy Winters has the Jameson gal with him more often than not lately. But you and the other one. I haven’t seen either of you with any women. So I figure you’re sneaking around. Otherwise you’d be showing Sara off.”

  “I’d be more than happy to show her off,” Lucas said. He might not be able to do much about being wealthy, but he wasn’t going to take the rap for not going public with their relationship. “But Sara is the one who doesn’t want to. Not yet. So I’m respecting her wishes.”

  “Is that so?”

  “Yes, sir, it is. Like you said, once she makes up her mind about something, it’s difficult to change it. But I’m trying. I’m sure it doesn’t mean a lot to you, but I care about Sara. I’m not looking to hurt her.”

  “If you weren’t looking to hurt her, you’d walk away.”

  “Why? Because she and I have different backgrounds? I’m more interested in the things we share.”

  “And what are those? Other than sex?” Sean asked. “She’s not exactly a baseball fan, my daughter. No quicker way to get her to leave the room than to turn on a game. So, what? Are you a helicopter fan?”

  “I spend a lot of time in the air,” Lucas said. “But that’s not what I like about Sara. I like who she is. She makes me laugh. She’s smart and talented and beautiful. Why wouldn’t I like her?”

  “I’m not saying you shouldn’t like her, just that you should think about how this is going to end. You’re her boss. You’re wealthy. That’s not a story that often ends well for the woman involved.”

  “Well, you’ll just have to take my word for it that I’m not going to hurt her,” Lucas said. “I don’t mean to be rude but you don’t know me, Mr. Charles, so don’t lump me in with whatever it is you think guys like me do.”

  Sean’s mouth curled upward briefly. “Well, you stand up for yourself, so that’s a start. And hell knows, Sara isn’t going to listen to me about this, so it’s going to be her mess to deal with.”

  “Like I said, I’m trying to make sure there is no mess. I want her to be happy.” Lucas swallowed the last of his beer, which was growing distinctly warm. “And speaking of making her happy, I’d be grateful if you’d let me take a look at your leg. Not here. But I’ll get my office to call and set up an appointment.”

  “You think it can be fixed properly?”

  “I can’t promise that,” Lucas said. “Not without seeing what’s actually going on with it. Maybe not even then. But I can promise you that I’ll do whatever I can to get it as good as it can be for you.”

  “No bullshit. I like that.” Sea
n saluted him with his empty bottle. “All right, son, you’ve got yourself a deal. I’ll let you poke and prod at me so Sara gets off your case. Now how about you get me another beer and we watch some damned baseball?”

  Chapter Sixteen

  “Don’t you think you’ve left them alone long enough?” Liza said as Sara picked up the last plate from the dish rack.

  Sara almost dropped the plate. “What do you mean?”

  “Honey, I might be old but I’m not stupid. You sent Lucas in there to check out your dad’s leg, didn’t you?”

  “You’re not old,” Sara said.

  “Flattery won’t get you out of the fact you’re scheming. You know your dad doesn’t like to be managed.”

  Sara flapped the dish towel at her mom. “I don’t care. His leg is hurting him and it’s stressing you out. And he’s drinking too much. Lucas is one of the best orthopedic surgeons in New York. Probably in the country.”

  “He’s pretty handsome, too,” Liza said.

  “I’d noticed,” Sara said drily. “But I don’t think that makes him a better doctor.”

  “Can’t hurt with his female patients.”

  “Not going to help with Dad, though,” Sara said.

  Liza sighed as she stripped off her rubber gloves. “No, your father is stubborn. And not inclined to like the men you sleep with.”

  Sara froze. “Who says we’re sleeping together?”

  “Honey, if you’re not sleeping with that man, then I’m sending you to the doctor to get your hormones checked out.” Liza winked and fanned herself. “Those eyes with that hair. You sure he’s not Irish?”

  “Pretty sure that Angelo is an Italian name, Mom,” Sara said, trying to ignore the fact that her mom thought Lucas was hot.

  “Well, you know what they say about Italian men.”

  Sara put her hands over her ears. “La la la, not listening.”

  “Your generation didn’t invent sex,” Liza said. “And I might be old and married but I’m definitely not blind.”

  “Mom, can we change the subject, please? Yes, Lucas is hot. Yes, I’m sleeping with him, but no, I’d rather not discuss that with you. And I definitely don’t want to talk about it with Dad. Lucas is a good guy, not just some walking, talking piece of man flesh.”