by Alison Tyler
Tamed Spirit
By
Alison Tyler
Contents
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
"PLEASE," HE SAID SOFTLY, "DON'T BE ALARMED."
She looked at him intently and smiled. "You shouldn't be up here. You're spoiling—"
"Listen to me. I'm going to reach my hand out to you and help you off that ledge."
"No, I'm sorry, but this is something I have to do," she said with determination.
"No, it isn't. I'll make a deal with you. Come inside and we'll talk. If I can't convince you, there are other alternatives…"
"It's kind of nice to know someone could care so much about a perfect stranger. I mean, here you are, wanting to rescue me. What's your name?" she asked abruptly.
"Luke—Dr. Lucas Eliot."
"Luke," she said with a sweet smile. "I have to jump. Honest."
CANDLELIGHT ECSTASY SUPREMES
Red Midnight, Heather Graham
A Heart Divided, Ginger Chambers
Shadow Games, Elise Randolph
Just His Touch, Emily Elliott
Breaking the Rules, Donna Kimel Vitek
All in Good Time, Samantha Scott
Shady Business, Barbara Andrews
Somewhere in the Stars, Jo Calloway
Against All Odds, Eileen Bryan
Suspicion and Seduction, Shirley Hart
Private Screenings, Lori Herter
Fascination, Jackie Black
Diamonds in the Sky, Samantha Hughes
Eventide, Margaret Dobson
Caution: Man at Work, Linda Randall Wisdom
While the Fire Rages, Amii Lorin
Fateful Embrace, Nell Kincaid
A Dangerous Attraction, Emily Elliott
Man in Control, Alice Morgan
Playing It Safe, Alison Tyler
Arabian Nights, Heather Graham
Another Day of Loving, Rebecca Nunn
Two of a Kind, Lori Copeland
Steal Away, Candice Adams
Touched by Fire, Jo Calloway
Asking for Trouble, Donna Kimel Vitek
Harbor of Dreams, Ginger Chambers
Secrets and Desire, Sandi Gelles
Silent Partner, Nell Kincaid
Behind Every Good Woman, Betty Henrichs
Pilgrim Soul, Hayton Monteith
Run for the Roses, Eileen Bryan
Color Love Blue, Diana Blayne
On Any Terms, Shirley Hart
Horizons Gift, Betty Jackson
Only the Best, Lori Copeland
Copyright © 1984 by Alison Tyler
ISBN 0-440 18508-4
CHAPTER ONE
There was an eerie sense of quiet as Luke Eliot slid his gray Triumph into the garage, but he was too sick to notice. Anyway, how often was he around the neighborhood at eleven in the morning?
He sneezed loudly just as he pulled up the emergency brake. In the dimly lit garage he rifled through his jacket pocket for a tissue as he sneezed again. Pressing the back of his hand against his forehead, his skin felt hot to the touch. With his other hand he pushed the elevator button impatiently and quickly got inside.
If he hadn't scheduled two patients that morning, he probably wouldn't have gotten out of bed in the first place—or at least not at six-thirty in the morning.
Mrs. Diamond could have survived without her session; she'd spent her whole fifty minutes de-scribing in excruciating detail the cocktail party she had given the night before. Last week she had used their hour to agonize over the planning of that same party. Maybe next week, if he was lucky, they could replay the event one more time. Hours like the ones with Connie Diamond sometimes made Luke Eliot wonder why he had chosen psychiatry as his area of medicine. Then he remembered forty-three-year-old Howie Jordan, his other patient that morning. Howie was struggling with anxiety that kept him tied to his mother and a job he hated. Today, after months of meeting together, Howie had said he'd actually put down a deposit on his own apartment. It was a big victory, and Luke's miserable flu notwithstanding, he had felt that exhilarating sense of elation that came from having helped someone.
When he got to his door, Luke fumbled for his key. Letting himself inside, he quickly removed his wet raincoat, hanging it carefully on the standing brass coatrack in the hall. San Francisco had been' going through a record-breaking month of rain. It was letting up as he left his office, but it was still bleak. The gloomy weather perfectly matched Luke's mood as he stretched out wearily on the couch, hanging his feet over the edge. Closing his eyes, he tried to comfort himself by contemplating his upcoming trip to Greece. In less than three weeks he would be lying on a lushly hot Aegean beach, his eyes cast up at a brilliant blue sky, his mind concentrating only on the sound of sea and surf… Ah, Greece.
Two months on that ancient isle and he would come back to San Francisco revitalized. And hopefully with a completed manuscript. He would give himself one full week to unwind, to do nothing but loll around on the beach and take in the sights, and then he would spend the next seven weeks scrupulously adhering to a self-enforced schedule of writing mornings and evenings, with afternoons off—for good behavior. He smiled to himself. The plan suited him nicely. Luke Eliot always worked best under a carefully structured routine.
A cold shiver reminded him that he ought to take some aspirin. He was a man who hated being sick. Even today, as awful as he felt, the only way he could give himself permission to go home was to promise himself that after a brief rest he would continue working on his book. Right now, the thought of lifting up a pencil made him wince. He forced himself to get up and find the aspirin.
Sliding open the medicine cabinet, he found an old plastic cup with a solitary toothbrush inside, a couple of throwaway razors, a large bottle of mouth wash, and a couple of vials of pills prescribed by Dr. Teri Caulfield. Teri was a top-notch internist as well as Luke's occasional girl friend. She had treated him for a strep throat infection over a year ago and since then, a pleasant if not overly passionate relationship had developed. Both of them were busy with their practices and all the extracurricular activities that accompanied their work, leaving little time for a very active social life. Luke found their casual involvement perfectly satisfactory, since his plans for the next couple of years didn't include any close personal relationships. For a moment he considered calling Teri about his flu but decided he could do without her likely diatribe about how poorly he took care of himself.
A couple of aspirins would do the trick, he decided. Only there weren't any in the bathroom. He vaguely remembered seeing some in one of the kitchen cabinets. A cold breeze hit him as he stepped into the kitchen. And then he remembered why. His coordination had been disastrous that morning. He'd spilled the instant coffee, knocked over the sugar bowl, and completed the fiasco by burning the toast. Not your ordinary black, charred bread. For some reason the stuff actually burst into flames. God only knows what chemical additives they mixed that loaf up with. He had opened the window to air out the kitchen, and typical of how his day was going, he'd forgotten to close it.
A good-size puddle was slowly becoming a meandering stream underneath the window on the quarry tile floor. Shivering, he threw a large wad of paper toweling on the floor and hurried over to close the window.
That was when he saw her. He stood at his kitchen window star
ing in transfixed amazement. And then he whispered, "Oh, my God!"
She was across the road, in the new high-rise apartment house that had only just been completed. Well, not exactly in the house. To be precise, she was standing on the window ledge of the fourth floor, in a direct line from Luke's own apartment. A slender, solitary figure poised on a thin concrete slab a good fifty feet above the ground, the wind whipping angrily around her.
A hallucination, he thought immediately, shaking his head for clarity. She hadn't budged. He gasped, convinced of the reality, of the inevitability of the woman's fateful end. At the very moment Luke took it all in, he raised his hand up in a frantic stop, wait-for-me motion. His head was spinning. If she didn't get off that ledge pretty soon and back inside, she was going to die of pneumonia instead of a fall.
He couldn't have stood at that window for more than a few seconds. Already a crowd was gathering below, the area cordoned off. Obviously, someone already had called the police. There were several squad cars, and the area was lit up. Luke saw a couple of cameras and realized that newsmen were usually only a few steps behind the cops when there was any hint of a story. He knew he had to get to the woman before she did something crazy.
He forgot about the window, the puddle, and his cold as he barreled out of his apartment, leaving his damp raincoat hanging on the coatrack.
He flew down the stairs, never considering the elevator. "Wait for me," he whispered frantically. "Wait for me, lady."
Breathlessly, he raced across the street. The crowd was growing by the minute. Suicide attempts clearly attracted a lot of interest, Luke looked up. She was still there. He shoved against people, elbowing them out of his way. Making his way to the other side of the street, he spotted a cop at the front entrance. He ducked into the alleyway leading to the back door. It was propped open but there was no one in sight. Luke slipped inside before a policeman reappeared and tried to stop him. This wasn't the time for explanations and examination of credentials. Time, Luke knew, was crucial. Any moment might be too late. He paused at the bottom flight of stairs just long enough to catch his breath. Panting, he somehow propelled himself upward, taking the stairs two and three steps at a time.
It wasn't too difficult to calculate which apartment was hers. Only three of them faced east to the street, and Luke had noted that her window was a center one. Until he reached for the handle, the thought of the door being locked hadn't entered his mind. He was reasonably strong and in good shape for thirty-six, but he'd never had to test his strength by knocking down a door. Fortunately, this one was unlocked.
Quietly, so as not to alarm her, Luke crossed the living room. That was odd. The room was empty. Not even a rug on the floor. Every psychiatrist has to be part detective, uncovering information that at varying times patients either won't or are unable to share. Now Luke put the empty room together with the woman's actions and began to form a hypothesis. This was a lady who had seen good times—possibly some wealthy old guy's mistress—who was suddenly having the rug pulled out from under her. How literal could he get? he wondered, as he crossed the hardwood floor, his leather loafers squishing with each step. He caught a sneeze before it erupted. Now that would be fitting irony. He races out of his sickbed to save a woman from suicide and scares her right off the ledge with an explosive sneeze. Terrific.
He edged near the window now, giving himself a chance to observe her before she realized he was there. She was young, maybe in her mid-twenties, and she was wearing an expensive-looking evening gown that was soaking wet. Whatever her problem, she had obviously been walking in the rain that morning, possibly trying to sort out what to do. Luke figured she hadn't bothered changing from her night out—a night that had caused enough pain to lead to her standing on that ledge. Luke also noticed something else. The woman was gorgeous. Even with her thick black hair plastered down around her face, she was something. He had read about women with coal-black eyes the size of saucers. This was the real thing. And skin—porcelain white around the outline of her full breasts above the low-cut gown, the rest of her tanned a warm, golden bronze. A Greek goddess, Luke thought, distracted for a split second by the vision.
And then she spotted him. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him in shadow.
"Please," he said softly, "don't be alarmed." He could see the shock registering on her face. It was important to remain calm. Above all else, don't let her panic. He was still out of breath, but he tried to keep his voice controlled.
"I just want to talk to you. I'm a doctor. I'd like to help."
She shifted slightly. Luke hurried on. "As terrible as things may seem to you at this moment, almost nothing is ever really that bad."
She looked at him more intently, almost analytically. "How did you get up here?"
"Why I—I saw you. I want to help. Look, why don't you come inside and we'll talk about it? You'd be amazed how helpful it can be to talk things out with someone who can be objective and yet sympathetic. Come inside. It's really miserable out there."
She still looked a bit puzzled, but then she smiled. She actually smiled.
Okay, good, he thought. She still has a sense of humor—maybe even a sense of the absurd. She didn't seem too edgy, either. Another good sign. And she seemed willing to listen to him. Luke was beginning to feel more confident.
"You shouldn't be here," she whispered. "You're spoiling—"
"Listen to me for a minute. Whatever reason you've got for thinking this is the only solution, is wrong. It's something you decided in a moment of desperation. And that's the worst time to make a decision."
"You don't understand," she whispered again, her agitation seeming to mount.
He was getting nowhere. He had to get her inside. Sounding as authoritative and demanding as he could, he said, "I'm going to reach my hand out to you and help you inside."
She took a wide step away from the window. "I cant. I'm sorry. This is something I have to do," she said with determination, no longer bothering to whisper.
She had a deep voice—throaty and very sexy. What a thing to think about at a time like this! he chided himself.
"No, it isn't. I'll make a deal with you. Come inside and we'll talk about it. Then if I cant convince you there are other alternatives…"
She turned her head to him, her large black eyes blinking rapidly. "It's kind of nice to know someone could care so much about a perfect stranger. I mean, here you are, knowing nothing at all about me, wanting to rescue me. It's really very comforting." She gave him a dazzling smile.
And then it hit him. Of course, that was it. This gorgeous creature with her lovely eyes and beautiful smile was nuts, bonkers, insane. He was going to have to humor her.
"I may not know much about you, but I don't feel as though you're a stranger. In fact, I have an intuitive sense that I do know you a little," he said in his soothingly professional voice. "Besides"—he smiled warmly—"it isn't a good day for jumping. It's cold and damp and you're all wet."
She giggled and then burst out laughing. Luke got more nervous. It wouldn't do to have her fall off the ledge due to a fit of hysterics at his ludicrous remark. Maybe she wasn't crazy after all.
He tried another way. "What's your name?"
She was still too far down the ledge for him to reach her, but she hadn't taken her eyes off him. Her gaze was mysterious; the original anxiety and shock seemed to have given way to curiosity, interest, and something else—something Luke couldn't define. Under other circumstances he might have read humor into those coal-colored eyes, as if there were a part of her that was actually enjoying herself thoroughly. Maybe it was the attention. But Luke found it hard to believe this ravishing beauty did not often get that. No, it must be something else.
"I'm Catherine Roy," she introduced herself politely. They might have been sipping drinks at a cocktail party. "My friends all call me Cat."
"Cat." He nodded. He would show her he meant to be her friend as well. "Cat," he repeated, "you are a beautiful young woman. Rea
lly, you are. And I'm sure you have a great deal to offer…"
What was he saying? And why was she smiling more broadly?
"You are very attractive yourself, doctor," she responded, her voice even throatier, a definite sparkle in those big black eyes.
She was actually flirting with him. What kind of a woman flirts with a perfect stranger while she's perched on a ledge in the pouring rain contemplating suicide?
"That sounds like a bad cold," she went on as he tried to drown a cough. "If I wasn't—uhm, busy—I could make up a batch of my special cold remedy for you. It's an old family secret."
He latched on to her remark. "That's a shame. A real shame. I've tried everything for this flu and nothing works. I do feel rotten. What if—what if you came inside and whipped up some of that secret recipe and then if—if you still want to go back out there you can." Once he got her inside he'd be able to get her to the hospital, and she'd get the help she needed.
"You'd better go back to bed before you get any sicker." Her voice held real concern.
"What about you?"
"Don't worry about me. I'll be okay in just a little while." She leaned forward slightly as she spoke. "It was really nice talking to you," she added, a cool note of finality in her voice.
"Cat. Don't jump. Please. I've just gotten to know you. I'd like to get to know you better. I'd like to help you." He meant it. Something had gone haywire for her, but if she could get whatever it was straightened out, he really did want to—to what? He wasn't sure. All he knew was that Cat Roy was a strikingly beautiful woman who, even under these insane circumstances, had an intense appeal.
"What's your name?" she asked abruptly.
"Luke—Dr. Lucas Eliot."
"Luke," she said with a sweet smile that pierced his heart. "I have to jump. Honest."
He saw the look in her eye. She meant it.
"Cat!" he screamed as she let go, her body Calling weightless, her black hair flying in the wind. Luke fell against the wall, stunned, aghast. No, no, no, was all he could think. He couldn't hear the impact, but his imagination was gruesome enough. And then, swallowing hard, certain he was about to be sick, he forced himself to move to the window and look down for the first time.