Love by Proxy

by Diana Palmer

  He lifted his mouth to look at her. “You aren’t fighting,” he whispered.

  “No, I’m not,” she whispered back, and she smiled lazily, dreamily.

  His hands slid up to the base of her spine and moved her gently against him. “Not shocked?” he whispered.

  “No.” Her fascinated hands unbuttoned his shirt slowly and then eased under the fabric to touch thick hair over bare, warm skin. Against her body, his rippled and surged.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, stilling her hands.

  He breathed slowly, as if he were fighting to retain control. His hands cupped hers, caressing them. “It’s all right,” he said. His mouth touched her forehead, as lightly as a breeze. They were standing close, touching, and she made no move away from him. He smiled against her eyebrow. “I can’t remember the last time I was this aroused.”

  She lifted her chin so that she could see his eyes. They were very dark, almost black. “Does it hurt you?” she asked softly.

  “A little. No, don’t move away,” he protested when she started to shift her feet. “Just stand still, and everything will be fine, eventually,” he added with black humor.

  Her fingers reached up to the dimple in his chin. Since he didn’t seem to mind that, they wandered farther afield. She explored his wide, sexy mouth, his big, straight nose, his broad forehead and thick eyebrows, to the ridge of his jutting brow, over his closed eyelids to thick short lashes.

  “I like your face,” she said. “It’s very strong, very definite.”

  “Not handsome,” he murmured.

  “No. But sexy,” she whispered, smiling.

  His eyes opened, and there was something like tenderness in them. They smiled at her. “So are you.”

  She let her eyes drop to the massive chest under her hands, and stared unashamedly at the ripple of muscle, the mat of hair that arrowed down to the belt at his narrow waist.

  “Have you ever decided?” he asked.

  “Decided what?” she asked blankly, glancing up.

  He chuckled. “Whether or not you like hairy men?”

  “If you want the absolute truth,” she confessed, “I’ve never been this close to a man who had his shirt off.”

  “What about that would-be fiancé?”

  “He wore an undershirt,” she told him, laughing because it was funny now, “and I never even saw him in bathing trunks. He’s as thin as a rail. I suppose he’s self-conscious, and I never even realized it.” She studied the set of Worth’s head, his broad shoulders, with intent interest. “But I’ve never in my life seen anyone like you, not even in magazines.”

  His jaw tautened, and the control he’d regained was rapidly going again. His fingers tilted her chin. “You’re setting matches in gasoline,” he murmured. “Watch out.”

  She drew in an aching breath, her eyes going helplessly to his mouth. “Wouldn’t you like to seduce me?” she asked. “I’m twenty-eight, you know. A dinosaur that’s outlived its time. I’ll die someday, and I’ll never have known what it was to be a woman.”

  His hands moved to her waist and pressed there so hard that she looked up. His face was rigid, his eyes sparkling with some dark emotion.

  “It would complicate things too much,” he said after a minute. “Grandmother needs you.

  If I let that happen, she could lose you. I meant it, Amy, about commitment. I don’t want it. And you would.”

  Swallowing down her pride and the faint hurt the words inflicted, she managed a smile. “Are you that good in bed?” she whispered wickedly.

  His fingers caressed her waist. “I’m experienced,” he corrected. “Sex is like eating potato chips,” he added quietly. “It’s damned hard to stop, once you start. We’d get addicted to each other. I’m not ready for addictions.”

  “You’re forty,” she reminded him, her voice quiet, soft.

  “So I’ll die an old maid,” he shrugged, and a corner of his mouth curved. “Amy,” he added, serious now, “there was a woman. I won’t go into details, but I took a pretty damned hard blow. I’m still raw about it.”

  “I understand,” she said. She knew it all, but she wasn’t letting on. She stared at her hands, so pale against the deep tan of his chest. “Your grandmother says that she’s spent her life being careful, and now she’s going to pull out all the stops and really start living. Aren’t you going the other way?”

  “Look who’s lecturing me on involvement,” he burst out laughing.

  She shrugged, smiling at her own folly. “Well, yes. But, you’re a man. You can go hunting. I can’t. I mean, I could. But it isn’t me. And I’m never going to start any fires with the male sex. I’m just not built for an endless parade of one-night stands. I don’t really believe in purely physical relationships. I want a best friend as well as a lover.”

  He touched her cheek. “Well, you can be my best friend anytime, country girl,” he said, and smiled down at her. “And my lover, if you like.”

  She stretched up against him with a faint sigh. “I’d like to make love with you, Worth. But you’re right, it would complicate things.”

  “All the same,” he whispered, bending to her mouth, “I like an occasional taste of you.”

  He kissed her slowly, wrapping her up in his big arms like a treasure, smiling against her mouth when she bit at him.

  “Put your tongue in my mouth,” he whispered, “and I’ll show you how to French kiss.”

  Tingling with the sensuality of the remark, she obeyed him. And caught fire when he taught her the subtleties of open mouth kissing. When he finished, and lifted his head, she was flushed and trembling all over.

  “Yes,” he breathed, staring at her, “that’s how you’d look at me as I took you…”

  “Worth,” she moaned, reaching up.

  “No,” he said in a soft tone. He drew her against him and held her, rocked her, close and warm until the trembling stopped, until both of them could breathe normally again.

  Her eyes closed, and she felt tired, but safe and cosseted. Her cheek moved softly against his chest, and she smiled.

  “I like hairy men,” she whispered.

  “I like women with big, sexy blue eyes. All too much, I’m afraid.” He moved away, tugging affectionately at a lock of her long hair. “Come on. Show me what you want to plant. Then we’ll go and have lunch with Grandmother.”

  “Okay.”

  She daydreamed about spring flowers all the way back to the house, sharing her colorful dreams with Worth, who strolled along beside her like a benevolent giant. She adored him, she thought dizzily, on fire with wanting him, caring for him. Instinctively, she slid her hand into his. He held it warmly, locking their fingers together. And she thought she’d never been so happy in all her life. What a wonderful day!

  They went into the house, and just as Worth started toward the living room, Baxter came scurrying down the hall with a white face.

  “Mr. Worth,” he breathed quickly, “it’s your grandmother. Sir, I think it’s a heart attack!”

  Seven

  The next few hours went by in a blur. Amelia had run into the house behind Worth, to find Mrs. Carson in terrible pain, crying from the sheer intensity of it and holding her chest. Worth called an ambulance and the family doctor. Mrs. Carson was breathing jerkily, she was pale, her skin icy to the touch, and her eyes seemed sunken in her thin face. And Amelia, who’d seen enough heart attacks to recognize the symptoms, was almost certain that her employer was in for a rough time. She sat by the bedside, holding the icy hand, murmuring soft words, while Worth paced and paced, watching for the emergency unit to arrive.

  Finally the ambulance pulled up, flashing red lights and siren blaring. A few minutes later, it sped away again, heading for the hospital. Worth rode in the ambulance, and Amelia drove her battered Ford along after it. When she reached the hospital several minutes later, she found Worth in the emergency waiting room. Several other people were sitting around with worried looks. Amelia edged between Worth and a fat lady
with a screaming baby, and took his big hand in hers. His other hand was holding a smoking cigarette, the first time she’d seen him with one.

  “Have you heard anything?” she asked softly.

  “No.” He stared blankly at the wall, absently lifting the cigarette to his lips.

  She leaned her head against his shoulder, drained. She’d been in life-and-death situations at the hospital where she’d worked, of course, but the patients had always been strangers. This was something very different. She cared about Mrs. Carson.

  She glanced up at Worth’s rigid, unsmiling face and wanted to cry for him. He looked as if his world was ending, and there was nothing she could say or do to help him. He was lost in a private purgatory, hanging between hope and despair.

  “I’m very sorry,” she said, her voice quiet. “I wish I could help.”

  His fingers contracted. “Don’t let go, Amy,” he said simply.

  She closed her eyes and held his hand, and the minutes dragged and dragged, with people coming and going, voices raising and lowering, children crying and then laughing. It was a long time before a white-uniformed doctor came to find Worth.

  The big man went off with him, a few yards away. The doctor talked and Worth listened, looking more grim by the minute. The doctor shook his hand, nodded and walked back down the hall.

  Worth didn’t move for a minute. He stood smoking his cigarette as if he wasn’t sure what to do. He glanced at Amelia, indicated that she should stay where she was, and went off down the hall.

  When he came back, he looked worse than ever.

  “Do you have a car?” he asked blankly.

  “Yes. Mine. It’s just outside.”

  He followed her out the door, and she hesitated about asking him anything, at least until they got away from the hospital and that terrible black look left his face.

  He got in beside her, hardly noticing where he was, and lit another cigarette as she struggled to crank the old car. Finally she was able to pull it out of the parking lot.

  “He doesn’t think it’s a heart attack,” he said minutes later. “He’s more inclined to believe it’s angina. But he isn’t volunteering anything past that, and he won’t commit himself until he runs a battery of tests, including an angiogram in the morning, if she’s stabilized.”

  “Oh,” Amelia murmured. She knew what that meant, but she wasn’t telling him. An angiogram, not the simplest of diagnostic tests, would tell them if there was a blockage or a faulty valve in the elderly lady’s heart. And a positive reading on either of those possibilities could mean open heart surgery. Poor Mrs. Carson!

  “They took her straight to the cardiac intensive care unit.” He ran a hand through his ruffled black hair. “That means three visiting periods a day, about ten minutes each. I want to go back, but I need to change clothes and get my own car.”

  “Is there anything I can do?” she asked.

  “Yes. You can stay at the house and protect me from the world for the next two days. I can’t cope with business and grandmother at the same time.”

  “I’ll go to my apartment and pack a bag,” she agreed without protest. “If you’ll leave me a list of people who might call, and what I’m to tell them, I’ll handle the rest.” She turned a corner, the car clanking at the effort, and Worth suddenly seemed to realize where he was.

  “My God, it runs,” he exclaimed, looking around at patched upholstery and peeling paint and listening to the ticking roar of the engine.

  She was glad of the distraction. It might take his mind off the worry. She glanced at him. “Shhhh!” she said quickly. “If you insult it, it stops dead in traffic.”

  “How can you insult something that looks like this thing?” he asked, his dark eyes incredulous. “I had no idea it was in such terrible condition or I’d have bought you something better!”

  “You aren’t buying me anything, Mr. Carson,” she informed him. “I can support myself, thanks.”

  “On tuna fish sandwiches and a car that’s half wrecked,” he nodded.

  “I like this car. It has character.”

  “What it has,” he returned as she pulled into his driveway, “is a warped frame, a sticky valve, a shot transmission. And how much do you have to pump the brakes to get them to work?” he demanded.

  She flushed, and his eyes narrowed.

  “You’ll drive the Mercedes if you have to go anywhere,” he said shortly. “I’ll take the Rolls to the hospital.”

  “Worth…”

  “Don’t argue with me, sweet,” he said quietly, and the endearment from a man who never used endearments kept her mum.

  She parked the car in the garage and cut off the engine, cringing when it sputtered and knocked and pinged to a halt.

  He got out, opened her door and fished in his pocket for a set of keys. He put them in her hand and closed her fingers around them. They were still warm from contact with this body.

  “Don’t argue,” he repeated, searching her eyes. “It’s insured to the hilt. If you put a dent in the fender, I won’t even scowl, all right?”

  “I’ll be terrified,” she said with a sigh.

  “It’s just like yours, only smaller.”

  “Smaller, and wildly expensive.”

  “Inverted snob,” he murmured, and managed a weary smile for her. He bent and brushed a kiss across her lips. “Come on. I’ll make a list of names for you.”

  He threw an arm around her and kept it there all the way to the house.

  It took several minutes for him to acquaint her with the possible callers. He had business interests everywhere, including a project in South America that was waiting for a signature and would demand his presence for several weeks once the papers were signed.

  “But what about your condo on the north side,” she asked.

  “I do have executives,” he reminded her. “The secret to success is having capable underlings and knowing when and how far to delegate. I’ll manage. Anyway,” he added on a sigh, “it’s not an immediate problem. Grandmother is.” He checked his watch. “I’ll need to get there within the hour, or I won’t make the third visiting period. Got everything you need from me?” he asked as she went through the neatly scribbled list.

  “Yes, I think so,” she agreed. “I’ll only be away for a few minutes,” she promised. “Just long enough to get what I need from my apartment.”

  He nodded and started toward his room down the hall.

  “Worth,” she called.

  He turned, big and sad and looking as if he had a ton weight on him. “Yes?”

  “She’s tough as old combat boots,” she said. “She even told me so. If I were a gambling woman, I’d bet on her.”

  “So would I. But she’s seventy-five, Amy.”

  “My grandfather,” she told him, “is eighty-three and plows his own garden.”

  He smiled. “I like you, Amy Glenn,” he said, before he turned and went back down the hall.

  She was intimidated by the Mercedes, but she managed not to scratch it as she drove back to her apartment. She stopped by to tell the Kennedys what was happening and that she’d be away for a few days. They told her not to worry, they’d look after her things, and then offered any help she needed. She almost cried at the unexpected kindness. But, then, they were kind people. She thanked them and quickly drove back to the big, lonely house.

  Baxter let her in, his face drawn with worry. He’d been with the family twenty years, Mrs. Carson had told her, and his silver-haired elegance went with the crystal chandelier.

  “Has there been any word yet from the hospital?” Amelia asked him the minute she was inside.

  “No, Miss.”

  She slumped a little. “I’d hoped…”

  “Yes, Miss, so had the rest of us,” he murmured. “She’s such an indomitable person.”

  “A very, very unique lady,” she agreed. “Mr. Carson says it’s an excellent hospital, very modern. And they can do so much for heart problems these days,” she added hopefully.<
br />
  “It’s all that fried food she loves,” Baxter grumbled. “Cook will humor her, and she coaxes her. It isn’t good for a weak heart.”

  “Aha,” she said, wide-eyed. She smiled. “When she comes home, I’ll tell on her. Mr. Carson will take care of that!”

  He actually smiled, then quickly caught himself. “Miss, if you hear anything after I’ve gone home…”

  “I’ll be glad to call you, Baxter,” she replied. “I know I haven’t known her as long as most of the staff, but I care about her, too.”

  He nodded and went back to his duties. Amelia went down the hall and then stopped dead. Which room was a guest room? She knew which was Mrs. Carson’s. She bypassed it and opened the next door.

  She peeked in. King-size bed, immaculate green patterned bedspread, green drapes and cream carpet. She knew without glancing at the discarded clothing in the big armchair by the bed that this was Worth’s room. She closed the door quickly and went along to the next room. It was done in pinks and creams, very pretty and obviously a guest room. She went in and put her small overnight bag on the bed. It looked odd there, so battered and worn against that luxurious spread. She took it off and put it on the carpet. Then she went back to the den and sat down at Worth’s big desk to wait.

  He didn’t call, but several other people did. Most of them were on the list. But there was a woman, a Mrs. Cade, who wasn’t on the list, and she seemed to know him very well. Amelia fielded the questions that were shot at her as best she could, while she withered inside with jealousy. Worth, she thought achingly. Oh, Worth.

  “I’d like him to call me as soon as he comes in,” Mrs. Cade said firmly. “I am sorry about his grandmother, but this is urgent.”

  What in the world did she think a heart attack was? Her Scottish-Irish temper got the best of her, and she said so.

  There was a stunned silence on the other end of the line. “No one speaks to me like that,” came the stilted reply.

  “I just did,” Amelia said shortly. “And if you want Worth, you can wait until he has time to call you. Maybe you’ve never had anybody you love in a life-or-death situation, but he’s pretty torn up right now, and the last thing he needs is to be hounded by some insensitive woman!”