In His Angel's Arms

by Lynne Marshall

  “Are you OK?” he asked, one brow raised.

  “No!”

  He grabbed hold of her wrists. “What’s going on?”

  “How dare you?”

  He held her at bay. “How dare I what?”

  She tried to kick his shins, but he moved out of her way. “Do you think I can be bought?”

  “Look,” he said, backing her into the wall and pressing his forearms against her shoulders to hold her there. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “You paid Morgan’s university tuition, didn’t you?” Feeling pinned in, she tossed her head and kicked more. He swung her around and grabbed her by the waist, lifting her feet off the ground and carrying her, kicking and screaming like a kid, to his living room.

  “Are you going to calm down?”

  “No!” she screamed, fury coursing through her veins, making her heart feel like it might explode. “I’m not for sale. You can’t buy me with your guilt money.”

  He lowered her onto the sofa and covered her with his body.

  She wanted to stay angry but, overcome with emotion, tears brimmed in her eyes. She tried to stop the tears by squeezing her eyes tight. Instead, they poured down. Too late, he’d seen them.

  He looked at her with a contorted face, raw with emotion. He was hurting and confused too, but she couldn’t let him off the hook.

  “I never meant to hurt you, Mallory. I just wanted to help you and your daughter. You’d given me so much.”

  She flailed her arms and kicked her legs, throwing another tantrum. “You’re the one with a guilty conscience, not me. You can’t commit, so you tried to pay me off.”

  He pressed her in place so she couldn’t hurt herself, or him. “I wouldn’t dream of trying to buy you off. You’re priceless.”

  She thrashed from side to side to keep from looking at him. If he thought she was priceless, he had a lousy way of showing it. She would have called him a liar if his lips hadn’t crashed down on hers hard and fast.

  She balled her hands and tried to knock him senseless. He dodged her fists with amazing accuracy. His lips held firm to hers.

  “Calm down,” he repeated over her mouth like a mantra until she quit fighting. “I just wanted to help you.” He backed off and held her face with a steely grip, forcing her to look at him. “Don’t you see?” he pleaded. “I care about you.”

  What she saw was desire in his eyes, the last thing she ever wanted to see in him again.

  “You should have asked me first.”

  Deciding the only way she could get free was to stop resisting, she held perfectly still. The moment he let up, she used all of her might and leverage to flip him over. They tumbled off the sofa and onto the floor. She landed on top of him, feeling his hard ridge where she straddled him. Fury and mindless passion drove her to rip his shirt open. He did the same with the snaps of her uniform then undid the hook on the front of her bra. With her breasts bared, anger pierced her heart, or was it passion? Why couldn’t she think straight?

  She writhed over him, and her hair fell loose over his chest. She tore at his pants, undoing the zipper and releasing him, hard and throbbing.

  Out of control, she tortured him, skimming his taut, throbbing flesh, matching the rhythm of his hips until she was wet and ready. He ripped her flimsy thong free. She rose above him and guided his length inside, then rode him fast and furious, until she found release.

  He grabbed her hips and rolled her onto her back, thrusting hard and powerfully into her center, until she came again, and he exploded into a heap on her chest.

  She’d only meant to give him a piece of her mind. She wanted to hate him and break things off. Yet here she lay, locked in his hot embrace, feeling his spent passion and craving more.

  Refusing to give in to his appeal another second, she pushed him aside, rolled away, and jumped up. Lightning quick, she dressed, minus her underwear, and rushed out of the room, attempting to save face. The shame and disappointment over showing such weakness and losing control threatened to overwhelm her. How had she let this happen? What was it about him that drove her to such mindless things?

  I’m a fool for loving a man who doesn’t love me. He’s thankful to get his life back. That’s all.

  “I never want to see you again!” she said when she reached the hall.

  “The hell you don’t!” she heard him yell, just before she slammed the door shut.

  *

  The day before Thanksgiving, in a dark and close lawyer’s office, Samantha, with tears in her eyes, signed the papers to give full custody of Corey James Prescott to James Theodore Prescott. The change in custody would take effect after Christmas.

  Wayne stood by, quietly supporting her, the most decent thing JT had seen him do in a decade.

  JT bit his lip and solemnly signed his own name on the legal document. It had cost him a couple of hundred thousand dollars to convince her to release Corey to his full-time care. He nodded respectfully toward Samantha when he’d finished. Surely it must be the most difficult thing in the world for a mother to give up custody of her child. But he was a benevolent man—Corey would fly up to San Francisco every other weekend, and he could spend a month every summer with his mother. He wouldn’t let her memory go dim in his son’s life.

  “You may have Christmas morning with him. I’ll pick him up in the afternoon.”

  She cried and dabbed a tissue at her mascara-covered lashes. “I expect to have a part of every Christmas with him, James.”

  “And you shall.” He took her hand in his. “Samantha, I want you to know how much I appreciate and respect this decision.” He glanced at Wayne, noticing a pained look on his face. “I wish you both the best.”

  Wayne gave a grim nod.

  Resisting an urge to use his cane to help him click his heels together with joy, he shook her lawyer’s hand, and then his own lawyer’s hand, and left the office.

  Whistling, light of foot and tossing his keys in the air, he didn’t let his grin loose until he’d reached his car and tapped the horn. He’d celebrate his success by calling his son and telling him he’d be living with him again soon.

  No. Samantha should be the first to tell Corey what was going to happen. Better yet, he’d wait and take him to the zoo on Friday, and they’d take some pictures, spend some father-son time, and then he’d break the great news.

  But before that he had an errand he needed to run, and it had to do with buying the perfect invitation for the perfect woman.

  *

  Having Morgan home for Thanksgiving saved Mallory from spending her extra day off work crying. They danced around the kitchen, Prissy watching with great interest, while they dressed the turkey and prepared the fresh yams.

  As they cooked, they caught up on Morgan’s dorm life and Mallory’s job.

  “When’s that new hospital wing going to open?” Morgan asked.

  Mallory used melted butter to brush over the turkey skin and shook a special mixture of herbs on top of that.

  “It won’t open until the first of the year, but they’ll be having a ribbon-cutting ceremony soon. There’s some dedication ball just before Christmas. I don’t suppose we peons will get to attend.”

  “That’s harsh, Mom. Nurses keep the hospital going. You should all get to go.”

  “I don’t really care, as long as the powers that be keep signing my paychecks.”

  After Mallory had enlisted Morgan’s help to open the oven so she could put the turkey inside, she sat at the table with Prissy on her lap.

  Morgan made herself a cup of instant cocoa and sat across from her. “And what are you going to do about Dr. Prescott?”

  Mallory played with the cat’s ears, which twitched until Prissy got annoyed and swatted at her.

  “I’m going to forget he ever existed.”

  *

  The brisk, autumn day was perfect for visiting the L.A. zoo. An earlier fine mist had cleansed the air in Griffith Park, and the animals were in great form. JT
and Corey had passed the sea lion cliffs, the aviary, even the reptile house, to go straight to the chimpanzees of Mahale Mountains, complete with waterfall.

  With the wild and entertaining chimps putting on a terrific show behind the glass cage, Corey giggled.

  “How am I supposed to take pictures when they’re moving around so fast?”

  “Here, let me show you,” JT said, taking the camera from his son. He pointed out the lever to adjust. “You increase the shutter time. See?”

  The boy screwed up his face, looking unsure.

  “As they move fast, your camera has to shoot fast, so you can capture the picture.”

  “Oh, I get it.”

  JT smiled at his son, who seemed to be growing taller every day. His thin boyishness was slowly changing to thicker muscles and more adult facial features. He wore an L.A. Zoo ball cap backwards on his head, and a windbreaker with matching shoes that looked more like boats than footwear.

  Corey crinkled his eyes to look through the viewer on the camera and snapped several quick shots.

  “Wow. This is so cool.”

  He found a hollow log with a clear plastic barrier somewhere in the middle that allowed him to crawl inside and wait for a chimpanzee to join him on the other.

  “Be sure not to use the flash in there. It will scare them,” JT said.

  “Wow!” Corey exclaimed. “I got a picture of one really close up! I think it was Jake.”

  JT and Corey had read the names and bios on no less than twenty of the captive chimps on their way into Mahale Mountains. Jake. If Corey wanted to think it, JT wasn’t about to burst his bubble. He couldn’t tell one chimp from the other.

  “Would you like to go with me to Kenya next year?” he asked Corey when he crawled butt first out of the log. “We can take pictures of all sorts of animals but in their natural habitat.”

  “Yeah! Can we go see the lions now?”

  “Sure.”

  As they retraced their steps back to the lions’ enclosure, JT brought up a subject dear to his heart.

  “Corey, did Mom talk to you about coming to live with me?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Are you OK with that?”

  He looked up at his father and smiled. “Yeah! I don’t want to move to San Francisco, and I don’t want to live with Wayne. I want to live with you, Dad.”

  Fantastic. He wanted to hug Corey, but knew the boy had reached the stage where any public display of affection was off limits. Instead, he offered a high five. “I want you with me, too.”

  Corey jumped up and hit the palm of his father’s hand with confidence.

  Across the way, a young woman shared an ice-cream cone with two small children in a double stroller. She had waist-length red hair.

  “Look, Dad. She looks like Nurse Think Fast.”

  Great. Even his son couldn’t distract him from his private thoughts about Mallory.

  *

  On Friday, Morgan brought in the mail. Her eyes glittering, she waved a bright red envelope. “Look at this. It’s addressed to you, and it’s handwritten with gold ink.”

  Mallory narrowed her eyes, suspicious. She snatched the letter from her daughter and sat on the couch. She held it up to the light, but couldn’t see through the paper. Morgan sat close beside her, practically breathing down her neck.

  “What is it? What is it? I can’t wait.”

  A fine tremor turned to outright shaking when Mallory opened the envelope and realized it was an invitation from JT.

  Still angry with him, she hesitated. Morgan tried to take it from her hands, but Mallory waved her off. If anyone was going to open the letter, it would be her.

  Dear Mallory,

  You are hereby requested to attend Los Angeles Mercy Hospital’s dedication ball for the Mercy Revives Rehab Wing—our state-of-the-art, one-hundred-patient bed rehabilitation center on Saturday December 8th.

  There will also be a special award given for outstanding care provider of the year, based on ballots cast by patient surveys and general comments from on-the-spot recognition forms.

  If this isn’t enough reason for you to wear a sexy red dress, you should know I intend to make a special announcement, which I think you will be interested in hearing.

  I’ll reserve a seat beside me. Be there?

  Truly yours, JT.

  P.S. Don’t make me come after you.

  “Oh, my gosh, Mom. That is so romantic.”

  Not exactly the apology she’d hoped for. The invitation struck her as being as impersonal as their professional relationship. So that’s how things would be. Yet he did promise some sort of announcement.

  “Big deal, so it’s some stupid dedication event. Who cares?” She did, she knew she did, and worse yet, Morgan knew what a lousy liar she was. “‘truly yours’?”

  Hmm. She clutched the invitation as though it might disappear.

  Was this all she had left of JT? She stood still, holding the invitation, feeling him through the paper. Tingles poured over her as if they were a message. It’s not over yet.

  “Come on.” Morgan stood.

  “Where’re we going?”

  “We’re going shopping!” She grabbed Mallory’s hand and tugged her up.

  “But the day after Thanksgiving is known to be the busiest shopping day of the year.”

  “Too bad.” Morgan picked up Mallory’s purse and pushed her toward the front door. “He said to wear a red dress, and it’s my job to make sure you pick the right one.”

  CHAPTER TEN

  J.T. HAD been ready for hours. He’d slicked back his hair with gel and shaved as close as he could get. Hell, he’d even slapped on some cologne.

  He sat in his boxers, shirt, and vest at the piano, so as not to wrinkle his pants or jacket. He’d had his best charcoal colored pinstriped suit cleaned and pressed, and had decided to dress it up with a starched shirt and winter-white wide satin tie.

  He needed time to think, and playing the piano always afforded him that. The state of his life came in bits and pieces. Fear drove his life. Fear of winding up like his father had made him a control freak. Yet he’d faced his greatest fear—complete helplessness—and survived. He knew he’d been one of the lucky ones. Now another kind of fear kept him quaking in his dress shoes—loss. He was afraid he’d lost the best chance of his life. Mallory.

  He played a Debussy song. Except in his mind’s eye the flaxen-haired girl in the song now had gloriously red hair.

  Seeing her in the hospital from day to day was almost more than he could take. In a perfect world he’d have told Mr. Hartounian that he was a lucky man to have Mallory, the woman he loved, as his nurse. But, no, he’d swallowed his true feelings and acted the part of physician with nurse. Behind the mask, his emotions dug down to his soul.

  As he stroked the keys on his baby grand, he sorted out what he wanted to say later that night and how he intended to say it.

  Softly playing the last chord of the piece, he envisioned Mallory’s face—wide-set amber eyes and sweet, kissable mouth, and, of course, her hair. With her vision firmly implanted in his mind, he knew what he must do. Finally at peace, he smiled.

  *

  Mallory hardly recognized herself standing in front of the mirror. She looked dressed for a prom, except way too sexy. Morgan had insisted on the strapless persimmon-colored cocktail-length dress. Now, pouring over the top of the tight fitting bodice, she wondered how she’d let Morgan talk her into it.

  “You don’t have to actually be huge to look huge, Mom,” Morgan had said, before handing her some sort of wonder-producing bra. She stared down her newfound cleavage. Wow.

  “Oh, gosh,” she whispered, and fluffed her hair. Where was her daughter now, when she needed her for moral support?

  Her cellphone rang like magic. Knowing it was her mother’s big night, it had to be Morgan.

  “How do you look? I can’t stand it. Oh, I know, take a picture of yourself with the cellphone and forward it to me.”

  �
��How am I supposed to do that?”

  “Mom! Do like I always do—hold your phone at arm’s length and snap! Then take a picture of the shoes. I’ve got to see the shoes.”

  Mallory giggled but did what her daughter had instructed. More tips followed on how to forward the pictures to Morgan’s cellphone.

  She’d intended to wear her hair up, but Morgan’s hairdresser insisted she trim six inches off the bottom and wear her hair down, parted on the side, with lots of thick waves and curls for best effect. She’d wondered if the classic style would last the night. And, worse yet, she worried that her natural hair color clashed with the dress. At least her pedicure and manicure matched perfectly.

  Her phone rang again.

  “Mom! You look hot! Wow. I knew it was the perfect dress!”

  “Oh, sweetie, wish me luck.”

  “The way I see it, when Dr. Prescott sees you, he won’t stand a chance. Trust me, you don’t need luck.”

  “I love you.”

  “Ditto, Mom. Call me the minute anything great happens, OK?”

  “OK.”

  She hung up and twirled around to check out the back of the dress and hoped she wouldn’t fall off the silver high-heeled sandals. The slinky fabric hugged her rear and hips to perfection. Wow. Morgan was right. She did look hot.

  “Will JT even recognize me?”

  I wonder what his big announcement will be tonight?

  He’d mysteriously stayed away from Five West for the last two weeks. She hadn’t seen so much as a glimpse of him in the cafeteria or in the halls of Mercy Hospital since she’d received her invitation for the new wing dedication ball.

  And it was a good thing, too, because she was still mad at him.

  Mallory inhaled a deep breath, gave one last fluff of her new shorter hair and used her overly mascara’d lashes to wink at herself.

  “Knock ’em dead!”

  *

  Arriving fashionably late, Mallory checked in her jacket before entering the ballroom at the large downtown Los Angeles hotel. The flutters in her stomach came in waves. She clutched her bag and pretended to be perfectly at ease, a tense smile on her face. A few familiar faces from the hospital nodded at her in greeting as they gathered in the antechamber for cocktails.