A Heart of Little Faith
by
Jennifer Wilck
A Heart Of Little Faith
Lily Livingston is a widow raising her six-year-old daughter, Claire, in New York City. Devastated by her husband’s death three years ago, she’s in no hurry to fall in love again. Besides, trying to balance her career with motherhood leaves her little time for romance.
With a wheelchair instead of a white horse, and a vow against falling in love again as his armor, Gideon Stone is the last person Lily expects to sweep her off her feet. But when a business agreement forces the two of them together, that is exactly what happens. As they navigate the minefield that fast represents their relationship, can either of them overcome the obstacles to find true happiness in each other’s arms?
Thank you to Sandra Sookoo, Raellen Lockley and Lisa Verge Higgins for your help with this book. I couldn’t have done this without you!
Chapter 1
Gideon Stone entered his sister’s crowded SoHo gallery in Manhattan and glanced at his watch. If he was lucky, he could make a quick appearance and leave. Garish abstract paintings filled with colors and random lines, semi-nude sculptures of men and women, coupled with snooty patrons and pseudo-intellectual artists, bored him. He’d rather be playing basketball. A mélange of overpowering perfumes blasted his olfactory nerves and he grimaced as he breathed through his mouth. He’d only come to support Samantha, and hopefully she’d be too busy with potential buyers to do any more than register his presence, leaving him free to make a hasty exit, return to his quiet apartment, exercise and go to bed. In the meantime, he needed to find something to eat before his thirty-five-year-old-self starved to death.
Across the room he spied black-clad catering staff and made his way around half walls and columns to check out their offerings. At least he thought they were catering staff. With black continuing to be the customary dress code of New York art patrons, he could never be too sure. Still, silver platters would give them away.
Before he’d gotten halfway across the converted warehouse, a waitress materialized in front of him, offering scallops wrapped in bacon and champagne. Pendulum lights from above glinted on the crystal glasses, and the smoky scent of the meat made his mouth water. He snagged a glass of champagne and two scallops, and popped one of the appetizers into his mouth. The ice-cold glass chilled his fingers and provided a welcome relief from the heat of the overcrowded room. The scallop melted in his mouth, leaving the taste of crisp bacon for him to savor. A little bit of heaven. The waitress asked if he needed assistance. He clenched his jaw and resisted the urge to bark some retort—he always hated that question; instead, he contented himself with a glare and watched as she scurried away, red-faced.
He saw Samantha and went over, past old gentlemen sitting on oversized ottomans comparing notes, willow-thin women chatting about the Hamptons and a few art students staring at the scene with longing. He waited until she noticed him. They said their hellos quickly, and she apologized as another group of people swept her away. He nodded his understanding and, with his duty complete, returned how he’d come.
He’d gone about twenty-five feet when something caught his attention, and he put down his champagne glass. Surrounded by movement—the friction caused by the artist’s use of flashy colors on a contrasting stark white canvas, the undulating positions of the sculptures, the constant swaying of people—her stillness drew his eye. The chatter around him disappeared. His vision tunneled and all surrounding sights faded into a fog. His ears heard only the sound of her fingernails tapping the crystal goblet and magnified it until her tapping became the beat of a song for him alone. The jasmine scent of her perfume floated toward him and made him think of summer vacations in a tropical paradise. Distracted by her, he didn’t notice those around him trying to get out of his way.
She stood motionless in front of a painting. The spotlight above illuminated her brown hair, turning it a fiery red tinged with gold, her skin a luminous peach. Her blouse, made of some gauzy material he couldn’t name but longed to touch, draped gracefully over her shoulders and down her back. With the lights pouring from above, the outline of her body was clearly visible. The barely there whisper of her silhouette attracted him more than any wet T-shirt ever could. His heart rate increased. Her black flared pants hugged her hips how he once held a woman, gently but firmly.
He stared at her, bedazzled. He only intended to look for a moment, but she turned around and met his gaze. Caught red-handed he contemplated leaving, but it would be cowardly. He couldn’t continue to stare at her without appearing either moronic or rude, especially since he hated when people stared at him. He inhaled and mustered a smile, when another man approached her. Breaking their connection, she nodded at the interloper. Gideon inched closer. Her voice was smooth and clear, with a lilt that beckoned him. She engaged the other man in casual conversation before she gently excused herself. As the other man wandered off, disappointment etched on his face, she focused on Gideon. Her green cat eyes pierced his soul and made him believe she could see right through him. An invisible thread pulled him toward her, and he was helpless to resist.
“Hasn’t anyone taught you it’s impolite to stare?” Her voice was amused; her eyes sparkled.
The irony of her question struck him and he burst into laughter, rested an elbow on the back of his wheelchair and shook her outstretched hand. Hers was soft, cool, and fit completely within his hard, callused one. He felt the delicate veins beneath her skin, her pulse beating in her wrist, and wished to prolong the skin-on-skin contact for as long as possible. Reluctantly, he let it go.
“I’m Gideon.”
“Lily.”
Delicate, pure and beautiful, just like her. “Are you a fan?”
Lily stared at him blankly for a moment and blinked. “Oh, of the artist’s?” She leaned once more to look at the painting, tilting her head to the right. “Not exactly. He’s a little too…”
“Much? Bright? Vulgar?”
Lily laughed. “I see you’re a huge fan. No, maybe, I don’t know. The colors are cheery, if only maybe there weren’t so many. But it does brighten my mood.” Her expression was strained, as if she were forcing herself to be cheerful. He could relate.
“Bad day at work?”
“Terrible. But why are you here if you don’t like the artist?”
Unexpected sympathy welled at her misfortune and he had a sudden urge to fix whatever had gone wrong. Instead, Gideon pointed to Samantha on the other side of the room. “She’s my younger sister.”
Lily raised her eyebrows at the gallery owner. “Oh, Samantha’s my best friend. I didn’t realize you were her brother. I guess she roped you into this too?”
He gave her what he hoped was a relaxed grin, even though he was anything other than relaxed. Not with her this close. “Brotherly duty, or some such nonsense. Apparently I pulled one too many pigtails as a child and this is my penance.”
Lily snickered. She has a great laugh. It lit her whole face. “Samantha had pigtails?”
They looked at Samantha, currently sporting short and spiky jet-black hair, with small rhinestone barrettes scattered throughout. “You’ll have to fill me in more later,” Lily said, as she stifled a yawn.
“What, is it my stimulating conversation, or these garish paintings that bores you?” Gideon asked, one eyebrow raised. He wanted to keep her here talking to him, to learn everything about her.
“I had a long day at work and I’m exhausted,” Lily apologized. “I wasn’t even going to come, but Samantha begged.”
“She tends to do that. I’ve told her it isn’t a pleasing trait, but why should she listen to me? I’m only her big brother.”
Lily chuckled. It
stopped abruptly and she reached behind him. He turned around and scowled as Lily reached out to prevent a man from moving backward. The man looked down, saw Gideon in his wheelchair, and apologized profusely as he moved out of the way. Gideon stiffened, hoping the man wouldn’t cause a scene and wishing Lily had minded her own business. He hated when people assumed he couldn’t take care of himself. Finally the man left, but with him, their easy camaraderie fled also.
Lily stopped talking. Her face fell. I’ve made her uncomfortable. He tried to wipe off his scowl. He wracked his brain for something funny to say. When that didn’t work, he searched for anything to say. She rubbed her finger along her champagne glass and Gideon tapped his fingers on the wheel rim of his chair. Another waitress approached them and they both rushed to accept her offerings. In his haste, he dropped his napkin.
“I’ll get it.” Lily bent to pick it up.
Gideon’s mood darkened. What had started as flirtation was dissolving into her treating him like a child. “You don’t have to do that for me. I can take care of myself, thank you.” Unfortunately, he spoke louder than he intended.
Lily gasped as if he’d slapped her. The peach skin he’d admired deepened to tomato red, her moss green eyes sharpened to a finely cut emerald, its icy sharp edges glinting. “Excuse me? I picked up a napkin. I didn’t offer to help you cross the street. I won’t bother next time.” She dropped the napkin on the floor, spun on her black, three-inch heel and fled the gallery without saying goodbye to Samantha. She stormed into the hall and jabbed at the elevator button, gripping the handle of her black purse so hard her knuckles whitened. Her anger boiled below the surface, threatening to overflow at any moment.
He raced after her. “Lily, I…” Gideon said, wheeling behind her. She spun around. “Why are you following me?” Her tone, which had been mellow before, was now sharp with anger.
“Because I need—”
“I don’t care what you need! There was no reason for you to yell at me, much less in front of all those people. I don’t deserve that.” She jabbed at the elevator and groaned. “This elevator is slow. Forget it, I’ll take the stairs.” She ran to the stairwell, her shoes clattering down on the steps.
Gideon stared after her in disbelief. He pounded the elevator button in frustration, and when the doors opened, he rushed in. A mix of cloying perfumes remained trapped in the small space and he held his breath as he waited with impatience for the elevator to finish its three-floor descent. Downstairs, Lily strode toward Broadway to hail a cab.
“That was uncalled for,” Gideon said to her as he approached. The cool May evening air did nothing to chill his temper. Traffic sounds provided a background beat to his anger. Lily’s nostrils flared. “Here I am apologizing…”
“Apologizing? What apology?” she cried. Her chest heaved.
“Will you let me finish? I can’t get more than three words out before you interrupt me!” She glared at him, arms crossed at her chest, fingers digging into her ribs. “As I started to say, I was coming to apologize when you ran off. You’re right, I shouldn’t have yelled at you. I’m sorry.”
Like a fast-moving summer storm, her fingers loosened their claw-like grip, her chest expanded with a deep breath and her anger evaporated. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” he responded. The pounding in his head eased and the muscles in his neck relaxed. “That was a low blow, though, taking the stairs.”
Lily tilted her head in confusion and reddened. “Oh, I’m sorry…”
“Relax, I’m kidding. Can’t you take a joke?”
Lily sighed, blew her hair out of her face and searched again for a cab.
“Why don’t you come with me into the gallery?” he asked. “I promise not to yell and you can even be my official napkin-picker-upper.” He winked, trying to lighten her mood.
“No, I’m done for the night.” She sounded weary.
“Please. I said I was sorry and I meant it. I don’t want to have ruined your evening.” He gripped the wheel rim of his chair in a vise-like grip as he waited for her reply.
Lily turned around again. “You didn’t. I had a lousy day—”
“—a lousy night?”
“—and I’m really tired. I just want to go home and relax. But I do accept your apology.”
A cab pulled up, its white vacant sign punctuating the night, and Lily got inside. She waved and he released his grip in time to wave as her cab pulled away. He returned to the gallery opening, but it had lost its edge. The paintings appeared duller, not necessarily a bad thing, the sculptures static. Even the champagne lost its effervescence. Assuming fatigue, he made his excuses to Samantha and left.
****
The next morning, Lily Livingston walked into her Madison Avenue office, deposited her briefcase under her desk, and headed into the kitchen area for a cup of coffee. As she poured it into the #1 Mom cup her daughter, Claire, made in preschool, she grimaced at the decidedly unappetizing aroma of burnt coffee wafting around the pot. Usually, she stopped off at a coffee shop before work. But her late night resulted in a mad dash this morning and little time for her to do anything but drop Claire at school and run to the subway.
Deciding the coffee wasn’t worth it, she dumped it in the sink with a sigh and headed into the ladies room to try to tame her hair into some sort of a professional style. “This weather is killing me,” she moaned as she attempted to de-frizz it. She pressed it to her skull, only to have it spring back into a mass of unruly brown curls, surrounded by lots of frizz.
“Rough morning?” Lily’s boss, Anne, exited the stall and washed her hands in the sink next to Lily.
“Rough morning, rough evening, rough hair,” she growled and sighed in resignation, as the two women headed to their offices.
“Rough evening? What happened? Is something wrong with Claire?”
“Hmm? No, she’s fine. I was out late…”
“Oh?” Anne focused her entire attention on Lily. “Don’t tell me you were on a date?”
Lily rolled her eyes. “Of course not. Samantha invited me to one of her openings. It was fun, but I got in an argument with this guy and…”
“A guy?” Lily’s stomach sank as she realized her mistake. An old friend of hers since college, Anne had persuaded her to move to New York and work with her after her husband died. She tried for months to convince Lily to start dating. Lily could practically see Anne’s ears perk up.
“Believe it or not, I do run into them occasionally.” She sat at her desk, smiled as she booted her computer and hoped Anne would take the hint.
She didn’t.
“So, what’s he like? And what was the argument about?” Her boss leaned against the doorframe, making it clear she wasn’t leaving anytime soon. Anne behaved like a dog with a bone when it came to men and Lily.
Not that there were many bones thrown at a thirty-year-old single mom.
Arrogant boor flashed in her mind like a cheap neon sign. But his smile had shone brighter than the paintings on display, his husky laugh had tickled long dormant places inside her, and he’d gripped her hand, as if to promise to take care of her forever. She shook her head as she remembered last evening.
She’d been immersed in the painting in front of her; she hadn’t noticed anyone around her. The intense colors swirled around the canvas and demanded her full concentration. But now she wondered how she could have been oblivious. A magnetic energy had emanated from him, drawing her closer, almost against her will. After the bold colors and textures of the painting, his brown pants and beige sweater should have been blah and boring. But the lightweight texture of the sweater accentuated his muscular chest and Lily whistled to herself. Even sitting in a wheelchair he personified strength and masculinity. She couldn’t tear her gaze away from him. Dark blond hair fell over his forehead, and her fingers had itched to push it away from his brow. Wire glasses framed hazel eyes that she fantasized could switch on a whim from piercing hazel to forbidding brown to molten amber. She
pictured herself removing those glasses and…
Shaken, she focused her attention on Anne. “I don’t know. He’s Samantha’s brother and we just rubbed each other the wrong way, I guess.” Because really, why else would I have gotten angry at an almost stranger? “Or maybe I was just tired from yesterday.” At this, Lily stared pointedly at Anne, who missed the signals she sent. “I would have done both of us more of a favor if I’d just stayed home.”
Anne leaned forward. “Was he cute?”
Was he cute? His chiseled features, square jaw, and strong physique lent him a leading-man quality. She didn’t think she’d describe him as cute though. Cute was softer, more pliable, like a baby or teddy bear. Gideon was vibrant, handsome, virile. Heat slapped Lily’s cheeks..
“I guess.” She rolled her eyes as Anne’s face glowed and she plunked in a chair. “But there’s more to life than cute.”
“Hah!”
Lily stared at her. She didn’t need this now. Not from Anne, who should have known better. She had a stressful job occupying too much of her energy and a daughter to raise. The last thing she had time for was to get involved with a man.
“Okay, okay, I’ll leave you alone. But if I were you, I’d ask Samantha to set you up,” she said. As she headed toward her own office, she added over her shoulder, “About the Armadillo account, let’s meet in my office in an hour to rework our strategy.”
She logged onto her email account, thankful Anne moved onto another topic. Unfortunately, that left Lily to resume the dreaded task of figuring out what to do with her client. Throttling the CEO was not an option.
Only twenty-four hours ago, things had been different. She’d been studying her notes on the Armadillo strategy and had begun making a timeline to coordinate software rollout, media events and executive training. The launch schedule would be tight, but doable. Until the company’s vice president of marketing called—software bug, delayed product fix, safety and reliability message trashed. Lily could still hear those words echoing through her mind as Armadillo’s CEO refused to postpone the launch date. Despite her fervent hope she’d been punk’d, the stone-faced VP had not yet demonstrated a sense of humor. She sincerely doubted he’d start now.
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