Right. Probably because he couldn’t bear to look at me.
The visual Ian got as he’d rounded the corner into the kitchen wouldn’t leave his brain. Millie, standing there in nothing but a white bra and brown skirt, her breasts filling the cups to a pleasing capacity. Her gently curving hips visible without the bulky sweater.
She had a sweet little body beneath all those brown clothes.
Then he recalled the red splotches across her bare midriff. Don’t be such a dick, he thought as he scrubbed his hands over his face. He shouldn’t be thinking about her body and how much he’d like to touch it. She could have been burned.
He’d been coming to tell Darcy she could check out the newly installed bookcase he’d built. Seeing what was left of what appeared to be the lasagna soup on the floor, he grabbed a roll of paper towels and began mopping up the mess. Darcy didn’t need to be on her hands and knees, that was for sure. He didn’t miss the fact that this was the second time Millie and soup had crossed paths and she’d come out the loser.
“You don’t need to do that,” Darcy said from the doorway.
Ian stood. “It’s no problem. Is Millie burned?”
“No. She’ll be fine. I think I got her sweater off before the soup could soak in.” Darcy wet a handful of paper towels, which Ian took from her and continued to clean up. “Seems you’re always cleaning up around here.”
“Yeah, a jack-of-all-trades, I guess.” Ian worked in silence a few minutes, as Darcy pulled out the trashcan for the soiled paper towels. Recalling her kindness to Millie, he glanced up at her, “If you don’t mind me saying so, you’ll make a great mom.”
Darcy hesitated a moment then gazed down at him. “No. I don’t mind at all. And thank you.”
“That should do it,” he said as he rose.
“By the way, what were you coming to tell me?” Darcy asked, her head tilted.
“The new bookcase is finished if you want to take a look.”
“Ooh! Definitely.”
Millie gingerly opened the bedroom door. She’d heard Darcy and Ian talking in the nursery earlier, but it had been quiet the last twenty minutes. No bangs, no thuds, so Ian must have left. She climbed a few stairs to the third floor where Darcy’s office was and called out, “Is he gone for the day?”
“No,” Ian said from behind her, making her yelp. “He’s still here.”
She froze, closing her eyes, feeling yet another flush creep up her neck. Will she ever stop embarrassing herself in front of him?
“Darcy, however, is not here.”
This snapped her out of her mortification, and she spun to face him. “Where’d she go?”
“She mentioned something about Red Velvet Cake and Aunt Butchies.”
“Cheese and crackers! I forgot!” Running down the stairs, she remembered to grab her coat before heading out.
“Where are you going?” Ian called.
“To catch up to her.” She slammed the door in her haste.
Millie practically ran down the sidewalk, buttoning her coat as she went. How could she have forgotten? Darcy had a luncheon tomorrow to benefit the Readers for Life Literacy Program, and several women who’d bid on and won lunch with the best-selling author were coming. She’d ordered the cake just yesterday, and with all the humiliation hullabaloo, she’d forgotten to pick it up.
Ian needed to finish his job and leave her in peace. Ever since he’d started working in the house, she couldn’t keep her mind on her own work. Or, apparently, eat or prepare soup without endangering her own health and well-being. And it was all his fault with his well-worn jeans, tool belt that pulled those jeans precariously low on his hips revealing the band of his underwear—blue today—and his size thirteen feet.
He made her nervous and all too aware of his presence. He didn’t even need to be in the same room with her, and she could feel him. Except just now when she’d needed to most. She closed her eyes again in mortification at her latest humiliation.
And nearly ran into a street sign.
Note to self: Don’t close your eyes while running down a sidewalk.
Who was she kidding? She didn’t need Ian to make her a klutz. She’d done just fine on her own the twenty-nine years prior to meeting him. Like the time she’d been reading The Kadin and tripped over a skateboard in the middle of the walkway. In her defense, it had been a very juicy part. She’d since forsaken reading and walking at the same time. Or at her high school graduation when she’d walked up to receive her diploma and almost did a face plant on the stage. To this day, she had no idea what she’d tripped over.
No. Ian couldn’t take all the blame for her mishaps. But his shoulders were more than broad enough to carry some of them.
Ian shook his head. Millie was a strange one. But he couldn’t help but notice her body in what were obviously Darcy’s jeans and sweater. She looked good in something besides brown. The curve of her breasts, a trim waist. And her ass. Well, it was worth seeing, especially in those snug jeans and fitted sweater. Who would’ve thought she hid such treasures?
He also couldn’t help but notice how she took care of Darcy. Granted she got paid for it. Well, most of it anyway. But she clearly went above and beyond, preparing lunch, picking up muffins every morning on her way there, fussing over Darcy’s stair-climbing. He doubted any other author’s assistants, which he’d recently learned from Darcy was her job, took their occupation that seriously.
He’d just picked up the sander when his phone buzzed with an incoming call. He frowned at the number—Maimonides Medical Center—then got a sick feeling.
“This is Ian.”
“Mr. Brand?”
“Yes.”
“This is Dr. Ackerman from Maimonides Medical Center. Mrs. Ruby Sinclair has you listed as her next of kin.”
His knees went weak and he dropped the sander to the worktable with a thud. “Yes?”
“She’s being admitted for acute respiratory distress. We’ll need your permission to put her on a ventilator.”
He thought about a conversation he’d had with Ruby a couple of years ago—no life-prolonging procedures.
“A ventilator?” Ian struggled to get the word out. “Is this permanent?”
“No,” Dr. Ackerman said. “We think she’ll recover some lung function. We just need to get her stabilized.”
“Then, yes. Put her on the ventilator. I’m on my way.”
Chapter 9
Millie carried the cake as she and Darcy made their way back to the brownstone. She’d caught up to Darcy just as she’d entered the bakery and withstood Darcy’s lament about being a grown woman, needing exercise and being perfectly capable of picking up a cake by herself.
When they rounded the corner at Darcy’s street, Millie noticed Ian’s motorcycle was gone and felt a mixture of relief and disappointment.
After opening the door, Millie headed for the kitchen with the cake, and spotted Darcy’s phone on the foyer table. “You left your phone.”
“I wondered where that was. I’m getting so forgetful these days. Baby brain, I guess.” She picked up the phone and frowned.
“What is it?”
“A text from Ian. He said something came up and he had to leave. He doesn’t know if he’ll be here tomorrow, but he’ll let me know.” Pocketing her phone, she ambled over to the closet to hang up her coat. “Maybe something with that renovation in the Upper East Side.”
“How do you know what he’s working on?” Millie asked in confusion.
Darcy shrugged. “I talk to him. You should try it sometime.”
Talk to him? About what? She couldn’t think what she would have in common with someone like Ian. Someone whose idea of reading was probably Construction Today. Someone who probably attracted women by the dozens. Beautiful, sexy women
. Women who didn’t let soup get the better of them.
“Did you know he renovates historic buildings? I think that’s fascinating.” Darcy paused in the process of hanging up her coat. “Hmm. I wonder how he’d feel about me picking his brain for a character. Anyhoo, what else do we need to do for the lunch tomorrow?”
“If you want to autograph a stack of books, I’ll bring them down.”
“Sounds good.”
Millie climbed the stairs to the third floor, passing the room under renovation, and thought about what Darcy had said. Maybe she’d try striking up a conversation with Ian. Surely she could think of something to say. That is, if she could keep her brain functioning around him long enough.
Ian approached the bed where a frail Ruby lie, a ventilator tube protruding from her mouth, the hissing of the machine breathing for her loud in the room. Other machines beeped and flashed. An IV bag hung by the bed, dripping something into her arm.
The nurse had said she was sedated, but Ian pulled up the visitor’s chair and took her thin hand in his, his thumb stroking its papery surface.
Dammit. Tears stung his eyes and clogged his throat. This woman, who was more mother to him than his own mother, was all he had left in this world.
Sure, he had Caleb, but Caleb had a wife, and in seven short months, would have a child. Ian and Ruby were more than friends, they were family. He’d been there five years ago when Curtis had died of complications following a stroke. She’d been there when, well, every day since that day Ian had first hid in the public library.
After his mom died of cirrhosis, a by-product of her alcoholism, he had no family left. He certainly didn’t count his stepfather or stepbrother family. The death of his mother gave him the perfect excuse to permanently remove himself from their cruelty.
If she’d been his teacher and his friend, Ruby had also become his surrogate mother after his own mother’s death. What was he supposed to do without her?
“I’m sorry to disturb you, but I’m Dr. Gupta, Mrs. Sinclair’s oncologist.”
Ian stood and turned to see an attractive woman with an East Indian lilt, a stethoscope draped around her neck. “Oncologist?” he asked in confusion.
“Ah.” Dr. Gupta wore a chagrined expression on her face. “She hadn’t told you.”
“Told me what?” Ian rubbed a hand over the brick that had found its way into his stomach.
“I suspected as much.” She took a deep breath. “Mr. Brand, Mrs. Sinclair has stage four lung cancer,” she said, her voice soft and full of compassion.
Ian sank back in the chair. Cancer? Why hadn’t Ruby told him? That would more than explain her frailty and lack of appetite. “How did you know my name?”
“Ruby talks about you all the time.” Dr. Gupta smiled warmly.
He absorbed that a moment. “When did she find out?”
“We diagnosed it about a year ago.”
Scrubbing a hand over his face, he said, “A year ago. But she, nor her late husband, ever smoked.”
“One in five women diagnosed with lung cancer never smoked.”
“And surgery?”
“The tumors were inoperable, so we began chemotherapy and she responded well, but . . .”
“But?”
“Therapies can lose efficacy after a time.”
“So this is it? This is how it ends?” His stomach ached, and his heart thudded heavily in his chest as he turned to gaze at Ruby.
“Not yet. We haven’t given up. There are other therapies. There’s also a clinical trial she may qualify for. This is a setback to be sure, but antibiotics should get the pneumonia in hand.”
“Pneumonia?”
“It can be a complication of the cancer, but it’s very treatable. The ventilator is just to provide a bridge until the lung function has improved.”
“Can I stay here?” he asked, never taking his eyes off Ruby.
“Not while she’s in ICU. But once she moves to a regular room, you’re welcome to stay with her.”
Ian nodded.
“I’ll be back to check on her tomorrow morning. I’ll call if there is any change.”
“Thank you.”
Ian sat in the dimly lit room, surrounded by the beeps, blips, and hisses of the medical equipment, staring out the window at the snow that had begun to fall.
“You can’t leave me. Not now. Not yet,” he said to Ruby. Laying his head on the bed, he placed her hand beneath his cheek and held on for dear life.
That Friday evening, Millie helped as Darcy put the finishing touches on the table setting. Darcy’s best friend Laura and her husband Nathan were coming for dinner.
“You shouldn’t be going to all this trouble,” Millie chided. “You’ll wear yourself out.”
“Come on, Millie. I put a roast in the oven, I’m tossing a salad, and I’ve got a cake from Aunt Butchies. It’s no trouble.”
Millie harrumphed.
“And the invitation still stands if you’d like to join us.”
“And listen to Josh and Laura taunt each other all night? No thanks.”
“Actually, Laura’s mellowed a little since she got married,” Darcy said, her head tilted as if that had just dawned on her.
Millie snorted.
“I think Nathan’s Southern Gentleman demeanor has rubbed off.”
“I’ll believe it when I see it.” Millie folded a napkin, tucked it next to the plate.
“Then stay and see it.” Darcy lifted her brows in challenge. “Don’t you want to hear about their honeymoon?”
Millie heaved the sigh of the put-upon. She’d planned to go home and delve into the chapter ‘Main Courses,’ in The Joy of Sex. But, the way Laura liked to brag, er, overshare about her sex life, she might learn more if she stayed. “Fine. I’ll stay.”
“Good.”
Josh strode into the dining room, messenger bag draped across his body. Law firm partner and creator and head of the firm’s new mediation division, Josh hadn’t let success go to his head. No briefcase and designer suits for him. “What’s good?” He placed his hands at Darcy’s waist and pressed a kiss to her belly.
“Millie’s staying for dinner.”
“That is good.” He glanced at Millie and gave her a welcoming smile.
It warmed Millie’s heart to see Darcy and Josh, together at last. It took Darcy long enough to recognize that her best friend was also her soul mate.
“What time are Laura and Nathan coming over?”
“In about an hour.”
“Good. Gives me time for a shower.” He kissed Darcy again. “Smells delicious! I’ll be back.”
Darcy watched Josh exit the room, a dreamy look on her face, as the oven timer buzzed.
“Darcy?”
“Hmm?”
“The timer’s going off.”
“Right.”
An hour later Darcy and Josh opened the door to Laura and Nathan.
“Morgan le Fay.” Josh greeted Laura with a nod.
“Gargamel,” Laura returned.
“Some things never change,” Millie muttered as she took Laura and Nathan’s coats.
“How are an apple and a lawyer alike?” Laura asked.
“They both look good hanging from a tree,” Millie replied, and received the evil eye from Laura for spoiling the punchline.
“Millie, you look good enough to eat,” Nathan said in his Southern drawl, as he touched his lips to her cheek.
Millie knew he was lying, but she gave him points for trying. She could understand how a man-eater like Laura fell for him. He had more charm than Rhett Butler.
As the men headed into the living room, Laura turned to Darcy, eyeballing her belly. “You’re not going to do the hand-grabbing thing, are
you?”
“I might.”
“Can I at least have a drink before we get intimate?”
Darcy snorted and led the way to the kitchen with Laura and Millie in tow.
Pouring a glass of wine for Laura, Darcy said, “God, I miss wine.”
“That alone is enough reason not to get pregnant,” Laura said as she offered a toast to Darcy’s baby bump.
“Don’t you want children?” Darcy asked Laura.
Millie read the look on Laura’s face, and waited for the quip, but then her expression changed. “You know, I never thought I’d want kids, what with the whole pregnancy thing, childbirth—” she shivered “—diapers, and spit up, but I really think Nathan would be a great dad. I wouldn’t want to deprive him of that.” She finished with a rare dreamy look on her face. Then she took a sip of wine, and shook it off. “Wow. What was that? You really need to keep your baby hormones to yourself.”
Darcy snorted. “Come on, admit it, you’d love a little Nathan running around.”
Laura shrugged. “Maybe.” She jabbed a finger at Darcy. “But don’t start planning a shower or picking out baby names. I’ve got a few things to accomplish before I go down the motherhood road.”
If she lived to be a hundred, Millie never thought she’d hear Laura even consider children. Maybe Darcy was right, marriage to Nathan had mellowed her.
“Like becoming the most powerful woman in advertising.”
Or not.
Laura eyed Millie over the rim of her glass. “I see you’re still dressing like a hobbit.”
Millie drew herself up. “Better than Vampirella.” Not that she really thought Laura was trashy. In fact, she thought she always looked sexy, in a polished sort of way. But she’d rather admit she was still a virgin than tell Laura that.
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