by Gina Ardito
Yeah, right. And in time, a lump of coal becomes a diamond, too, pal. “That’s ridiculous. We don’t even know each other.”
“Oh, I know you, Adara Berros. I know you as no other could.”
She snorted in disbelief.
“You doubt me?” he asked with a raised brow. She gave him her best skeptical look, and he sighed. “Very well. You have a fondness for black cats and butterflies. You used to love your job, but now you believe your company and others like it care more about profit than they do the people they’re entrusted to help. You also feel your concerns go unaddressed until a superior draws attention to them or a client has a catastrophic issue. Only then are the problems noticed, and usually the blame falls in your lap.”
Unease tickled her throat, leaving her dry-mouthed. How could he possibly know so much about her?
“Cute trick,” she said firmly, hoping to convince herself with her own argument. “Lots of people claim to read minds by sticking to generic statements. Stuff like, ‘The month of November holds some kind of significance for you…’”
“November holds no significance for you,” Ted retorted. “Except, perhaps, for that despicable American holiday where people overeat and overshop to prove how thankful they are for all the gods have given them.”
A surge of patriotic pride rose in her. “You just don’t understand what Thanksgiving’s all about.”
“April,” he interjected. “April is the month you hate. You lost both your parents in the month of April. In different years, of course.”
The itch in her throat crept down her spine like a spider. Once again, she grabbed her mother’s medallion. “You read my diary,” she accused. “Or went through my garbage. Or hired a private investigator to follow me around.”
He shook his head. “Such machinations are beneath me. You wear your mother’s fludee, the medallion you cling to when you are troubled. She gave it to you when your father left, told you it was a traditional Greek gift from mother to child to protect you from evil in this world. It stays around your neck always, a reminder of the woman who loved you like no other and the father you don’t believe deserved your childish adoration.
“You loved your father. You worshiped him as the hero of all your little girl dreams. But when he abandoned you and your mother, a part of you died. The part of you that trusted men and believed in happily ever after. On the night you realized he would not return, you lay in your pretty pink canopied bed and vowed to keep your heart free so that you would never again know such pain.”
“Who told you about me?”
He chuckled and removed her hand from the fludee to raise her fingertips to his lips. “I…” He kissed her knuckle. “…will show you…” Another knuckle, another kiss. “…that true love…” Kiss. “…does exist.” Kiss, kiss. “And that it does not bring pain, but exquisite joy. I shall devote eternity to you and make you happier than you have ever been. You will forget that foolish fellow, Terence, who did not deserve his place in your heart.”
Terry. No one had mentioned Terry since the trial. She tried to pull her hand from his grasp, but he held her fast, captivating her with his wondrous eyes while his flickering touch danced over her wrist. “Y-you know about Terry?”
“I know everything about you, dear one. From the moment of your birth, I have known your every dream. Do you remember, as a child, you wished to be the first female astronaut in space? When NASA chose Sally Ride to orbit the earth in the Challenger, you were furious. You did not wish to be the second or third female astronaut. You wanted to be first, and Sally stole that dream from you.” His lips moved from her fingertips to her palm, sending electric pulses into her veins. “It was a long time before you allowed yourself to have another dream after that.”
“Did my Aunt Persephone tell you all this?”
“She knows you as well as I,” he replied, his eyes hooded behind those thick lashes. “And loves you just as deeply. That is why she has given me permission to woo you and win you for my own. We belong together, you and I.”
“What if I don’t want to marry you? What if I don’t want to marry anyone? This is America, not Cyprus. Here, women choose their own husbands. When they’re ready. If they’re ready.”
“No one will force you to do anything you do not wish to do. All I ask is the opportunity to show you how deeply I love you.”
Hot blood rushed to her face, and she stared at the bunched-up curtain behind him. Wouldn’t someone come in to rescue her? A nurse? An orderly? A Jehovah’s Witness?
“What are you looking for, dear one?”
Her gaze snapped back to him, and her foggy mind scrambled for some lame excuse. “I-I’m thirsty.”
He tsked and glanced at the empty plastic pitcher on the tray beside her bed. Yet, he made no move to fill it.
Nice guy. A real prince among men.
“I rather think my words are making you uncomfortable, my darling,” he said. “Because the men you’ve known previously did not know how to appreciate you. You intimidated them because you are so capable, so independent, so unique and strong. You have a fire inside you that frightens mere mortals.”
Maybe if she kept him talking, someone would come in soon. Meanwhile, she scanned the bedside table, seeking an object heavy enough to bonk him over the head if he tried anything. Nothing lay within reach but the empty water pitcher with its equally empty plastic cup and a torn bandage wrapper. The call buzzer burned her palm, and she allowed her thumb to hover over the bright red button.
“On the other hand,” he continued. “I am no mere mortal. That is why we are so perfectly suited to one another.”
“Oh?” She steepled her brow. “You’re unique, strong, capable and independent with a fire inside, too?”
“No.” His laughter rang like church bells on a snowy night. “I am your adoring slave. No more, no less.”
The heat rose again, higher this time, all the way to her scalp. “Please, stop saying stuff like that.”
He placed his hand over his chest. “My darling requests, and I comply.”
Despite her efforts to remain poised, his endless endearments skidded across her nerves. Goosebumps prickled her skin. Her right index finger wandered between her teeth, and she gnawed on the white crescent of nail. “Don’t you have somewhere to go? Or something to do?”
He shook his head. “My time is yours. As am I.”
“Terrific.” Adara proceeded to chew all ten nails down to the quick.
~~~~
The heavy scent of the perfumed flowers made Shane’s nose twitch. Good thing he wouldn’t have to hold them much longer. When the elevator doors hissed opened on the sixth floor, he slid past the other visitors with a mumbled, “Excuse me.” Worse than the flowers, he hated hospitals in general. He hated the antiseptic smell, hated the medical staff’s marshmallow shoes that cushioned every sound. He swore those shoes were intentional, devised so a crafty RN could sneak up and give a patient a surprise enema.
Fighting shivers of revulsion, Shane approached the station where three nurses chatted in low tones. “I’m looking for Adara Berros’s room,” he told the woman standing closest to the rounded desk.
She glanced down at a clipboard full of plastic-coated index cards in rainbow hues. After flipping to a pink card, she pointed to her right. “Room 612. Down the hall.”
“Thanks.”
The sign outside the door of Room 612 showed only Adara’s name in the slot. She didn’t have a roommate. So why, then, did he hear voices? Was there a doctor in the house? Or had the mysterious Tedior Pha slipped into Ms. Berros’s room unnoticed? It wouldn’t be the first time the overworked medical staff failed to spot an interloper in their midst.
In this case, however, he hoped Mr. Pha had indeed managed to sneak past the front desk undetected. Shane would love the opportunity to let the bastard know he was on to him. With cool satisfaction rushing in his veins, he pushed open the door and came face to face with Pretty Boy himself.
&nb
sp; This was the guy Becky and Heather made such a fuss over? He’d scraped better looking shit off his shoe. Ted Pha was tall, blond, and prissy. He reminded Shane of a golden retriever, all flowing hair and biddable stupidity. And quite possibly, very sharp teeth.
If Pha knew what Shane thought of him, he kept his outrage masked behind an expression of puppy eagerness.
“Detective Griffin.” Pha took the vase of cut flowers, inhaled, and smiled.
“I didn’t bring them for you,” Shane drawled.
Pha’s eyes widened, and his lashes batted against his cheeks. “Of course not. Still, such a sweet gesture, I would add my thanks for your generosity. Look, Adara, my darling. The detective remembered your birthday.”
The moment Pha said her name, Shane’s head swiveled to the woman lying in the hospital bed near the window. She appeared surprisingly comfortable considering the extent of her injuries. But her expression was blank, as if she’d never seen him before.
“Ms. Berros?” He stepped forward so she could see him more clearly. “I hope you’re feeling better.”
“Yes, thank you,” she replied, though he sensed she did it more to be polite than because she appreciated his kindness. “How did you know it was my birthday?”
“My doing, dearest,” Pha cut in. “I fear I was terrified I might lose you, and in my hysteria, I blurted out to Mr. Griffin that you couldn’t die on your birthday.”
Shane’s sharp gaze veered from one to the other, but their expressions gave away nothing. He’d walked onstage in the middle of some bizarre play. Everyone knew their lines and places but him.
“Is there something you wanted, Detective?” Pha asked, setting the flowers on the window ledge.
Shane hated him, hated the way Pha treated Ms. Berros as if he owned her. As if she couldn’t possibly speak for herself. But he tamped down his judgment and forced a bland expression.
“Yes, Mr. Pha. I wanted to speak to Ms. Berros about what happened this morning.” He kept his eyes trained on Adara Berros as he spoke, sending a silent communication that he expected Adara, and only Adara, to answer him.
“To be honest, Detective,” she said in that same lyrical voice he remembered hearing on the dispatch. “I remember absolutely nothing about what happened. Really, I’ve tried. The last thing I recall is sitting with my girlfriends in the Silk Club. And then I woke up here with Ted by my side.”
How convenient. But Shane didn’t buy it for a minute. “Mr. Pha, would you mind if I spoke to Ms. Berros alone?”
Pha smiled, nearly blinding Shane with the brilliance of white teeth inside his bronze face. Jeez, how many hours a week did this guy spend in a tanning salon anyway?
“Of course.” Pha reached for the hand inside the bed sheets and kissed it tenderly. “My darling, I shall be right outside the door. Should you require my presence, you merely need to call my name.”
“Thank you, Ted,” she replied with a sweet smile.
Shane glared sharpened icicles at Pha as he walked out of the room.
But the cold look melted the minute Ms. Berros said, “Thank God. I thought he’d never leave.”
Chapter Six
Heat crept into Adara’s cheeks. No matter how relieved she was to have Ted gone, she never should have admitted as much aloud.
Detective Griffin gestured to her empty water pitcher. “Can I get you something to drink?”
If she could get out of the bed, she’d bend and kiss his feet just for asking. “Yes, please, but not yet.”
Pulling the chair closer to her side, he cocked his head. “Is there something you’d like to tell me about Mr. Pha?”
“No.” Adara dropped her gaze to the sheet’s ragged hem. “Not really.”
“Not really? What does that mean?”
Another reason to avoid opening her big wazoo without remembering her audience: a good detective doesn’t give up.
The words left her mouth faster than floodwater through a broken dam. “He’s been here since I woke up. And he’s making me crazy.” God, she sounded like the elementary school tattletale snitching on a classmate. But no way she could keep the emotions bottled up. “He keeps talking about when I’m going to marry him. I mean, I don’t even know the man.”
The detective’s eyes widened. Wow. They were the most arresting shade of blue. When she realized her unintentional pun, she swallowed the rising giggle.
“You don’t know him?”
She shook her head, allowing her cheeks a chance to cool. “I only met him a few hours ago.”
“Then why did he tell the 911 operator you were his fiancée?”
She sputtered. “He did?”
“Yes, he did.”
Oh, now that was too much. She’d allowed Ted to get away with a lot since she’d first seen him here, mainly because… Well, because who wouldn’t be flattered that a gorgeous man had traveled thousands of miles to claim her as his perfect match? But when he made those declarations publicly, without her knowledge, flattery turned to annoyance.
“Is that a problem?” The detective’s smooth baritone broke her musings.
She far preferred his deep Long Island accent to Ted’s lilt and oddly drawn out vowels.
“Yes, it is.” A definite problem. On too many levels to count. Her lips compressed into a tight line. Once Ted returned to this room, she’d have to give him a detailed lecture regarding his whirlwind courtship methods.
“Adara? May I call you Adara?”
A spark of pleasure lit inside her, and she nodded. After Ted’s continual fawning and quick assumptions, the detective’s more formal manner was as welcome as a no-calorie margarita. Funny. The last time she’d dealt with the police, the experience had left her shaken and stirred—
a veritable martini of icy emotions. Were county cops so different from the state troopers then?
“Adara?” The detective’s tone took on a shy, hesitant quality. “Does Ted beat you often?”
“Wh-what?” Where the hell did that come from? She stared at him, waiting for the joke. None came. In fact, the detective’s eyes softened, sympathy emanating from the crease between his brows.
“Does he lose his temper and place his hands on you in anger? Are you ever afraid of him?” He paused, a heartbeat, no more. And when he spoke again, his voice was whisper-soft, a caress across her skin. “Do you need a liaison, someone to step in?”
She shook her head to clear the fog in her brain. Maybe her painkillers had kicked in. Still, he peered at her with that same expression of pity.
“What are you talking about? I told you, I just met him.” She pressed the button on the bedrail to raise herself higher. “And, by the way, if he ever so much as laid a finger on me, I wouldn’t waste time with a ‘liaison.’ I’d have him on his knees in fifteen seconds flat.”
“Fifteen seconds?”
“I hold a third degree black belt in karate,” she said with pride.
He sat, his face impassive. “Really? So you think you’re pretty capable where men are concerned?”
Ooh, she hated that condescending tone in a man’s voice. The one that said, Isn’t she cute? She thinks she can kick ass because she took some martial arts classes at the gym or dated a karate instructor for a couple of months.
Too bad she was pinned in this bed. Otherwise, she’d show him how capable she really was. For now, she’d settle for bragging rights.
“Mmm-hmm. And I have a red belt in Brazilian jiu-jitsu, too. Trust me. I can take care of myself. No one, male or female, would ever lay a hand on me and get away with it.”
“So then, Adara, how’d you get the souvenirs?” He pointed to the cast around her leg and the I.V. tubes snaking up her arm.
Was he kidding? “I was hit by a car, Detective.” Acid dripped from each syllable. “Weren’t you at the scene?”
“Do you remember the accident, Adara?”
Should she? An icy finger danced over her nape. “No.”
“Do you remember speaking to me?”
>
“No.” She stifled a shiver.
“Do you remember making a call to 911 and reporting your companion was unconscious but breathing?”
“No.” The denial came out automatically, but then she paused to think about what he’d asked. “Wait. Hold up. Are you saying someone else was with me when I got run over? Who? Jayne? Oh, God, not Renee. She’s just getting over foot surgery.”
He cocked his head and flipped open his notebook. “Jayne? Renee? Are those the friends who were with you last night? Can you give me their last names and their contact info?”
She struggled to sit up. “Are they okay? Please tell me I didn’t kill anyone.”
His full lips broke into a half-smile. “You didn’t kill anyone. Now, your friends. Renee? Jayne? Last names? Contact info?”
She rattled off the pertinent details, including Chloe’s information as well, but her mind kept returning to the identity of her stricken companion. “Just tell me this. Is she in this hospital?”
He looked up from his notebook, brow furrowed. “Who?”
“Whoever was with me last night. Maybe I should try to find her and make sure she’s all right.”
“That won’t be necessary. He’s just fine. As a matter of fact, he seems better than fine.”
“You’ve seen him?”
“Mmm-hmm. You’ve seen him too.” He nodded toward the closed door. “Mr. Pha.”
Her gaze followed his nod, and then returned to his inscrutable face. “Ted? But he doesn’t have a scratch on him.”
The detective shrugged. “Weird, isn’t it? Tell me, Ms. Berros. What do you know about him? What has he told you?”
The heat in her cheeks flared anew and traveled down her throat. “Strange things.” Her left index finger crept toward her teeth again, but she pulled it away and hid it between the sheets. “He said he’s from Cyprus, that my Aunt Persephone sent him.”
“Sent him for what purpose?”
Adara released a nervous giggle. What would the detective think when she told him Ted’s reason for being here? “Okay, this is the most bizarre part of everything I’ve heard since I woke up this morning. Ted claims my Aunt Persephone sent him here to marry me.”