by Leger, Lori
“I will if you call me Red.” She nodded as he took her hand and led her to the dance floor. He wanted to make the best impression possible on this woman before she discovered what he’d done to her man.
“Jackson’s made a remarkable recovery since his bike accident in August.”
He smiled. “I told you he would, didn’t I?”
“Yes, you did. You were very—” She cleared her throat. “—opinionated about the matter.”
He chuckled. “You can say it. I was a hard ass when you talked about amputating his leg.”
“Yes, well. You said he would come back from that and you were right.”
He lifted one shoulder. “Yes, I was.”
Her laughter rang out between them. “Humble to the very last.”
“I had the advantage of knowing the man for twenty years. You couldn’t have known how determined he’d be to recover. Still …” This time he cleared his throat. “I shouldn’t have insulted you the way I did. You were concerned for your patient.”
“And you were concerned for your friend. Truce?”
“Absolutely.” He took her around the perimeter, forced himself to breathe as he molded his hand to fit her lower back. It took a monumental effort to keep his dance steps smooth and fluid, when all he wanted to do was pull her closer, find out how her mouth would taste if he kissed her.
He couldn’t help but marvel at how good she felt in his arms.
She’d have had to be dead not to realize how well they fit together, moved together on the dance floor. She would have had to be blind not to see how good he looked tonight. As a woman who ran every day to keep in shape, she could well appreciate the lengths he must go to keep up his athletic build.
Red possessed a wealth of physical qualities—each one equally attractive in and of itself. When combined, oh so perfectly, on his muscular sex foot plus—uh—make that six foot plus frame—he was damn near irresistible.
Think about the dance, Tiffany. Nothing else, just the dance.
She tried, but their movements were so well matched, so perfectly synchronized, that she found herself wondering what else they’d do well together.
Really? Time to get a grip.
Her hand tightened involuntarily on the well-developed trap muscles. Her heart kicked it up a notch or two.
Not that kind of grip. You’re engaged to Tanner. You remember Tanner, don’t you? That guy who spouts excuses, lies, and alibis like Mount St. Helens spouts ash?
The thought of her wandering fiancé should have been enough to give her overheated thoughts an ice water bath. She closed her eyes, resisting the urge to loop her arms around Red’s neck, and waited for the gradual return of sexual sanity. It didn’t.
She opened her eyes—found his crystal blue gaze locked on hers.
Damn, but they moved well together.
Doc opened her eyes, caught him studying her. The real shock came when she didn’t look away. They had obvious sexual attraction—strong—evident in the pull between them—difficult to resist. Like opposite poles of two magnets. Somehow, he found the strength to avert his gaze, break the eye contact that held him hostage.
Red applied pressure on her back, her slim waist, pulled her closer, tried not to think about other things he’d like to do with her besides dance.
She didn’t speak again. Probably for the best, since the less he spoke, the better off he seemed to be when it came to Dr. LeBlanc. But God almighty, he’d never felt so comfortable with a dance partner before. Two words—perfect fit—kept flashing across his mind. As soon as the first song ended, he whisked Tiffany right into the second dance before she had a chance to protest.
He watched her head fall back, her eyes drift closed in surrender, as John Michael Montgomery crooned an old song called Hold on to Me.
“Oh God, I adore this song.” She spoke in a low groan.
I adore you. He stared at her exposed throat, wishing he could bury his mouth on the smooth expanse of delicate skin. His breath hitched as she smiled, lifting her head slowly to open her eyes. “It’s an old favorite of mine, too,” he confessed.
“You’re a fabulous dancer, Red.”
He shook his head. “I’m a good dancer. If I’m fabulous, it must be due to my partner.” He gazed down at her beautiful face. How the hell could Tanner look at another woman when he had this? Maybe it was the beer responsible for his loose tongue. Maybe it was simply wanting better for Tiffany. But he couldn’t stop himself from asking the one thing he’d wondered since meeting her.
“Why do you put up with him, Doc?”
Her body language shifted immediately, a slight stiffening of her spine at his invasive curiosity.
“We have things in common—and five years together.”
The senseless answer set his teeth on edge. “Neither of which is good enough reason to marry him. You’ve got to know what a jerk he is.”
She shrugged in his arms. “He can be at times. At other times he can be very charming and sweet.”
Red emitted a barely audible snort then pushed all thoughts of Tanner aside, and tried his best to enjoy the feel of Tiffany in his arms before he’d have to let her go. He wasn’t completely delusional. He knew exactly what her reaction would be once she found out what he’d done. She’d be good and pissed at him, but what the hell—If victory was fleeting, he’d enjoy it while he could.
He rubbed his thumb gently on the small of her back—she shivered through her silk blouse. Lowering his head slightly toward the crook of her neck, he inhaled. A fragrantly soft floral aroma combined with her unique scent to tantalize his senses. He’d fantasized about holding her in his arms this way. Red pulled her even closer, held her tight for the duration of the dance. Neither of them spoke again until the last faded notes. He kept her at the edge of the floor for a moment after the music ended, reluctant to let go of her.
The damage done, he released her, gave her a somber look. “Thank you, Tiffany. Try to remember these last few minutes, would you?” He pointed toward the stables. “You’ll find Tanner over in that building. He may need your assistance.” He left her there. Walked away, knowing good and well she watched his departure.
Try to remember? What the hell was that about? She stepped off the platform, and headed in the direction he’d pointed. Even then, she was drawn to him. She studied Red’s retreating form, noting the grace and ease of his movements. The man looked every bit as comfortable in that classy black tux as he did in a pair of boot cut jeans and a polo shirt.
And his smell—God, he smelled divine. It had been all she could do not to bury her nose in his solid, broad chest during that dance. Red McAllister was a man whose persona oozed with confidence and masculinity. He was obviously intelligent, but she sensed other qualities as well. Pushing the thought from her mind, she turned her attention to her trek to the stables. Her childhood nanny, Melinda Dawson, had always said wondering ‘what if’ never did her any good.
Tiffany walked at her leisure, observing the lovely grounds of the ranch. She’d always longed for country living. On more than one occasion she’d tried to convince Tanner to find something outside the city. It was one of many reasons she resented him—he said he wouldn’t be stuck like some bumpkin when he could be close to everything he enjoyed right there in the condo. She suspected he just didn’t want to drive so far to sleep around on her.
So, why did she put up with him?
Because, according to her mother, all men cheated, that’s why. In the upper class household in Houston, Texas, where she and her brother were raised, their parents both had open affairs. Her father had mistresses, and her mother had her kept men.
The thought brought her back to Red and how both Jackson and Giselle always gushed about him. He didn’t seem the type to take anything lightly, especially marriage vows. She dismissed the thought as irrelevant. She had five years invested in Tanner, and at thirty-six years old, she was too old and emotionally exhausted to start over with anyone new.
&nbs
p; Tiffany finally reached the stables, entered the shaded area and saw her fiancé leaning against the wall with his handkerchief over his nose.
Noticing her approach, he removed the cloth to speak. “You took your sweet time getting here.”
“I was just told where I could find you. What happened?” She checked out his nose. “Ugh. It’s broken.”
He pushed her hand away. “I know that. You may be the great Dr. Leblanc, but I’m a surgeon too.”
Ignoring his attitude and his brush off, she reached out again to examine his nose. “How about an explanation. Did you fall off a horse or something?”
“You really think I’d ride a horse dressed in an Armani tux? That cretin, Scott McAllister hit me in the nose.”
Tiffany froze, trying to comprehend his accusation. “Red hit you?”
“Red? You call him Red?”
“Everyone calls him that.”
“Not everyone, Tiffy—only his low class family and white trash friends. His betters would call him Mr. McAllister, or Scott, or better yet, how about asshole?”
She shook her head. “That’s real classy, sweetheart. Besides, he just asked me to call him that when he … before he … he … aaah, now I see.” She squeezed her eyes shut as it all came together. Not one dance. Two dances. She swore under her breath then eyed her fiancé suspiciously. “Why did he hit you?”
“Over something that happened fifteen years ago. It was nothing. Less than nothing.”
She reached out her hand. “Give me the keys.” He fished in his pocket and threw them at her. “I’ll bring the car around.” She headed back toward the parking area, wondering why she was even surprised. Of course her image of Red McAllister was too good to be true. He was just a man. This was more proof that not a single one of them could be trusted.
Sons of bitches. Every. Last. One of them.
Red followed Doc’s trudge to the silver Mercedes and decided to enact some damage control. He approached as she opened the car door. “Did he tell you why I hit him?”
She rounded on him, her brown eyes flashing furiously. “Does it matter? Does it ever matter why somebody feels it necessary to break someone else’s nose? Really, Mister McAllister,” she sneered. “I didn’t think you were such a brute. I thought after thousands of years of walking upright, surely your people would have found a way of resolving issues other than with their fists—especially issues that are fifteen years old!”
“Fifteen years?” Slack-jawed, he thought about explaining the situation. Then he recalled the phone conversation he’d overheard outside the hospital the day he met her. The moment he discovered she was Tanner’s girl. His mind conjured an image of her crying silently because her fiancé was with another woman, obviously not the first time. Instead, he took a deep breath and released it slowly. “Well, Doc. Sometimes there’s no other way to resolve a conflict.”
WHAP!
The slap came out of nowhere, fast and furious, the sound resonating in the open air.
“That’s for not telling me about Tanner until after those two dances,” she hissed. “I despise being used to make someone else suffer.”
His hand on his stinging cheek, Red stood speechless as she got into the car. He kept vigil as she drove to the stables to collect her poor, pitiful fiancé. His gaze followed the car as it continued on out the driveway and onto the paved road that led back into the city.
He whistled, rubbed his still stinging cheek. Despite everything Tanner had put her through—was still putting her through—he’d yet to put that fire out in the good doctor. He turned as Jackson called out to him.
“Hey, did ya hear the big news?” Jackson grinned from ear to ear. “We’re pregnant.”
“No shit? Well, damn that was quick! Congratulations.” He gave his friend a quick hug and slapped him on the shoulder.
“Thanks, man.” He scanned the area. “Do you know where Doc is? Giselle wanted me to find her—she said she wanted to tell her personally.”
“She had to bring Tanner to get some medical attention. His nose got broken.”
“By what?”
Red raised his right fist and flashed Jackson a smug grin.
“No kidding?”
He nodded then related the story in its entirety to his friend. “I wasn’t trying to break the damn thing. That was a bonus, or lagniappe as my mother says.”
Jackson reached up to adjust the angle of Red’s chin. “She left a hell of a mark on you. I hope she didn’t hurt herself.”
Red frowned. “Thanks for the concern, buddy.”
“Hey, she heals people with those hands.”
Red rubbed his cheek. “I assure you, her hands are fine,” he said, wondering to himself what else she could do with those hands of hers.
Jackson started to chuckle. “Oh, man.”
Red stared at his friend. “What’s wrong with you?”
“Now I know how Carrie and Uncle Bill knew I was in love with Giselle.”
“What are you talking about?”
Jackson poked Red’s shoulder. “You’ve got a serious hard-on for Doc.”
Red stuck a finger in his friend’s face. “I’ll let that one slide because it’s your wedding day and all. But don’t you talk that shit in reference to her again, man. She’s better than that.”
Jackson stopped, stared at him long enough for Red to wonder what the hell was going on. “Oh, man. You didn’t tell her what he tried. This is serious.”
“How do you figure that? My mom taught me to be a gentleman, you know. Besides, she doesn’t think I’m good enough for her.”
“What did she say to make you think that?”
“For one thing, her ‘your people’ comment.” He pointed at his cheek. “And let’s not forget this.”
Jackson chuckled. “I think she was making a comment about men in general, Red, not your fine Scottish-Cajun heritage. Damn, you’re sensitive when you’re in love.”
“Your ass!” Despite his annoyance at his friend, Red followed Jackson back to Giselle’s side.
“Hey hon, you’re going to love this. It seems my best man, here, is crazy about my doctor.”
Giselle sent Red a sly grin. “You mean you’ve finally admitted it to yourself?”
Jackson gawked at his wife. “Wait, how could you possibly know that already?”
Giselle laughed “How could you not? He asked about her every time we saw him. Really Red, why do you think I asked you to drive Jackson to some of his appointments? You’re probably already in love with her.”
He slung an arm casually across her shoulders. “I figured it was so you could get some time away from the patient from hell, here. You’re wrong,” he said, into her ear. “But, it’s the thought that counts, so thanks, anyway. Congratulations, by the way. I hear you’re en famille.”
The smile she sent him was all-knowing, bordering on downright gleeful. “Thanks, but honestly—you guys are so clueless sometimes.”
Red waved off her comment and headed toward his parents, who stood a few feet away, talking to Carrie Langley, an old family friend.
Carrie looked up at his approach. “Speaking of the red-haired, blue-eyed devil, here he is. I was just remembering how cute you were when I used to babysit for you, all those years ago.”
“And I was your favorite, right?”
“You’re still my favorite, but what the hell happened to you?” Carrie placed a hand to his left cheek.
Red raised his hand self-consciously to his face and reached desperately for a change of subject. “I’m looking for a dance partner. Are you game?” His effort was wasted apparently, because once his mother got a good look at his face, there was no way around her.
“Son!” Vivienne McAllister’s voice rose in outrage. “Have you been fighting?”
“No, someone slapped me.”
“What did you do to make a woman slap you that hard? Did your father and I not teach you to be a gentleman?”
Red stared down at the tiny woman
who’d raised him and his siblings with a firm hand. The silver mixed in with her naturally blonde hair sparkled under the artificial lighting of the outdoor reception area. The short, sassy style of cut complimented the clear blue eyes and smooth skin of the sixty-four year old woman. She was fit, healthy, and blessed with good metabolism, weighing maybe ten pounds over the weight she was on her wedding day. Vivienne Broussard McAllister was a beautiful woman, and when she was anywhere near her husband, Pete, anyone could tell they were still in love.
“It’s not what you’re thinking,” Red added quickly. “Do you remember when I got kicked out of Jackson’s first wedding?”
“Vaguely.” She gave him a suspicious glare.
“Well, Tiffany’s fiancé, Tanner, was the reason, and all I can say is, payback’s hell.”
“Oh, Red, what did you do?” Vivienne groaned.
Annie walked up to the group and joined the conversation. “Take it easy on him, Mom. He was defending my honor.”
“How’s that?” Pete McAllister, a taller, older looking version of Red spoke up, his voice an ominous growl. At sixty-eight years old and well over six feet tall, with big, broad shoulders, a barrel chest, and a bit more belly than in previous years, he still commanded attention. He had a head full of dark auburn hair, peppered with silver, with a mustache and trimmed goatee to match. His blue eyes, normally sparkling with laughter, now flashed with anger, hinting at the damage he would do to anyone who tried to harm a hair on the head of his youngest daughter.
“I went to the stables to check out the animals, and didn’t realize Tanner was following me,” Annie explained. “When I turned around he was there and started pawing at me, so I slapped him, and then knocked him on his butt. Red came running in, hit him in the jaw then punched him in the nose. It was beautiful!”
Red threw an arm around his baby sister. “Thanks sis, it’s nice to have a cheering section.”
“I’m still confused,” Vivienne commented. “Who slapped Red?”
“Tanner’s fiancée did after she saw what I did to him.”
“It seems like she should have slapped this Tanner fellow for trying something with Annie.”