The Hotshot

by Lori Wilde

  If she were his, he would give her those things and so much more.

  But she wasn’t his.

  And probably never would be. They were too different, and they were both consumed with establishing their careers. Besides, he’d sworn never to get married again unless he knew for sure they were both in love. Equally. No lopsided unrequited mess. No getting married for all the wrong reasons.

  His gaze flicked over her features, his eyes drinking in her soft dark hair, her flawless complexion, her round indigo eyes and that perfectly shaped mouth.

  Ripe. Pink. So kissable.

  Here we go, Gregory. It’s Pauline all over again. Admit it. You just want to take care of her.

  Belatedly, he realized he had been staring intently at Janet’s lips, ignoring both his meal and the elder Dr. Hunter, who had apparently asked him a question.

  “Sir?” He blinked, feeling oddly groggy as if some magical spell had enchanted him. “I’m sorry, could you repeat that?”

  “I was saying how much I respect your work and how I wish I had a son like you.”

  “Thank you, I appreciate the compliment, but you’ve got a very accomplished daughter of your own,” Gage pointed out, tactfully restraining himself from wringing the man’s neck. Did he have any idea how cold and unfeeling his statement sounded? His heart broke for Janet and the child she’d once been.

  “Ah, well, I suppose so.”

  “Were you aware that in just her third week of practice Janet has single-handedly started a citywide preventative health program for underprivileged children?”

  “Are you seriously comparing that to developing something as innovative as the Gregory method?”

  “Niles,” Gracie spoke up. “That’s not fair.”

  “I’ll get the dessert.” Janet leaped up, her face pale and drawn, and rushed from the room.

  Gage glared at Niles Hunter and pushed back his chair. The man was as sensitive as a slug. “I’ll go see if she needs any help.”

  9

  Janet pushed through the swinging doors into the kitchen, anger, hurt, and disappointment shoving her blood through her veins, quickening her pulse, making it hard to breathe.

  She braced her elbows against the counter, lowered her head, and took long cleansing breaths.

  “Janet, sweetheart?” Gage slipped an arm around her shoulders. “Are you all right?”

  She shrugged off his touch. She didn’t want his comfort.

  “Excuse me for saying so, but your father is a real ass,” Gage said.

  “Oh, like you aren’t?”

  “What?” Looking stunned, Gage stepped back.

  “You were acting so smug, so superior,” she said.

  “Excuse me? Why are you so pissed off?

  “It’s damned egotistical of you to think you can analyze my relationship with my father and try to fix it over a twenty-minute meal.” She kept her head down, staring at the stick of butter her mother had forgotten to put back into the fridge. It had melted, and the butter bulged against the sides of the wax paper wrapping.

  “Egotistical? Me?”

  “You bet your sweet butt.”

  “I was only trying to help.” He sounded downright confused and a little hurt. “Isn’t that what you wanted me to do?”

  Yes. No. I don’t know.

  “The great Gage Gregory to the rescue,” she said sarcastically, even though she had no real reason to be mean to him. He’d helped her and now she was holding it against him. What was the poor guy supposed to think? What was the matter with her?

  “Janet,” he said, his voice gone quiet. “I know you’re just lashing out at the one who’s handy. You’re displacing your anger toward your father onto me.”

  “Gee, sounds like someone took Psych 101.”

  “Look at me,” he commanded.

  She didn’t want to.

  But he wasn’t the kind of guy who easily accepted no for an answer. Gage leaned over, cupped her chin in his palm, and tilted her head up to meet his unwavering gaze.

  She straightened.

  Their eyes locked.

  He looked sad and a little bewildered. In that moment, she knew she’d been wrong about him. He hadn’t been seeing himself as her savior. He had simply been feeling sorry for her. She didn’t know which was worse. His pity or his patronage.

  Her mother had placed her in a precarious situation and her father had hurt her, yes, but the last thing she wanted was Gage’s sympathy.

  The kitchen filled with tension and embarrassment. Silence stretched. No sounds came from the dining room. A drop of water from the faucet plunked into the sink.

  Janet inhaled sharply.

  She could tell he wanted to kiss her. He moved closer, his gaze never leaving hers, his fingers still curled around her chin. He wanted to kiss her and make it all better.

  If only it were that easy.

  Her heart did an involuntary somersault, her stomach contracted, and her toes curled in anticipation. Well, a kiss might not make everything better, but it couldn’t hurt.

  Could it?

  Apparently, she was about to find out.

  Gage’s mouth closed over hers, but it wasn’t a demanding kiss. Nor was it hot and heavy. His lips were light, his touch gentle—calming, mild, pampering—a balm to her irritated nerves, a salve to her battered ego.

  He didn’t use his tongue. He didn’t hurry. His lips performed all the magic—no pressure, no expectations, no agenda except to comfort. She sank against his chest and let him do what he wanted.

  His touch eased her sorrow. His lips washed away her pain. His sweet caress dissolved her disappointment. He pressed his palm against her back and rubbed in a soothing circle.

  Who cared if her father would rather have Gage for a son instead of her for a daughter? It wasn’t Gage’s fault that he was a brilliant, medically inventive, multimillionaire, ex-child actor with good looks and charms aplenty. He was on her side.

  So it was okay for her to cling to his shoulders, right? It was okay if she enjoyed the taste of his mouth. Wasn’t it?

  Heavens above, but the man could communicate so many emotions with those lips!

  Sympathy, concern, compassion. Lust.

  Suddenly, it was way too hot in that kitchen and what they were doing with her parents in the very next room was really stupid. Her eyes flew open.

  His eyes were closed. Watching him was unbelievably romantic. Too darned romantic by half.

  It isn’t a good idea to let him keep kissing you, no matter how good it feels, rational voice piped up. Remember, you’re starting a new career. You don’t have room in your life for this... this... whatever this is. Especially since Dad likes him better than he likes you.

  “Do you two need some help with that dessert? It’s taking a long time.” Her father came through the swinging doors and then stopped cold.

  Janet sprang away from Gage, her face heating with embarrassment. “Father...I-I...” she stammered.

  Her father frowned and held up a palm. His jaw muscle jumped. “No need to explain anything to me. You’re a grown woman. A doctor, even. If you feel the need to debase yourself in your mother’s kitchen with a man you barely know, it’s no concern of mine.”

  Her heart raced, and her palms grew slick. It was almost as bad as that time in college when her father had caught her making out with Ace Mulgrew in a hammock in the backyard. He’d called her a tramp and much worse. He didn’t say those ugly words now, but he was thinking them. She could tell by the cold, hard look in his stony eyes.

  Janet cleared her throat, drew herself up tall, and stared him right in the face. “Father, you’re wrong. It’s not like that at all.”

  “Oh, no?” His tone could have frozen molten lava. “What is it like then?”

  Why was he always so disappointed in her? Why was he making a big deal out of something as simple as a kiss? Why was he so harsh and unbending? For the love of Pete, she was thirty years old! What on earth did he expect from her? If she
lassoed down the moon and deposited it at his feet, he would berate her for leaving a hole in the sky.

  “Well?” he demanded.

  Before she even considered what to say next, Gage blurted out, “Dr. Hunter, Janet and I are engaged.”

  Stunned, she could only stare at him.

  “Really?” Her father broke into the most beatific smile she’d ever seen on his face.

  Her gut wrenched. How many years had she struggled to put such a smile on his lips, and how many times had she failed miserably? And now she had finally achieved her goal, but only because her father thought her engaged to Gage.

  “Uh...” was all she managed.

  “Well, why didn’t you say so before? This is absolutely the smartest thing you’ve ever done, Janet.”

  “What? What’s this?” Gracie popped into the kitchen, too, bumping her father in the backside with the door. He was so pleased he didn’t even chide Gracie for jarring him. “Did I hear right? You and Gage are getting married?”

  “You heard correctly, Gracie, but don’t start with your usual antics,” Janet’s father warned.

  Wait, whoa, stop, rational voice screamed. Do something, Janet. Deny this. Right now.

  But the proud expression on her father’s face stayed her tongue. She said nothing.

  “My baby’s getting married!” Gracie threw her arms around Janet and squeezed hard. “Darling, you’ve made me the happiest woman on the face of the earth.”

  Janet searched Gage’s eyes.

  He tossed her an I-can’t-believe-I-just-did-that look of apology.

  “The ring! Let me see the engagement ring.” Gracie snatched Janet’s left hand in her own. “There’s no ring. Where’s the ring?”

  “Um...er...” She stammered. Oh, she was a terrible liar.

  “You’re having the ring sized, aren’t you,” Gracie said, providing her with an excuse.

  Janet nodded.

  Gracie started humming Wagner’s wedding march and pirouetting around the kitchen like a ballerina on amphetamines.

  Her father, as preposterous as it seemed, was spouting his ideal guest list for the engagement party he was planning on throwing for them at Garden Green Acres, Houston’s oldest and most exclusive country club.

  “Invite any of your Hollywood friends and your family as well,” her father told Gage and waved his hand expansively. “Your engagement party will be the event of the year.”

  Holy cow! What had Gage wrought? Her father, or so he thought, was finally getting the son he’d always wanted. While her Baby Predicate-obsessed mother was looking forward to wedding bells and lullabies, bridal gowns and cradles.

  Everybody was happy.

  Except for her.

  “Could I see you outside for a moment, Gage?” she asked, trying to keep her voice at an even pitch, belying the demented thoughts sprinting through her brain.

  “We’ll serve coq au vin, crepe ramekins, bulgar pilaf with green peppercorns, creamy fennel puree, and maple hazelnut mousse for dessert. I’ll hire Gil Chaney’s orchestra,” her father was saying, sounding as if this would be an over-the-top, designed-to-impress soiree.

  “You can register at Harrisons, and we’ll hire Reverend Newton to officiate and let’s look into releasing doves. Mrs. Tattersol’s daughter did that at her wedding last year, and it was beautiful. No wait, I forgot about the dove poop. What a mess that was. On second thought, how do you feel about butterflies?” her mother blathered, speaking at the same time as her father so that everything came out in a jarring cacophony.

  “Butterflies are ridiculous, Gracie, do you have any idea how much they cost?” her father interjected.

  Omigod, look what those two paltry words—we’re engaged—had done. Running into Frankenstein, Dracula, and the Wolfman on a three-day drinking binge in a deserted alley in Bangkok at midnight wouldn’t have been as scary as this.

  “Don’t be such a tightwad, Niles. Your only daughter doesn’t get married every day.”

  “Especially not to Dr. Gage Gregory.” Her father stroked his chin with his thumb and index finger.

  Give it a rest, Father. We know, we know. You think the sun shines out of Gage’s...

  She crooked her finger at Gage in a come-with-me gesture and opened the back door. He seemed more than happy to flee to the privacy of the backyard, leaving her parents arguing over the—unbeknownst to them—never-gonna-happen wedding festivities.

  Her entire body shook as she closed the door firmly behind them. Was she angry or upset or just the teeniest bit thankful? She didn’t even know what she felt. But she knew one thing. No man had ever done anything so gallant for her.

  Without a word, Gage took her arm and guided her to the wooden porch swing set up under the shelter shade of an old red oak tree.

  “Sit,” he commanded.

  She sat, the intense scent of honeysuckle and jasmine vibrating the surrounding air. Spring. The best time of year in Houston. She should enjoy the pleasant weather, but her mind muddled, her world turned upside down.

  “I know what you’re going to say,” he began.

  “Oh yeah? Now you’re a mind reader on top of everything else?”

  “I’m sorry, but I couldn’t stand there and let your father degrade you. I had to shut him up.”

  “And declaring us engaged was the best solution that came to mind?” She still couldn’t believe what he had done. Telling her mother they were dating was one thing, but pretending to be engaged? Preposterous.

  Yet the news had made her father so happy. Miserably, she pushed her hand through her hair.

  “I thought it was better than decking him flat-out. But you’re right, I shouldn’t have told your parents we were engaged.”

  “No kidding. What was your first clue? My father preparing the menu for our engagement party, or my mother wanting to let pooping doves loose at the ceremony?”

  He grinned at that. “So you’re not mad?”

  “I’m both furious and confused and...”

  “And what?”

  “Grateful.”

  “Grateful?”

  “My father has never been proud of me. Not once in my entire life. And now, because of you, he is.”

  Gage eased down beside her. The chain supporting the porch swing creaked beneath their combined weight. Sympathy for her surged through him. He wanted to take her in his arms, hold her close, and make it all better.

  Uh-oh, a bad sign. The last thing he needed was to feel sorry for her.

  Have you flipped your ever-loving gourd, Gregory? Warning! Danger! Get out while you can.

  The thought of being engaged to Janet for real stirred him. He’d gone down a similar road in the past with disastrous results. Although pretending to be Janet’s fiancé was a far cry from marrying Pauline for all the wrong reasons, it raised in him the same feelings—tenderness, pride, gallantry.

  Those emotions gave him pause. Was he truly attracted to Janet, or was he just attracted to the fact that for once she’d needed him?

  10

  “What are we going to do now?” she whispered.

  Gage reached out and took one of her hands in his. Her palm was cold despite the warmth of the late spring afternoon. Gently, he rubbed her knuckles with a thumb.

  “I mean we can’t go around pretending to be engaged.” She paused a moment then asked, “Can we?”

  Before Gage could answer, the back door popped open and her father strode out. “I have reserved the country club for three weeks from next Saturday for your engagement party,” he said, joining them beneath the tree. “Does that sound agreeable? And I’ve hired Henri Dubois, the head chef at Café Continental to cater the event.”

  “You didn’t.”

  “I did!” he exclaimed, as if he’d just single-handedly organized a third-world coup.

  Janet sighed inwardly. Her father had let no grass grow under his feet. She had to put a stop to this deception. Now. She opened her mouth to tell him to call the whole thing off.

/>   “I’m so proud of you, darling. Marrying a man like Gage.”

  “Uh.”

  You’ve gotta tell him, rational voice intruded. No matter how proud he is of you.

  But he’s never been proud of her before, impish voice interjected. Can’t you just chill and let her have her moment in the sun?

  She’s just going to get third degree sunburns and you’re hiding the sunscreen, rational voice argued. Better to come clean now and get it over with, than stretch out the torture.

  Party pooper, impish voice pouted.

  Janet looked over at Gage.

  He cocked his head expectantly, waiting to see what she would do.

  “I can’t believe I’m finally going to have a son,” her father enthused and pounded Gage on the back.

  Her hopes dived like a submarine. There it was again. He wanted Gage, not her. All her jangled emotions—hurt, betrayal, sadness, loss—wadded into a tight ball and lodged uncomfortably in her chest.

  Gee, Father, thanks for all your loving support.

  “Monday evening I’m ordering the invitations and having them engraved. Would you like to go with me to select them, Janet?”

  The lump grew, glazed over by a silly, inexplicable happiness. Her father didn’t ask her out on excursions. Ever. And now, because of this faux engagement, he wanted to be with her.

  “Sure,” she said despite her fears. “I’d love that.”

  “I’ll pick you up around five-thirty. We’ll have dinner first. My treat. Let me know if you get busy and can’t make it.”

  “That sounds great. It’s a date.”

  A date with her father. Her heart thumped heavily. If he didn’t leave soon, she was going to burst into tears.

  “I interrupted something here, didn’t I?” Her father glanced from her to Gage.

  “Yes, sir,” Gage said.

  “I’ll go back to the house. You two come in whenever you’re ready.”

  “Thanks, Dad.”

  It was only after her father had gone back inside that Janet realized for the first time in her life that she had called her father “Dad.”

  “What’s it going to be, sweetheart? Do we confess now or later?” Gage asked. “Either way it’s all right with me. If you need a fiancé for a while to improve your relationship with your father, then I’m your man. Just say the word.”