As You Wish (27 page)

“I’ll get some food.” Ryan practically sprinted down the hall.

“Wait, where’s our room?” Bruce asked. “I’ve got to move the car, don’t I?”

“Upstairs, first door on the right,” Patricia called over her shoulder. “Put your car by the garage.”

By the time she and Beatrice reached the formal dining room, Rita had joined them while Bruce moved the car, and Patricia had remembered why she hadn’t wanted to eat in here since August. She pulled up short in the door.

“What’s the matter, dear?” Beatrice asked.

“Nothing.” The door from the butler’s pantry opened, and Ryan walked in. He seemed to have recovered from his slip. He looked at the table and then at Patricia, giving her a wide, secret smile.

“I wrestled some sandwiches away from the caterers,” he said, carrying a tray.

Patricia settled Beatrice into a seat. The sandwiches Ryan brought were cut in neat professional triangles. She focused on them to keep from seeing the table. So far, it wasn’t working. “So you haven’t asked him yet,” she said to Rita for further distraction.

“Asked who?” Beatrice demanded.

“No,” Rita said at the same time. “I think he’s working on asking me. The time is going to be right sometime tonight. Maybe over supper.”

Something crashed on the far end of the house. Ryan shook his head. “I’ll be back.”

“So you are going to get married.” Beatrice beamed. “I love a happy couple. Where did Ryan go?”

“He’s checking on that noise.” Patricia frowned. They had sandwiches but nothing to eat them off of and nothing to drink. “I’ll go get some plates.” She went into the butler’s pantry, hoping there was some non-antique china there. The everyday stuff stayed in the actual kitchen, but judging by the number of voices, she didn’t think she wanted to venture in there. She never should have agreed to this thing. Heck, she was the one who’d offered it. Her house felt like an anthill that had been kicked over.

“What are you looking for?”

Patricia turned around. Ryan stood in the door, listening down the hall for more disastrous noises. He looked so in command, but she had to stop thinking about that. Far too many people in the house to steal any time with Ryan. “Plates that aren’t a hundred years old.”

Ryan opened a cabinet and pulled out a stack of paper plates, keeping his gaze focused on the task. “I’m sorry about earlier. I goofed.”

Patricia giggled. “I don’t think it registered. Rita’s too busy planning to ask Bruce to marry her, and whatever Rita’s focused on, everybody is focused on, even when they don’t know for sure what it is.”

“Did you get enough rest?” Ryan turned the paper plates in his hands, holding them up in front of himself like a shield.

“Plenty.” Patricia licked her lips, calculating how long it would be before she could find a half hour to spend alone with him. Her body ached to be touched. She clutched her hands behind her back before they decided to find out if his shirt felt as soft as it looked. “What fell over?”

“Oh, a fern.” A lock of hair fell across his brow. “The fern will survive, but the column it was sitting on is in several dozen pieces.”

The sound of their breathing filled the room. Patricia stared at Ryan. Her hands unclenched. Just a moment in his arms, that was all she needed. She had to spend all night with the upper crust of the county, and she would probably be announcing an engagement she didn’t feel comfortable with. This could be her last opportunity to feel the security of Ryan’s embrace. By the suffering look in his eyes, he knew it too.

“Ryan?” Patricia reached out to him.

Ryan stepped forward, dropping the plates on the high counter, and gathered her into his arms, kissing her. Patricia closed her eyes, enjoying the sensation of his hard body pressed against hers while his mouth plied hers. His hand reached up to cup the back of her neck. He trailed kisses to her ear, where he began teasing her earlobe with the probing tip of his tongue.

“I wanted you last night,” she moaned. She clutched his shoulders, pulling herself tight against him. “I wanted to make love to you. I wanted to feel you inside me.”

“I wanted you too, Princess,” he said. “Do you think tonight…?”

“Where?”

“Come to my cottage if you can get away. I’ll leave the door unlocked.”

“It might be late.”

“I’ll wait up.” He buried his face in her hair, breathing deeply. “You smell so good.”

She laughed. “It’s Herbal Essence.”

“They’re going to wonder where we are.”

Beatrice’s bell rang.

“They already are.” Patricia smiled.

“Take these.” He handed her the plates. “I’ll go get drinks.”

Patricia returned to the dining room steadier and more unsteady at the same time. Bruce had taken a seat beside Rita, looking much the way Patricia felt. Rita had a sandwich wedge in her hand, which she was gesturing with as she described the pitfalls of a new practice.

“I found paper,” Patricia announced. She couldn’t be sure if she had spoken too loudly. As Ryan walked in behind her with a tray bearing five glasses and a pitcher of punch, she handed out the plates. He poured while Patricia sat down, and when he sat beside her, their legs brushed.

Bruce joined the conversation about new practices because he and Rita were opening one together. Patricia tried to listen to what they were saying, but anytime either she or Ryan moved, she became aware of how close he was. The conversation going on across the table was on television, very distant from her. Ryan was the only real person in the room. She could smell his Irish Spring soap covering the natural and delicious masculine scent of him. When his shirt rustled as he moved, she had to resist watching.

“I was thinking about changing the name of the practice,” Rita said with studied casualness.

“To what? Did you find somebody who wants to join us?” Bruce asked.

“No, but I thought Scalia and Scalia Family Medicine had a better ring to it than De Soto and Scalia.”

Bruce scowled. “We’re gonna have to change the letterhead.”

“Well, if you don’t want to share your name with me, then be that way.”

Ryan frowned at Patricia. She put her hand on his arm to forestall any comment. The front door opened and closed down the hall, and she hoped someone else would deal with it so Ryan could stay with her for this.

“Share my name?” Bruce asked. Then all expression fell off his face. “Is this some kind of screwed-up De Soto marriage proposal?”

“Ryan Wilcox, you are to leave immediately.”

Patricia jumped, whirling around to face the door and knocking over her chair. Everyone else at the table had solidified into a startled sculpture. Beatrice had been smiling and pressing her hands over her heart at Rita’s proposal, but the smile was melting. Rita’s silly grin was draining much faster, and she looked like she might rip the intruder’s throat out. Bruce looked like he might have a heart attack. His face had stiffened into a weird, shocked expression with bright spots of color on his cheeks. Patricia put her hand on Ryan’s shoulder for support, but it felt like she was leaning against a stone wall. Cold, solid, and not about to catch her if she fainted.

David stood in the doorway with a sheaf of papers in his hand. He still had on his coat. “Patricia, step away from him.” He waved her back without taking his gaze from Ryan. “Mr. Wilcox, you have until Monday to leave the premises. You can pick up your final check at the offices of Day and O’Connell that day.”

“David, what are you doing?” Patricia demanded. She squeezed Ryan’s shoulder, trying to assure herself he had not turned to stone. She was not reassured at all.

“Yeah, David, you’re screwing up my big moment.” Rita leaned across the table like she might vault it. Her body quivered with hatred.

Ryan rose, shaking off Patricia’s hand. He turned to the doorway. His face was unreadable, also having turned to stone.

“David Hoess, how dare you come into my home and speak that way.” Beatrice rapped on the table with her knuckles.

“Mr. Wilcox hasn’t been entirely truthful, and I have reason to believe he might be a danger to Patricia.” David strode into the room like he already owned it. He stopped ten feet from Ryan, the awareness that he wouldn’t be able to bodily remove Ryan without help dawning on his face.

“A danger to me?” Patricia put her hand on Ryan’s arm, but it was like touching a statue. “What is he talking about, Ryan?”

“He has a restraining order on him in Atlanta because he was stalking a senator’s wife,” David answered. “Don’t you, Ryan? Or would you rather I went into details about the Ladies Club of Buckhead?”

The muscles in Ryan’s arm tightened under her hand. His gaze slid away from David. Patricia tried to clutch his arm hard enough to stop him, but her hand slipped off. She hurried after him as he moved toward the door. “Ryan, you must tell me what’s going on.”

“David will tell you,” Ryan said as he walked out of the formal dining room.

David stepped in front of her. “Patricia, I came as soon—”

Patricia shoved past him to run after Ryan. “Ryan, wait. Tell me what’s going on. What is David talking about?”

Ryan stopped. “Go back to your supper, Miss Patricia.” A muscle in his jaw twitched.

“What is the Ladies Club of Buckhead?” Patricia rubbed her hand through her hair in the hopes it would control the maelstrom of her thoughts. It sounded so sordid the way David said it, but surely it wasn’t. According to her lawyers, Ryan had been in landscaping and construction before taking this job. She remembered reading the report they’d sent her at school. It had been thorough. Maybe he was just the landscaper to a Southern ladies club. But then why did he have a restraining order against him? Had he gotten involved with one of the ladies?

“Why don’t you tell her, Ryan?” David asked, sauntering into the foyer. “It’s a bondage club, isn’t it? A bondage club where you worked.”

Patricia felt herself spinning out of control. Her lungs seized, and she couldn’t breathe, but everything leaped into crystal focus. He always knew what to do. He knew the terms. Domination and submission. Safe word. He knew how to do everything. How to set things up. How to set her up. She stared at him, frozen. He’d always been so kind and gentle. She begged him with her eyes to tell her it wasn’t true, but she could see by his that it was.

“David, you bastard,” Rita snarled, roaring into the foyer like a natural disaster. “You total motherfucking bastard. This is not necessary. You’re making this up just to mess with Trisha’s head. You’re grandstanding.”

“I’m trying to protect Patricia and her aunt. Mr. Wilcox was arrested for stalking, but the charges were dropped,” David said.

Ryan took the house keys out of his pocket and set them on the table by the door. The keys. When he’d broken into the house, he’d left them with her and told her to lock up after him. The day she’d woken up after being sick, he’d knelt by her bed and said,
“I’m getting too involved again, and I don’t want to hurt you.”
Again. Too involved again. His agonized gaze met hers and then dropped to the floor as he pulled the door shut. His jacket remained hanging inside the house.

“You made that up,” Rita accused.

“It’s right here.” David held up his paper. “He was arrested for violating a restraining order at the home of Mrs. Angela McGuinness seven years ago last spring.”

Patricia picked up the keys. They were still warm. She folded her fingers around them and pressed her hands to her lips. Ryan, a stalker? He’d begged her to let him quit when she was sick, but she wouldn’t let him. Was that what he meant when he said he was too involved? Was it some kind of shameful relationship in a bondage club that got out of hand? Had he broken into some woman’s house? Patricia stumbled to the sidelight and looked down the drive. Ryan had disappeared behind the trees. He must be cold without his coat. She pressed her palm against the window as if she could reach him. Rita was still shouting at David, and as usual, she was saying things Patricia wished she could say.

“Patricia, he didn’t hurt you, did he?” David asked. She heard him move closer.

“Don’t even talk to her,” Rita snarled.

“I don’t need your permission to talk to my fiancée.” David snapped back. “If you were having some kind of fling with him, I understand. He was always here, and I’m sure he’s very persuasive. Really, I can forgive you for falling for him.”

“And does she get to forgive you for fucking the waitress at Firenzi’s?” Bruce asked.

There was a long moment of silence behind Patricia, but it didn’t concern her. She clutched the edges of the sidelight and watched a white van drive toward the house. The only person who concerned her right now had just walked out the front door.

“You’re telling her you forgive her, and you’re screwing a waitress?” Rita howled. Her fury outstripped her vocabulary, leaving her sputtering for a moment before she caught up again. “Get out of here, David Hoess, you fucking ambulance chaser.”

Patricia turned away from the sidelight and walked to the stairs. Guests would be arriving in three hours, and the world had been torn out from under her. She started up, wanting to bury herself in her bed. Under her bed. The bed she had shared with Ryan.

“I do not have to obey your orders, Dr. De Soto,” David growled. “This is Patricia’s house.”

Still clutching the keys, Patricia wrapped her arms around herself. She looked back at all of them from halfway up the staircase. Rita was rigid with rage, and Bruce stood behind her, not quite as angry but still at the top of his range. David stood at the bottom of the stairs like he might follow Patricia up. Aunt Beatrice was at the edge of the hall. She couldn’t see any of the masquerade ball workers around, but they couldn’t be far away. With all this shouting, someone would have gotten curious. How long would it take this to get all over town? Why did it matter? Ryan was gone, and now she couldn’t be sure he’d ever cared about her. Belatedly, she realized David had called her his fiancée. “Get out, David,” she murmured.

“What? Patricia…I was trying to help you.” David clutched the newel post, crumpling his papers.

“Just go.” Patricia couldn’t imagine why she wasn’t screaming, why she wasn’t curled into a ball on the landing screaming until Rita had to stick her with a sedative.