As You Wish (8 page)

“But she came to you for headaches,” Ryan said. “Did the headaches have anything to do with the cancer?”

“No, it had more to do with the fact that her husband had been out of work for three years and smoked around her, and neither one of them eats very well. There were a lot of factors. Headaches serious enough to get her into the clinic should have told me something. I should have given her a complete physical. I was negligent.” Fat tears rolled down her cheeks.

Ryan gathered her in his arms. She clung to him, sobbing. He closed his eyes against tears he thought he was past shedding.
“It’s just a headache, Ry. Just a headache.”
He could almost feel his mother’s hand tousling his hair as she shooed him out the door. “It wasn’t your fault,” he told her, ignoring the ghost. “If she didn’t tell you what the real problem was, you couldn’t have known.”

“I should have known. I’ve seen patients like her before. Women who don’t want to complain and can’t afford medical bills, so they ignore it and hope it goes away,” Patricia wailed. “But it doesn’t go away. It gets worse and worse until it kills them. I should have known when she walked in carrying that dirty cloth purse and wearing worn-out tennis shoes. I should have seen there was something more going on.” She pounded her small fists against his chest. “I should have been paying attention.”

“You’re not God.”

“No, but I’m the doctor.”

“And you have to go on what they tell you. If they tell you it’s just a headache, then that’s what you treat.” Ryan picked her up and kicked the door closed behind them. He set her in the decorative chair at the bottom of the stairs and knelt beside her, stroking her back.

Patricia pressed the heels of her hands against her eyes. “I’m sorry. I’m not being very professional about this. She’s a patient, not my mother.”

Ryan flinched, but she didn’t see it.
“It’s just a headache, Ry. The doctor said it’s just a headache.”
“Is she—does she have kids?”

Patricia shook her head, moving her hands away from her eyes to wipe her cheeks. “She and her husband never had children.”

“Did her headaches go away?”

Patricia laughed bitterly. “I don’t know. When her husband brought her in last week, it was because she was tired. She kept saying it was nothing. She thought it was because she works on her feet all day. She works somewhere like Target or Walmart. It took me two days to get her admitted to the hospital for the exploratory surgery because of the red tape. She hasn’t got any insurance…” Her voice trailed off.

“But you got her into the hospital.”

Patricia nodded. “I had to promise to pay for her myself, but I couldn’t let her die because Columbus doesn’t understand that every hour counts.” She frowned as if something else floated across her mind.

“Then you did more than you needed to.” He stood up. He couldn’t fix the patient, but he could get Patricia to stop worrying about it long enough to let her get some sleep. His own ghosts would wait until later. “Why don’t you go upstairs and get ready for bed, and I’ll have a cup of tea ready for you in the kitchen.” He took her hands to help her up.

“How did you know I drink tea?”

He smiled in the dim light of the foyer, still holding her hands. “Mrs. Dudley told me.”

Patricia gave him a breathtaking smile and hurried up the stairs. At the top, she peered down at him from the balcony. “I wanted to thank you for what you did earlier.”

“When?”

“This evening, when David came. I had been looking for you since…since the other day, and then I didn’t know what to say.”

Ryan smiled. She had been looking for him. A warm glow grew in his belly. “I told you your secret was safe with me.”

“Well, I wanted to thank you anyway.” She turned and walked into the hall.

Ryan waited until he heard her door close before going through the downstairs hall to the kitchen.

He had to be out of his mind.

He shouldn’t be here at all.

He should have gotten her inside and stayed outside where he belonged. She was a big girl; she could deal with her grief alone. And if she couldn’t, then she shouldn’t have sent Davey-boy away.

Ryan turned on the lights of the stark white kitchen. At least the lighting was more favorable in here. In the darkness of the foyer, he’d been too close to kissing away her tears and too close to the stairs leading to her bedroom. She was his boss and his client now. Two very good reasons to not get emotionally involved with her.

But she had been looking for him. She had wanted to talk to him, and she had gotten tongue-tied when she saw him. She needed him to rescue her.

When she came downstairs dressed in faded green scrubs and a blue terry cloth robe, Ryan leaned against the sink. He had left a mug steeping on the table with the milk and the sugar bowl beside it. She had taken her hair down. Ryan’s gut tightened at the sight of those golden strands spilling over her shoulders. She’d washed off her makeup too.

She sighed. “Thank you, Ryan. You have no idea how much I needed this.”

He shrugged, not trusting his voice. His hands ached to gather her silky hair and let it slip through his fingers. He wanted to kiss her scrubbed cheeks. To feel her satisfied sigh as he held her in his arms.

He shouldn’t be here.

She sipped her tea and closed her eyes, savoring it. Her long lashes lay on her cheeks like errant sunbeams.

“How was your date?” Ryan asked to shake himself.

Patricia’s face twisted. “Hard to say. David and I grew up together. Our parents used to joke about how easy it would make things if we got married when we grew up.”

“You aren’t going to marry him, are you?” Ryan’s hands balled into fists. She couldn’t marry David. Couldn’t she see the cruel set of his jaw? Or the possessive glint in his eyes when he looked at the house? If she’d known him for so long, how could she not know what kind of a first-class jerk he was?

“I don’t know. It’s complicated.”

“How complicated can it get? Either you love him or you don’t.”

Patricia sighed. “For some people, that would be all they’d need. I’m not that lucky.”

Princess, Ryan thought. Spoiled princess who thinks all her problems are worse than everyone else’s just because they’re hers.

The phone rang, breaking into his thoughts. Before he could pick it up, Patricia had lunged around the table and grabbed it.

“Oh, hello, Dr. Radesku. What can I help you with?” She nodded into the receiver, chewing her lips. “I thought you were going to do it tomorrow morning.” Ryan heard a strident, accented voice leaking past her ear. She glanced at him. “I’d really like to be there, but I had something planned for tomorrow afternoon… I know I don’t, but— All right. Thank you for letting me know.” Patricia hung up the phone. “Mrs. Magyar’s surgery has been moved to tomorrow afternoon at two thirty.”

“If you can’t see me tomorrow, we can reschedule.” Ryan clenched his teeth. He didn’t want to reschedule. He wanted her tomorrow afternoon in the walled garden.

He just wanted her.

“I’d rather—” She sighed and reached for him.

Without thinking, Ryan drew her into his arms. If he had been thinking, he never would have crossed the threshold tonight and gotten tangled up in her crisis. Instead he held her tight against his body while her arms reached up to twine around his neck.

Her lips sought his, teasing open his mouth. Acting instead of reacting. Ryan waited while she explored him. She had never forced herself on him, and he’d never given her the opportunity. Her needy aggressiveness caught him in a vise of desire.

Shuddering with a sudden, explosive need, he wrapped his hands around her slender waist. She moaned. Her fingers tangled in his hair, sending an electric sizzle across his skin. The length of her soft body pressed into him. She shifted up on her toes, dragging herself against him with a piercing thrill. Her left leg wrapped around his as if she planned to unbalance him, trying to pull him down on top of her on the kitchen floor.

He shouldn’t be here.

“Patricia.” He pulled his mouth away from hers, trying to create some space between them, but even gravity seemed to drag him closer to her. “Patricia, wait.”

“Why? I don’t want to wait. I want you,” she moaned. “Please don’t leave me alone tonight. I’ll do anything.”

His body had a Pavlovian response before his brain could slip into gear. The bed was close; the kitchen table was closer. His entire body throbbed with an almost irresistible need to be inside her. But he shouldn’t even be in the house. “You don’t want to do this.”

“Yes, I do. Please. Master,” she sobbed.

Ryan put his hands around her shoulders and put a few inches between them. It gave him just enough room to think. “Stop for a minute. You’re upset. You’ve had a long day, and you’re tired. I don’t want to take advantage of you because it’s late and you’re feeling weak.”

Patricia pulled away to walk around the table. When she turned back, the aloof Patricia mask was in place. When she spoke, her voice was icy cool. “Of course. You’re right. I won’t be able to make our appointment tomorrow. I have something more important to attend to.”

The sharp pain in his chest made Ryan wonder if she’d stabbed him when he wasn’t looking. A quick check confirmed that his clothing was still intact and the handle of a butter knife, or possibly a spoon, wasn’t sticking out of his chest. “Would you like to reschedule for Sunday afternoon?” He tried to match her calm, but he wanted to throw himself on the floor and beg her to have him. Now he understood the meaning of the word “anything.”

“I’ll be busy. And I’m on call Monday night.”

He nodded. “I’ll choose another day and let you know. Good night.”

“Good night. And thank you for the tea.”

He couldn’t resist a sneer. “I’m here to serve.” Then he turned and walked out through the front door. As he checked the rest of the doors, he forced himself to take deep, even breaths. He’d been getting too close to her and needed to get some perspective. Forgetting she was a client. He had to remember that.

Testing the kitchen door, he peered through the window. It was dark and empty, the teacup still sitting on the table half full. She would probably leave it until Mrs. Dudley came next week. Not only was she the client, she was a spoiled princess who threw tantrums when she didn’t get what she wanted, even when what she wanted was the gardener. He shouldn’t start getting ideas about her having feelings for him. She just needed her dirty little release, and he happened to be her supplier.

He walked back to his little cottage, firmly closing the door behind him. A little time and a little perspective were all he needed.

* * * *

Patricia tapped her fingers on the steering wheel. It had been just over two weeks since her encounter with Ryan in the kitchen. Since then, she’d barely gotten a word out of him, and no black-paper-wrapped roses had appeared in her mailbox. Several nights since then, she’d sat at the bottom of the stairs and watched the knob turn as he checked to make sure everything was secure, debating whether or not to open the door and try to talk to him.

As soon as he’d left that night, she’d gone up to her bedroom, thrown herself across the bed, and cried herself to sleep. He’d been so gentle and so kind and, in retrospect, so correct. She’d been tired and lonely, and she should never have thrown herself at him. He wasn’t interested in her as a woman. As he’d pointed out, she was his boss. It was in his best interest to stay cordial with her, which could include the occasional domination and submission session.

Which, at the moment, she wanted desperately.

David was moving over the weekend. He’d bought a condo on the near side of town and was pressing his suit. If he didn’t manage to mention in conversation how pleased their parents would be, he brought up her duty and her family motto. His parents had also called to express their excitement at the union and to remind her how much her parents wanted this, as if they knew for certain.

Rita pressed the opposite suit. She maintained that David was scaly, and though the idea of Patricia being First Lady had given her pause, she’d argued that the end didn’t justify the means. She’d even resorted to fixing Patricia up with other men. So far Patricia had gone out with a city planner and a gynecologist, and Rita was threatening her with a real estate developer. And instead of comparing them to David and having them come up lacking, Patricia found herself comparing them to Ryan and having them come up lacking.

The only bright spot was Mrs. Magyar’s unexpected recovery. After the surgery, Patricia had learned Dr. Radesku was something of a doom monger so he would look more brilliant when his patients survived against such incredible odds. Patricia had made a note of it in her PDA and spent an afternoon with the Magyars discussing dietary and lifestyle changes that would improve her chances of not relapsing. It had provided one afternoon in the last eighteen when she hadn’t spent the entire time wondering if there would be a rose in her mailbox when she got home and then being crushed when there wasn’t.

Today, she was pretty certain there would be no rose in her mailbox, which was why she was still sitting in her car fifteen minutes after shutting it off. When Ryan had reminded her of her place, she’d been so humiliated and frustrated that she’d had to lash out at him. She could still see the shock in his eyes when she’d told him she wouldn’t be meeting him in the garden as planned. And then the tremor in his voice when he’d asked if she’d like to meet on Sunday. He’d been trying to hide it, but his mask hadn’t quite fallen into place yet. It had taken a couple of days to figure out why he’d looked at his chest before speaking. He must have been bleeding internally from the same wounds she was.

Maybe he would be in the potting shed.

Maybe she should talk to him.

Maybe he would accept an apology.

She opened the car door. Her body hummed like a high-tension wire in the wind. She needed a release so badly that she’d caught herself walking along the lines in the floor tiles like a tightrope this last week. People were giving her looks.

She approached the shed door cautiously. Ryan was inside, swearing at something. Her mind filled with images of the last two times she’d been here. The gentleness of his hands belying his clipped commands. The way his strength unwound her. Three weeks. It had been three weeks since she stepped through this door, shivering with anticipation.