The Heart's Victory (11 page)

“Why not?” Foxy repeated. She lifted her hand to make some helpless gesture, but he caught it in his own. Her fingers trembled as he brought them to his lips. Steadily he watched her.

“Yes, why not?”

“I don't know, I . . . ” He had succeeded in distracting her with the unconventional proposal. She ran her free hand through her hair and tried to think properly. “There must be a reason, I just can't think.”

“Well, if you can't think of any substantial reason against it, marry me and come to Boston.”

“Boston?” Foxy echoed him blankly.

“Boston,” Lance agreed, and for the first time, a faint smile touched his lips. “I live there, remember?”

“Yes, of course.” Foxy rubbed a line between her brows and struggled to concentrate. “Of course I remember.”

“We could leave when you were confident that Kirk was settled. More than likely, he'll be staying here for the next couple of months, but there's no need for you to be here.” Lance's voice was practical, his face absolutely calm. Frustrated and unsure, Foxy shook her head.
I'm hallucinating. Hallucinations don't hurt,
she reminded herself, then quickly shook off the argument. It was easier to believe it was an illusion than to believe Lance was asking her to marry him in the same tone he might ask her to fetch him a cup of coffee.

“Lance, I . . . ” Foxy hesitated, then decided to evade the issue rather than face it head-on. “I don't think I'm taking all this in properly. I'm still a little fuzzy.” She swallowed and tried to match his casual tone. “Let me think about it. Give me a day or two.”

Lance inclined his head. “That sounds reasonable,” he agreed as she rose to move away from him. “No,” he said, causing her to turn and gape at him.

“What did you say?”

“I said no, you can't think about it for a day or two.” In one quick gesture, he had her firmly by the shoulders and had abolished the distance between them. Foxy saw that his eyes were no longer calm but turbulent. He had held her like this before, she remembered, and had looked at her in precisely the same way. Years ago, she reflected, confused and foolishly disoriented, in the empty garage at Le Mans. Was he going to shout at her again? she wondered. Her brows drew together as she tried to keep the past and present separate.

“What do you want?” she asked, struggling with her feelings for him.

“You.” He pulled her yet closer as his eyes burned into hers. “I'm not about to let you walk out of my life, Fox, and I've waited for you long enough.” His mouth lowered swiftly but was gentle on hers. Even so, she could feel the imprisoned passion in the grip of his hands. The kiss was thorough, possessive. “Did you really think I'd calmly walk out that door and give you a couple of days to think it over?” His mouth closed over hers again, preventing any response she might have made. Once again, he drew her away, this time to stare down into her bemused eyes. “Do you think I could want you the way that I do, then walk away after you've told me you need me?”

“Lance, I didn't mean to . . . ” Foxy shook her head as she searched for some scraps of common sense. “You shouldn't feel obligated, I was grateful . . . ”

“The hell with grateful,” he declared, then grabbed her hair with both hands. “I'm not interested in some nice, patient emotion like gratitude. That's not what I want from you.” Foxy saw the determination in his face, heard the fire in his voice. Her blood began to heat in response. “I don't give a damn if the timing's wrong, or that I'm pressing you when your defenses are down. I'm a selfish man, Foxy, and I've wanted you for longer than I care to think about. I'm going to have you.”

Her pulse was beating so quickly, she was giddy. She steadied herself, placing her hands on his arms. “Lance . . . ” Her voice would not behave but insisted on coming out in breathless whispers. “What you're talking about isn't what's necessary for marriage. That's a big step, a lifetime commitment, I don't know . . . ”

“I love you,” he said and stopped her speech cold. Her lips trembled open to form words that would not come. “I want to spend my life with you, and I'm not going back to Boston without you. I can't give you the candlelight and soft words that might smooth the road because I haven't the time or patience for them right now. I'll have to make it up to you later.” His hands moved from her hair to her shoulders to her waist, but he brought her no closer. “Foxy, you drive me out of my mind.” As she watched, she saw both demand and doubt flicker in his eyes. “You love me, too, I know you do.”

“Yes.” She rested her cheek against his chest and sighed. “Yes, I love you. Hold me,” she murmured, finding again she fit perfectly into his arms. “I need you to hold me.” For the next few moments, she allowed herself the incredible luxury of being held and cherished by the man she loved. It's all happening so fast, she thought, then pushed away the fears and listened to the steady drum of Lance's heart.
He loves me.
“Lance.” Tilting her head, Foxy brought her lips to his. Instantly his mouth answered hers, passion for passion, wonder for wonder, until their bodies were heated and entwined. Lance loosened his hold as she shivered from spiraling emotions.

“We can be married in a couple of days.” He spoke calmly again, but his hands wandered up and down her back before they rested on her hips. “The paperwork will take that long. Then we'll go to Boston.” His eye grew serious on her face. “Pam will be here for Kirk, you understand that, don't you?”

“Yes.” Foxy closed her eyes a moment and tried to block out the rushing image of the accident. “Yes, that's for the best. I want to go,” she told him as she opened her eyes. “I want to be with you.” Her nerves were jumping inside her stomach, refusing to grow steady, and she met his mouth desperately. Foxy felt his hunger and matched it. “Stay with me tonight,” she whispered as she buried her face against his neck. “I don't want you to go.”

Slowly Lance drew her away and scanned her face. Her cheeks were still pale, her eyes like smoke against her skin. Already there were faint shadows haunting them. “No.” He shook his head as he brushed the back of his hand down her cheek. “You're too vulnerable tonight, I've already taken advantage of that. You need sleep.” With this, he swept her up in his arms and carried her to the bed. Foxy's body responded to the weightlessness by floating with the fatigue. After he laid her on the mattress, he sat beside her. “Do you want anything?”

“Tell me again.”

Lance lifted her hand and turned the palm to his lips. “I love you. Will you sleep?”

“Yes, yes, I'll sleep.” Foxy could feel the weariness pressing down on her. She closed her eyes and immediately began to dream. Lance's lips were a soft promise on hers.

“I'll come for you in the morning,” he murmured. Dimly she felt the bed shift as he stood. She was asleep before the door closed behind him.

Chapter 8

Sunlight fell fresh and brilliant over Foxy's face. She moaned as it began to penetrate her slumber. Her mind gently floated to the surface, noticing small, inconsequential things: the rapid ticking of her travel alarm on the stand beside the bed, the vague itch between her shoulder blades, the uncomfortable warmth of the spread that lay on top of her. She had huddled under it during the night when she awakened cold and frightened in the dark. She did not remember the nightmare yet, the vivid clarity in which she had relived Kirk's crash. She had awakened, panting for breath, cold as ice, with terror ripping away all thought of sleep. She did not remember yet that the tears had finally come in torrents until her eyes were raw and her ribs ached from the strain. She had wept herself numb, then had fallen into a fitful sleep, plagued with doubts about her unconventional engagement to Lance. Perhaps he had proposed out of a sense of duty. Foxy had tried to recapture the feeling she had experienced when he had told her he loved her, but she was cold and miserable. She had huddled under the blanket and wished for morning.

Now that it was here, she found the light annoying and the spread stifling. She shifted crossly, still half asleep, and wished the spread would disappear without her having to move. As her consciousness swam reluctantly closer to the surface her memory began to merge with it. Her mind clear, she sat up abruptly and rested her face on her knees.

Pull yourself together, Foxy,
she ordered, drawing her breath slowly in and out of her lungs.
You had a bad night; now shake it off and get down to business. Lance will be here soon.
Lifting her head, Foxy narrowed her eyes and stared at her left hand, trying to imagine an engagement ring on the third finger.

“I'm going to marry him,” she said aloud, just to hear how the words would sound. Her stomach shivered, announcing the state of her nerves. It came to her abruptly that she knew absolutely nothing about the man who lived in Boston and ran a multimillion-dollar business. The Lance Matthews she knew was a cocky ex-driver who played a mean hand of poker and knew how to tear down an engine. The only hint she had seen of the other side of him had been on their date in Monte Carlo. It was, she reflected, not enough. She was going to marry him without knowing the whole man. Did he belong to the country club? Did he play golf on Saturdays? Foxy tried to imagine Lance swinging a nine iron and got nowhere. Shutting her eyes, she let the reckless side of her push away the doubts.
This is no time to sit around thinking,
she told herself.
What does it matter if he plays golf or backgammon or if he's into yoga? What does it matter if he wears a three-piece suit and carries a briefcase or if he wears jeans and sneakers?
Biting down on her lips, Foxy wondered when she had sewn this particular patchwork of thought together.
I've got to get up and put myself together so that I don't look like a zombie when he gets here.

Throwing off the spread, Foxy rose from the bed and discovered that every muscle in her body was taking revenge on her for the restless night.
A hot shower,
she reflected, and began to strip off the clothes she had slept in.
I'm not nervous, I'm just groggy.
When Lance knocked at her door thirty minutes later, Foxy was just completing her attempt to camouflage the results of the wakeful night.

She wore a plain yellow shift, with her hair neatly coiled at her neck. Lance studied her face carefully before speaking. Her eyes were freed now from shock but were still haunted by shadows. He took her chin in his hand and frowned. Her fragile looks were intensified by the violet smudges under her eyes. Weeping had left them faintly swollen and weary.

“You've been crying,” he accused, making Foxy realize that all her attempts with base and blusher and mascara had been for nothing. His voice was taut, and she could feel the tension in his fingers. It added to her own. “Didn't you sleep?” he demanded.

“Not very well,” she admitted and wondered why he seemed so angry. “I woke during the night. It all seemed to hit me at once.”

Lance's frown deepened. “I should have stayed.”

“No.” She shook her head, searching his eyes for the reason for the roughness in his voice. “I needed to be alone to get it out of my system. I'm better now.”

Something flickered in his eyes before they became unfathomable. “Have you changed your mind?”

Foxy knew he was speaking of their marriage and felt a quick thrill of alarm. She forced herself to speak calmly. “No.”

Lance nodded and released her chin. “Fine. We'll take care of the paperwork before we go by the hospital. Ready?”

Foxy frowned but stepped into the corridor, closing the door at her back. “When we see Kirk,” she began as they walked toward the steps, “I'd like to tell him about our plans myself . . . when the time's right.”

Lance's brow lifted and fell. “Fine.”

Miffed by his tone and by his cool self-possession, Foxy tilted her face to his and spoke coldly. “Maybe I should've asked if you'd changed your mind.”

“I'd have let you know if I had,” he returned as they stepped into the sunlight.

“Undoubtedly,” she agreed. Saying nothing, Lance led her to the sleek blue Porsche he had rented that morning. For the first time since her screaming fear of the previous afternoon, Foxy began to feel the full emotion of anger. “Are you going to have your lawyers draw up a contract? I want to be certain to read the fine print.”

“Save it, Foxy,” Lance warned and opened the passenger door.

“No.” She stood back and glared. “I don't know why you're acting like this. Maybe you're just a miserable human being in the mornings. I'll get used to it, I suppose. But you'd better get used to the fact that I say what I want when I want. If you don't like it, you can—”

Her tirade was cut off as he slammed the door shut and pulled her roughly into his arms. His mouth came down hard on hers. Angry and dominant, his lips bruised hers while she stood too surprised to protest or respond. He held her, ravishing her mouth until she was breathless. Then, with a suddenness that left her gasping, he set her aside. “And I know how to shut you up when I don't want to hear it.”

Foxy managed one indignant huff. “You're a maniac,” she told him as he opened her door again.

“All right,” he agreed. Then, without giving her a chance for further comment, he nudged her into the car.

For the first time, Foxy noticed two young girls standing on the sidewalk giggling. Furious and embarrassed, she folded her arms and clamped her lips shut. She would not give him the satisfaction of either arguing or submitting herself to his idle conversation. In utter silence, they drove off to secure a marriage license.

A scant two hours later, after speaking only when unavoidable, they walked into Kirk's hospital room. Foxy did her best not to register any shock at the sight of the bandages and plaster. His leg was surrounded by an external fixture rather than a cast. To Foxy's eyes it looked like an erector set built by a clever teenager. Surrounded by white sheets and bandages, tubes and metal, Kirk lay propped up in bed. He was scowling at Pam with the look of a man who has just finished giving a heated speech. Instantly Foxy sensed the tension and glanced from one to the other. She thought it best to employ tact and make no comment. Because she had known Kirk would hate them, she hadn't brought any flowers. Empty-handed, she crossed to the bed and gravely studied him.

“You're a mess,” she concluded, making her voice lightly scornful. Her stomach trembled at the number of bandages and the terrifyingly foreign-looking apparatus around his leg. As she had hoped, the scowl faded and a grin took its place.

“You're cute, too. Hi, Lance. I think I might have dented a fender on your car.”

“Scraped the paint, too,” he said easily as his hands disappeared into his pockets. Watching him, Pam noted that he was uncomfortable in hospital rooms. Foxy, she mused, was putting up a front Kirk would see through if it occurred to him to look. But of course it wouldn't. “I'd keep clear of Charlie for a while,” Lance advised as he glanced over to find Pam's eyes on him. Her face was composed, but he could detect the signs of a sleepless night. He had seen the expression she wore before, on wives, parents, and lovers of countless other drivers. A quick, silent understanding passed between them before he looked back at Kirk.

“I heard Betinni took first and hooked the championship.” Hampered by the position, Kirk's shrug was awkward. “He's a good driver. We've been passing off the lead all season.” He shifted a bit, and Foxy caught the brief wince of pain. Knowing sympathy would only earn her a growl, she turned to Pam.

“Well,” she said with a smile a shade too bright, “I don't suppose he's been giving you any trouble.”

“On the contrary.” Pam glanced at Kirk, then back to his sister. “He's been giving me a great deal.”

“Pam.” Kirk's irritated tone held a warning. She ignored both.

“He's ordered me back to Manhattan. He's very annoyed because I'm not going.”

Unsure what to say, Foxy looked from Pam to Kirk, then to Lance. “Well,” she said and cleared her throat.

“He seems to think I'm being quite unreasonable,” Pam added in the same mild tone.

“And stupid,” Kirk tossed out. His scowl was back, deeper than before.

“Oh yes.” Pam smiled gently. “And stupid. I'd forgotten that.”

“Look,” Kirk began, and Foxy recognized the dangerous pitch in his voice. “You've got no reason to hang around here.”

“I've got a hospital fetish,” Pam returned.

“Damn it, I don't want you!” Kirk shouted, then cursed at the pain that followed his outburst.

Firmly Lance took Foxy's arm as she started to move forward. “Keep out of it,” he ordered quietly.

“Too bad,” Pam retorted. Her voice was soft, but she stood like a general facing the enemy, her shoulders straight. The sun streamed through the window behind her, haloing her hair. “You're not getting rid of me. I love you.”

“You're crazy,” Kirk threw back, fidgeting in the bed.

“Very likely.”

He narrowed his eyes at her careless response. In the strong sunlight, her skin looked like alabaster. He felt the need rise surprisingly fast. “I'm not letting you stay,” he ground out in defense.

“What're you going to do?” Pam countered with a shrug. “Kick me back to Manhattan with your good leg?”

“I will as soon as I can get up,” Kirk muttered, furious that he had to lie flat on his back to argue with a woman half his size.

“Yeah?” The slang came with elegant ease from Pam's delicately tinted lips. She walked over and gave his mustache a hard tug that brought out a sound of surprised protest. “Remind me to be scared later. Now as I see it I've got three choices. I can murder you, jump off a bridge, or I can cope. I come from a long line of copers. You, on the other hand,” she added with a pat on his cheek, “simply have no choice at all. You're stuck with me.”

“Think so, huh?” Kirk's mouth twisted into a reluctant grin. “Guess you're pretty tough.”

“You guess right,” she agreed, then bent to kiss him lightly. Kirk grabbed a handful of her hair and took the kiss deeper.

“We're going to settle this when I can stand up,” he muttered, but pulled her back to kiss her again.

“I'm sure we will,” Pam said with a smile as she sat on the edge of the bed. Foxy noted that his hand sought hers.

He loves her,
she realized suddenly.
He really loves her.
Her eyes fastened on Pam with a look of respect and hope.
Maybe,
she thought rapidly,
maybe she's the answer. Maybe he's finally found an alternative.

“Well.” Pam smiled into Foxy's bemused face. “Is there any news from the outside world?”

“News?” Foxy repeated, trying to reorganize her thoughts.

“Earthquakes, floods, wars, famine,” Pam prompted with a laugh. “I feel I've been neatly cut off for the past twenty-four hours.”

“There hasn't been any of those that I know of,” Foxy answered with a glance at Kirk.
This is the time,
she told herself.
This is the time to tell him.
Suddenly she felt ridiculously nervous and awkward. “Lance and I,” she began, then her eyes sought his for reassurance. Taking a deep breath, she looked back at Kirk and spoke quickly. “Lance and I are going to be married.” Instantly Foxy saw the surprise and puzzlement cover Kirk's face. His brows drew together as he stared at her.

“Well!” Pam rose quickly and hugged Foxy. “This is news. The best kind.” Glancing over Foxy's head, she met Lance's eyes. “You're a very lucky man.”

“Yes,” he returned, unsmiling. “I know.”

“Married?” Kirk interrupted. “What do you mean, married?”

“The usual definition,” Foxy told him as she moved to his bedside. “You've heard it before, it's still quite popular.”

“When?” he demanded shortly.

“As soon as the blood tests and paperwork are taken care of,” Lance put in casually. After strolling over to the bed, he slipped an arm around Foxy's shoulders. Kirk watched the gesture, then lifted his eyes to Lance's face. “What's the matter?” Lance asked him with a grin. “Did you want us to get your permission?”

“No,” Kirk mumbled uncomfortably. Looking up into Foxy's face, he remembered the little girl. “Yeah,” he admitted with a sigh. “Maybe. I could have used a little warning, anyway.”

“You're hardly in any shape to beat him up now,” Foxy pointed out. Lance's arm around her eased away her tension, and her eyes laughed down at Kirk.

Kirk studied his best friend and then his sister. When he held out his hand, Foxy slipped hers into it. “You sure?”