The Lonely Hearts Club (4 page)

*

“You’re very good, but I know you’re cheating,” a low sultry voice murmured in Jae’s ear.

Jae pushed her chips across the table to the dealer. “Cash me out.”

Taking her time, Jae folded the hundred dollar bills and slid them into the front pocket of her silk tuxedo pants. The stranger was standing close behind her, close enough that Jae felt the press of the firm breasts against her back. Not exactly an invitation, more of a challenge.

And the hard, heavy heat in her pelvis made her think a challenge was just exactly what she needed.

Bren rubbed her eyes and leaned back in her desk chair, rereading the last few paragraphs. Jae was headed for a fall, but then, it was time. She’d been skating the edge of her need throughout three books, and Bren knew it was time to push her to face what she really wanted.

“I hope my editor thinks so,” Bren muttered, envisioning the rest of the scene. Jae on her knees, a pale slender hand gripping her hair—

The phone rang, shattering the image.

“Hell.” Bren checked caller ID, then grabbed the phone. “Hi.”

“Hi,” Candace said. “What are you doing?”

“Getting ready for bed. It’s midnight.” Bren hadn’t told Candace or Liz or anyone when she’d gotten her first book accepted for publication. Back then, she told herself she was keeping it a secret because it was probably just a fluke. Maybe no one would buy her book or like her book and she’d never write another one. Now, five years later, she was one of the most popular erotic romance novelists working, and she couldn’t use that excuse any longer. She hadn’t told her best friends because her writing, the characters she created, were just so private, so personal, she didn’t know how to share them. How could she ever explain to them that the fictional world she fashioned sometimes felt much more satisfying than the one she lived in every day. It would only hurt them, and she cared about them too much to do that. “What’s going on?”

“I just talked to Liz. She doesn’t want me to go with her to the doctor’s.”

“How did she sound?”

“About how you’d expect when your cheating lowlife girlfriend walks out on you.”

“Candace,” Bren said gently, “I know you love her…”
still in love with her, Cand?
“…and you’re worried, but Liz is going to be okay. What she needs is for us to help make the next seven months the wonderful, happy time it should be. She’ll get over Julia.”

“You’re right,” Candace sighed. “I never thought Julia was right for her.”

“Maybe she wasn’t. Maybe this will turn out to be the best thing that could happen to Liz.”

“I hope you’re right.”

Bren laughed. “Aren’t I always?”

“Yes, damn it. Usually. All right, go to bed so you won’t fall asleep in the stacks tomorrow.”

“Night.”

Bren hung up and saved the file she was working on. Sex was out of the question now—if she started, she wouldn’t be able to stop until she was finished, and she’d be too keyed up or too aroused to sleep, and she had an early morning meeting. She clicked over to her email to take one last check before she went to bed. Smiling, she opened one of the recent messages.

Dear Melanie – When is Jae going to fall in love?

When indeed
, Bren thought, and decided to leave the answer to another day.

If Liz heard the phrase “fecal contamination” one more time, she was going to vomit. In fact, she was going to vomit no matter what the next words uttered by the VP of Risk Management.

“Excuse me,” Liz blurted as she shoved back her chair. Registering the expressions of surprise on the men and women gathered around the conference table, she jumped up and bolted from the room. Praying she would make it, she fled down the hall toward the restroom.

Mercifully, both stalls were empty and she swerved into the nearest one just in time. Hot and dizzy, she dropped to her knees and braced her forearms on the cool white porcelain. Eyes closed, she surrendered to a second wave of the all too familiar nausea and vomited.

At first, she thought she imagined a hand gently drawing her hair away from her face. But the wonderfully cold paper towel against the back of her neck was real enough. So was the quiet voice.

“Take a breath, nice and slow.”

Liz sensed someone kneel beside her and felt an arm curve around her shoulders. Helpless to do otherwise, she leaned into the embrace.

“God, this is embarrassing,” Liz whispered, eyes still closed as she took one breath after another until she started to feel a little better.

“Oh I don’t know, I can think of a lot worse things.”

Liz wanted to laugh, but the effort was still too much. “Thank you for…oh,” she said when she focused on the face so close to her own. The eyes she remembered as the color of winter sky were darker now, nearly black with…worry? “Reilly. God. Thanks.”

“How are you feeling?”

“I’m fine,” Liz said as briskly as she could manage, realizing she was still on her knees in a toilet stall being held by a near stranger. Could she possibly be any more humiliated? She braced a hand against the gunmetal gray divider separating the two stalls and pushed herself up.

“Take it easy,” Reilly said immediately, sliding her arm from Liz’s shoulder down to her waist.

Liz was acutely aware of Reilly’s body pressed against hers in the cramped space. They were almost the same height, a little above average, and she had always considered herself to be in good shape—at least as good as twice weekly workouts in the gym and the occasional early morning run could keep her when so much of her time was spent behind a desk. But it didn’t take more than fleeting contact for her to recognize that Reilly’s body was hard, hard in the way only serious athletes were ever conditioned.

“Still a jock, huh,” Liz murmured.

“Comes with the territory.” Laughing, but her face still creased with concern, Reilly stepped back while keeping both hands lightly on Liz’s hips. “Steady?”

Liz straightened her shoulders. “Yes. I’m all right. I just need to—” she gestured toward the sinks.

“Sure.” Reilly released Liz almost reluctantly and moved aside to allow her to reach the sinks. Folding her arms, she studied Liz as she leaned over the sink and ran cold water to freshen up. Her naturally pale skin was ashen. Sweat beaded on her forehead and soaked the hair at her temples, making the deep red-brown appear nearly black. “When you’re ready, we’ll get you something to drink.”

Liz waved a hand in her direction. “You must be busy. You don’t need to babysit me now.” Blotting her face with a paper towel, Liz smiled a “I have everything under control” smile. “Thank you for coming to my rescue.”

“Hardly.” Reilly shrugged, watching Liz’s eyes, which she had learned during their brief conversation the week before were the true barometer of how she was feeling. Right now, their lustrous green was cloudy. “How long have you been feeling ill?”

“I…” Liz fumbled for the words. She hadn’t told anyone other than Candace and Bren yet. Over the last week, she’d started planning for the changes in her life that were right around the corner. She’d have to arrange for maternity leave, find a nanny, and then negotiate with her law partners how best to adjust her work schedule when she returned—not to even mention doctor’s visits, baby clothes, nursery furniture. If she let herself think about it, she’d panic over how much there was to do. But structuring the future assuaged her anxiety and helped restore her confidence in herself. Still, she wasn’t ready to face the explanation and the inevitable questions that would follow. Not now, not to Reilly. Not when she already must appear so pathetically weak. “I’m not sick, in fact, I’m already feeling much better. Maybe it’s something I ate or a twenty-four-hour bug. Really, Reilly. Go back to work.”

“I worked last night so I’m off today. The only reason I’m still here at eight-thirty in the morning is that there was a staff meeting.” Reilly pushed away from the wall and took a step closer. “You’re white as a sheet, Liz. And you’re shaking. Do you have a car here?”

“No, I usually take a cab. Saves the time of parking.”

“Then let me drive you home.”

“I’m not going home,” Liz said incredulously. Spying her purse on the floor, she busied herself retrieving it. She didn’t even remember grabbing it on her flight from the conference room, but she was glad she had. Avoiding Reilly’s slightly unnerving scrutiny, she searched her purse for the mints she always carried and slipped one into her mouth. “I’m in the middle of a meeting with the hospital administrators, and I have a dep to prepare for this afternoon.”

“You need something to drink and a little bit of food in your stomach. And you need to change your clothes.”

“What?” Liz glanced down at her navy slacks. Both knees were marked by perfect damp, chalky ovals.

“I think that’s cleanser,” Reilly observed. “And I think emergency dry-cleaning is required.”

“God damn it,” Liz muttered. “I
do
need to go home.” She eyed Reilly. “But I’m just a ten minute cab ride away. I really don’t need you to go out of your way.”

“Liz, stop being so stubborn.”

“I’m not being stu—” Liz caught the flicker of amusement on Reilly’s face and grinned despite her acute embarrassment. She hated that Reilly had witnessed her debacle. She also hated to admit that the subtle sickness still churned in her stomach. “All right, maybe I am a little…resistant. I’d love a ride, thank you. Let me get my briefcase and make up some excuse.”

“Why don’t you just tell them you’re not feeling well?” Reilly asked as she followed Liz out into the hall.

Liz shot her a look. “What is it you surgeons say? To ask for help—”

“Is a sign of weakness,” Reilly finished. “I doubt anyone would ever consider you weak. And being under the weather is hardly a sign of weakness.”

“Just give me a minute,” Liz said, heading down the hall. Despite what Reilly had said, she doubted that if Reilly were ill, she’d ever admit to her fellow surgeons that she couldn’t do her job. No matter how natural that circumstance might be, women in positions like theirs still didn’t admit to their predominantly male colleagues that there was anything, short of death, that could interfere with their work. And then
they’d
better be the ones dead. She took a deep breath, settled her expression into one of calm control, and stepped into the conference room.

“I’m so sorry,” Liz said. “The office just paged and I’m afraid I have to go. I’ll check in with you later, Tom, in case there’s anything we need to go over.”

Then, before anyone could respond, she gathered her briefcase and walked out. It was always much better to leave with the last word.

“Ready?” Reilly asked.

“Yes,” Liz replied, although she wondered what she was doing letting a woman she barely knew take her home. Reilly’s quiet insistence was very persuasive, but she certainly didn’t need anyone taking care of her. Hormones. That’s all it was.

*

Five minutes into the ten minute ride from West Philadelphia to Rittenhouse Square, Liz realized she was experiencing another of those unnerving transitions that were becoming all too frequent. She wasn’t nauseous any longer. She was starving. Starving as in if she didn’t eat something in the next few minutes, she was likely to attack innocent bystanders on the street.

“Are you tired?” Liz asked. “You said you worked all night.”

Reilly glanced over as she maneuvered her red Chevy Camaro through the relatively sparse midmorning traffic. “Not really. I’m usually keyed up after being on call and I don’t like to sleep during the day. Why?”

“I’m hungry. There’s a great bagel shop a few blocks from my building. If you don’t mind taking a detour, we can grab some. That is, if you haven’t had breakfast or—”

“Sounds great. Brenner’s?”

“That’s the place. I guess everyone knows it.”

“Probably. At least everyone in the neighborhood.” Reilly turned down Twenty-first Street. “We’re practically neighbors.”

“Really? Where do you live?”

“I’ve got an apartment on Pine. One of the old brownstones near Twenty-second.”

“Nice.”

“Yeah,” Reilly said flatly. She pulled over to the curb, switched off the engine, and turned toward Liz. “You want me to go in?”

“Obviously, my appetite is back and I’m feeling fine.” Liz glanced down at her stained slacks. “But I look a little worse for the wear.”

“Just give me your order. I’ll take care of it.”

Liz hesitated, then bowing to common sense, acquiesced. After giving Reilly her order, she watched out the window as Reilly sprinted around the front of the car and loped toward the bagel shop. Like most surgeons Liz knew, Reilly didn’t walk when she could run. On the other hand, the sensitive way Reilly had comforted her that morning wasn’t something Liz was used to when dealing with surgeons, who frequently seemed if not self-centered, at least fiercely focused to the exclusion of almost everything else. Remembering the way Reilly had held her in her arms when she’d been too sick to stand up, Liz felt a rush of gratitude—and a flush of pleasure at the memory of Reilly’s hard body. That was a reaction she didn’t care to examine too carefully, especially not when her emotional state resembled a rollercoaster off its tracks.