LOVE LIES MARYJANICE DAVIDSON MS Reader (LIT) ISBN # 1-84360-307-1 Mobipocket (PRC) ISBN #1-84360-308-X Other available formats (no ISBNs are assigned): Adobe (PDF), Rocketbook (RB), & HTML (c) Copyright MaryJanice Davidson, 2002. All Rights Reserved, Ellora's Cave. Ellora's Cave, Inc. USA Ellora's Cave Ltd, UK This e-book may not be reproduced in whole or in part by email forwarding, copying, fax, or any other mode of communication without author permission. Edited by Martha Punches Cover Art byScott Carpenter Warning: The following material contains strong sexual content meant for mature readers. LOVE LIES has been rated Hard R, erotic, by three individual reviewers. We strongly suggest storing this electronic file in a place where young readers not meant to view this ebook are unlikely to happen upon it. That said, enjoy... CHAPTER ONE Victor Lawrence glanced at his watch and sighed. Administration had been keeping him waiting four minutes by his count, and they were allowed exactly one more before he walked out of here. He was the money-man, for God's sake. What did they think they were doing, making him cool his heels like a patient? He got up and stepped outside to see if Dr. Langenfeld was on his way, when he heard a shrill, "Look out!" and then felt a walloping pain in his knees. The impact drove him to the carpet. Holding both knees and swallowing an undignified yelp of agony, he rolled over on his back and glared at the reckless driver. She was sitting in her wheelchair, both hands clapped over her mouth, looking at him with wide, shocked eyes. Immediately, he swallowed half the things he wanted to say. He was a bastard, at least, according to his ex-wife and her lawyers, but he wasn't mean enough to scream at a woman in a wheelchair. Especially one who looked as horrified as she did, if the size of those baby blues was any indication. "If you're late, don't let me keep you," he managed to say without gasping. His knees were throbbing in perfect rhythm with his heart. He was afraid to let go of them to see how badly she'd shredded his slacks. But not knowing was actually worse, so he cautiously let go, sat up, and looked. Amazing! The fabric wasn't torn. Neither, presumably, was his skin. And now that he thought about it, he'd taken harder knocks in the dojo. But there, at least, one expected it. Hospitals were supposed to be safe places. "Were you going to therapy?" He gentled his tone, not wanting to frighten her further. She made a strangled sound and he climbed to his feet, forcing a smile. "It's all right. No harm done," he lied, certain he'd be limping the rest of the week. "Don't get upset, now." She finally dropped her hands--and started laughing. He saw at once that she hadn't been frightened at all, that she'd been covering her mouth in an attempt to swallow the giggles before they could escape. By the time she finished she was slumped in her wheelchair, wiping her streaming eyes. "I'm sorry," she gasped, "but you--oh, God! You went over like a bowling pin. And the look on your..." She snorted and appeared ready to go off into still more gales of laughter, but he interrupted her. "As an apology that leaves a lot to be desired. You..."Should watch where you're going , he'd been about to say, but that wasn't the sort of thing one said to someone who didn't have the use of her legs. Perhaps he should have been more careful--they were in a hospital, after all. "You could have been hurt. You should be more careful." She grinned up at him and her great looks hit him like a blow. She had rich brown hair that glowed with red highlights, even under poor fluorescent lighting. Her eyes were pale blue, almost icy, and if she weren't smiling they would have seemed cold. And her smile! Her mouth was wide and mobile and her lips were full, the upper lip a near-perfect cupid's bow. It was a mouth meant for staring at, for worshipping, for kissing. She was very pale, but her skin had a pinkish undertone, giving her face a healthy glow. In short, she was the best looking woman he'd seen outside Hollywood, much less within the bowels of The Carlson-Musch Institute for Mental Health. He realized he was staring with his mouth open and said again, harsher than he intended, "You should be more careful." "Don't get huffy with me," she said tartly--and unrepentantly! "You're the one who didn't look both ways before exiting the office. Tall people, I swear. They can't see below five feet." "We can when we get run down like a gopher in the road," Victor snapped back, then immediately felt bad. No one liked it when he was angry, ex-wives, divorce lawyers, aikido partners, and now she would cringe, and those gorgeous eyes would glisten with unshed tears, and she'd fumble for the wheels so she could roll away, probably sobbing, and-- "You whine like a toddler," she informed him cheerfully. Before he could respond to that, they both heard the chime of the elevator. "Oops! Company coming." "Finally," he muttered. "Stimulating as this has been, er, whatever your name is, Dr. Langenfeld has finally remembered I'm his ten o'clock. Time to part ways." The effect of his statement was electric. The woman's eyes widened, then narrowed, and she leapt out of her chair.Out of herchair ? In his surprise he nearly fell back to the carpet again. "Dammit!" she cried, dodging past him and into the office. "He can't see me, if he sees me he'll kick me out and I'm not--listen, cover for me, okay?" And with that, she dived into the closet, slamming the door shut behind her. Victor stared at the closet door, nonplused. He hadn't been this astonished when he managed to successfully evade being audited for the third year in a row. When his ex-wife left him but disdained alimony. When-- "Ah, Mr. Lawrence. I'm Dr. Langenfeld." Langenfeld held out his hand and, robot-like, Victor shook it. "Sorry to keep you waiting--what, over ten minutes!" Langenfeld gulped thirstily at his coffee and sat down. "Yes, well. We had a problem with a patient's family...my secretary should have told you." "Ten minutes?" Victor echoed stupidly. It had been four minutes when he stepped outside and got creamed by what's-her-name. Time flies when you're being assaulted and insulted. "Yes, and, as I say, it's unforgivable. Take your coat?" Langenfeld didn't wait for an answer, just scooped up Victor's jacket and opened the closet door. "Don't!" Victor yelled, startling the doctor into turning and dropping the jacket. The closet door hung part-way open and Vic could see the woman standing amidst white lab coats. Langenfeld, completely unaware that she was standing less than two feet away, was looking at Victor over his shoulder. The woman backed deeper into the closet, but there was nowhere to go.Do something , she mouthed. "Beg pardon?" "My coat. I'd like to keep it. Here, give it to me." He hurried to Langenfeld's side, grabbing his coat back and slamming the door shut at the same time. It was rumored that Dr. Dean Langenfeld had gotten his job through nepotism, and that may have been true, but he didn't get to be the head of one of the most prestigious mental hospitals in the country without learning something about people's idiosyncrasies. As such, he didn't comment when Victor snatched his jacket back and slammed the closet door. He just gestured to an empty chair and walked around his desk to the other side. "All right, then," he said briskly. "Where were we?" "You were apologizing for keeping me waiting." "Right. Sorry about that." The man didn't sound too worried, though. Victor decided to remind him just what was at stake. "Massachusetts General might be able to put my money to better use," he threatened, "and they likely wouldn't keep me waiting to write the check, either." Ah! This was satisfying. Langenfeld nearly choked on his coffee. "Oh no, no, no, Mr. Lawrence. I--that is,we want--we need the money. Very much. Please?" "I'm not a big fan of hospital charity work." Victor dropped into the proffered seat with a grimace. Aargh , his knees! "The medical community has billions of dollars, but hospitals are always whining for more money. Figure that one out." Langenfeld squirmed, but, Victor noted with an internal sigh, didn't dare argue. Flash a little money at someone and they turned into a jellyfish. The country's medical crisis was just a tad more complicated than all that. A pity Langenfeld wouldn't point that out. Victor liked people who had guts. They were rarer than honest lawyers. He ought to know. He tried once more. "If you guys spent a little less on inflated doctor's salaries and a little more on equipment, you'd be doing a lot better." Nope. Nothing. Langenfeld was even nodding in agreement. Victor sighed. "That's neither here nor there. I'll be frank, Langenfeld. I need the tax break. And good PR never hurts." "Right, right. And we're very grateful. Ah...how much--I mean, what amount were you--did you want to--" "Five hundred thousand," Victor said casually. "To start, we'll see how it goes from there." Langenfeld was, to no great surprise, nearly overwhelmed with gratitude. So overwhelmed he stood and pumped Victor's hand ...
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