With a grin that was way too intoxicating, he touched her face. “I want you to laugh at what I say, but only when I’m saying something worth laughing at. I was serious. You are a very beautiful woman, Eleanor.”
Despite the fact that she was sure he didn’t mean her to laugh, she couldn’t suppress the nervous little giggle that spilled from her lips. “Yeah, well, th-thank you.”
Because, really, what else could she say?
“Tell me about that,” he urged in a slow drawl.
She bit her lower lip, hoping he wasn’t asking what she thought he was asking.
“Your stutter.”
Face flaming, she shook her head. “Nothing funny about my stuttering so let’s not talk about it.”
“Have you always stuttered?” he asked, as if she hadn’t just spoken.
“Perhaps you didn’t hear what I just said. I don’t want to talk about me.”
“But I do. You fascinate me.”
Had he been drinking? The hospital wasn’t serving anything alcoholic, but perhaps someone had spiked the punch.
“When I was younger, I—I stuttered all the time. These days it usually only h-happens when I’m in a stressful sit-situation.”
He studied her a moment. “Am I a stressful situation?”
“Men are always stressful,” she answered flippantly, because she didn’t want to label anything at all about the way Tyler made her feel. Not the way he’d made her feel before tonight and especially not the way he was making her feel at that very moment.
He leaned his long frame against the hospital wall they stood near, crossed his arms and regarded her. “Ya know, I just realized that during the entire time I’ve been at Angel’s I’ve never heard a thing about you and a man, Eleanor. Is there someone special in your life?”
Had the room suddenly grown hot? Her skin had certainly grown clammy.
“Not at the moment.”
“Lucky me.”
Not sure what to say, Eleanor glanced around the lobby that had been converted into a reception area for tonight’s gathering. The crowd had started to thin and most of the press had left.
“I should probably quit monopolizing your company,” she said, realizing that he hadn’t left her side the entire evening.
“Please don’t, darlin’.”
She glanced up at him.
“I want you monopolizing my … company.”
Her breath caught. He was flirting with her. Really flirting. If she’d had any doubts earlier, now she didn’t.
The only problem was that Tyler Donaldson flirting with her was way out of her league. As in she wouldn’t know how to flirt back if her life depended on it.
So she just smiled and took a sip of her punch.
He had the audacity to laugh, causing her gaze to return to him. When their eyes met, she found herself laughing back.
She wasn’t sure exactly what they were laughing at, but a giddy happiness flowed through her, along with a shared connection with Dr. Tyler Donaldson that was both unexpected, a bit magical and so exciting she could barely breathe.
“Who’s the hunk?”
Totally lost as to what Brooke meant, Eleanor glared at her sister across the Aston penthouse’s breakfast table. Brooke’s face was masked by a thick layer of medicated cream.
Eleanor had gotten up that morning determined to accomplish one thing. To kill her sister.
Not literally.
Maybe.
But seriously, Brooke had gone too far this time. Even though the night had turned out nothing short of wonderful thanks to Ty, that didn’t mean Brooke wasn’t going to get an earful.
“Don’t try changing the subject,” she warned, tapping her finger against the glass tabletop covering the rich mahogany. “You broke into a hospital doctors’ lounge and stole my clothes.”
“I,” her sister put great emphasis on the pronoun, “didn’t do anything. And don’t change the subject.” Brooke’s head bobbed with attitude, which should have come across as ridiculous, with her platinum hair tied up and flying every which way, thick white cream covering her still-swollen face and her body wrapped in a fuzzy pink terry-cloth robe, but which somehow didn’t look ridiculous at all.
Even while suffering from an allergic reaction, her sister managed to pull off cool.
Brooke slid that morning’s paper across the breakfast table. “Who is he and where can I get one? He’s yummy. Introduce me.”
“What are you talking about?” But even as Eleanor finished asking she saw exactly what her sister referred to.
More like who her sister referred to.
Oh, no.
Oh, yes.
A photo of Eleanor and Ty was splashed across the top of the society section of one of New York’s top newspapers.
Not just any photo but one that appeared to have been edited because she knew they hadn’t really been looking at each other in that manner.
Okay, so she might have been looking at Ty that way because, let’s face it, he was hot and friendly.
“Although,” Brooke mused, frowning, “he’s looking at you as if he’s about to sweep you off your feet and find the closest place to get you alone. Who is he?”
In the picture, he was looking at her as if he thought her the sweetest thing since chocolate syrup and he’d like to cover her in that syrup and lick her clean.
Wow. No wonder Brooke wanted to know who he was. But, no, her sister couldn’t have him. Not Ty. Which was a crazy thought because if her sister wanted Ty, she’d have him. Brooke always got what she wanted. Especially when it came to men.
“It’s a trick of the camera.” Perhaps it really was. Although, recalling how wonderful Ty had made her feel, perhaps it wasn’t. The man knew how to make a woman feel as if she were the only woman in the world. No wonder all the female staff at Angel’s adored him.
“Huh?” Brooke’s collagen-enhanced lips pouted. “He isn’t really that scrumptious?”
“He is, but …” She trailed off, her stomach sinking. She’d meant that he hadn’t really been looking at her as if he found her irresistible. Maybe he really wasn’t, but he had helped her get through what had started as a horrible evening but, because of him, had ended almost feeling enchanted.
She glanced at the photo again. She was looking into Ty’s face as if she found him enchanting. Although you couldn’t see his hand, she knew that his palm had rested low on her back, that his thumb had traced lazy patterns over the smooth material of the red dress. That his hand had been somewhere on her body at most points during the evening. Her lower back, her arm, her hand, her face. He’d touched her almost incessantly.
Almost possessively.
He’d felt sorry for her and his Southern good manners had demanded he rescue her. That had to be it, right?
“I couldn’t be more pleased.”
Both girls spun as their father entered the room.
Entered? Ha. More like invaded the room. Because when Senator Cole Aston entered a room even imaginary dust took cover. A trail of servants followed, all scurrying to serve the great man his breakfast and to meet any need he