* * *
When Emily joined Richard at their table, his expression was sour and she cringed on the inside.
“Who was that man?”
She supposed she should have been prepared for his question, but it still caught her off guard. She’d run back to Richard to escape Lucas, not talk about him.
She bent, kissed her date’s cheek. “No one, dear.”
She wasn’t lying. Lucas was no one. No one of any importance. Not anymore. Not ever again.
“He’s interested in you.” Richard didn’t sound pleased. No wonder. Lucas had just upstaged him and their colleagues would be curious.
She sat in her chair and scooted closer to him. “He’s new at the hospital and just drawing attention to himself.”
Richard didn’t look convinced. What he looked was annoyed. “By paying that crazy amount for you? Why would he do that?”
The money meant nothing to Lucas. He had paid too much. But did Richard really have to sound as if he found the idea that a date with her could possibly be worth so much as unfathomable? Shouldn’t he find time with her priceless?
“It was for charity,” she reminded him, irritated by his insensitivity to how she might take his question. “You said so yourself.”
His expression pinched, Richard straightened the napkin in his lap. “I saw him talking to you a few minutes ago. Should I be worried?”
She laughed. “No. His type appalls me. Besides, all the bachelorettes took photos with the winning bidders. What did you want me to do? Refuse?”
Not that she wouldn’t have liked to have done just that.
Richard’s eyes narrowed beneath his wire-framed glasses. “You labeled his type in those few short minutes?”
“I’ve encountered him before.” Ha. Wasn’t that the understatement of the century? “He’s a pediatric neurosurgeon in the department where I work. Actually, he’s the new head of the department. He started about a month ago.”
Twenty-two days.
Not that she was counting.
Emily shot a nervous glance toward where Lucas still stood with Meghan. They were both looking her way. Seeing her looking at them, Lucas lifted his glass in salute.
The jerk.
Emily rolled her eyes, grabbed Richard’s hand and moved her chair to where her back was completely to Lucas. She didn’t want him anywhere near her line of vision. She just wanted to forget he was even there.
Which later proved impossible even after Richard had quit talking about Lucas. He’d finally relaxed, quit suggesting she’d encouraged Lucas, and they were enjoying a slow dance. The emcee’s boisterous voice cut in.
“Folks, it’s time for our bachelors and bachelorettes to share a dance with their lucky high bidders.” Applause went through the ballroom, but Emily didn’t clap. Instead, she clung to Richard.
“Did you know they were going to do that?” He sounded aggravated, as if she’d somehow arranged the dance.
“No.” She shook her head, wondering if she could make a mad dash toward the open double doors leading into the hallway. She could hide, freshen up in the ladies’ room. “Maybe he won’t come over here.”
No such luck. Not that she had much hope of Lucas staying away. His new life mission was to irritate her as much as possible.
“Hello, Emily. I’m here to claim my dance.” His gaze shifted to Richard’s. “If that’s okay with your date?”
She cringed. She did not want to dance with Lucas. Nor did she want to further upset Richard.
Hello. He’d been the one to let Lucas have the high bid. Couldn’t he have spared more cash to have ensured she didn’t spend time with any other man? Then again, Lucas might have just kept bidding higher and higher. Money meant nothing to him, except during the time when they’d been married and he’d been forced to live within their means rather than his parents’.
Maybe she was being overly sensitive of Richard. Maybe. Being around Lucas had her on edge, making her more critical than she should be.
She liked Richard. He was calm, soothing. He never rocked the boat, never made her question herself. Usually. Why was she letting Lucas disrupt her nice, content life? Letting him make her question a man she sincerely liked and had previously never fought with?
Her annoyance with her date was Lucas’s fault, not Richard’s. She needed to remember that.
Her gaze met Richard’s. Just say no, she mentally pleaded. Tell him to get lost. That I belong to you. That you refuse to share me. That I’m the love of your life and you’ll never let another man take me into his arms.
Richard didn’t do any of those things. He just gave an exasperated sigh, stepped back and practically handed her to Lucas on a silver platter.
“Go ahead. All the others are,” he said by way of justification.
So much for Richard going all macho and staking his claim. Not that she was the type to want the drama, but he could have at least issued some type of “she’s mine, hands off” warning.
“He’s a real winner, Em,” Lucas teased as they stepped out onto the dance floor. “I see why you find him so attractive.”
“Be quiet,” she ordered, placing her arms around his neck. The feel of his body next to hers, the smell of him, the utter maleness of Lucas Cain, the memories of the past that hit her full force, almost had her forgetting about not making a scene and dashing out of the ballroom.
But she couldn’t run away from him forever. She might as well find out what it was he wanted from her so he’d leave her alone. She didn’t fool herself that he didn’t want something.
Once upon a time, she had been what he wanted. That time hadn’t lasted, had been more a tiny vapor that disappeared almost as quickly as it had appeared.
What was it these days that filled his dreams? That he wanted enough to come seek her out after all this time?
Had she accidentally taken a favorite shirt five years ago or something that he’d decided he just had to have back?
Too bad, so sad. Any clothes of his she’d accidentally taken had been donated to a local homeless shelter long ago.
Except for one shirt.
Memories assailed her.
Memories of going through a duffel bag she hadn’t used in a long time and finding a T-shirt he’d bought at a concert they’d attended at Madison Square Garden. They’d been happy, dating, in love, laughing continuously, totally enamored with each other, believing nothing could ever come between them.
How wrong they’d been.
She’d shredded the T-shirt into pieces, hoping she’d feel better after doing so, but had only felt just as tattered as the bits of material.
“I’d have never let another man win your bid back when we were dating.”
“No, probably not,” she agreed, still fighting the urge to flee his arms. “But you’d have gift wrapped and hand delivered me after we were married.”
Touching him was torture. Like being burned alive. Like having a vise on her heart and it squeezing until every last drop bled forth.
“That’s not true.” His body stiff, his feet stopped moving for a few beats before resuming their dance. He looked torn, but then, rather than argue his point, he just sighed. “Let’s not talk about the past