The Doctor's Runaway Fiancée

Chapter Three

Sylvie shoved a piece of arugula into her mouth and decided meeting Andrew at the Coffee Pot had been a mistake. Not only was it too public for any serious discussion, but she didn’t want to have a serious discussion about anything with Andrew. What would be the point?

It wasn’t his fault that they came from two different worlds. She’d been foolish to fleetingly believe love would be enough. But love hadn’t kept her parents together. Love hadn’t even made her mother stick with her child, even though she’d been the only family Sylvie had left.

Andrew might have thought he loved her, might even have convinced himself he did, but it had been only infatuation. An infatuation that could have cost him everything that mattered in his life.

When she’d overheard him and his father heatedly arguing—about her—she knew she would not be the cause of a rift between Andrew and his parents.

The only purpose of meeting with him again was to give back a ring she was no longer entitled to keep. A clear break with the past would allow her to move on in a way she hadn’t been able to do in June. Dropping her fork to the table, she slid her hand inside her fringed bag.

Before she had a chance to pull out the diamond, Andrew leaned forward. His fingers closed around her arm.

“No need to pay yet. We haven’t finished eating. Besides, this is my treat.”

The baby’s sudden cry was like an ice pick in her eye.

Sylvie clutched the ring tightly in her palm. She’d loved the filigreed set and emerald-cut diamond from the second he’d placed it on her finger. Though it made no sense, Sylvie wanted to keep the ring.

She couldn’t force a smile and this time she didn’t even bother to try. “It was a mistake.”

She wasn’t sure what “it” she meant. Not exactly.

“You’re getting real good at running. Better be careful or it might become a habit.”

She met Andrew’s gray eyes and released the ring back into the inside pocket of her bag. “I simply don’t see the purpose to this.”

“You owe me an explanation.” Before Andrew could say more, someone called out her name. Then his.

Sylvie turned to see Ben and Poppy Campbell making their way to the table.

“What are you two doing?” Poppy asked.

“Uh, eating,” Sylvie said, though she couldn’t have downed another bite of salad if her life depended on it.

Poppy’s laugh was low and husky, as perfect as her simple red sheath and boxy jacket. Here was a woman who would have fit perfectly into Andrew’s world. Classy with a capital C.

When Josie had told her Poppy was a social worker, Sylvie was disbelieving. Fashion model? Absolutely. Social worker? No way.

Sylvie could easily believe that Benedict, in his dark brown pants, ivory shirt and Italian loafers, had been Andrew’s schoolmate. Right now Ben’s shrewd gray eyes were as curious as his wife’s.

Apparently deciding the best response was a strong offense, Andrew smiled. “Sylvie and I were acquainted when she lived in Boston. We thought it’d be nice to renew our...friendship.”

Blast him for that tiny hesitation that gave an extra punch to the last word. The implication that there had once been more between them was there. That was obvious when her two friends exchanged knowing glances.

Ben looked amused but not particularly surprised. “How fortunate, then, that I ran into you and invited you to the barbecue.”

“I’d planned on looking up Sylvie anyway.” Andrew spoke smoothly. “But it was a surprise to learn we had a common friend.”

Sylvie wasn’t sure Dr. Benedict Campbell, one of Jackson Hole’s leading orthopedic surgeons, considered her a friend, but she wasn’t about to protest.

“A bunch of us meet here each week when the kids are in Sunday school. We have a large table toward the back.” Poppy stepped back to let the waitress slip around her to top off Andrew’s coffee cup.

Sylvie saw Andrew’s gaze follow the gesture to an alcove at the very back of the dining area where a large rectangular table sat, three-quarters full.

“We’ve asked Sylvie to join us many times,” Poppy said pointedly. “She always turns us down. At least now we’re in the building at the same time, so I’d say we’re making progress.”

Sylvie smiled. She liked this social worker. The ones she’d dealt with growing up had always seemed more concerned with their rules and regulations. Poppy seemed to genuinely care about everyone.

“Join us?” Poppy pressed.

“We appreciate the offer,” Andrew said, before Sylvie could politely refuse again, “but we’ve got a lot of catching up to do.”

We? Sylvie’s head began to spin. Had he really said we? As if they were together beyond this lunch. And why was his hand closing over hers, giving it a proprietary squeeze?

No. No. No.

When she attempted to pull her hand back, those strong fingers merely tightened around hers. His hand remained in place until Ben and Poppy said their goodbyes and wandered off to join their friends.

Once their backs were turned, Sylvie jerked hard and finally freed her hand. “What was that about?”

Instead of answering, Andrew calmly lifted the napkin from his lap and placed it on the table. She noticed he’d barely touched his food. “I’m finished eating. How about you?”

“I’m done.” She stared down at the salad, and a rush of emotion swamped her. While she’d cried buckets of tears after leaving Boston, seeing Andrew reminded her how dear he’d once been to her...and how easily she could once again become attached to him.

She would return the ring. There would be no reason then for her to see him again.

“Andrew.” She swallowed hard. “I kept your ring. That was wrong. I apologize.”

For a second he looked confused, as though he’d forgotten about the three-carat flawless diamond. When he finally did react, he waved the words away as if the ring was of no consequence. “I gave it to you. It’s yours.”

“You gave it to me when we made a promise to each other,” Sylvie insisted. “But—”

“I don’t care about the damn ring.” Abruptly, Andrew pushed back his chair with a clatter and stood, tossing several bills on the table. “I do care why you ran out on me. We’ll discuss that at your place.”

People seated around them stared with a curiosity that had Sylvie scrambling to her feet. While she would never live her life according to others’ expectations, she was a business owner—a new business owner—in Jackson Hole and preferred not to encourage idle gossip.

Sylvie forced a smile and an easy tone. “Sounds like a plan.”

On their way out of the café, she tolerated the palm he placed against the small of her back. But once they were outside and standing in front of a closed insurance agent’s office, she whirled.

“What kind of game are you playing? What do you want from me?”

He raked a hand through his hair, blew out a breath, but didn’t immediately answer.

“I’ll give you back the ring. Then this will be done.” She flipped open the flap of her purse, but once again he stopped her.

“Not here.” He took her arm and began striding down the sidewalk, his jaw set in a hard line. “At your shop.”

Had he always been this dictatorial? She pulled her eyebrows together and struggled to match his long strides. Andrew had always been decisive, no doubt about that. But she saw an arrogance here that she didn’t much care for.

Of course, what did it matter? In short order he’d be out of her life, this time for good.

He stopped abruptly, steadying her when she stumbled. “On second thought, this might be better done at your home. Where do you live?”

Sylvie blinked, her head spinning as if she was seated on an out-of-control Tilt-A-Whirl.

“Your home address.” Impatience sounded in his suddenly gruff voice. “What is it?”

Her heart began to beat wildly. Something in his tone, in the set of his jaw, brought memories from her childhood flooding back. She wanted to run, but her feet wouldn’t cooperate.

As if he sensed her distress, his eyes softened. “This is more difficult than I want it to be.”

His deep voice was suddenly as smooth and placid as Lake Jenny on a summer day.

“I live in the back of my shop.” Sylvie began to stride with purposeful steps in the direction of her business. The sooner she gave him the ring and answered his questions, the sooner he would go.

Andrew caught up with her but made no move to touch her. Instead he simply fell into step beside her. “Do you like living and working in the same location?”

“It has its advantages.”

They walked in silence for another minute.

“The cost of housing in Jackson Hole is sky-high,” she said when the silence continued. “I didn’t realize that when I moved here.”

“How’d you pick here?” His tone was conversational, as if he, too, was determined to avoid the uncomfortable silence.

“I’d been here before.” She lifted a shoulder in a slight shrug. “I remembered it as a magical, beautiful place.”

There was the barest flicker in his eyes. Sylvie might have missed it if she hadn’t been looking right at him. He’d made the connection. Remembered that she’d come here with him. They’d taken the trip on a whim, shortly after they started dating. He taught her to ski and how to throw a proper snowball.

It was during that trip to Wyoming that she’d fallen in love with Jackson Hole and with him.

Silence descended again. This time neither of them made the effort to break it.

He stepped to the side when she reached the cobalt blue door of the Mad Batter and pulled out her key. Sylvie still wasn’t certain why she’d brought him here, why she hadn’t simply insisted they conclude their business on the street.

You owe him.

“Spartan digs.”

She turned at the sound of the voice and realized that Andrew had stepped inside what she referred to as “the order room.” Not much larger than a deck of cards, it contained a small round table and two chairs.

“What happens if you have more than one visitor?” Even as he spoke she saw his gaze checking out the gleaming vinyl floor in a black-and-white checkerboard pattern and the cherry-red cushions on the chairs. Bright spots of color in an otherwise unimpressive area.

“Someone has to stand.” Sylvie flashed a quick smile. “Plus, it seems to motivate the customer to decide quickly on what they want.”

“Where are the ovens?”

It appeared Andrew expected a tour. Well, that wouldn’t take long. Not when the entire space she rented was smaller than his walk-in closet.

She stepped inside the kitchen, unable to stop the flush of pride at the sight of the commercial ovens and stainless countertops. Even the air smelled clean. And it was all hers. Hers and the First National Bank of Jackson’s.

“Impressive.” He sounded as if he really meant it. “You mentioned you live here, too. Where’s your apartment?”

“Apartment is much too glamorous a term for where I live.” Sylvie gave a little laugh as he followed her through yet another door.

Inside the postage-stamp-sized room sat a twin bed—sans headboard—pushed against a wall. The only other furniture was a microwave on a stand and a straight-backed chair that had clearly seen better days.

She swept a hand to encompass the small area. “Home, sweet home.”

Though he was obviously trying to hide his shock, he wasn’t pulling it off.

Andrew cleared his throat. “This is...all of it?”

“No, there’s more.”

The tight stiffness in his shoulders eased. He smiled. “I knew this couldn’t be all.”

“There’s a three-quarter bath through there.” She gestured with her head through yet another door. “So you see, it isn’t quite as small as it appears.”

Confusion blanketed his face. He cocked his head and stared. “Why do you live like this?”

“The rent in Jackson Hole is crazy.” He wanted honesty? She’d give him honesty. “Besides, small has its advantages. This spot is warm and dry and...cozy.”

And beats sleeping in the van, she added silently.

His lips quirked up in a reluctant smile. “You always did have an optimistic nature.”

Sylvie blinked. She couldn’t recall anyone ever telling her that before. Was it true? Or was it just one more thing Andrew had seen in her that simply wasn’t there?

She suddenly was conscious of just how tiny a space surrounded them and that she and Andrew were alone in this cozy space.

So close that she inhaled the scent of him. The cologne he wore was subtle and expensive. From day one, the enticing fragrance had the power to make her insides quiver. But how he smelled was only a very small part of what had drawn her to him.

The way he looked would have captured any single woman’s interest. She loved the way his hair glimmered, looking as soft as mink’s fur in the fluorescent lighting. She remembered how it had felt to slide her fingers through the thick strands. Maybe because he always looked so impeccable, she’d made it a point to mess up the stylish cut when they made love.

Naked, in bed, with his hair all tousled and a hint of a five o’clock shadow, he hadn’t looked like a doctor or the heir to the third-largest sporting-goods company in the United States.

During those glorious times, it had felt as if they were on equal footing. It had been easy to forget all the ways they were different.

Too easy.

“Sylvie.”

His voice was low and husky, filled with an emotion that brought a warmth to the single word.

She looked up and realized Andrew was right. There. Less than a foot separated them. He stood so close she could see the dark perimeter that surrounded the smooth gray of those gorgeous eyes framed with long, thick lashes. So close the scent of his cologne teased her nostrils, transporting her back to a time when they were happy and everything seemed possible.

“I told myself I wouldn’t do this,” he muttered.

Her heart was pounding so hard Sylvie felt light-headed. She inclined her head in the merest of movements. “Do what?”

The words sounded breathy, which was exactly how she felt at that moment...breathless.

“This.” He jerked her to him and covered her mouth with his.

* * *

When Andrew thought of his best attributes, well disciplined came immediately to mind. He’d been a sensible child and had grown up to be a sensible adult. In the important matters of his life, he prided himself on carefully weighing the pros and cons of various options before making a decision.

Then he’d met Sylvie Thorne, and sensible no longer seemed to be a word in his vocabulary.

He pulled her up against the length of his body as he ravished her mouth. It was as if he’d been in a desert the past three months and had finally found water.

Warning flags popped up one after the other in his head, but Andrew paid no heed. The need rushing through his body was too strong to deny.

He’d intended for the kiss to be brief. Unfinished business tied up nice and tight. But once his mouth had found hers, Andrew forgot how to think. He reveled in the familiar feel of her slender body with the small breasts pressed against him. When that full, sweet mouth opened to his probing tongue, Andrew breathed a prayer of thanks.

It was as if ninety-five days had melted away and all he knew, all he wanted to know, was in his arms. Everything seemed right in his world now.

When her hands stole around his neck and her fingers slipped into his hair, desire exploded like fireworks over the Charles River.

Her moan, a low sound of want and need, only further fueled the fire burning in his blood. Andrew continued to kiss her, sweet, gentle kisses at first, then long, passionate ones that soon had his heart hammering against his chest wall.

The taste of her was so familiar that he forgot all that separated them and let himself simply go with the moment. He slipped his hand under her shirt and stroked the smooth warm skin of her back. They continued to kiss until he felt drugged with emotion.

Easing his hands up her sides, he stopped just under her breasts. When she wiggled slightly in frustration, he cupped the small mounds and then teased the nipples to hard peaks with his thumbs.

Her head fell back. As she moaned with pleasure, satisfaction rippled through him.

Lifting her loose-fitting shirt, he leaned over and covered the tip of one breast with his mouth.

She inhaled sharply when he began to suckle, her fingers tightening in his hair. “Yes, Andrew. Oh, yes.”

It was all the encouragement he needed. Minutes later they tumbled onto the bed, their clothes scattered across the floor. Though the warning flags continued to pop up, Andrew barely noticed.

Drunk on the taste, the smell, the feel of her, he wasn’t sure he could have stopped even if a stop sign had bopped him in the face. He certainly didn’t want to stop. As he thrust inside her, her body closed around him like a tight glove. It took everything to hold back.

Andrew wanted this to last. For her. For him.

He slowed the pace, scattering kisses down her neck, murmuring sweet words as he did so, licking the sensitive area behind her ear and watching her respond with a mew of delight.

Before long, it felt as if they were racing headlong to the finish line at Suffolk Downs with a clear track ahead. Her hips pistoned, keeping pace with his thrusts.

When she cried out and went over the edge, Andrew dived headfirst after her, not wanting to let go of her, not wanting the connection to end.

Chapter Four

Sylvie had never had an out-of-body experience. But as she lay on the bed with Andrew’s warm, naked body pressed against hers, she wondered if she was having one. For the first time in months she was at peace. If this was what an out-of-body experience felt like, bring it on. For now she would relish the comfort it brought to her.

Gently she glided her hand down his silky hair, then stroked his neck. Sylvie had always loved his body with the broad shoulders and tight abs, the lean hips and muscular legs. The slight patch of chest hair now tickling her breasts was familiar and comforting.

She’d missed him. She’d missed this closeness. She could admit that now. What was the harm? After all, this wasn’t really happening, so she could indulge without guilt. He was her personal two-pound box of chocolates.

She planted a kiss against his neck and sighed. There had been only one man before Andrew, a boy in high school. That mistake had steered her away from intimate relationships for many years. Until Andrew had strode into the bakery where she’d been working.

Sylvie remembered that day as if it had just happened. The second she saw him, the air that had smelled of cinnamon and yeasty goodness had begun to sizzle. She’d been so taken aback by the unexpected sensations flooding her body that she’d barely spoken. He came back the next day and the next. After a week they’d been conversing easily and indulging in some flirting.

When he asked her out to dinner, she’d said yes. It had been the beginning of a free fall she’d been powerless to stop.

If she’d only known then what she knew now, would she have had sex with him that night?

She started to sigh and then realized she couldn’t quite draw a deep breath.

“I’m crushing you.” The deep voice sounded near her ear, and suddenly the pressure against her body was gone, along with the comforting warmth.

Sylvie’s blood turned ice-cold. She blinked once. Blinked again. Those piercing gray eyes remained focused on her face.

With a hand that trembled slightly, she reached out and touched his bare shoulder. Only then was she forced to accept he wasn’t an apparition but a flesh-and-blood man.

I slept with Andrew.

Desperately needing to put some distance between them, she placed both hands against his chest and gave a hard push. To her amazement he tumbled off the bed and landed on the floor with a loud thud.

She’d forgotten the size of the bed and hadn’t considered that the only place for him to go was off the side. Lifting herself up on one elbow, Sylvie leaned over.

A wry smile lifted Andrew’s lips as he pushed himself up to a sitting position. “If you’d wanted me off the bed, you could have just asked.”

“You are really here.”

He smiled. “As opposed to...?”

Warmth flooded her face. “This.” She gestured with one hand between her and him. “It felt like a dream.”

A look she couldn’t quite decipher—and wasn’t convinced she wanted to figure out—crossed his face. Before saying another word, he rose to his feet and began pulling on his clothes.

She took the opportunity to do the same.

“The sex was always good between us.” He tossed out the comment and finished buttoning his shirt.

She tugged on her shoes. No point denying the obvious. “It was.”

As if wanting to relax the suddenly tense atmosphere, Andrew took a seat on the rickety chair and gazed unsmiling at her. “Tell me why you left.”

Though he hadn’t come right out and said “tell me why you left me,” the accusation hung in the air between them.

Feeling already a little weak in the knees, Sylvie plopped down on the edge of the bed and turned to face him. “I sent you a text—”

“We were engaged to be married and you sent me a text.” Despite his calm demeanor, ice-cold fury underscored the words.

Sylvie resisted the almost overpowering urge to wring her hands. And her second impulse, which was to flee.

You’re getting real good at running, he’d told her. The words—and her fear they might prove true—had her staying put.

“Leaving that way was my only choice.” She lifted her chin, met his steely-eyed look with an unflinching one of her own. “I was concerned if we spoke face-to-face you might change my mind.”

“Were you?”

Sylvie shivered at the coldness in his tone, at the hot anger in his eyes. She couldn’t recall ever seeing him like this before. The Andrew O’Shea she knew was always so affable. An easygoing guy with a warm smile.

He wasn’t smiling now.

“Don’t you think, after all we shared, you owed me more than a text?” He spit the last word as if the taste was bitter as anise on his tongue.

“I wasn’t the woman you thought I was,” she said. “You fell in love with someone who didn’t—doesn’t—exist.”

The fact that he’d been willing to sever relationships in his family for her sent a chill down Sylvie’s spine.

“You’re right about one thing.” Andrew leaned forward. He rested his forearms on his thighs, his gaze never leaving her face. “I don’t know you. The woman I thought I knew would never have walked away from me without an explanation.”

Anger resonated strongly in his voice, but it was the hint of hurt she heard that had shame coursing through her veins like milk gone sour.

“You owe me an explanation.” Abruptly he sat back. “I’m not leaving without one.”

This was good, Sylvie reassured herself even as panic threatened. It was best they clear the air, so they could both move on. The trouble was, how much to tell?

As if he sensed her hesitation, his gaze sharpened. “The truth, Sylvie.”

Her laugh, intended to sound casual, reverberated with nerves instead. “Do you want me to put my hand on a Bible and raise my right hand?”

“Don’t be flippant.”

Sylvie didn’t feel flippant, just incredibly weary. And sad. Sad that their once bright and shiny relationship had become tarnished with guilt and recriminations.

She straightened her shoulders and drew in a steadying breath. Hadn’t she always told herself she couldn’t go wrong telling the truth? But if she told him about the conversation she’d overheard, he might be angry with his father.

No, she didn’t have to tell Andrew the whole truth, just enough so her leaving would make sense.

“You were like no man I’d ever known.”

“You haven’t known all that many.”

Sylvie flushed, realizing they were talking apples and oranges. “I wasn’t referring to intimately.”

Andrew already knew she’d been a neophyte in the sexual arena when she met him. One time with a seventeen-year-old boy didn’t make a girl an accomplished lover. In fact, when Andrew and she made love, it had felt like her first time.

“I was referring to the kind of men I’d grown up around.” Her lips curved in a slight smile as she remembered the first time she’d seen him. “You dazzled me.”

He didn’t return the smile, only continued to stare intently at her face.

She licked her lips. The words that she’d hoped would smoothly flow seemed to have hit a logjam. “I—I’d never known anyone like you.”

“You say that as if it’s a bad thing.”

“I’d worked hard to get through high school and then through the culinary institute. I’d always been proud of my success. But when I was around you... I felt...less.”

Andrew had admired her work, but she knew he’d thought it was just a hobby. That misconception wasn’t his fault. She’d kept just how much it mattered from him. Looking back, she wasn’t sure why she’d never told him that her art—her baking—was what had sustained her during all the lonely years she’d been on her own.

His gaze sharpened. “You think I didn’t appreciate all you’d achieved?”

“Not you.” Dumping this into his lap would serve no purpose. “Forget it.”

“My family?” he pressed.

She thought of his mother and father. Though they’d been less than thrilled about their son becoming engaged to a woman outside their social circle—and putting that ring on her finger within months of meeting her—they’d been cordial. Besides, she firmly believed nobody could make you feel inferior without your permission.

“It wasn’t anything anyone did or said.” She placed her open palm against her heart. “It was me. This is such a cliché, but I felt like a square peg about to be pounded into a round hole.”

She wasn’t sure what she expected him to say. Perhaps nod and say he understood? Or maybe agree that indeed they were so different it amazed him their relationship had lasted as long as it had?

Instead Andrew steepled his fingers beneath his chin and gazed at her like a scientist must study a bug under a microscope. “You never said a word about those feelings, at least not to me.”

The censure in the calmly spoken words stung like a hard slap.

“Being around your family and friends that night made me realize that you belonged with someone more like, well, like Audrey.” Sylvie closed her eyes for a second, struggling against the grief welling up inside her. Though she hadn’t known Audrey Cabot long, she’d liked her and considered her a friend.

“I never thought of Audrey in that way. She was a friend, nothing more.”

It wasn’t only her grief simmering just below the surface. The pain in Andrew’s eyes told her just how much Audrey’s recent death from cancer had impacted him.

“You can’t honestly believe there was anything between us,” he added.

“No, I know there wasn’t.” Sylvie had believed him when he’d denied any romantic interest in Audrey, but that didn’t mean she didn’t think they would have made a great couple. “I just mentioned her because Audrey always seemed more—”

She paused, searching for the right word.

He arched an eyebrow. “My type?”

“Exactly.” She nodded, pleased he was finally getting the gist of what she was saying. “While I admit that you and I have amazing chemistry when it comes to sex, I think some of our decisions to get so close so fast was based on that chemistry. It wasn’t as if you really knew me.”

But really, whose fault was that? She was the one who’d held back, who hadn’t let him get to know her fully.

Andrew’s eyebrows pulled together in a puzzled frown. He rubbed his chin and his expression changed from puzzled to thoughtful.

“I couldn’t imagine the woman I loved leaving me like that...and then sending me a text.” His laugh didn’t contain even an ounce of humor. “I didn’t even rate a Dear John letter.”

The knowledge that she’d hurt him stung. Bringing Andrew pain had never been her intention. She loved him. She wanted only the best for him.

Unfortunately, it had become apparent—to everyone but him—that she wasn’t what was best for him.

“I’m glad I came to Jackson Hole and we had this talk.”

Sylvie nodded.

“I’m also glad that we had sex.”

She cocked her head.

“It reminded me just how powerful the chemistry is between us.” His lips lifted in a slight smile for only a second. Then he was all serious again. “Undoubtedly the stellar sex made us think there was more between us than actually existed.”

Sylvie stopped a frown desperately trying to form and reminded herself this realization was what she had wanted. She wanted him to see their engagement had been a mistake. Then why did she have to fight the sudden urge to argue with him, to insist that it had been about more than sex?

“S-sounds logical,” she stammered.

“This should be simple.” He muttered a curse, pushed to his feet and began to pace.

Sylvie uncurled the leg she’d tucked beneath her and rose so she was standing. Though he was still a good five inches taller than her, being upright made her feel as if they were on equal footing. “It appears we’re ready to close the door.”

Pasting a polite smile on her face, she waited for him to agree. Then she’d give him the ring, he’d say his goodbyes and leave.

Instead he stared, his gaze searching her face.

“It might feel that way to you.” Andrew spoke slowly and deliberately, a frown still furrowing his brow. “The problem is, I find myself still wanting you.”

Her heart, she was ashamed to admit, gave an excited little leap before she slapped it down. Not knowing how to respond, Sylvie remained silent.

“I believe more drastic measures are needed.” He took a step closer, lifted her hand and brought it to his mouth.

Her heart skipped several beats then began to thud. “What k-kind of measures do you have in mind?”