something to a thin woman with a severe black haircut who was sitting on a chair beside the bed when she looked up and saw him. Breaking off in the middle of her sentence, she sucked in a deep breath, her face flushing beneath his scrutiny.
And yet, even as he mentally dissected all the ways she’d changed, all the reasons they were more different than ever, his body was telling him to get over there, to pull her tight against him and kiss her until they were both gasping for air.
What the hell was he thinking?
Her friend moved first, standing up and holding out her hand. “Hello, I’m Ellen Ligurski, Dianna’s best friend. Her producer, too.”
One of the woman’s eyebrows was raised in question. She had to be wondering who the hell he was.
“Sam MacKenzie,” he said. “Dianna’s ex-fiancée.”
Ellen’s eyes went round like saucers, and she mouthed, “Oh my,” at the same time that Dianna gasped.
Well, that confirmed what he’d suspected all along; Dianna had completely buried her past when she’d moved to San Francisco. Especially the part about him.
But before latent anger could get the best of him, he told himself to get over it. They’d both started fresh. They’d both come out of the relationship just fine. He still had his wildfires. And she had the whole world at her feet. Neither of them had a damn thing to complain about—apart from her car accident, of course.
“I saw you on the airplane,” her friend said. “If I’d known that you were coming to see Dianna, I would have given you a ride.”
She turned to Dianna and whispered, “This is the guy I was telling you about,” loud enough for him to overhear.
Dianna and her friend had been talking about him? Interesting.
He let one side of his mouth quirk into a charming half smile. Ellen responded as expected, her eyes and mouth growing soft, an answering smile on her lips.
She was clearly still trying and failing to cover her shock at hearing that he and Dianna had once been an item. Practically husband and wife, with a white picket fence and everything.
“I heard Dianna was in a car accident,” he said to the woman. “And I wanted to see for myself that she was all right.”
“I’m fine,” Dianna said, her warm, slightly husky voice washing over him, making a beeline for his groin.
Her colorless face and tightly pinched lips belied her relaxed words and he was selfishly glad to know that he wasn’t the only one having a hard time with their impromptu reunion.
“I’m glad to see that,” he said, even though the truth was, he hadn’t expected to come all this way to find her sitting on the edge of the hospital bed in designer clothes that probably cost more than he made in a week.
What an idiot he was for actually thinking she needed him.
At the same time, he wanted to drop to his knees to give thanks that she’d survived the head-on, that she wasn’t wrapped head to toe in bandages, that there weren’t doctors hovering over her, pumping blood into her, stitching up her organs while they tried to keep her alive.
The air in the room was strained and heavy. Ellen’s eyes jumped between the two of them, back and forth several times, as if they were playing a tennis match.
Finally she offered, “I’ve got some phone calls to make for this week’s lineup. I’ll give you two some privacy.”
Dianna nodded, her lips still pursed tightly, two pink spots of color emerging beneath her cheekbones.
“Sounds like a good plan.”
“Call my cell when you want me to come back,” Ellen told Dianna before she squeezed past him out the door.
Closing it behind her, Sam finally moved toward the bed.
Dianna’s scent used to be fresh soap. The green Irish Spring bar. Now, she smelled expensive. Foreign. Out of his reach.
He didn’t like it.
As much as he didn’t like the inch of makeup she’d applied to her face with a spatula. She’d never needed anything to “fix” her beautiful, golden skin. Maybe all that
And yet, even as he mentally dissected all the ways she’d changed, all the reasons they were more different than ever, his body was telling him to get over there, to pull her tight against him and kiss her until they were both gasping for air.
What the hell was he thinking?
Her friend moved first, standing up and holding out her hand. “Hello, I’m Ellen Ligurski, Dianna’s best friend. Her producer, too.”
One of the woman’s eyebrows was raised in question. She had to be wondering who the hell he was.
“Sam MacKenzie,” he said. “Dianna’s ex-fiancée.”
Ellen’s eyes went round like saucers, and she mouthed, “Oh my,” at the same time that Dianna gasped.
Well, that confirmed what he’d suspected all along; Dianna had completely buried her past when she’d moved to San Francisco. Especially the part about him.
But before latent anger could get the best of him, he told himself to get over it. They’d both started fresh. They’d both come out of the relationship just fine. He still had his wildfires. And she had the whole world at her feet. Neither of them had a damn thing to complain about—apart from her car accident, of course.
“I saw you on the airplane,” her friend said. “If I’d known that you were coming to see Dianna, I would have given you a ride.”
She turned to Dianna and whispered, “This is the guy I was telling you about,” loud enough for him to overhear.
Dianna and her friend had been talking about him? Interesting.
He let one side of his mouth quirk into a charming half smile. Ellen responded as expected, her eyes and mouth growing soft, an answering smile on her lips.
She was clearly still trying and failing to cover her shock at hearing that he and Dianna had once been an item. Practically husband and wife, with a white picket fence and everything.
“I heard Dianna was in a car accident,” he said to the woman. “And I wanted to see for myself that she was all right.”
“I’m fine,” Dianna said, her warm, slightly husky voice washing over him, making a beeline for his groin.
Her colorless face and tightly pinched lips belied her relaxed words and he was selfishly glad to know that he wasn’t the only one having a hard time with their impromptu reunion.
“I’m glad to see that,” he said, even though the truth was, he hadn’t expected to come all this way to find her sitting on the edge of the hospital bed in designer clothes that probably cost more than he made in a week.
What an idiot he was for actually thinking she needed him.
At the same time, he wanted to drop to his knees to give thanks that she’d survived the head-on, that she wasn’t wrapped head to toe in bandages, that there weren’t doctors hovering over her, pumping blood into her, stitching up her organs while they tried to keep her alive.
The air in the room was strained and heavy. Ellen’s eyes jumped between the two of them, back and forth several times, as if they were playing a tennis match.
Finally she offered, “I’ve got some phone calls to make for this week’s lineup. I’ll give you two some privacy.”
Dianna nodded, her lips still pursed tightly, two pink spots of color emerging beneath her cheekbones.
“Sounds like a good plan.”
“Call my cell when you want me to come back,” Ellen told Dianna before she squeezed past him out the door.
Closing it behind her, Sam finally moved toward the bed.
Dianna’s scent used to be fresh soap. The green Irish Spring bar. Now, she smelled expensive. Foreign. Out of his reach.
He didn’t like it.
As much as he didn’t like the inch of makeup she’d applied to her face with a spatula. She’d never needed anything to “fix” her beautiful, golden skin. Maybe all that
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