Read Online The Wonder of You by Susan May Warren - Free Book Online
Authors: Susan May Warren
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found himself in a local detention center and, once, in a rank French prison. And yes, he’d experienced the surreal moments of waking in a Scottish hospital ward, his head having taken a good knocking on the rugby field.
He blinked, found himself in a cubicle of a room, the windowsmall, framed by pink curtains, a midafternoon sun casting shadows. A cotton blanket was pulled to his chest, an IV pinching his arm, and in the chair beside him . . . Oh, he knew this woman. “Claire?”
“I know you were probably hoping for Amelia, but sorry, bub; you’ve got me.”
“How long have I been out?”
“Five years.”
His eyes widened. “Uh —”
“Gotcha.” She winked. “A couple hours. Your body temp was dangerously low. But they fixed you up, and you’re cooking right along. Out of the woods. Just in time, because I think Amelia’s about ready to leave.”
He blinked again at her words, trying to push himself off the pillow. “She’s here?”
“Oh no, you don’t.” Claire caught his shoulders. “There you go, Mr. Freeze. Back in the bed until you get the all clear from the doc.”
He winced. “You didn’t say anything to Amelia about —”
“Your being . . . How did Jensen put it? Rich? Very, very . . . I think there were three very s.” She shook her head, smiled. “Nope. In fact, let your broken heart rest at ease; she doesn’t even know you’re here. I saw her come in with the little girl she found at the falls. She and Grace are having her checked out.”
He let out a sigh.
“I can run and get her for —”
“No.”
That came out sharper than he’d intended. “I think I’d prefer to be standing when we talk.” So she could, what? Have less guilt when she walloped him? Because that’s suddenly how theirconversation ended in his now-aching head. The warmth probably rushing back to fuel his brain with common sense.
He’d come to Deep Haven to win her back. Which meant, sadly, keeping secrets.
And Claire only confirmed it when she folded her arms and nodded. “Probably wise, given the weighty news of your impending inheritance. Because I’m guessing you didn’t mean very, very, very rich in friends , right?”
He let out a pitiful chuckle. “No.”
“So then . . . You said heir , which conjures up thrones and kingdoms. Should I address you as Your Highness?”
“Please, no. I’m not royal. I’m just the heir to the throne of the Constantine group of hotels. My grandfather named me as his successor when he passed.”
“Successor. Sounds royal. And hotels are sort of like palaces. Which leads me to ask . . . why didn’t you mention this when you came to dinner? Rich guy who lives in an efficiency flat over the coffee shop —what’s up with that?”
There it was. The very conversation he’d have with Amelia. Inevitably leading to . . .
“My grandfather’s money has only caused me heartache, so I like to keep it out of the introductions.”
“One of those I-don’t-need-or-want-my-money guys. Spoken only by people who have money.”
“Stop being so rough on him, Claire.” Jensen came in, holding two cups of steaming coffee. “Your new boss, Kathy, sent these up. Apparently you’re a bit of a legend now.”
Jensen handed Roark a coffee. Leaned against the wall. “Okay. I’m ready.”
Ready? Oh, right. “It’s not that I don’t like money —of courseI like money. It’s just the way people look at you when they know you have money.” He glanced at Claire.
She frowned. “Touché.”
He took a sip of the coffee and felt the heat travel to his belly, fortify him. “And the last woman I loved died because of . . . well, because of me, but also the fact that I have money.”
Jensen set his coffee cup down and crossed his arms.
Roark couldn’t escape it now. He sighed. “I was an assistant manager at one of our branches in Paris —a five-star, with a view of the Eiffel Tower. On the night before I turned
He blinked, found himself in a cubicle of a room, the windowsmall, framed by pink curtains, a midafternoon sun casting shadows. A cotton blanket was pulled to his chest, an IV pinching his arm, and in the chair beside him . . . Oh, he knew this woman. “Claire?”
“I know you were probably hoping for Amelia, but sorry, bub; you’ve got me.”
“How long have I been out?”
“Five years.”
His eyes widened. “Uh —”
“Gotcha.” She winked. “A couple hours. Your body temp was dangerously low. But they fixed you up, and you’re cooking right along. Out of the woods. Just in time, because I think Amelia’s about ready to leave.”
He blinked again at her words, trying to push himself off the pillow. “She’s here?”
“Oh no, you don’t.” Claire caught his shoulders. “There you go, Mr. Freeze. Back in the bed until you get the all clear from the doc.”
He winced. “You didn’t say anything to Amelia about —”
“Your being . . . How did Jensen put it? Rich? Very, very . . . I think there were three very s.” She shook her head, smiled. “Nope. In fact, let your broken heart rest at ease; she doesn’t even know you’re here. I saw her come in with the little girl she found at the falls. She and Grace are having her checked out.”
He let out a sigh.
“I can run and get her for —”
“No.”
That came out sharper than he’d intended. “I think I’d prefer to be standing when we talk.” So she could, what? Have less guilt when she walloped him? Because that’s suddenly how theirconversation ended in his now-aching head. The warmth probably rushing back to fuel his brain with common sense.
He’d come to Deep Haven to win her back. Which meant, sadly, keeping secrets.
And Claire only confirmed it when she folded her arms and nodded. “Probably wise, given the weighty news of your impending inheritance. Because I’m guessing you didn’t mean very, very, very rich in friends , right?”
He let out a pitiful chuckle. “No.”
“So then . . . You said heir , which conjures up thrones and kingdoms. Should I address you as Your Highness?”
“Please, no. I’m not royal. I’m just the heir to the throne of the Constantine group of hotels. My grandfather named me as his successor when he passed.”
“Successor. Sounds royal. And hotels are sort of like palaces. Which leads me to ask . . . why didn’t you mention this when you came to dinner? Rich guy who lives in an efficiency flat over the coffee shop —what’s up with that?”
There it was. The very conversation he’d have with Amelia. Inevitably leading to . . .
“My grandfather’s money has only caused me heartache, so I like to keep it out of the introductions.”
“One of those I-don’t-need-or-want-my-money guys. Spoken only by people who have money.”
“Stop being so rough on him, Claire.” Jensen came in, holding two cups of steaming coffee. “Your new boss, Kathy, sent these up. Apparently you’re a bit of a legend now.”
Jensen handed Roark a coffee. Leaned against the wall. “Okay. I’m ready.”
Ready? Oh, right. “It’s not that I don’t like money —of courseI like money. It’s just the way people look at you when they know you have money.” He glanced at Claire.
She frowned. “Touché.”
He took a sip of the coffee and felt the heat travel to his belly, fortify him. “And the last woman I loved died because of . . . well, because of me, but also the fact that I have money.”
Jensen set his coffee cup down and crossed his arms.
Roark couldn’t escape it now. He sighed. “I was an assistant manager at one of our branches in Paris —a five-star, with a view of the Eiffel Tower. On the night before I turned
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