The Truth About Elyssa. Lorna Michaels
had an emergency up on three,” Jean continued. “He said to tell you he doesn’t know when he’ll be back.”
She shouldn’t have felt relief at the explanation, but she did. “Tell him I’m sorry I missed him.”
Since Brett wasn’t there, she’d go back to the library, she decided. Maybe she’d overlooked something. But she had to get out of her costume. Should she change here? Risk running into Brett? Jean said he’d be upstairs a long time. She headed for the ladies’ room.
Inside the rest room, she discarded her wig and false eyelashes, creamed her face and removed the makeup, then changed into navy slacks and a rose-colored blouse.
She brushed her hair and pulled it into a pony tail, applied lip gloss and stepped back, still thinking about her visit with Derek. She’d always had a good instinct for interviews. Derek hadn’t told her everything. This wasn’t the first time he’d acted that way. It was just like him to hold back, the jerk.
She supposed he could be stonewalling because someone at the station had recently gotten a tip about Randy’s death and was checking it out. That was unlikely, but if it had happened, Derek wouldn’t want to hand over a sensational story to her and ruin Channel 9’s chance for a scoop. Tough! To the station, Randy’s death would be one story out of hundreds; to her it was the most important story of her life.
Bundling her costume into her case, she slammed it shut and stepped back into the hall. She passed the small lounge area and the staff elevator. Its doors slid open and two doctors in green scrubs stepped out.
One of them was Brett.
Her heart dropped to her toes. She couldn’t let him see her.
She quickened her steps. He wouldn’t notice her, she told herself. He hadn’t seen her since the accident without her wig and makeup. Why should he recognize her? Besides, he was deep in conversation with the other doctor. Just keep walking.
“Elyssa.”
If she didn’t stop, he’d think he made a mistake. A few more steps and she’d be around the corner.
“Elyssa, wait.”
His voice was closer now. A hand touched her shoulder.
She stopped, felt every muscle from her neck down freeze. Rooted to the spot, she heard Cassie’s words playing in her mind: You can’t avoid having him see you, not forever.
No, she couldn’t. Dreading what she’d see in his eyes, she turned and faced him.
Chapter 4
Elyssa’s grip tightened on the handle of her cart. When he hurt her—as she knew he would—she wouldn’t let him see it.
Warily she searched his face for revulsion…but saw only pleasure. His expression was as warm and admiring as ever.
He pressed the elevator button and when it opened, beckoned her forward. Dazed, she stepped inside. The door slid shut, and he pressed the Stop button. “Why were you running away?”
“I wasn’t. I—”
“Elyssa.” His voice was quiet, firm.
All right, no use to pretend any longer, no use to deny. She looked past him, focusing on the panel of buttons by the door. “I didn’t want you to see me.”
“Because of this?” he asked softly, tilting her face up to meet his gaze. A gaze that was so tender, Elyssa felt a lump rise in her throat. She nodded, not trusting herself to speak.
Brett shook his head, then slowly, gently, he brushed his finger over her scarred cheek, touching her as if her skin were the finest silk.
Wide-eyed, Elyssa stared at him. His touch was whisper soft, but it meant so much. No one had touched her there since the accident.
He stepped closer. “How could you think the scars would matter?”
“I…”
“They don’t.” His gaze was steady. “Don’t run away from me again,” he murmured. “Please.”
“Okay,” she breathed.
“Good.” He smiled now, a glint of mischief in his eyes. “Would you join a starving man for dinner?”
“I would.” A laugh bubbled up. And she felt the first crack in her frozen heart.
He released the elevator. “I’ll wind up things here and come by for you in an hour. Give me your address.”
She scribbled it on the slip of paper he pulled from his pocket and stepped out of the elevator on the ground floor. As she walked down the hall, she found herself smiling at everyone she passed. On the way home she didn’t notice the heat, only the brightness of the sun. The raucous honking of horns on the busy streets sounded cheerful. Even her next-door neighbor’s basset hound, who usually eyed her with suspicion, seemed almost friendly today.
She parked in her garage, hurried inside and called Cassie. Her cousin’s machine picked up. “Cassie here. Leave your number and message and I’ll ring you back.” The accent, which changed weekly, was presently British upper crust—Eliza Doolittle after Professor Higgins transformed her from a guttersnipe to an English lady.
“I’m having dinner with Dr. Cameron,” Elyssa said. “I ran into him without the makeup, and it turned out okay.” She was certain she’d have a reply on her machine when she got home, knew just what Cassie would say: “I told you so.”
The laughter she’d restrained earlier came out free and full as she went to get ready.
Brett frowned as he drove through Elyssa’s neighborhood. He wondered who had rejected her and how the guy could have been such a fool. Why couldn’t he have seen past a couple of scars to the beauty inside? A wave of anger surged through him. Whoever he was, the bastard had hurt her. Badly.
Lucky he and Elyssa had run into each other in the hall this afternoon or he’d never have convinced her to go out with him. She’d have stayed in costume, hiding behind her clown face indefinitely. Thank God for chance meetings.
He pulled up before a two-story Victorian set back on a quiet street. Oaks shaded the front yard. Pansies planted on either side of the porch steps nodded a welcome. On the porch were two wicker rocking chairs with a small wicker table between them. Did she sit there on summer nights, watching the stars?
She opened the door to his knock. “Hi,” she said.
“Hi,” he answered, then simply stood and looked his fill. She wore a pale blue silk blouse and matching pants. Shiny silver loops dangled from her earlobes, and she wore a trio of thin silver bracelets on one arm. Her soft-brown hair hung loose, flowing in glorious waves to her shoulders. On television she’d worn it pulled back in a sleek twist, but this… God, he wanted to run his hands through it, then run them on a long, thorough journey over the rest of her.
She flushed under his intent gaze. “You didn’t say where we were going. Is this okay?” She glanced down at her outfit. For the first time since he’d known her, she sounded uncertain.
“Perfect,” he said hoarsely, his eyes drawn to the dainty pearl buttons on her blouse. He’d like to unfasten them one by one…
The hell with dinner; he wanted to take her to bed.
Firmly he stifled that thought. They’d taken a major step today, and she wasn’t ready for the next one. He’d wait. He was a patient man. Oh, he could be rash at times, but when something really mattered, he knew how to bide his time, how to take care. He did that every day, when he battled disease, beating it back inch by inch. He’d do that now, too. “I’ve made reservations at The Orchard,” he said, and took her arm.
The restaurant was quiet and elegant, with subdued lighting, attentive service and a menu food critics consistently applauded. A perfect setting for the evening he’d been waiting for