Lorna Michaels - The Truth About Elyssa

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.

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 since the first time he’d seen Elyssa.

As the maamp2;ˆtre d’ led them to their table, someone called his name. Brett turned and saw a group of senior staff members from St. Michael’s. He stopped to greet them.

“Well, I see Clark lets you out sometimes,” Dr. Herbert Raines said.

“Not only that, but he recommends restaurants.” Brett grinned as he met the eyes of Clark Madigan, the hospital chief of staff, who’d convinced him to leave Duke University Hospital and come here.

Madigan returned the smile. “Dr. Cameron deserves an evening out at a fine restaurant now and then. He’s doing a first-rate job.”

Brett acknowledged the smiles and nods from around the table, then said, “Gentlemen, I’d like you to meet Elyssa Jarmon. She’s been entertaining the kids in the cancer unit.”

To his surprise Madigan’s eyes cooled. He shook Elyssa’s hand but said only a curt hello. Not his usual style. Clark Madigan was charm personified. But not tonight.

None of the other doctors were particularly cordial, either. But Brett put that out of his mind. He wasn’t here to speculate on his colleagues’ moods. The evening he’d been longing for had finally come to pass, and he wanted to focus on Elyssa.

“Sorry for the interruption,” he said when they were seated.

“I don’t mind.” Her eyes teased. “I’m enjoying being with a famous doctor.”

“You’re pretty well-known yourself.”

She flashed a wry smile. “Former celebrity.” She paused, then said, “Brett, I want to tell you about my accident.”

The waiter hovered, order pad in hand. When they’d made their choices, Brett said, “I know about the accident,” then, noting her surprise, added, “but not the details. I ran into the coordinator of volunteer services the other day, and she told me you’d offered your services because you were grateful for the care you’d gotten at St. Michael’s after your wreck. That’s all I know.”