Renee Roszel - Accidental Fiancee

Usually his lack of formal education didn’t bother him, since he’d done fairly well for himself—the captain of his own ship, so to speak. But Liv Nordstrom was the admiral of a fleet. Around her he felt like a slab of granite—with an absurd case of the hots for a brainy princess who’d taken it upon herself to protect him from her daddy’s bright-boy bulldozer. He didn’t like the feeling.

He exhaled wearily. “And letting her stay here was okay with the senator?”

Marc eyed heaven. “He hated it. But I asked him if he’d rather have his daughter check into a hospital out there, where the press could find out how overworked she was—which I said I’d make sure they did. I hinted the bad publicity would damage his presidential bid. He’d be compared with the slimy Simon Legree character from Uncle Tom’s Cabin. What right-thinking citizen would elect a jerk who’d allow his daughter to slave away to the brink of physical collapse? I told him if he really wanted that, I’d bundle her onto the first plane west. But as her attending physician, my recommendation was that she convalesce on Merit Island for at least a week.”

“You blackmailed the senator.” Zack felt like a volcano on the verge of erupting. He didn’t need this!

“Absolutely. I’m not partial to having perfectly fine human beings worked to death—no matter how noble the cause. And for my money, a presidential campaign is not that noble.”

Zack had to agree. Though he hated to admit it, Olivia was a whisper of her former self. She hardly weighed a thing, and he should know. He’d spent the majority of their acquaintanceship carrying her around. He peered at the hallway floor, barely noticing the polished wood or the long Persian rug runner. “What did Liv say about it?”

Marc’s laugh brought Zack’s attention to his face. “I thought I’d let you break the news, since you’re such a good friend.”

Zack knew why Marc hadn’t told Olivia. It was obvious she’d been working hard to help get her father elected, too hard, not eating or sleeping. Nobody could really blame the senator for her condition. He couldn’t stand over her with a whip making sure she ate. So, telling Olivia she’d have to take a week off would be a job suitable for only the strongest of men—or the most suicidal. Zack scowled at Marc. “Coward.”

“Hey, I blackmailed a senator. Do I have to do everything?” Marc shrugged, his expression going serious. “Besides, Mimi’s not feeling well. Her morning sickness comes at all hours, and it’s my job to hold a cool cloth on the back of her neck while she’s, er, indisposed.”

“I’d suggest you get to it, Daddy.” Zack indicated Olivia’s room. “One last thing, though. Did you remove all sharp objects she might get the urge to throw?”

Marc clapped his brother’s arms in a comradely gesture. “You jump out of airplanes, Bro. What can a delicate thing like Olivia do to you? Especially in her weakened condition?”

“We’ll find out, won’t we?” Zack groused. “I hope you keep a stash of plasma in your office.”

Marc turned to go, his chuckle echoing along the hall. “See you in the morning, Lionheart. By the way, Mimi took her some soup earlier.” He glanced back and winked. “I figure you deserve a heads-up about the spoon.”

Without responding, Zack shifted to glower at Olivia’s door. It seemed as though the Fates were conspiring to keep him continually butted up against—er—running into—rather—in close contact— “Damn!” With a determined gnashing of teeth, he headed for her room. The deed was done. She was staying. She might not like it, but there it was.

He rapped on her door, deciding if she didn’t answer that would be fine with—

“Yes?”

“Hellfire,” he muttered, then called out, “Liv, it’s Zack.”

“Come in.”

He closed his eyes. Why couldn’t she be indecent or indisposed or whatever it was women shouted from behind closed doors when they wanted the guy to go jump? He inhaled, deciding he might as well get it over.

The crystal knob turned easily and the door accommodated his slightest touch, swinging open without a squawk. She appeared before him, small and pale in the big antique four-poster with its airy lace canopy. She wore a pale pink negligee—no, it probably wasn’t called that, since it was more sweet than sexy. He couldn’t see through it and it covered her all the way to her throat. “Hello,” he said, then flinched. He didn’t sound happy. He worked on upgrading his attitude.

She’d been smiling when the door opened, but her features grew serious. “What’s the matter?” She pushed a strand of dark hair behind her ear, appearing anxious. “Do I look that bad?”

He indicated a spindly chair that had been pulled up beside her bed. “Mind if I sit?” He wondered why he’d asked that. Did he plan to stay and chat? Not on any conscious level, he didn’t.

She glanced at the chair and nodded. “Sure. I was wondering if I’d ever see you again. Everybody else has been by to see how I’m doing—even the baby. Little Ben was more or less asleep, but it was sweet of Susan to suggest he was worried about me.” She smiled. “Everybody’s been generous and caring.” She fluffed the nightgown’s ruffled neckline. “Susan loaned me this. She’d bought it for her mother’s birthday.” Olivia shook her head, seeming overwhelmed. “That’s awfully nice. I feel—unworthy of all the fuss.”

Zack sat down. The chair creaked and wobbled, but he’d committed himself to sitting, so he sat, hoping the thing wouldn’t fall into a pile of antique splinters. He leaned forward to the squeaky accompaniment of straining old wood, and rested his forearms on his thighs. “Marc called your father,” he said, seeing no reason to put it off.

She blinked, obviously startled. “Oh?”

Zack nodded. “He told the senator not to expect you back for a week. He said you’ll be staying here to relax—and eat. Doctor’s orders.”

Olivia stared for a long moment, not moving. Zack wasn’t sure she was breathing.

“Liv?” he prodded.

She swallowed, making solemn eye contact. “Oh, I couldn’t.”

“We insist,” he assured her, working to sound like he’d had anything to say in the matter. Marc’s diagnosis committed her to staying, whether she cared to or not. Besides, Zack didn’t like the idea of her passing out at the wheel of her car and careening into a building. He could deal with a week of feeling like a slab of granite. He’d been through worse.

“What did Daddy say?” she asked, her voice fragile.

Zack pursed his lips, choosing to leave out the blackmail part. “He said it was fine.”

Olivia continued to stare. Zack thought he saw her swallow again. Just when he was about to call Marc to come and check on what kind of mental collapse was taking place, her eyes began to shimmer. She blinked and a tear skittered down her cheek.

Taken off guard, he sat back. “My Lord! Are you ill?”

She slouched heavily against the pillows that were propped behind her. With a shaky hand, she wiped away the tear. For a long moment she didn’t speak or move. She merely stared straight ahead as more tears spilled down her cheeks.

Zack debated whether to take her hand to comfort her or fetch Marc and his medical bag. After a long, baffling minute, Olivia shook her head as though rousing herself from some kind of stupor. Swiping at the moisture on her cheeks, she glanced his way, her pretty lips curving in a tremulous smile. “It seems you’re forever saving my life, Zack,” she whispered.

Olivia threw back the covers and jumped out of bed. Enough sleeping and eating. She wasn’t an invalid; she was a perfectly healthy twenty-four-year-old woman! After three days and nights of bed rest, with nothing to do but lie there taking Marc’s medicine and eating huge amounts of food, she was mightily sick of herself. She felt like a slug-a-bed, which was the derogatory label her daddy gave anybody who lazed around in the sack after five in the morning.