The Doctor's Runaway Fiancée Read online

  Cassidy had come in earlier to work her magic on the bride and her attendants. Sylvie’s normally sleek do was now a riot of curls topped by a thin band of flowers. Her cocktail-length dress, a rich periwinkle blue, made her eyes look like violets.

  When Cassidy had pulled out the huge cosmetics bag, Sylvie was worried. Normally her use of makeup was a few swipes of mascara and some lip gloss. But she had to admit, the gray shadow on her lids brought out not only the color in her eyes but made them look larger, more mysterious.

  Sylvie smiled into the mirror at the ridiculous thought. The base made her skin look creamy with a hint of dew, and the lipstick—Passionate—added depth to her mouth.

  She looked...pretty.

  “I’m so happy we could share this day together.”

  Sylvie turned, only then realizing that Josie had crossed the room to her. “You look amazing,” she said to her friend. “Like a princess.”

  The sleeveless ball-gown-style dress with the intricate beading suited Josie’s figure. She was a beautiful woman, but the unmitigated joy in her eyes made her glow.

  “I can’t wait to walk down that aisle and marry Noah.” Josie’s voice softened the way it always did when she spoke of her future husband. She reached out and grasped Sylvie’s hand. “Thanks for agreeing to be part of my special day.”

  “I was surprised you asked me.” Sylvie had never quite had the nerve to ask Josie exactly why she’d asked her. “Especially only months from your wedding, when you already had enough bridesmaids.”

  “I felt a connection with you from the beginning.” Josie squeezed the hand she still held. “It was as if we were sisters separated from birth. Are you sure your father’s name isn’t John Campbell?”

  Sylvie laughed. “I’m honored.”

  “When you plan your wedding, I—”

  “That’s a long time in the future.” Sylvie kept her tone light. “If ever.”

  “I thought you and Andrew...”

  “I suppose anything is possible,” Sylvie said and was relieved to see the worry leave her friend’s eyes. “But this is your special day. We can discuss my special day another time. Deal?”

  “Deal.” Josie gave her hand a shake. “I think it’s time we do this.”

  “It’s definitely time for you to walk down that aisle.” Sylvie nodded for emphasis, her tone equally lighthearted.

  In less than an hour, Josie Campbell and Noah Anson joined their lives together.

  There was only one bad moment. That was when Josie looked into Noah’s eyes when they said their vows. A promise made to stick tight through the good times and the bad, to build a life together.

  Sylvie wasn’t a crier. She didn’t shed tears over sentimental cards or the commercials aired at holiday times. But seeing the promise in Josie’s and Noah’s eyes and knowing they meant every word brought tears to her eyes.

  She blinked them back before anyone could notice or she embarrassed herself by letting them fall. They hit again when she was walking down the aisle at the end of the ceremony and her gaze locked with Andrew’s.

  The sight of him with that smile meant for only her had Sylvie’s heart turning into a sweet, heavy mass in her chest. Was it her curse in life to want what she couldn’t have?

  A father. A mother. A home and a family. And now the man she loved.

  For a second, as she returned to the front of the church to pose for pictures, she found herself wondering if it would have been better if Andrew had never come to Jackson Hole. Perhaps agreeing to spend the past few weeks with him had been a mistake, too.

  He’d come to get her out of his system and she’d agreed to spend time with him. She’d owed him. Now that debt had been paid.

  But she’d paid a high price, because now she knew what she hadn’t known then. Without him her heart would never be whole again.

  * * *

  The reception at the Spring Gulch Country Club lasted until 1:00 a.m. There was a sit-down dinner featuring steak and lobster followed by dancing to a live band.

  From the number of flowers, it appeared the family had bought out every florist shop in the state of Wyoming. Andrew sat beside her at the head table.

  By the time he’d reached the age of thirty, Andrew had been in his share of weddings. He had to admit this had been one of the most enjoyable. Sylvie was in high spirits and had even allowed him to escort her out on the dance floor.

  What she lacked in basic skills, she made up in natural rhythm. The truth was, he didn’t care if she could dance a single step. He simply wanted her in his arms.

  “You smell terrific.” It was a different scent, light and floral with a hint of sultry.

  “French perfume,” Sylvie confided. “My bridesmaid’s gift from Josie.”

  “It’s sexy as hell.” He twirled her around, then dipped her low. “But your other fragrance is still my favorite.”

  Laughing and breathless, she clung to him as they straightened and then began to move to the lilting melody. “I don’t usually wear perfume.”

  “You do.” He leaned close, brushing his lips across her ear. “It smells a little like cinnamon and vanilla with a touch of a yeasty earthiness.”

  She tilted back her head and gazed into his eyes. “Are you saying I smell like a bakery?”

  God, she’s lovely.

  “If the apron fits, wear it.”

  She laughed again. “That is so lame.”

  “I’m having difficulty concentrating.” He lowered his voice so his next words were for her ears only. “I keep wondering what you’re wearing under that dress.”

  “Why don’t we go home and you can find out?”

  Andrew’s body reacted to the words. He could see her lying stretched out on the bed wearing only those high heels and silk stockings.

  He was ready to walk out the door, but as he glanced around the room, his enthusiasm was tempered by reality. It wasn’t even midnight and the reception was in full swing. Still, he was ready to carry this party on home. Not that he wasn’t having fun. The dinner, the champagne and Sylvie’s amazing cake had made for an enjoyable evening so far.

  Being seated at the head table had given him a chance to get acquainted with Benedict’s brothers—also physicians—as well as spend time with his beautiful date, who sparkled tonight like the brightest gem in a showcase.

  Yet it had been a long day. The knowledge that they didn’t have to get up at three to bake—someone named Lexi Delacourt was filling in—meant he and Sylvie could enjoy themselves for as long as they wanted once they got home.

  “How long do you have to stay?” He kept his tone nonchalant. She was a bridesmaid. This was her friend’s reception. If Sylvie felt she needed to close down the party, she’d hear no complaints from him.

  “I don’t believe it matters,” she said. “We’ll just need to say our goodbyes and then we should be able to slip away.”

  Saying their goodbyes took a little longer than Andrew had hoped, but within forty-five minutes they were home.

  The first thing Sylvie did when she walked through the door was to plop down on the sofa and slip off those sexy stilettos.

  Andrew felt a pang when he saw them drop to the floor.

  “It was a beautiful wedding, but I’m glad it’s done.” She raked a hand through her curls, dislodging several flowers from the ring.

  “Before you get too comfortable.” He held out his hand, and when she took it, he pulled her up against him. “Let’s dance.”

  He began to sway.

  “We don’t have any music,” she said even as her steps followed his.

  He brushed his lips across her hair. “We make our own music.”

  She gave a happy sigh and settled against him, her body molding to his, soft where he was hard.

  Ro
ck hard.

  “If you wanted to dance,” she said into his shirtfront, “we could have stayed at the reception.”

  “If we’d been on the dance floor, I couldn’t have done this.” He tipped her face up to his, then lowered his mouth over hers.

  She tasted like wine and cake, an erotic combination that fueled the fire coursing through his veins. He wanted this woman. He loved this woman. And he would find a way that she would be his.

  Not just for tonight, but forever.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Andrew rolled out of bed the next morning at nine o’clock. He decided he’d never again take for granted sleeping past 3:00 a.m. It had been nearly that time when he and Sylvie finally fell into an exhausted slumber.

  Instead of heading straight for the shower, he glanced down at the bed. Sylvie lay sprawled on her back, one arm crooked over her eyes as if shielding them from light. The pretty curls disheveled from last night’s lovemaking only made her more beautiful.

  He wanted to wake her, to make love to her again and feel that connection, the bond they’d forged. Andrew knew the difference between making love and having sex. Last night had been all about love.

  He’d come here to get her out of his heart. Instead his love for her had only grown deeper. He knew she loved Jackson Hole, but if she gave Boston a chance he knew she could love it there, too.

  She could start a bakery there. His family had connections, lots of them, and could steer business her way until she got a good foothold. He understood her passion for creating now and would encourage those efforts.

  If she liked his condo, they could live there. If it didn’t suit her, they would shop around until she found a place that felt like home to her.

  Andrew thought of his conversation with Gabe and Joel about building a home in Spring Gulch. That had just been a pipe dream. His life was in Boston. His future was with O’Shea Sports.

  It wasn’t the life he’d have chosen, but running the company would be his tribute to Thomas.

  Sylvie stirred and for a second he thought she was waking up, but she merely rolled over and snuggled into the pillow. Giving up medicine would be difficult, but at least he would have Sylvie to ease the transition.

  They would have a good life. He tried to imagine her back in Boston, but the image remained fuzzy.

  After his shower, he dressed, then made coffee. He’d wait to make breakfast until Sylvie was awake. He was scrolling through his email when his phone rang. His father’s picture flashed on the screen.

  “Dad. How are you?”

  “Very good.” Despite the almost twenty-five hundred miles that separated them, the excitement in his father’s voice came through loud and clear. “Excellent, in fact.”

  Andrew found himself smiling into the phone. “What’s going on? Did that new technology the engineers were working on pan out?”

  It was an educated guess. Though his dad loved his family, nothing got him more revved up than business successes. And Andrew was aware that the R & D department had been working on several ways to refine the engineering and performance of their bestselling running shoe.

  “That project is coming along nicely,” his father said, almost as if they were talking about a minor change of little consequence. “This is bigger. That’s why I need you back. I’ve sent the Gulfstream.”

  Andrew took a drink of the Ethiopian blend he’d just brewed. Obviously his brain wasn’t yet firing on all circuits. “You sent the Gulfstream where?”

  His dad was very particular about the use of the corporate jet. If he’d sent it out, the news had to be big.

  “To Jackson Hole. Weren’t you listening to me?” His father’s voice lashed like a whip.

  Andrew resisted the urge to chuckle. His father must be revved up to use what Corinne called his “head honcho” tone with a family member.

  “I heard you say something big is happening.”

  “Not big—huge.” The excited tremor returned to his father’s voice. “We’re about to finalize the acquisition of a European mobile fitness start-up.”

  “Wasn’t that the deal Corinne had been working on?” Andrew vaguely recalled his sister mentioning something about a company with a GPS fitness tracking app. If it was that particular deal, it was worth about two hundred and forty million dollars.

  “Your sister made the initial contacts, was involved in the preliminary negotiations, but I want you here to close the deal.”

  Andrew wondered what his sister thought about being tossed out during the sprint to the finish, but he shoved the thought aside. He’d attempted to advocate on Corinne’s behalf, but his father could not be swayed. O’Shea men had run the company for the hundred years since it was founded, and that was the way it would continue.

  If only he hadn’t hounded Thomas into coming to that game with him, it would be his brother closing the deal. Thomas would have been as excited as his father and Corinne over all the possibilities. Andrew would have to dig deep to find even a modicum of enthusiasm for the project.

  After confirming he would indeed fly back to Boston that afternoon, Andrew clicked off and laid the phone on the table.

  He hoped Sylvie would be able to make the trip with him today, but he would understand if she had to stay behind for a few days to close up her business here.

  “You’re leaving?”

  Sylvie stood in the doorway, wearing nothing but the white shirt he’d had on last night. It hung halfway to her bare thighs. Her expression gave nothing away.

  “My dad called.” He gestured to the coffeemaker, gripped with a sudden feeling of unease. “I made a pot. Ethiopian blend. Your favorite.”

  Without even sparing the countertop where the coffeepot rested a single glance, she crossed the room, stopping a couple of feet from him. “What did your father want?”

  “He wants me to come home.” Andrew might have been speaking with a statue. She didn’t even blink.

  “I thought you had until October 1 to give him your decision.”

  He frowned, puzzled. “What decision?”

  “About whether you’d be returning to Boston or not.”

  “My returning to Boston has never been in question.”

  She flinched as if she’d been slapped. “I see.”

  “What do you see?” The question spurted out with more edge than he’d intended.

  “I see,” she said slowly and deliberately, “that you came back here to get me out of your system. You’ve accomplished your mission. Now you’re leaving.”

  The light that had shone so brightly in her eyes last night had vanished.

  “You don’t understand.” He stepped forward, grasped her hands. Relief surged when she didn’t pull away. “I want you to come with me.”

  The flicker in her eyes was all the encouragement Andrew needed. The words tumbled out. “If you don’t like my condo in the Millennium Towers, we can do some house-hunting while we’re there. You can even scout locations for your bakery. It will be good, Sylvie. You and I can build a life together there.”

  She tugged her hands free, took a step back. “I have a life here, in Jackson Hole.”

  His heart plummeted, but somehow, when he spoke his voice was calm. “Of course you do. And we can come back every winter and see your friends. They can come and see us in Boston as often as you want.”

  “You’re planning on working for your father.”

  “I won’t be working for him in the traditional sense of the word.” His tone had stiffened, despite his best efforts to control it. “He’ll be the CEO of O’Shea Sports. I’ll be COO. We’ll each have duties and responsibilities.”

  “You’ll be working all the time.”

  Though Andrew wanted to reassure her, he wouldn’t lie. “Initially, possibly.”

 
“Probably,” he qualified at her probing look. “But once I get up to speed, it won’t be as much.”

  “Will you be able to practice medicine?”

  “No.” He’d done his best not to think of what he’d be giving up, and he found himself resenting her for bringing it up. “There won’t be time.”

  Sadness swept across her face. “There won’t be time for me, either.”

  “It’ll be hectic at first, but—”

  She raised a hand. “The position will consume your life, like it does for your father, like it did for your brother.”

  The mention of Thomas had him going cold. “What are you saying, Sylvie? Spit it out.”

  “I’m not going with you.”

  “You can come later. I realize you have obligations here. I was hoping you could fly back with me today, but I understand—”

  “No.” She met his gaze. “I’m not going back to Boston with you, Andrew. I can’t watch you lose yourself, give up your passion for medicine as a way of atoning for your brother’s death.”

  He’d stepped forward but stopped a foot from her. She might look small and vulnerable in his shirt, but her eyes, as well as her tongue, were razor sharp.

  “I care about you too much.” She closed her eyes, and for the first time, he noticed the tears shimmering on the edges of her lashes.

  “If you cared about me, you’d come with me.” It was as close to begging as he’d ever come with anyone. “Please, Sylvie, come with me. Make a life with me in Boston.”

  “You giving up your dream for someone else’s would only tear us apart.”

  “You’re still running scared, aren’t you?” His humorless laugh sounded harsh even to his own ears. “You can’t, you won’t, make a commitment because you’re scared it won’t work.”

  “That’s not it,” she protested. “It’s—”

  “You’re a coward.”

  Her spine stiffened even as her eyes turned dark as midnight. “You won’t stand up to your father. You won’t make him understand how important medicine is to you. You won’t fight for your sister when you know it’s the right thing to do. Who’s the coward, Andrew?”