(Ellora's Cave) Mary Janice Davidson - Love Lies (Ellora's Cave)

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LOVE LIES

MARYJANICE DAVIDSON

MS Reader (LIT) ISBN # 1-84360-307-1

Mobipocket (PRC) ISBN #1-84360-308-X

Other available formats (no ISBNs are assigned):

Adobe (PDF), Rocketbook (RB), & HTML

Ellora's Cave, Inc. USA

Ellora's Cave Ltd, UK

This e-book may not be reproduced in whole or in part by email forwarding, copying, fax, or any other

mode of communication without author permission.

Edited by Martha Punches

Cover Art byScott Carpenter

Warning:

The following material contains strong sexual content meant for mature readers. LOVE LIES has been

rated Hard R, erotic, by three individual reviewers. We strongly suggest storing this electronic file in a

place where young readers not meant to view this ebook are unlikely to happen upon it. That said,

enjoy…

CHAPTER ONE

Victor Lawrence glanced at his watch and sighed. Administration had been keeping him waiting four

minutes by his count, and they were allowed exactly one more before he walked out of here. He was the

money-man, for God’s sake. What did they think they were doing, making him cool his heels like a

patient?

He got up and stepped outside to see if Dr. Langenfeld was on his way, when he heard a shrill, “Look

out!” and then felt a walloping pain in his knees. The impact drove him to the carpet.

Holding both knees and swallowing an undignified yelp of agony, he rolled over on his back and glared

at the reckless driver. She was sitting in her wheelchair, both hands clapped over her mouth, looking at

him with wide, shocked eyes.

Immediately, he swallowed half the things he wanted to say. He was a bastard, at least, according to his

ex-wife and her lawyers, but he wasn’t mean enough to scream at a woman in a wheelchair. Especially

one who looked as horrified as she did, if the size of those baby blues was any indication.

“If you’re late, don’t let me keep you,” he managed to say without gasping. His knees were throbbing in

perfect rhythm with his heart. He was afraid to let go of them to see how badly she’d shredded his

slacks. But not knowing was actually worse, so he cautiously let go, sat up, and looked. Amazing! The

fabric wasn’t torn. Neither, presumably, was his skin. And now that he thought about it, he’d taken

harder knocks in the dojo. But there, at least, one expected it. Hospitals were supposed to be safe

places. “Were you going to therapy?” He gentled his tone, not wanting to frighten her further.

She made a strangled sound and he climbed to his feet, forcing a smile. “It’s all right. No harm done,” he

lied, certain he’d be limping the rest of the week. “Don’t get upset, now.”

She finally dropped her hands—and started laughing. He saw at once that she hadn’t been frightened at

all, that she’d been covering her mouth in an attempt to swallow the giggles before they could escape. By

the time she finished she was slumped in her wheelchair, wiping her streaming eyes.

“I’m sorry,” she gasped, “but you—oh, God! You went over like a bowling pin. And the look on

your…” She snorted and appeared ready to go off into still more gales of laughter, but he interrupted her.

“As an apology that leaves a lot to be desired. You…”Should watch where you’re going , he’d been

about to say, but that wasn’t the sort of thing one said to someone who didn’t have the use of her legs.

Perhaps he should have been more careful—they were in a hospital, after all. “You could have been hurt.

You should be more careful.”

She grinned up at him and her great looks hit him like a blow. She had rich brown hair that glowed with

red highlights, even under poor fluorescent lighting. Her eyes were pale blue, almost icy, and if she

weren’t smiling they would have seemed cold. And her smile! Her mouth was wide and mobile and her

lips were full, the upper lip a near-perfect cupid’s bow. It was a mouth meant for staring at, for

worshipping, for kissing. She was very pale, but her skin had a pinkish undertone, giving her face a

healthy glow. In short, she was the best looking woman he’d seen outside Hollywood, much less within

the bowels of The Carlson-Musch Institute for Mental Health.

He realized he was staring with his mouth open and said again, harsher than he intended, “You should be

more careful.”

“Don’t get huffy with me,” she said tartly—and unrepentantly! “You’re the one who didn’t look both

ways before exiting the office. Tall people, I swear. They can’t see below five feet.”

“We can when we get run down like a gopher in the road,” Victor snapped back, then immediately felt

bad. No one liked it when he was angry, ex-wives, divorce lawyers, aikido partners, and now she would

cringe, and those gorgeous eyes would glisten with unshed tears, and she’d fumble for the wheels so she

could roll away, probably sobbing, and—

“You whine like a toddler,” she informed him cheerfully. Before he could respond to that, they both

heard the chime of the elevator. “Oops! Company coming.”

“Finally,” he muttered. “Stimulating as this has been, er, whatever your name is, Dr. Langenfeld has

finally remembered I’m his ten o’clock. Time to part ways.”

The effect of his statement was electric. The woman’s eyes widened, then narrowed, and she leapt out

of her chair.Out of herchair ? In his surprise he nearly fell back to the carpet again. “Dammit!” she cried,

dodging past him and into the office. “He can’t see me, if he sees me he’ll kick me out and I’m

not—listen, cover for me, okay?” And with that, she dived into the closet, slamming the door shut behind

her.

Victor stared at the closet door, nonplused. He hadn’t been this astonished when he managed to

successfully evade being audited for the third year in a row. When his ex-wife left him but disdained

alimony. When—

“Ah, Mr. Lawrence. I'm Dr. Langenfeld.” Langenfeld held out his hand and, robot-like, Victor shook it.

“Sorry to keep you waiting—what, over ten minutes!” Langenfeld gulped thirstily at his coffee and sat

down. “Yes, well. We had a problem with a patient’s family…my secretary should have told you.”

“Ten minutes?” Victor echoed stupidly. It had been four minutes when he stepped outside and got

creamed by what’s-her-name. Time flies when you’re being assaulted and insulted.

“Yes, and, as I say, it’s unforgivable. Take your coat?” Langenfeld didn’t wait for an answer, just

scooped up Victor’s jacket and opened the closet door.

“Don’t!” Victor yelled, startling the doctor into turning and dropping the jacket. The closet door hung

part-way open and Vic could see the woman standing amidst white lab coats. Langenfeld, completely

unaware that she was standing less than two feet away, was looking at Victor over his shoulder. The

woman backed deeper into the closet, but there was nowhere to go.Do something , she mouthed.

“Beg pardon?”

“My coat. I’d like to keep it. Here, give it to me.” He hurried to Langenfeld’s side, grabbing his coat

back and slamming the door shut at the same time.

It was rumored that Dr. Dean Langenfeld had gotten his job through nepotism, and that may have been

true, but he didn’t get to be the head of one of the most prestigious mental hospitals in the country

without learning something about people’s idiosyncrasies. As such, he didn’t comment when Victor

snatched his jacket back and slammed the closet door. He just gestured to an empty chair and walked

around his desk to the other side.

“All right, then,” he said briskly. “Where were we?”

“You were apologizing for keeping me waiting.”

“Right. Sorry about that.” The man didn’t sound too worried, though. Victor decided to remind him just

what was at stake.

“Massachusetts General might be able to put my money to better use,” he threatened, “and they likely

wouldn’t keep me waiting to write the check, either.”

Ah! This was satisfying. Langenfeld nearly choked on his coffee. “Oh no, no, no, Mr. Lawrence. I—that

is,we want—we need the money. Very much. Please?”

“I’m not a big fan of hospital charity work.” Victor dropped into the proffered seat with a grimace.

Aargh , his knees! “The medical community has billions of dollars, but hospitals are always whining for

more money. Figure that one out.”

Langenfeld squirmed, but, Victor noted with an internal sigh, didn’t dare argue. Flash a little money at

someone and they turned into a jellyfish. The country’s medical crisis was just a tad more complicated

than all that. A pity Langenfeld wouldn’t point that out. Victor liked people who had guts. They were

rarer than honest lawyers. He ought to know.

He tried once more. “If you guys spent a little less on inflated doctor’s salaries and a little more on

equipment, you’d be doing a lot better.” Nope. Nothing. Langenfeld was even nodding in agreement.

Victor sighed. “That’s neither here nor there. I’ll be frank, Langenfeld. I need the tax break. And good

PR never hurts.”

“Right, right. And we’re very grateful. Ah…how much—I mean, what amount were you—did you want

to—”

“Five hundred thousand,” Victor said casually. “To start, we’ll see how it goes from there.”

Langenfeld was, to no great surprise, nearly overwhelmed with gratitude. So overwhelmed he stood and

pumped Victor’s hand for more than a minute. So overwhelmed that he let Victor kick him out of his

own office after Victor explained he needed to use the phone to make a private call.

“Fine, fine, dial nine to get out.” Dr. Langenfeld was walking backward, practically genuflecting. Victor

fought not to roll his eyes. “I’m late for a meeting anyway.” He rushed out.

Victor crossed the room and rapped on the closet door. “It’s safe now.”

The door opened and the woman stood there, shaking her head. “That was not a pretty sight. Luckily I

couldn’t actually see it. Who’da thought Langenfeld could be so…so…”

“Beside himself with gratitude?”

“Cringing and groveling.”

“Can you blame him?” Victor asked, a little piqued that she wasn’t staring at him with an awed gaze.

She must have heard everything. She knew he had gobs of money to flash around. “It’s not every day

someone drops a check for a half mil in his lap.”

She rolled her eyes. “Yeah, you’re a real humanitarian.” Her voice roughened, deepened. “‘I’ll be frank,

Langenfeld. I need the tax break. Also, I’m such a big shot that I’m going to torture you for keeping me

waiting. Also—’”

“If I giveyou five hundred thousand dollars,” he asked silkily, “will you shut up?”

“Better than that, I’ll leave for free.” She gave him a haughty look and swept grandly out of the closet.

He smothered a laugh. God, she was fun. And so beautiful it almost hurt to look at her.

“You can’t go yet,” he said reasonably, shrugging into his jacket. “I saved you from a humiliating

discovery. How were you planning on explaining your presence to Dr. Langenfeld? He would have taken

one look at you—”And fallen in love . Victor scowled. Where had that thought come from?

“—and called security,” she finished. “Tell me about it. He and I go way back.”

“I knew it!” he said triumphantly. “Youare a patient. Why the wheelchair? You walk as well as I do.

Are you a hypochondriac? Is it Munchausen syndrome?”

“What incredibly rude questions, Mr…uh…what’s your name again?”

“Lawrence. Victor Lawrence.”

She gave him a funny look. “Can I see your driver’s license?”

“What are you, a cop?” he asked good-naturedly, but he fished it out for her.

She glanced at it and wrinkled her nose. “Nice picture. You look embalmed.” Again, he had to choke

back a laugh. It took most of his will power to look irritated. “Lawrence, Victor,” she continued. “Yep,

there it is. Isthat your birthday? You’re ancient.”

“I’m only thirty-four.”

“Only, he says! Do you realize if we were still in high school I’d be a seventh grader and you’d be a

freshman in college? All your friends would laugh at you for dating me. And think of my parents! They’d

have a fit! If I had parents, I mean.”

“You must be a patient. You can’t be a normal person.”

She handed his license back. “Forget it. Thanks for letting me see your I.D. I was a little weirded out

when you told me your last name. It sounds like mine. I’m Ashley Lorentz.”

“Lawrence?” he said doubtfully.

“L-O-R-E-N-T-Z. See?They’re pronounced exactly the same. If we got married I wouldn’t have to get

new monogrammed towels. Not that I have any now, but you know what I mean.”

“I doubt anyone but your psychiatrist knows what you mean. Why were you in the wheelchair?”

“Because they were after me,” she said matter-of-factly. “I had to ditch them until shift change.”

He nodded, pretending to understand.Paranoia. Poor thing. “Well, are they still after you, or is it safe

to leave?”

“What time is it?”

He told her. She thought about it for a moment, then nodded. “Yes, it’s safe. I can go back up to the

floors. Thanks a lot for covering for me.” She smiled at him and, annoyingly; he started to get hard.She’s

a mental patient, for God’s sake! Stop thinking with what’s in your pants. She could not be more

off-limits if she had do not disturbtattooed on her forehead.

“Can I walk you back to your room?”

“No, but you can walk me back up to 12A. I’m not a patient here.”

“Of course not,” he soothed her, gesturing for her to precede him. “If you don’t mind my asking, why

were you in a wheelchair?”

“That’s the third time you’ve asked, actually, and not that it’s any of your business, but they had Wet

Floor signs all over and I didn’t want to slip while I was running. I borrowed one and was well on my

way to making a clean getaway when you had to blunder into my way.” She took the sting out of her

words by patting his arm. “I’m really sorry about plowing into you.”

“And laughing at me,” he prompted.

“Oh, I’m not sorry aboutthat . You looked so funny! But I suppose it was kind of mean. Still, it’s not

like I’ll ever see you again. Having written the check, the writing hand moves on, and all that. In fact, why

are you still here? Don’t you have a hostile takeover to engineer or something?”

“As soon as I see you back to your room,” he said with as much dignity as he could muster, “I’ll get

right on that.”

She laughed and, after a moment, he joined her. His arm still burned where she had so casually touched

him. What a pity she was a lunatic.

“You don’t have to walk me back,” she told him. “I know my way around. I’m here all the time. In fact,

O Great God of Money, I know my way around here better than you do.”

“I don’t doubt it. Where did you say your room was? 12A?”

She kicked him. Actually kicked his ankle! “I didn’t say my room was on Wing 12A, I said I wouldgo

to 12A. Obviously you inherited your zillions…you’re not bright enough to have made all that money on

your own.”

“Not bright—” He forced himself to calm down and started again. “For your information, I made my

own damn money. And I’m very smart, extremely smart. Top-of-my-class smart. I went to Harvard, for

God’s sake!”

“Are you trying to convince me, or yourself?”

“If you were not ill,” he told her through gritted teeth, “I would turn you over my knee for that.”

This dire threat fazed her not at all. “I’m not a patient here, I told you that.”

“You’re not a patient here.”

“No.”

“But you were in a wheelchair, which you don’t need.”

“Correct.”

“To get away fromthem .”

“Yes,” she said impatiently.

“Don’t take this the wrong way or anything, but have you taken your medication today?”

She let out a yowl that brought the hair on the back of his neck to stiff attention. “Stop making that

noise!” he begged. “You sound like a squashed cat.”

“Stomped on a lot of them on your way to the top, eh? And for the last time, I’m a guest, not an inmate.

Come on, I’ll prove it,” she said, grabbing his hand and practically wrestling him into the elevator.

“Sure, you’re a guest,” he said, humoring her. “Aspecial guest.”

“You’re an idiot,” she informed him. “And there’s nothing special about that.”

“You’re amazing,” he said, laughing, then clenched his teeth to keep further nonsense from sneaking out.

It was true—shewas amazing, refreshing and marvelous in all ways—but it would never do to tell her

such things.Oh, why are you bothering with her? he asked himself impatiently.The ink on your

divorce papers is barely dry, she’s a mental patient, and you’ve sworn off women until the end of

the next century. Get her back to her room and get out.

Ashley could sense the change in him and wondered about it. The silence gave her a chance to get her

head together, to attempt to collect her whirling thoughts.

She’d hardly been able to take her eyes off him from the moment he plowed into her wheelchair. He

was, without question, the handsomest man she had ever seen. Tall, he was broad-shouldered and

muscular, but not bulky. His hair was so dark it was nearly black, and his eyeswere black—so dark it

was impossible to tell where the iris ended and the pupil began. Looking into those eyes was like staring

up into a starless night—exhilarating and even a bit frightening.

He was darkly tanned, almost swarthy, and his mouth was thin, saved from being severe by a sensual

twist of his upper lip.

She was so captivated by his good looks, she had spoken without thinking. Repeatedly. Thank God he

seemed to like it. To likeher . Though that had been short-lived. Now he was standing against the wall of

the elevator, staring straight ahead, arms folded across his chest. He looked like he’d rather be anywhere

in the world but here.

Ashley flushed with embarrassment. Here she was, dragging him all over the hospital so she could prove

she wasn’t a patient. What did she care what this arrogant rich putz thought? And why shouldhe care if

she was a patient or not? He was just being polite. A busy man like him probably had a thousand things

to do, and she was wasting time with her nonsense, all so she could keep looking at him. She was acting

like an idiot!

“What’s the matter with you?”

Ashley jumped. “What?”

“Your face,” he said, sounding bored and not looking at her, “is as red as a tomato. You look like

you’re going to have a stroke.”

“The curse of having a pale complexion,” she sighed. “Actually, I was kind of embarrassed. You’ve got

way more important things to do than hang around with me. I’m sorry I was so pushy. I’ll see you

around. Or maybe not.”

With perfect timing—or disastrous, depending on how you looked at it—the elevator doors snapped

open. She stepped forward just as his hand closed around her bicep. “Please,” he said, “hold up.”

She looked at him, conscious of the warmth of his hand on her arm. “What? I said I was going. It’s

going to be a lot harder if I have to drag you along behind me like the world’s biggest rag doll.”

“When did I say I wanted you to go?” He couldn’t believe her. Further proof she was clearly

unbalanced: no sane woman would be this refreshingly honest, this direct. He had asked why she was

blushing and she had told himexactly why, not worried about how silly it might have seemed to him. Not

that he found it silly. He found her explanation—and her—charming. And she was going to walk out of

his life with a glib ‘See you around’? Not likely! “Ah-ha! Now that you actually have to prove you don’t

belong here, you balk. Why don’t you just admit you were wrong and we can go on from there? You

don’t have to be ashamed about living here. It’s good that you’re getting help—this is an excellent facility.

Who’s your doctor? I’m going to be able to pull a lot of weight around here, maybe I could get you—”

“Extra pudding with dinner?”

“—more privileges. Maybe you could get a day pass and we could do something together. You’re

not...um...a danger to yourself or others, right?”

“Only when I’m in a wheelchair.” Ashley realized he was still holding her arm, and the elevator door was

starting to close. She jumped through the narrowing crack, pulling him with her. He dropped her arm and

she was sorry. She was still reeling from his casual invitation. He was asking her out? Mr. Rich Classy

Guy Who Thinks She’s Nuts wanted to go out together? It was almost worth it to let him keep thinking

she was a patient.

She realized he was waiting for an answer. “Maybe I’m dreaming,” she said with a frown. “Some

Technicolor dream with tons of Freudian symbolism. You’re not carrying a banana with you by any

chance, are you?”

“I left it home with my cigars. Come on, let’s get you back to your room.” He prodded her gently and

she finally quit frowning at him and started walking. He wanted to rest his hand on the small of her back,

but restrained himself. There were a lot of things he wanted to do, and he suspected restraining himself

would get to be a habit. For he intended to get to know this creature very well in the coming weeks. She

was fascinating and funny and drop-dead gorgeous, and if she had some problems, if she was a patient

here, so what?

He wondered briefly if Ashley would be a transitional woman, someone to use in order to get over the

pain of divorce, then dismissed the thought. This woman could not be less like his ex-wife if she were

from another planet. Where Crystal was calculating, Ashley spoke without thinking. Crystal’s humor was

biting and always drew blood; Ashley made him laugh out loud. Even Crystal’s beauty was cold—short,

spiky blonde hair, chilly green eyes, sallow skin, colorless lips smeared with frosty lipsticks. Crystal was

a tall, urbane, refined woman, and Ashley was none of these things. Hell, she barely came up to his

shoulder. No, she was nothing like the woman he married, loved briefly, lived with too long, divorced

hurriedly.

“What’s the matter?”

Startled out of his train of thought, he looked at her. “Pardon?”

“You’ve got this really intent look on your face. Planning on foreclosing on a few widows after lunch?”

“Thursdays is Foreclosure day. Today I’m tearing down the orphanage.”

She snorted, then marched into her room (12A, he noted, and committed to memory) and gaily greeted

the woman sitting on the bed. “Jeannie, you’ll never guess who saved me from being tossed out by Dr.

Doofus Langenfeld.”

Victor nodded politely. “Ma’am,” he said, though he’d bet half his fortune she hadn’t yet seen

twenty-five.

Jeannie nodded back. She was dressed in orange stirrup pants with the stirrups loose and flapping

around her ankles, and a white turtleneck roughly four times too large for her. She had short, curly

strawberry blonde hair and freckles, vivid green eyes, and a small, perfectly upturned nose. She looked

like an imp, a sprite, some small creature of gaiety and fun, so he was more than a little surprised when

she greeted him with a husky, “Bonjour. Many thanks for saving my friend from the dire Dr.

Langenfeld’s odious clutches. And Ashley, as you well know, my name is not Jeannie, it is Jeannette.

Triscuit?” She offered him the box.

“No thanks.”

“Jean, you’ll never guess! Vic thinks I’m a patient here. Isn’t that wild?”

“Your character judgment is shadowed only by your good looks. You are uncommonly handsome.”

“Thank you,” he managed.

“Why are you thanking me? You had nothing to do with it. You’re the result of a crapshoot, genetically

speaking. I, unfortunately, was not so lucky.”

“You’re pretty!” he protested.

“Pretty,” she sneered, as if she were saying ‘garbage’.

“Oh, here we go,” Ashley said.

“I am cute, I am adorable, I ampretty . Bah! My outside should match my inside. I should be tall, stately

and stunning, with a commanding presence. Instead I look like I fell off a Disney set.” Her tone was

severe but she smiled as she spoke and Vic, after his initial discomfort, found himself smiling back.

“Anyway,” Ashley said impatiently, “this is why I was here, Vic. Jean’s the patient. I just come to visit.”

“Is that true?” he asked Jeannette.

Jeannette’s eyes, the green of dusty leaves, began to gleam in a way he didn’t like. “Now, Ashley. You

know Dr. Ristau doesn’t like it when you tell lies.”

“This is not the time for one of your sick jokes,” Ashley said warningly, beginning to look alarmed.

“Did she tell you she could leave any time she pleased?” Jeannette asked him, her voice heavy with

sympathy. Vic nodded. “Ah, well. New medication, don’t you know.”

“I’m not on any medication, you liar!”

“I’m the liar?” she asked, offended. “You’re the one claiming you don’t live here.”

Ashley actually hopped with rage. “Idon’t live here! And I’m never coming to visit you again if you don’t

tell him the truth!”

Jeannette sighed. “Oh, Ash, poor darling. Deluded to the end.”

Ashley growled and started forward, fists clenched. Jeannette squeaked and snatched a pillow to her

chest in defense. “Now Ashley,” she gasped. “Remember what Dr. Ristau said. You have to get in touch

with your anger, stop lashing out at innocents.”

“I’m going to lash out, all right,” she promised grimly. “You won’t be able to walk for a week when I get

done lashing out.”

Victor decided now might be a prudent time to jump in, so he reached out, grabbed Ashley, and pulled

her back. “You’d better not,” he said, hellishly conscious of her warm bottom against his groin. “They’ll

probably send orderlies to tranq you or something. I’m pretty sure they don’t let the patients get into

fistfights.”

“Jeannie!” Ashley shouted as he pulled her away from the cowering woman. “Tell him the truth!”

“Actually,” she said, peeking out from under the pillow, “I find it interesting that it matters so much to

you what he thinks. Most interesting.”

“You’re going to findtraction interesting if you don’t cut the crap!”

“Ashley, Ashley,” Vic said soothingly, then nearly went sprawling as she tried to yank herself away from

him by lunging for Jeannette. He solved that problem by wrapping his arms around her middle and

picking her up off the floor, holding her against him. “Don’t get upset. It doesn’t matter to me.”

“Itdoes matter,” she said, feet swinging impotently.

“No,” he said firmly. “It doesn’t. I’m just glad you’re in a place where you can get better.”

She made an inarticulate sound of rage and wriggled to get loose. Her feet kicked and swung six inches

off the floor. He squeezed her until she squeaked and stopped kicking. “If I put you down,” he said, not

particularly wanting to, “will you stop trying to hurt Jeannette?”

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LOVELIES MARYJANICEDAVIDSONMSReader(LIT)ISBN#1-84360-307-1Mobipocket(PRC)ISBN#1-84360-308-XOtheravailableformats(noISBNsareassigned):Adobe(PDF),Rocketbook(RB),&HTML(c)CopyrightMaryJaniceDavidson,2002. AllRightsReserved,Ellora'sCave.Ellora'sCave,Inc.USAEllora'sCaveLtd,UK Thise-bookmaynotbereproducedi...

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