Page 2 of Forbidden Touch
Heat runs through my chest. “Did you not run the correct tests, doctor?”
Her face tightens as she plucks at the edges of her sleeves. She offers a hard smile. “Yes. We ran the preliminary test, and they point to possible abnormalities, but we won’t know more until we run more tests.”
“Abnormalities?” Sweat breaks out on my upper lip. I’m a self-made billionaire, owning over 30 real estate properties across the city and staffing over 100 employees. There can’t be any abnormalities. Getting down from the exam table, my bare feet hit the cold tile. “I don’t have the time for this shit.”
I’m still in the stupid hospital gown, but it doesn’t matter. She can stand there and watch me change back into my suit if she wants to. I don’t give a fuck.
Her stern eyes center on me. “Neither did your father. He said the same thing when he sat here in this room six years ago.”
A sharp pain shoots up my neck. What are the chances? Seems too unlikely that he was in this same room. Without facing her, I clear my throat. “What… what was he doing here?”
“Tests. And he got the results and refused to look into it further. Said he had things to do, had a business to run.” Her lips press into a thin downward line. “Left in a hurry and died a few weeks later.”
I stare at the floor. It’s enough to give me pause. I’m a billionaire, one of the most powerful men in the country, and I can’t even manage my own health. The thought of a weak heart killing me is ironic. To have conquered the world, only to die of a stupid disease when I could have just paid attention and ran more tests.
My shoulders fall. “I’m not a weak man. But I think my uncle had the same thing.”
She arches her eyebrow and nods. “He did. He was also my patient. So how about those tests, then?”
Closing my eyes, I weigh the odds. Everyone who visits her ends up dying, regardless of the damn tests. What kind of sense does it make? None, but a few tests won’t hurt. I breathe and nod. “Well, you don’t exactly have an impressive track record, but I’ll do it. Run the tests.”
Staringalongthewidecorridor of the Blake Downtown Art Gallery, I glimpse at the strange art collection before me. Leave it to the Wolfe family to gather some freakishly unusual pieces.
Art is definitely not my thing, but every time I visit, I stare at the same weird woman-in-the-mountain pieces everywhere. The Wolfes certainly like their million-dollar mountain art. Who even buys all these?
Tilting to study the painting from a different angle, I give up and throw back another prosecco. Doesn’t matter. I have enough on my plate. I’m a dead man walking with this heart disease, but tonight, my job is to stroll around and pretend like I give a damn about the auction. As I put on my best poker face, I grab another flute of bubbly from a server’s tray.
My eyes shut as I try to enjoy the buzz from the prosecco. Am I drinking too much? Could that be causing the heart issues?
Trying to calm my nerves, I pop a cheese cube into my mouth from the array of appetizers on the table in front of me. Sweat prods at my upper chest as I inhale several fast breaths. I’m done for the night. I must get out of here. Stalking to the exit, I push open the door.
The door comes to an abrupt thud, and a feminine voice breathes out a sharp sigh. Soft auburn curls encompass my nose before I come face to face with a set of enormous fiery green eyes.
A half-empty prosecco flute sits between us, and I glance down to observe the spilled drink on her heaving chest.
My eyes widen and my mouth pulls in sharp air. “Oh my god. I’m so sorry.”
Hustling back inside to find a napkin, I pause and glance back. It’s Fiona Wolfe. The sister of the guy who tried to buy Lane Entertainment Group. My mind flashes to an image of Fiona in her red Corvette zooming into the employee parking lot.
Now, standing in front of me, her sleek white dress has a wet splash beginning at her cleavage and spreading over her breasts.
She arches a perfect eyebrow. “Leave it to a Lane to ruin a Valentino dress.”
A strange mix of annoyance and something else floods through me—a feeling I can’t quite describe just yet. It was an honest mistake and her reaction is too much. I rock back on my heels slightly. “No need for all that.”
Her mouth tightens and points downward. “No need for all of what? Your drink is on my dress. Should we just ignore it and let it soak through to the bra?”
As my view drops to witness red lace covering two pillowy breasts, sudden warmth courses through my groin. I refrain from mentioning it’s already soaked through and focus on her disappointed face instead. “It’s been a day. Can we start over?” I don’t wait for a reply before extending my hand and officially introducing myself. “I’m Jonathan Lane.”
Her green eyes narrow on me. “Oh, come on. We’re doing introductions now? Like we have no idea who we are?”
God, she’s feisty, and I hate to admit it, but I like it.
“Look, I already said I was sorry,” I explain. “Isn’t your reaction over the top? The dress is replaceable. I’ll buy you another.”
Her eyes grow intense before she waves a hand. “Don’t bother. You don’t have to buy me anything.I’llbuy me another.”
While flashing open hands, I pull back to show a surrender. This woman is impossible to please, but I’m not quite ready to give up. In a masochistic moment, I decide to keep trying. “Okay. Well, will you let me buy you dinner at least?”