Irresistible Greeks Collection. Кэрол Мортимер
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that had allowed him to feel connected. What if he’d been able to do, at least virtually, the things he wanted to do—like go back to the beach near their island home, or drive a race car, or sail over the Alps in a hot-air balloon?
Once Alex opened the floodgates, the ideas wouldn’t stop coming. And what hadn’t been possible twenty-five to thirty years ago was within reach now.
Alex’s hospital wing was full of windows—floor-to-ceiling in many rooms. Even treatment rooms, wherever possible, brought the outside in. If a patient wanted to see the world beyond the walls, he could. The semirural setting just across the river north of the city provided views of the countryside as well as the city skyline. And it wasn’t just about the visuals. Alex worked in sound systems and even olfactory ones, connecting senses to the world beyond the hospital’s confines.
He had provided virtual worlds, as well. Patients in the wing he’d designed could close their eyes as Daisy’s father had, but they could also use modern electronics to create the sights, sounds and smells of the seashore, the woods, the inside of a race car or the ballroom of a fairy-tale palace.
He told her about it now, aware of the way she looked at him, as if he could hang the moon. The salads that had been in front of them when they’d sat down remained virtually untouched.
“It sounds like an amazing place.” Daisy smiled, a smile that went all the way to her eyes, that touched—as it always did—a place hidden somewhere deep inside him that no one ever reached but her.
He cleared his throat. “If you have to be in a hospital,” he agreed gruffly, “if you can’t have what the rest of the world takes for granted, I guess it will do.”
Their eyes met. And Alex knew that whether or not he mentioned his brother or her father, Daisy remembered. Daisy knew.
What surprised him, though, was her withdrawal. One minute she’d been gazing at him with warmth and admiration. The next some shadow seemed to settle over her, her expression shuttered.
“I’m sure that all the children will appreciate it.” Her tone was polite, but she seemed suddenly more remote. She turned to her salad and began to eat.
Alex was more nettled by her withdrawal than he would have liked. But really, what difference did it make? He hadn’t done it for her. He’d done it for people like her father, his brother. He dug into his own salad.
Neither of them spoke until the salads were taken away and the entree was set before them. Then Daisy turned toward him again. “What sort of building are you working on now?”
So they were going to be polite and proper and distant. Fine by him. Alex was glad to talk about the present so he told her about the office building he was designing on the edge of Paris.
Daisy had never been to Paris. And as he talked, he saw her eyes begin to sparkle again. Her remoteness vanished. Her questions came more quickly, and her enthusiasm was contagious. He wanted to make her smile, wanted to have her cock her head and listen eagerly. Alex found himself telling her not just about his work in Paris, but about the city itself, about places he liked, things he’d seen, galleries he visited, buildings he admired.
“You used to live there, didn’t you?” It was the first time she’d alluded to the past.
“Yes. And then I was here for a while. But I went back four or five years ago,” he said. He knew precisely when he’d gone—and why. After the disastrous end to his weekend with Daisy, New York had more memories than he wanted. Paris seemed like a far safer place to be.
It was only in the past six months or so—when he’d made up his mind to marry, in fact—that he’d returned to live more or less permanently in New York. Even now, though, he kept his small flat in the fifth arrondissement.
Their talk moved from Paris to the Riviera, to other places he’d been. Daisy asked about all of them. The women Amalie had set him up with had asked questions, too, but not like Daisy. Not as if they cared about the answers.
Daisy did. And her interest and enthusiasm drew him out. He would have liked to show her Paris, to walk the wide boulevards and narrow lanes with her, to sit at a tiny table in an outdoor café and drink strong dark coffee with her, to wander through the museums and the galleries hand in hand with her, to walk along the Seine with her and kiss her there, to run through a rainstorm with her.
To take her back to his little garret flat and make love with her. He could imagine Daisy there, letting him strip off her little embroidered jacket, then letting him find the zip at the back of her dress and lower it slowly. He’d kiss his way down—inch by luscious inch and—
“And what?” Daisy was looking at him, curious and impatient.
Hot. God, he was hot. And hard. And suddenly aware that he was in the middle of a crowded room with the object of his fantasy studying him worriedly. Her eyes were still bright and eager, but she was looking at him with puzzlement.
“What happened? You stopped talking,” Daisy said. “Did you just get distracted?”
Alex’s heart was still hammering, his body still feeling the effects of what he’d been thinking about—her. He shifted in his chair and cleared his throat. “I did, yes.” He gave a quick shake of his head. “Sorry about that.”
He didn’t let it happen again, even though he was still intensely aware of her. It was almost a relief when dinner ended. Except then the speeches began, and Alex knew he would have to say something when the award was presented.
Public speaking wasn’t his forte. He preferred to speak with his work, with his design, with his buildings, not his words.
But when the time came, Daisy clapped madly and beamed at him encouragingly when Douglas Standish beckoned him to the podium to accept his award.
Alex made it brief. He gripped the podium and stared into the bright lights as he thanked the hospital board who had given him the opportunity to design the wing and the committee who had given him the award. It was what he had prepared, and it was all he had intended to say.
But before he could walk away, his gaze slid across the hundreds of people in the room and, looking down, he didn’t see the lights. He saw Daisy.
His mouth went dry at the sight of her upturned face, at her avid expression, her tantalizing smile. And he didn’t walk away. He looked at her, spoke to her.
His voice was less stilted and more ragged as he said, “I hope this wing makes a difference to the patients. I hope it gives them the safe haven they need to get well and—” he paused, his eyes still locked with hers “—the connections to the world outside to keep them strong.”
Like your father never had. Like my brother never had. And you ‘re the only one who knows why I did it.
He could see that in her eyes, the realization dawning, her lips parting in a silent O.
Alex jerked his gaze away and abruptly shut his mouth. Then, clutching the award in a sweaty hand, he said hoarsely, “Thank you all,” and strode back to his chair and sat down.
His heart was crashing in his chest. He didn’t look at Daisy. He didn’t have to. He could sense her eyes on him. The awareness, the emotion vibrated between them. So damn much emotion it felt like being swept off by a tidal wave. He kept his gaze resolutely on the platform where Douglas was coming back to speak.
With a few brief words he thanked Alex again, then thanked all the hospital’s staff and benefactors for their support. Then the doors opened to the adjoining ballroom and the small live orchestra just beyond those doors began to play.
People stood up, couples headed toward the dance floor. Alex breathed again.
Abruptly he stood and held out a hand. “Let’s dance.”
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