Chapter Six
Miranda dragged herselfdown the darkened hallway to her office, only the lowered lights and her memory to guide her steps. She stumbled on her heels, fatigue clouding her mind, and banged against a cubicle wall. She paused there, regaining her balance and her focus. Maybe her mother was right. After splitting her time between the hospital and the office for the past several days, culminating in today’s stressful quadruple bypass surgery, she was worn out, emotionally, mentally, and physically, too tired to be at the office. Yet here she was, checking in on all the things she’d been ignoring.
And checking on Lucas Wainright.
She had kept in touch with her assistant, Maggie, from the hospital, and reports were unnerving. Lucas had been very busy in the few days he had been there, meeting with her various departments, analyzing reports, asking lots of questions. She had to figure out what his plan was and make sure he wasn’t going to hurt the team.
Thinking of those reports and then how he had been at the hospital created a disconnect in her mind. On the one hand, he was clearly in Savannah to force change with the Knights. But he had been so supportive and helpful during those critical hours following Seamus’s initial heart attack. His support and strength helped her function in those few hours and she couldn’t reconcile that image with a man who wanted to take the team from her.
She straightened and stretched her lower back. Hospital chairs sucked for posture. She walked down the hallway and saw a light under the office door she had assigned to Lucas. Maybe he had left the light on. She hesitated for a moment, but curiosity, and the desire to avoid mountains of work, had her feet moving towards the closed door, dread dogging her steps, unavoidable like a natural disaster.
She opened the door and Lucas looked up from his laptop monitor. She didn’t want to notice how tired he looked, the way his sandy blond hair was messed up, as if fingers had run through it multiple times. His suit jacket was tossed over the back of a chair and he’d unbuttoned the top two buttons on the shirt.
He studied her coolly, almost as if he had expected her, his gaze steady and expectant.
She flushed and took a step back, fumbling for the door handle. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt.”
He stood, his Southern manners not completely gone. “You didn’t.” A slight pause. “How’s your father?”
Tears dampened her eyes and she blinked them away. “He’s hanging on. The bypass went well. He’s resting comfortably in ICU.” She hesitated. “Do you care?”
He frowned and walked around the desk, coming over to her. “I never wanted anything to happen to him.”
Her shoulders slumped, lack of sleep, too much caffeine, and too much stress suddenly overwhelming her. The tears that threatened earlier in the conversation now spilled over and ran down her cheeks. Awkwardly, Lucas gathered her in his arms, pulling her close and stroking his hands up and down her back. He rested his chin on her head and let her cry, and the emotions of the past several days emerged in one cathartic instant.
Several minutes later, Miranda returned to her senses and found Lucas’s shirt soaked through with her tears. He still held her close, his warmth and strength soothing her aching soul. Her arms had wrapped around his waist without realizing it, holding him close. She picked her head up and stared up at him, his blue eyes looking down at her with compassion and something else.
He lowered his head and pressed his mouth to hers and a whole different set of emotions exploded within her. Heat spread from her stomach and throughout her body; desire a steady throb in her throat. His lips were warm and soft, not pressuring, but for one moment, she clung to him as a safety raft in the swirling chaos of her life, holding on to the escape even for a moment.
A low moan shook her back to reality and she pulled back, staring up at him, slightly dazed. He lifted his head, still holding her arms, keeping her steady.
“Why did you do that?”
He looked as confused as she felt. “I don’t know. I just needed to kiss you.”
She released the death grip she had on his forearms, grasping the chair with one hand, still not confident in her stability. “Well, we shouldn’t do that again.”
“Why not?” he asked.
“Because we work together and my father is in the hospital in intensive care after suffering a major heart attack. I highly doubt kissing his biggest enemy should be on my list of things to do.”
“You’re right. I’m sorry.” He stepped back and buried his hands on his pockets.
Exhaustion caught up with her suddenly, the adrenaline from the kiss deserting her as quickly as it had come and she sagged against the chair. “I’m too tired for this tonight, Lucas. Can we discuss the team tomorrow?”
He nodded solemnly. “Of course, Miranda.”
*
Miranda shifted restlesslyin the visitor’s chair next to her father’s bed. How did her mother spend all day here without being crippled? The noise from the hallway, the nurses making their rounds and aides calling for updates, all disturbed her peace, not at all conducive to healing. Hopefully her father would only be here for a few more days then back home where he, and her mother, could rest peacefully. Maybe they’d get a nurse to help her mom. Maybe…
“Miranda?” Her mother’s spoke from the doorway softly.
Miranda twisted around then stood, hurrying to the door, hoping her father hadn’t been woken up. “Mom, I thought you were resting at home.”
“I’m fine. I wanted to be here when the doctor checked in. Has he been in yet?”
Miranda shook her head. “It might be too early.”