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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
(c) Copyright MaryJanice Davidson, 2002.
All Rights Reserved, Ellora's Cave.
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
her chair ? 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 give you 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. “You are 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. Is that 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?”
 

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