Wanted: Billionaire's Wife
“The closest emergency room is twenty minutes away. You’ll be okay until then?” His words were clipped.
She took her head off the pillow-like headrest and sat upright. “Do you know how expensive a trip to the ER is? If you drop me off at the nearest Caltrain station, I’ll be able to get home.”
“Don’t worry about money. Your hand needs to be looked at. And what if you hit your head?”
She took the pocket square off her palm and looked at the cut in the dim light. “I think the bleeding has stopped. And I know I didn’t hit my head. I don’t need a doctor.” Thanks to Matt, she’d had enough of hospitals to last her several lifetimes.
He made a sound in his throat like he didn’t believe her. Then he turned the car around in a smooth, tight arc.
“What are you doing? Are we going back to the party?”
“I live a few streets away,” he answered. “If you won’t see a doctor, the least I can do is make sure your hand is cleaned and bandaged.”
“But—”
“I’m not taking no for an answer.”
She opened her mouth to insist otherwise, but he cut her off.
“I mean it,” he said tightly. “Hang on, we’ll be there soon.”
She opened her mouth again.
“Don’t even try.”
She pressed her lips together. He was being ridiculous. She was fine. Well, except for her heart rate beating in triple time. It was quiet in the car and dark, and they sat close enough that she could extend her hand just an inch or two and touch his thigh.
She barely lost any blood. She shouldn’t feel this faint.
In what seemed like no time, he swung the car off the road. They passed a sleek iron gate that opened automatically as they approached, and continued up a long, winding driveway that led to a two-story house set among pine trees and cypresses. It resembled a gray concrete box with steel trim, but natural-wood window frames and doors softened the hard materials and made the house feel more welcoming than imposing. Not a bad metaphor for Luke, she thought. Hard and masculine but there was warmth if you looked.
He opened her car door and ushered her into the house. “Go straight and make yourself at home in the living room,” he said. “I’ll get the first-aid kit.”
She nodded, not trusting her voice, and walked down a short hallway into a wide room shaped like a rectangle. The house she rented with Mai could fit in it, with room for their next-door neighbor.
The far wall was clear glass, floor to ceiling, allowing her to see the dimly lit patio and gardens just beyond. It took her a second before she realized the wall was composed of retractable panels. When the weather was nice, Luke could open the panels and the room would flow into the outdoors without interruption. To her right was the kitchen, all polished stainless appliances and warm wooden veneers, separated from the rest of the room by low counters. A metal dining table surrounded by twelve mismatched chairs stood nearby.
To her left, a fireplace tall enough to stand up in dominated the wall. Arranged in front of it were two oversize, cream-colored leather sofas and several comfortable-looking chairs. A plush rug resembling a soft cloud that had landed on the floor completed the look, straight out of a pricey interior-design magazine.
The plump cushions beckoned her to sit down, but she hesitated. Her dress had soaked up several varieties of wine and other alcohol. Last thing she wanted to do was mar his pristine furniture.
“Pick a sofa,” Luke said from behind her. His jacket and black bow tie had been discarded, and the top buttons of his crisp white shirt were undone, exposing a triangle of tanned skin. In his hands he held a white box marked with a red cross.
She indicated her stained dress. “The kitchen would be better.”
He shook his head and steered her until she sank down onto cushions that were even softer than they looked. Her face must have shown her reaction because he smiled. “Much better than the kitchen. Now, give me your hand.”
She extended it, managing to keep the trembling to a minimum. Just as she had informed him in the car, the bleeding had slowed. He took out a bottle of hydrogen peroxide and swabbed the area with gentle, sure movements. She reflexively tried to pull her hand back but he held on, his grip secure and firm.