Free The Groom by Elise Marion

out from the side of the building. Potted plants
and comfortable, cushioned patio furniture lined the patio, and she knew that
the stringed lights and lanterns strung up across the railing and on the awning
overhead made the place glow beautifully at night. A large gas grill took up a
large part of one side of the patio and faced a long, curved, white
marble-topped bar complete with beer tap and gleaming stools.
    “Wow. This is nice.”
    “I can’t claim responsibility for
it,” he said with a laugh as he laid the tray on a nearby wrought iron table
with two matching chairs. He held one out for Katrina and she slid into it, her
darting eyes still, taking in the small, decorative touches that screamed of a
woman’s influence.
    “Yeah, no man I know pays this
much attention to detail,” she said as she noticed small little lanterns lining
the patio’s railing. She then became uncomfortable as she realized that she
knew absolutely nothing about the man she was about to have breakfast with. She
eyed him as he reached for his coffee cup, foregoing the sugar and cream and
sipping gingerly at the hot, dark liquid. Lean, chorded muscles stretched and
bunched in his forearms and biceps and Katrina noticed that the T-shirt he was
wearing was like a second skin against broad shoulders and a tapered waist.
Obviously, he spent a lot of time in the little gym just inside the double
doors.
    Sunlight kissed his hair,
bringing it alive with golden highlights and gave his eyes the same tawny amber
hue she’d admired just a few minutes before. Sitting here, in such a relaxed
pose, he seemed more fitting for a Gap ad than a hospital, but Katrina was not
fooled. Something about the way he carried himself screamed wealth, class, and
a bit of rigidness. The tension in his neck and shoulders belied the relaxed
pose he seemed to be putting on for her benefit. Did she make him
uncomfortable? Good God, was he married?
    Katrina cleared her throat. “So,”
she said slowly as she poured in a liberal dash of cream between sips of
coffee, “that blonde woman that helped you stitch me up last night . . . she
your wife?” Her eyes widened as she remembered finding the little jeweler’s box
on the kitchen counter. “Oh wow, was that ring in there for her?”
    For some reason being here alone
with him when he possibly had a fiancé or wife made her uncomfortable,
especially given the way she’d just admired his washboard stomach and chest.
    His face and neck flushed crimson
and his mouth tightened at the corners. “It was,” he said, his voice low and
rough. “She came here last night to return it.”
    Katrina’s face grew hot with
embarrassment. She was constantly sticking her foot in her mouth, but this
little slip-up took the cake. Now that he’d said it, she realized that the vibe
between Lyle and the blonde visitor had been tense and strained.
    “I’m sorry,” she said, stirring
the untouched scrambled eggs with her fork. “It really isn’t any of my
business.”
    Lyle shrugged, sitting up a bit
straighter as he bit into a slice of bacon. “I live here alone,” he said after
he’d chewed and swallowed. “My housekeeper, Twila, is the one that decorated
this space. I host a mixer for the residents at work up here every year, and
it’s a nice space to entertain in.”
    “What kind of doctor are you?”
she asked, happily pouncing on a subject that had nothing to do with Lyle’s ex
or the uncomfortable meeting last night.
    “I’m a surgeon,” he replied as he
bit into a half of a bagel. She cringed as she slathered hers with cream
cheese, wondering how on earth he ate his dry. Her eyebrows shot up.
    “A surgeon? I wasn’t expecting
that. What kind of surgery do you do?”
    “Cardiothoracic: hearts and
lungs.”
    “So saving lives is a daily thing
for you, huh?”
    Lyle’s face softened a bit, the
tension around his mouth melting away as he turned and smirked at her, amused.
“I tend to do my life-saving with a scalpel,