Fortress of Love Read online

  “My, haven’t they outdone themselves this year,” his wife purred approvingly.

  “Very nice,” Uncle Bob agreed, nodding his head.

  To Melissa, the decorations looked presumptuous and fake. Tilting her eyes toward the pristine forest to her left, she longed for a snow-covered cabin once again—something solid, safe, and real.

  Two

  The showy splendor of the annual Christmas ball was not a big attraction for Dr. Luke Karalis. As a child, he had studied the anatomy of such parties from a secret hiding place in the stairwell of his parents’ mansion in Athens, Greece, and he had long since concluded that these social gatherings were only for those who feasted on idle chatter and superficial graces—both of which were demeaning to the human spirit as far as Luke was concerned.

  More times than he cared to count, he had seen the twisted tangle that the so-called glamorous life produced. His parents moved easily in that world and he had lost them to it. Luke had no desire to be like them and he had even less desire to attend this ball. He would have much preferred to have driven the forty minutes to his cabin on the shores of Lake Breeze. Even if it meant going alone. But Dr. Robert Kincaid, the founding member of the community’s largest medical clinic, where Luke was the newest physician, had made it clear that he was expected to attend—in tuxedo.

  By the time Luke entered the country club, which was lit up so brightly that he was sure the orbiting space shuttle crew could see it from space, the party was in full swing. After checking his coat, Luke paused in the atrium and watched the merry parade of humans with detached interest.

  Women wearing gowns expensive enough to feed an average American family for several months, fluttered and moved around the room like colorful insects. A florid-faced woman, with a red gown to match, was the ladybug; the faded blond in the iridescent green dress was the grasshopper; a middle-aged matron in a silvery sheath was like a white scorpion; and the queen bee of them all was garnered in gold.

  His eyes casually followed the tall woman in the gown of shimmering golden light as she moved across the room. She was definitely a social bee. The Greek word for bee, melissa, came to mind as he watched her buzz from one circular clutter of brightly dressed people to another. But he had to concede that she was a stunning woman, graceful and fluid. When she glided out of his sight behind a group of people, he breathed out deeply.

  She might be beautiful to look at, but she’s probably just as superficial as the rest of them, he thought. Although Luke desired a lasting relationship, he’d met enough one-dimensional, shallow women to last a lifetime.

  He turned his attention from the hum of the party and glanced at the antique, Early-American clock chiming beside him. He grimaced when he saw that it was only 7:00. The collar of his dress shirt was already irritating his skin, in much the same way that the party was chafing his mood. He rubbed his hand along the back of his neck and looked at the clock again. Seven-o-two.

  The stench of a Cuban cigar alerted Luke to the proximity of Dr. Robert Kincaid. Luke lowered his arm and straightened his shoulders. He had hoped to avoid talking to the boss tonight. Dr. Kincaid reminded Luke too much of his own father, not a good point of comparison. Both men were self-serving and pretentious. And they both smoked cigars like babies sucking on a pacifier.

  “So glad that you could make it, Doctor.” The older man bellowed as he grabbed Luke’s arm. Luke took a step back and turned his head away from the billow of smoke that accompanied the older physician.

  “I didn’t know I had a choice,” he stated dryly.

  “Now, now, my man,” Dr. Kincaid spoke with a voice that evoked an image in Luke’s mind of a frog with a mouth full of marbles. It grated on nerves that were already rubbed raw. “It’s all part of the job, and not so difficult. There are a lot of beautiful women in that room, Son. . .” Dr. Kincaid motioned with his cigar toward the ballroom, “All polished and painted and decorated better than any Christmas tree you might see. Loosen up, Doctor; enjoy yourself. You cut a fine figure of a man.” He winked, took a deep drag on his cigar, and continued conspiratorially. “All woman like a handsome doctor, and business is even better when they’re single.”

  Luke’s jaw tightened. “I was under the impression, Doctor, that people came to us for our knowledge in medicine.”

  The portly man leaned closer to Luke. “Don’t delude yourself, Doctor. You’ll build your first home on hypochondriac women alone,” he said. Nodding toward the humming mass of people that nearly drowned out the background music of the orchestra, he added, “And believe you me, there are plenty in here to cultivate.”

  Before Luke could reply, Dr. Kincaid turned and waddled off toward the ballroom, dingy gray smoke trailing in his self-satisfied wake. Luke rocked back on his heels and blew a stream of air through his teeth. Just like Dad, he thought with disgust. He stuffed his hands into his jacket pocket and pulled out his coat check ticket. Pivoting toward the cloakroom, he decided to go home. He’d done his civic duty and had been seen by “the man,” which he knew was far more important to Dr. Kincaid than it was to him.

  “Are you leaving already?” The voice behind him was very feminine, velvety, and soft-spoken.

  Luke turned toward the voice, and his mouth went dry when he saw the woman in the golden gown, the social bee, standing next to him. She smelled delicious, with just the right touch of a subtle perfume, and she had the most startling amber eyes he had ever seen. They reminded him of a bee in springtime, and her choice of evening dress was the perfect complement. Black lines radiated through the deep-hued irises into even blacker pupils, a magnet that demanded a closer look. If the eyes are truly windows to the soul, what he saw was hauntingly at odds with the first impression of this woman that he had made from afar.

  She glanced down at the ticket stub that he was selfconsciously rubbing between his thumb and forefinger. “I was considering it,” he said tentatively.

  “Please don’t let my uncle bother you,” she softly advised, and Luke’s eyes widened.

  Her uncle? He restrained the impulse to look at the receding back of the older doctor, who had taken his glad-handing act to the far side of the ballroom. If she saw his surprise, she gave no indication but softly continued. “Uncle Bob. . .he doesn’t know any better.” She slightly shrugged her shoulders. “It’s just his way,” she explained with an unaffected southern accent that soothed Luke’s raw nerves like a balm. He smiled as he watched her glossy mouth move as if to continue. But her loyalties, something he couldn’t help but admire, seemed to prevent her from saying any more.

  Dr. Kincaid’s niece, he said to himself. Doesn’t that just figure?

  The young, raven-haired beauty seemed to read his mind—that being a Kincaid was a strike against her—and she smiled, a sad, yet whimsical twisting of her lips, before gliding gracefully away into the crowd.

  Luke watched her go. Dr. Kincaid’s niece? This time the thought was a question. That doesn’t quite fit. And yet, as he stretched to his full height in order to see over heads as she eased her way into the thicket of partygoers once again, he had to admit that she was definitely an accomplished social bee, totally at ease buzzing through the night’s work of small talk and laughter, seemingly at ease in Bob Kincaid’s world.

  In spite of himself, Luke knew he was smitten, in that inexplicable way that a man is drawn to a particular woman. She was beautiful, she was graceful, and there was a depth of. . . of. . .something in those lovely, amber eyes. Luke shrugged his shoulders. He wasn’t sure he wanted to tangle with Dr. Kincaid’s niece. And hadn’t his colleague, Jane, mentioned recently that the woman had broken her engagement to some big-shot lawyer, practically on the way to the altar? What did that say about her?

  And yet, for just a few moments they had shared something, a deep, unspoken connection. She had been troubled by what her uncle might have said to him, and it was as if she had wanted to convey that he was not alone in his feelings.

  Luke looked down at his coat check
ticket and then hastily shoved the stub into his pocket. Kincaid’s niece or not, he wanted to talk to the lovely melissa again.

  The party grew louder and more jovial as more drinks were poured and alcohol began to rule the merrymakers. Luke never drank and he had never quite understood the abuse that people inflicted upon their bodies in search of pleasure or escape. Looking around the ballroom, he wondered whether Kincaid’s niece drank. He wasn’t sure he would have anything to do with her if she did. The sweet scent of her perfume flooded his mind once again as he saw her buzzing from clique to clique at the opposite end of the ballroom. She certainly hadn’t smelled of alcohol. And from his vantage point near the doorway, he noticed that, as before, she wasn’t holding a glass.

  Luke walked over to the large picture window and looked out at the serene beauty of the winter scene. Once again, he considered driving up to his cabin, his Shangri-la, on Lake Breeze. Only medical journals awaited him in his small apartment near the hospital. But the prospect of going to the cabin alone didn’t appeal to him. Instead his eyes narrowed as he thought about all the women he’d dated since coming to Ridgedale. Although most were very nice, something had been missing in each instance; a spark, something that would make him want to know more.

  He blew out a deep unsettling breath. He wished there were someone special to share the beauty of the cabin on this crisp winter night. A picture of the woman in the golden gown flashed into his mind, but he quickly dismissed the thought. Unrealistic and undesired, he said silently to himself. We haven’t even officially met each other yet, and she’s Kincaid’s niece. There’s two strikes already.

  Even as he was shaking her image from his mind, Luke turned instinctively and scanned the room to see where the melissa—the social bee—had landed. He didn’t see her immediately and his attention was once again drawn to the intricate ballet of partygoers laughing, talking, and moving around in their elaborate costumes and evening finery. With a cynical snort, he decided that the social columnist for the city newspaper would probably describe the room as “vibrantly alive.” But Luke could only see a space filled to capacity with people all intent on impressing one another at any cost. Actors and actresses. He shook his head and glanced at his watch. Another ten minutes or so and he would head for the cloakroom again—and this time keep on going.

  “Doctor. . .” Robert Kincaid’s drawl reached Luke just as he plopped a handful of cashews into his mouth. Luke noticed that he had lit a new cigar. “I want you to meet some wonderful people. Ted and Betty Jones, this is Dr. Luke Karalis—the newest and brightest star at the Medical Clinic of Ridgedale,” he said, using the same phrase he used every time he presented Luke to others. Luke’s lips thinned in disgust. He had grown to hate Kincaid’s pat introduction.

  He managed to swallow the nuts and brush the salt off his hand before shaking Mrs. Jones’s soft, well-manicured hand. Her nails were unnaturally long and painted a fiery red. Mr. Jones, balding and red in the face, looked old enough to be her father.

  “How do you do?” Luke nodded.

  “Ted is the CEO of Health Pharmaceutical,” Kincaid proclaimed loudly, and Luke could tell that he was endeavoring to impress.

  But Luke wasn’t impressed. He’d been meeting corporate bigwigs his entire life. His father was CEO of one of the world’s largest chemical companies. Of course, Dr. Kincaid didn’t know that, and Luke would make sure it remained that way.

  “I see,” was all Luke said. After a moment, it became apparent that they were waiting for him to say something flattering about Jones’s position, but Luke purposefully changed the subject. “Do you have children?”

  The man blinked at the non sequitur. “Yes. We have a boy and a girl.” The way he said it made Luke think that he was referring to his latest acquisition of stocks or fancy cars.

  “And a full time baby-sitter,” his wife purred.

  Luke’s eyes flicked over to the woman. She reminded him of his mother, who had no doubt uttered the same words many times. “Don’t you think that children are a blessing?” he asked.

  Nonplused, Mrs. Jones responded breathlessly, a puff of expensive perfume coming from her as she waved her diamond studded arm elegantly before him. “Yes. But. . .so are nannies. Do you have children, Doctor?” Her eyes had a blank, disinterested look; the question was a formality.

  “I’m not married,” he said.

  “Oh.” Her eyes widened ever so slightly. She was interested now. He had seen that look numerous times before. It was an invitation.

  “And my wife, Mrs. Kincaid.” Dr. Kincaid interrupted as if no other conversation had occurred.

  “Mrs. Kincaid,” Luke took her hand in greeting and nodded. She was the silver-gowned matron he had earlier dubbed “the scorpion,” but right now she was behaving like a queen bestowing the favor of talking to one whom she considered beneath her.

  “Dr. Karalis, we will have you to dinner soon.” Her perpetual smile, a by-product of one too many face-lifts, didn’t quite reach her eyes. Luke wondered why, after so many months, it was suddenly important to invite him to dinner. “You must meet our niece.”

  He had his answer. Maybe a young doctor wasn’t so low in her opinion after all. “I’ve already met her,” he answered honestly. He was rescued from further discussion when Robert Kincaid pulled her away to introduce her elsewhere.

  Luke grabbed another handful of cashews and wandered over to the window again. As he gazed out at the snowy landscape, he thought about having children. He realized that he had had enough of the casual dating scene. In exchange for noninvolvement of the heart and sexual freedom, people paid with a loss of dignity. As his wise godfather, Nono, had reminded him many times, the old ways—courtship and marriage—had worked for centuries. Luke knew that he was ready for marriage. He wanted to love and care for a woman and to have her want to spend her life with him. And, he wanted children. Perhaps having a family of his own would replace the loneliness that tugged at the far corners of his heart.

  He absentmindedly wandered over to the Christmas tree. It was silvery. It was glittery. It was even pretty. But it wasn’t real. Luke shook his head in amazement. “Surrounded by forests and they put up a fake tree,” he muttered under his breath. He bent down and lifted one of the exquisitely wrapped boxes that sat enticingly under the tree.

  He shook it.

  Empty.

  In disgust, he tossed it back under the tree. An artificial tree with empty presents under it. What else did he expect?

  “No fair opening the gifts until the big day, Doctor.” The woman with the honey-smooth southern voice and the golden evening gown spoke from over his shoulder.

  With a sense of excitement that Luke couldn’t remember feeling in a very long time, he turned to her and smiled.

  Three

  The woman’s amber eyes twinkled as Luke quickly stood up and turned to face her. He tried to formulate a quick-witted response to match her teasing remark, but nothing came to mind. After what seemed an eternity, but was probably only a few seconds, the woman raised an eyebrow and tweaked him with another barb. “I guess there’s not much you can say when you’re caught red-handed.”

  “You got me there,” Luke managed to say, and he could feel his ears begin to grow warm.

  “I just realized that we were never properly introduced,” the woman said. “I’m Melissa Kincaid.”

  Luke’s eyes went wide with amazement. “Melissa?” he said, wondering if he had heard correctly.

  Melissa looked puzzled. Is my name so unusual? she thought to herself. Narrowing her eyes and tilting her head, she said, “Yes, Melissa.”

  “Bee,” he said, and now Melissa was the one to look surprised. “Your name means ‘bee’ in Greek. I’m half Greek,” he said by way of explanation.

  “Of course,” she murmured. She remembered that Uncle Bob had mentioned something about that in the car. And now that she noticed the thick, brown hair combed off to the side, the deep-set eyes and light olive skin, his Mediterr
anean ancestry was obvious.

  “In Greek, your name is pronounced with the accent on the first syllable,” he continued. “Melissa,” he said smoothly as his eyes locked with hers. Deep green met glowing amber and in that moment the dull, frozen reaches of her heart melted like an ice sculpture in the summer sun. Feelings—sensations—she didn’t even try to understand, didn’t want to understand, scattered throughout her body and brain, replacing the numbness with a sense of lightness, of freedom.

  “Your parents did well to call you Melissa,” Luke murmured. His gaze held steady on her eyes. “Your irises hold all the colors of a bee’s body.”

  Melissa blinked. “My father used to tell me that.” She frowned slightly as the thought occurred to her that during the entire year she had been with Brian almost daily, he had never said a word about her eyes. Probably because he had never really looked at her. By contrast, the man she was looking at now seemed to be trying to peer into her soul. Small shivers of pleasure ran down her spine. She quickly squared her shoulders and broke eye contact with the young doctor.

  “Your father was right,” he agreed. “There is amber and black, yellow, brown, and even a touch of orange floating around in them. Very unusual.” His deep voice sounded almost like a caress and Melissa laughed, a too-bright sound that didn’t fit the moment.

  But that’s what she wanted—to change the mood, to keep the electricity that was humming between them from becoming anything more than a platonic connection. Turning to the tree, she brushed her fingers across the artificial branches. “You know what’s kind of funny, though,” she risked a glance at him before looking back at the tree, “I’m terrified of bees.”

  “I’m not.” Luke responded as quick as a pulse beat, and the sudden look she threw over her shoulder told him that she had caught his double meaning. But from the way her pupils dilated, eating up their amber light, he also suspected that she didn’t like it.