Long Distance Lover. Donna Hill

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Long Distance Lover - Donna Hill Mills & Boon Kimani Arabesque

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       “Right here,” David instructed the redcap, pointing to the driver.

       “Welcome to New York, Mr. Livingston, Ms. Maxwell. I’m your driver, Bill.” He turned to Kelly. “Let me help you into the car, ma’am.”

       “I can—”

       But before she’d finished her sentence, he’d lifted her from the wheelchair as if she were no heavier than a bag of rice and gently put her in the backseat.

       “There’s juice, soda, snacks and the buttons above you control the music, DVD player and the air,” Bill said before backing out of the car door. He straightened and turned to David who immediately held up his hands.

       “I think I can get in by myself.”

       “Of course, Mr. Livingston.” He stood aside.

       David got in and sat opposite Kelly. “Efficient,” he muttered then shut the door behind him.

       Kelly giggled. “I thought for sure he was gonna pick you up, too.”

       David reached for a bottle of chilled water from the bucket of ice. “So did I. But we would have had to fight.” He twisted off the top then took a long swallow. “Aaah. You okay?” He took another gulp.

       “Fine.” She propped her leg up along the length of the wraparound leather seating.

       The motion of the car rocked them gently against the plush interior. Kelly looked out the tinted windows as the landscape of the Big Apple spread out in front of her. Buildings rose toward the cloudy skies, murky silhouettes against the light gray backdrop. She was missing home already.

       “How much do you know about this doctor-therapist, whatever he is?” she asked tersely.

       “I checked Dr. Hutchinson’s credentials thoroughly. He’s worked with plenty of athletes. He’s one of the best.”

       Kelly looked away. “How long do we have to stay here?”

       “Until you’re better.” He glanced at her profile. Her mouth was a tight line as it always was when she was upset, worried or concentrating on the track. This was not the track. “You want to tell me what’s really bothering you?”

       “Nothing,” she muttered.

       “Everything will be fine. You’ll see.”

       She folded her arms. “Sure.”

       “Hungry?”

       “No.”

       “You really haven’t been eating lately. Are you sure you’re okay?”

       “I’m fine. Please stop asking me.”

       “All right, all right. Take it easy.”

       She pushed out a breath. “I’m sorry. Guess my nerves are getting the best of me.”

       David leaned over and took her hand. “Look at me.”

       Reluctantly she did.

       “Haven’t I always taken care of you?”

       “Yes.”

       “Have I ever let you down?”

       “No.”

       “Then that’s all you need to remember.”

       “But what if someone finds out?”

       “They won’t. They won’t,” he repeated. “All you have to do is follow the instructions of the therapist and the rest will take care of itself.”

       The car slowed then came to a stop. Moments later, Bill opened the door. David got out first, went around to the trunk and retrieved Kelly’s crutches. Together he and Bill helped her from the car.

       “What…no wheelchair?” Kelly quipped while gaining her balance.

       “Time is no longer of the essence.”

       Bill signaled the bellhop and they loaded the luggage onto a cart.

       The decor of the Marriott was gracefully elegant. A dazzling chandelier hanging from the vaulted ceiling was the centerpiece of the circular floor. Light touches of gold filigree graced tables, the edges of counters and the reception desks. The hotel was busy. There was a steady movement of guests and uniformed hotel staff, but not one seemed to pay Kelly any undue attention. In a town like New York, celebrities were a dime a dozen.

       “Welcome to the Marriott,” the concierge greeted. “I hope you have a lovely stay with us and if there is anything we can do to make you more comfortable, Ms. Maxwell, please let me know.”

       “Thank you, I will.”

       “If you will follow me, I’ll personally escort you to your room. You’re all checked in.”

       “You have her in the presidential suite, correct?” David asked.

       “Of course. Only the best. And it has the connecting suite as you requested.”

       David nodded. “Excellent.”

       “Connecting suite?” Kelly mouthed to David.

       “We’ll talk upstairs.”

       Once they were settled and the concierge had bowed his way out, Kelly didn’t waste a moment in getting to the connecting suite situation.

       “You want to tell me now?”

       “Look, I plan to be here for the next two weeks. You’re going to need help. What sense does it make for me to be in a completely different room, possibly on a different floor, in case of an emergency?”

       She’d have to be extra careful. David must never know. There were many things she shared with David, but this could not be one of them. No one must find out. She was too ashamed.

       “Fine. I suppose you’re right. Just make sure you knock first.”

       He chuckled. “The door locks from your side.”

       Her lips flickered ever so slightly until they formed the halo of a smile. She half walked, half hopped toward the couch and sat down. She looked up at him then stretched out her hand.

       David walked toward her, took her hand then sat down. “What?” His voice was a gentle nudge.

       “If I haven’t told you thank you—then thank you—for everything. I don’t know how many strings you had to pull to get me here. I did my research, too. This Dr. Hutchinson is booked through the year.”

       He tightened his hold on her hand and looked her deep in the eyes. “I told you, whatever needed to be done to help you I was going to make it happen.”

       Kelly lowered her gaze. “I owe you so much.” She

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