EPILOGUE
KALEB MCBRIDE HATED TUXEDOS.
It was safe to say that he and tuxes were no longer on speaking terms. He wore them only when it was required of him. Like tonight.
Sprinting down the steps of the Seattle Consortium Hotel, he made it a point to avoid eye contact with anyone as he dashed by. Because everywhere he looked, all he saw were costumes. Except this wasn’t Halloween and the myriad assortment of outfits or lack thereof was enough to make his head swim. From Elizabethan gowns to fairy-tale characters to flappers loaded with fringe, it was the only thing like it he’d ever seen. He even skirted a lone vampire who emitted a low hiss as he strode past.
If the hospital hadn’t made an agreement to provide concierge medical care to guests at the hotel, he probably wouldn’t even be here tonight.
A costume designers’ masquerade party. Who on earth even thought up something like that?
A suited doorman nodded to him and motioned him through yet another velvet-lined hallway. “She’s in the reception lobby.”
His patient, he assumed, and the reason he’d left the hospital’s swanky yearly fund-raiser—which was still trudging along without him in the hotel ballroom. Thank goodness for medical emergencies.
He burst into the lobby.
There.
Sure enough, sprawled on the floor next to a cluster of fancy potted plants was a woman dressed all in black. Shiny black.
Evidently the hospital hadn’t realized they’d booked their event on the same day as this. Both were dress-up affairs, but where one was as serious as it was upscale, this one looked...well, surreal. And a whole lot more fun.
Jacques, the hotel manager, was kneeling beside the downed woman, who was lying on her stomach. What he’d decided must be a long black leotard ended in sky-high boots of the same color. Had she fallen off them? A tail was attached to a cute little tush. Something he had no business noticing.
Jacques looked up as Kaleb reached him, the relief in his eyes evident. “I think she’s hyperventilating.”
Even as the man said the words, a muffled sound came from his patient, a rasping roar that was much too labored for his liking.
“Let’s turn her over.”
A black mask that looked like a patchwork of glossy black latex bound together with white stitching covered the woman’s whole head, leaving only her eyes and bright red lips exposed. Cat ears were perched on top.
The woman was dressed as a cat. A very sexy cat at that.
A quick glance could find no zipper, and the wheezing was getting steadily louder. Panicked green eyes looked up at him, one hand going to her chest as it continued to rise and fall in staccato heaves.
“We need to cut this mask off her. Now.”
The roaring paused for a second before starting up again. “No.” Wheeze, wheeze, wheeze. Cough. “...sister...kill me.”
Sister? To hell with her sister. A question surged to the forefront of his mind. “Do you have asthma?”
“Yes.” The rattling sound grew worse. “Albuterol. In my purse. Left at desk.”
Desk?
Jacques spoke up. “Some of the guests checked their briefcases and purses in at the concierge rather than carrying them around all night.” He glanced down. “Do you know your ticket number?”
The woman shook her head, gasping again. Her fingers fumbled at the wide belt encircling her waist. Kaleb spotted an opening in the side. Brushing her hands away, he felt inside and came out with a slip of paper. “Here.”
Jacques grabbed it and leaped up, heading to the desk a few feet away. In less than a minute, he came back with a black purse.
Without waiting to ask, Kaleb reached into the dark recesses of the bag and encountered a familiar-shaped object. “Got it.” He pulled the canister free, giving it a couple of hard shakes to mix the contents.
Wheeze. Cough.
Feeling vaguely obscene, he pushed the inhaler against those red lips, his skin brushing the delicate point of her chin as her mouth wrapped around the canister.
Even as he pumped off a couple of shots of medication, it hit him how warm the lobby was. Maybe because it was packed with people. Beads of perspiration lined his own neck and face.
Between the elaborately designed costumes and the crowded conditions in the room, he was surprised he hadn’t been called to treat any of the attendees before now.
Still holding the inhaler, he listened for her breathing. It immediately began to settle down, the hollow wheeze changing to a deep pull of air accompanied by a much easier exhalation.
“It’s working.” Her voice came out in a whisper.
She reached up and took the inhaler from him, those bright eyes glancing at his face and then skipping away just as quickly. Something sparked to life in his chest.
He couldn’t know her.
Swearing to himself that he only had her best interest at heart, he cleared his throat. “We still need to get the headpiece off so you can breathe easier.”
She gave a hum that he took as assent.
“Zipper?”
“Adhesive fastener. At the back.” She paused, the inhaler still in her hand. “I’m sorry. I just couldn’t make it to the counter to get my purse or I could have done it myself.”
He could well imagine. With those heels and trying to navigate through the crowd, it would have been quite a feat under normal circumstances much less during an asthma attack.
Now that the medical crisis was easing, he was aware that a few costumed characters had gathered around them. Probably waiting for the great unveiling.
A tiny glimmer of anticipation sizzled through his own system.
Not the time, Kaleb.
He helped her sit upright before reaching behind her head, finding the seam and prizing apart the edges, the sharp rip of the fastener tape as it gave way filling the air around them.
He carefully peeled the stretchy fabric forward, easing it away from her face. The second he tugged it free, he stopped dead, his inner warning system going on high alert.
His own breath sluiced from his lungs in a rush he was helpless to prevent.
It couldn’t be. And yet it sure as hell looked like
