A Billionaire for Christmas(57)

Leo prowled, tension in the set of his shoulders. He opened drawers, shuffled papers, flicked the leaves of plants on the credenza. He seemed lost. Or at the very least confused.

Hoping to give him the semblance of privacy, she picked up a book from the small table at her elbow. It was a technical and mostly inaccessible tome about third-world economies. She read the first two paragraphs and turned up her nose. Not exactly escape reading.

Next down the pile was a news magazine. But the date was last month’s, and she was familiar with most of the stories. Finally, at the bottom, was a collection of Sunday newspapers. Someone had taken great care to stack them in reverse order. Again, they were out of date, but that same someone had extracted the “Around Town” section of the most recent one and folded it to a story whose accompanying photograph she recognized instantly. It was Leo.

Reading automatically, her stomach clenched and her breathing grew choppy. No. This had to be a mistake.

She stood up, paper in her hand, and stared at him. Disbelief, distress and anger coursed through her veins in a nauseating cocktail. “You had a heart attack?”

Leo froze but turned around to face her, his shoulders stiff and his whole body tensed as if facing an enemy. “Who told you that?”

She threw the paper at him, watching it separate and rain down on the thick pile carpet with barely a sound. “It’s right there,” she cried, clutching her arms around her waist. Prominent Atlanta Businessman Leo Cavallo, Age 36, Suffers Heart Attack. “My God, Leo. Why didn’t you tell me?”

He opened his mouth to speak, but she interrupted him with an appalled groan. “You carried wood for me. And chopped down a tree. I made you drag heavy boxes from the attic. Damn it, Leo, how could you not tell me?”

“It wasn’t that big a deal.” His expression was blank, but his eyes burned with an emotion she couldn’t fathom.

She shivered, her mind a whirl of painful thoughts. He could have died. He could have died. He could have died. And she would never have known him. His humor. His kindness. His incredibly sexy and appealing personality. His big, perfect body.

“Trust me,” she said slowly. “When a man in his thirties has a heart attack, it’s a big freaking deal.”

He shoved his hands into his pockets, the line of his mouth grim. “I had a very mild heart attack. A minor blockage. It’s a hereditary thing. I’m extraordinarily healthy. All I have to do now is keep an eye on certain markers.”

As she examined the days in the past week, things kept popping up, memories that made her feel even worse. “Your father,” she whispered. “You said he had a heart attack. And that’s why the boat crashed.”

“Yes.”

“That’s it. Just yes? Did it ever occur to you when you were screwing me that your medical history was information I might have wanted to know? Hell, Leo, I gave you every intimate detail of my past and you couldn’t be bothered to mention something as major as a heart attack?” She knew she was shouting and couldn’t seem to stop. Her heart slammed in her chest.

“I’ve never heard you curse. I don’t like it.”

“Well, that’s just too damn bad.” She stopped short, appalled that she was yelling like a shrew. Hyperventilation threatened. “That’s why you came to my cabin, isn’t it? I thought maybe you’d had a bad case of the flu. Or complications from pneumonia. Or even, God forbid, a mental breakdown of some sort. But a heart attack…” Her legs gave out, and she sank back into the chair, feeling disappointed and angry and, beneath it all, so scared for him. “Why didn’t you tell me, Leo? Why couldn’t you trust me with the truth? Surely I deserved that much consideration.”

But then it struck her. He hadn’t shared the intimate details of his illness with her because she didn’t matter. The bitter realization sat like a stone in her stomach. Leo had kept his secrets, because when all was said and done, Phoebe was nothing more than a vacation romance of sorts. Leo wasn’t serious about any kind of a future with her. He fully planned to return to his old life and take up where he left off. As soon as his doctor gave permission.

He came to her then, sat on the ottoman and put a hand on her leg. “It wasn’t something I could easily talk about, Phoebe. Try to understand that. I was a young man. One minute I was standing in a room, doing my job, and the next I couldn’t breathe. Strangers were rushing me out to an ambulance. It was a hellish experience. All I wanted to do was forget.”

“But you didn’t want to come to the mountains.”

“No. I didn’t. My doctor, who happens to be a good friend, and my brother, who I consider my best friend, gave me no choice. I was supposed to learn how to control my stress levels.”