LITMIR.BIZ

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because she was begging to be rescued.

      How was it possible that a woman who’d had to grow up in the public eye could be so socially backward? Surely Cole Aston would have enrolled her in some prep courses to prepare her for public speaking?

      And the stuttering? Was that lifelong or something she just did when she was nervous?

      Tyler wished he knew. Wished he knew lots of things about the enigma showcased in a flashy red dress.

      Rather than rescuing her, the CEO looked as if he had no clue at how on edge she was. Instead, he made another big hoo-ha, then handed Eleanor a large pair of showy scissors.

      Immediately, she almost dropped them but managed to recover in the nick of time. One of the men beside her rolled his eyes. Ty saw red and not just the red of Eleanor’s hot dress and cheeks.

      His gaze shot back to hers, saw the fear, saw the shaking of her hands, the sheen of perspiration that glistened on her skin. Something moved inside him.

      Literally, something in his chest shifted.

      Dear heavens, she was going to pass out.

      Ty might be known as a womanizing son of a gun, but he was a chivalrous son of a gun. His momma, God bless her big Southern heart, would have beaten his hind end otherwise, and rightly so.

      He might have left his horse in Texas but, hell, no one else was stepping in to save the good doctor.

      Despite the fact that he was feeling a little off-kilter himself at just what a knockout body she’d been hiding under her scrubs, at whatever that odd sensation in his chest had been when he’d looked at her just a moment ago, at admitting to himself that he’d been interested in her all along, playing the role of white knight to Eleanor’s damsel in distress came as natural as counting one, two, three.

      Eleanor couldn’t breathe.

      Couldn’t move.

      Wasn’t even sure how she was hanging on to the scissors that she’d somehow managed to position over the ribbon.

      All she had to do was close her hands and the ribbon would slice.

      So why weren’t her fingers cooperating? Why weren’t they closing around the handle?

      She needed cooperation, needed to get out of there before she toppled over on her face or sagged to a humiliating puddle at the feet of her bosses. Not to mention that her dress would burst wide open if she made any sudden movements. Wouldn’t the press have a field day with that?

      Jelly Ellie’s belly exposed yet again.

      She winced, fought back the horrible thought of the photo of her happy, pudgy, eight-year-old self hanging out of her bathing suit while hugging her cute and cuddly little sister forever captured by the paparazzi. She reminded herself she wasn’t that little girl anymore who’d been crushed by their cruel jokes and taglines that she carried too much weight. She was an accomplished woman, a doctor. She could do this.

      Make the cut. Just squeeze your fingers together and cut the ribbon.

      Nothing happened. Except that her palms grew more and more clammy. Any second the scissors were going to slip out of her sweaty hands and fall to the floor.

      Headlines around the city would read Senator Cole Aston’s daughter doesn’t make the cut. Folks would nod their heads in agreement, make comments that they’d known she wasn’t good enough to get the job done, that had the lovely Brooke Aston been there all would have been well.

      “Dr. Aston?” the CEO prompted from beside her, his low tone warning for her to get on with the program.

      She wanted to. Really, she did. But panic had seized her and, except for the trembling within her, she stood frozen in place.

      The room began to spin, to darken. She was going down. She’d be mortified. Her father would blame her. Brooke would blame her. The hospital would blame her.

      She prayed that when she went down she would bump her head and lose her memory, that she’d lose all recall of the day’s events. Amnesia would be a blessing.

      But rather than fall to the floor, a strong pair of hands closed over hers, applying pressure and closing her fingers over the scissors handles. The ribbon split in two and each end drifted toward the floor in a dainty float that Eleanor watched as if in a surreal dream.

      The sound of the applause and cheers—and was that a sigh of relief?—came from some faraway surreal place, too.

      When she turned her head and looked up into the twinkling brown eyes of her savior, she was definitely somewhere other than reality.

      Because Tyler Donaldson winked at her and drawled a breathy, “Hi, there, darlin’.”

      As if it was the most natural thing in the world for his hands to be over hers, he motioned his head slightly toward the crowd. “Better paste a smile on that pretty face of yours ‘cause there are a lot of folks capturing the moment for posterity.”

      Who was this man and what had he done with the real Dr. Donaldson, who never spoke except in regard to patients?

      She gawked at him a second longer, then turned and forced a smile to her face the same way she’d done a hundred times before. She thought of happy times. Thought of medical school and how hard she’d worked, at how proud she’d been to accomplish something her daddy’s money and power couldn’t buy, something she’d had to do on her own. Something that didn’t require glamour, glitz or a hot little body.

      Although her smile stayed on her face, her mind didn’t go to her happy place. Oh, no. Her happy place was all tangled up in Tyler’s hand still covering hers, holding hers, of the electricity and warmth burning into her at his touch.

      He gave a squeeze as if he wanted to reassure her that she was going to be okay, that he was there and wouldn’t let her fall on her face.

      Oddly enough, she believed he wouldn’t.

      Which was crazy. He flustered her, barely knew she existed, so how could he possibly be rescuing her from total mortification?

      Her knees weakened, and she swayed.

      Tyler’s hand immediately went to her waist, steadying her, resting low on her back. “Just smile, babe. You’re doing just fine. It’s almost over.”

      Easy for him to say. She had to face the reception afterward, mingle with the bigwigs while representing her father, her family.

      But Tyler didn’t leave her side.

      He stayed and smiled right there with her. He kept his hand at her back and his strength gave her the fortitude to keep her smile in place even though she really just wanted to curl up into a ball and cry.

      When the photographers finally had their shots and moved on to their next victim, Eleanor let out a long breath and looked at her rescuer.

      “Th-thank you.”

      One side of his mouth lifted crookedly in a half grin. “No problem, sugar. You looked like you needed a helping hand.”

      Speaking of hand, his still rested against the curve of her back, burning through the thin red material and branding her skin.

      “I don’t like crowds.” Were those the first words she’d ever actually formed around him without stuttering, grunting or mumbling? Finally, coherency.

      “I noticed.”

      She smiled despite the nervousness still chipping away at her resolve. “Now, if only this party were over.”

      “Over?” He glanced around at the smiling, laughing people and shook his head. “Why would we want the party over when the night is so young?”

      “I don’t like crowds, remember?” She crinkled her nose and frowned up at him. Goodness, the man was tall. Probably about six-four. Maybe everything that came from Texas was big.

      He

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