Page 49 of Healing Kiss

“Will do.”

“And, Brian, I know you know this, but be discreet. I wouldn’t want to inadvertently bring more trouble to Lillian’s back door.”

Brian grunted. “Discreet is my middle name.”

Tristan ended the call and shoved his phone in his pants pocket. Then he headed into the ballroom. He was more than eager to finish his duties at the party and find Lillian and take her home to resume their earlier conversation.

Tristan walked the ballroom, mingling with the other guests, looking for his missing partner, but she was nowhere to be found. His stomach tightened when he caught a glimpse of a waiter stepping behind a curtain in the corner alcove. Something about the swift movement caught his attention, and he hurried after the gentleman, pulling the curtain back to peer inside.

The waiter was bent over a long and narrow couch, blocking his view, but he noticed the arms and legs sticking out, and they definitely belonged to a woman—his woman. Strange how this single adrenaline-heavy moment solidified his feelings.

“What are you doing?”

The waiter rose swiftly and turned to face him. “I think the lady’s had a little too much to drink.”

Tristan turned his attention to Lillian and saw that it was true. She’d passed out on the couch. “I see that. She’s my date—I’ll take it from here.”

“Very good,” the waiter said, and without another word, left.

“Zoey, wake up,” he said, patting her cheeks.

Lillian opened her eyes, but they were glazed and unfocused. How had she managed to drink herself into oblivion in the short time she’d been missing?

“Where am I?”

“We’re at the hospital fundraiser, which you would know if you were on my arm, where you’re supposed to be, and not hiding inside here, getting plastered.”

“I’m not…plastered.” She stood, nearly tripping over her heels until he caught her. She sniffed his chest, burying her face into his shirt. “Mmmmh. You smell good.”

He did his best to ignore the softness of her cheek pressed again him and checked his watch. “It’s almost eight. I’m taking you home, but first I need to present the room out there with a sizable check. Can you manage to stay on your feet long enough for me to accomplish the task?”

“I think so.” She pushed herself away from him. “You have terrific coloring,” she murmured, her voice dreamy.

He tucked her arm in his. “C’mon, my drunk companion, you can admire my coloring while we’re walking.”

He managed to get her on her feet and tugged her along, leading her into the main ballroom, where Angelina was announcing the five-hundred-thousand-dollar donation he was making to the North Side Clinic in honor of the care given to his mom.

The audience clapped all around. He sat Lillian on a chair off to one side where he could keep an eye on her and made his way to the microphone to hand Angelina his check. They smiled for the cameras, the guests clapped, and his obligation was complete.

“Your date looks like she’s about to pass out,” Angelina muttered.

He turned in time to see Lillian standing and stumbling toward what appeared to be the direction of the restroom. He moved as quickly as he could without causing a scene and latched onto her arm, pulling her into his side.

“What’s wrong with her?” Angelina asked. She must have followed him.

As if in answer, Lillian pressed a hand over her mouth.

“Excuse us,” Tristan said, pulling her through the guests as fast as he could, then half-carrying her into the women’s restroom and angling her into a stall just in time. What followed wasn’t pretty, but he held her hair out of the way while she appeared to lose everything she’d eaten since breakfast.

ChapterSeventeen

Lillian groaned and pushed herself away from the commode, wiping her mouth on some toilet paper Tristan handed her.

The bathroom door banged open, and Angelina trounced inside. “What’s wrong with her?”

“She’s not feeling well. I’m taking her home,” Tristan said.

“You can’t leave yet—there are several reporters here who want to talk to you. It’s fantastic publicity for the hospital and for you. Let me call a cab.”

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