Heart Fix For The Billionaire Single Dad – Katy Lee Hart

gradually stopped showing up. And when I was lying in bed after the transplant, I learned that he wasn’t coming back.” Her voice broke slightly on the last word, and she pressed her lips together as if she could seal the words shut. I felt something inside me go cold and sharp, a rage I kept contained because she didn’t need my anger; she needed my steadiness. “I’m not him,” I said, low and absolute. She lifted her gaze to mine, and there was fear there, real fear.

“I don’t know if I can do this again. I don’t want to watch you change. I don’t want to watch you start measuring my life in risks. I don’t want to become the thing you protect instead of the person you choose, the person you love.” “When a man really loves a woman, his inclination should be to protect her at all costs, regardless of the circumstances.

Which means, he wants to take care of her, to keep her safe, to make things as easy for her as possible. Choosing you and protecting you aren’t at opposite ends of the spectrum. It’s a package deal.” She stared at me like she wanted to believe it but believing it would be dangerous. “There’s something else too,” she said, and her fingers trembled slightly as they gripped the chair arms.

“The heart is… one of the most serious transplants.” I nodded, keeping my expression blank. “I can well imagine.” She swallowed hard. “I’ve been through the worst of it and come out amazingly well, but the risk of rejection never goes to zero.” I watched her, and the protector part of me wanted to walk around the desk and pull her into my arms, to promise her she’d never be alone again. She continued, “But the mortality rate for heart transplant recipients is only about 10 percent.

That’s not much different from the percentages that anyone could die of anything on any given day.” Just then her phone buzzed in her pocket, sharp and sudden in the quiet office. She glanced at the screen, and all the color drained out of her face.

“I have to go,” she said abruptly and stood to leave. And then, just like she was purposely testing my commitment, she collapsed before she reached the door. OceanofPDF.com Everything went black so fast that I didn’t even get the dignity of a slow fade. One second I was standing in Grant’s office in a meeting, trying to pretend my vision hadn’t started narrowing at the edges, trying to keep my voice steady, and the next second the room tilted like someone was shaking the building.

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. OceanofPDF.com CONTENTS 1. Grant 2. Kendra 3. Grant 4. Kendra 5. Grant 6. Kendra 7. Grant 8. Kendra 9. Grant 10. Kendra 11. Grant 12. Kendra 13. Grant 14. Kendra 15. Grant 16. Kendra 17. Grant 18. Kendra 19. Grant 20. Kendra 21. Grant 22. Kendra 23. Grant 24.

Kendra Epilogue: Kendra OceanofPDF.com CHAPTER 1 GRANT Mad River Mountain had been our own special tradition. Two days of skiing. Just Isabel and me along with our best friends, Mandy and Flynn. No kids. We left Lila—our toddler with applesauce on her chin—at home with Nanny Bea.

I’d kissed Lila’s head before we walked out. I’d kissed Isabel longer. We lived in Columbus. So the drive felt easy. Familiar. Safe. Isabel had been lighthearted and laughing since we drove into the parking lot. She had that look she got when life felt simple. At the top of the slope she’d exclaimed, “Race you down.” She took off before I could answer her back. On the mountain, the cold bit hard. The snow was fast.

The sky was sharp and bright. Isabel cut across the slope like she owned it. Confident. Playful. Loose in her body. I followed behind, watching her line. Then it happened. A patch of ice. A weird catch. Her skis shot out. Her helmet hit hard. She didn’t move. I skidded to her side and dropped to my knees. Mandy and Flynn skied to a stop beside me.

“Isabel.” My voice came out in panic. Her face looked peaceful. Too peaceful. I checked her breathing like I’d seen in movies. She breathed. Thank God. But she didn’t wake. People stopped. The Ski Patrol arrived in red jackets and calm voices. They asked questions fast. Allergies? Meds? What happened? How long was she been out?

I answered like a robot. Then I realized my hands were shaking. They stabilized her neck and checked her pupils, all with practiced speed. “Sir, we’re calling 911,” one of the ski patrollers said. I nodded. I couldn’t do anything else. They loaded her onto a sled. Strapped her down. Blanketed her and walked to the base of the run where the ambulance waited. Lights strobing. Doors open. I walked beside them like a shadow. A paramedic said, “ Sir, we need to take her as quickly as possible to the trauma center at OSU Wexner.”

I nodded.

This is a short excerpt from the opening of “” by Unknown, quoted for review and introduction purposes. All rights belong to the copyright holders.

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• Title: –
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