Expecting the Doctor's Baby (4 page)

But before they could talk about anything, the public address system emitted static and then Arnold Ryan was introduced. Since their backs were to the dais, Sam turned her chair around to see. Mitch did the same and managed to get his close enough to brush her arm. The contact left a trail of silver glitter on the black sleeve of his jacket and he thought how characteristic of her to leave a glow on everything she touched.

“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen,” Arnie greeted the crowd. “Thank you all for coming. We're gathered here for a cause near and dear to my heart.”

That's when it hit Mitch that he'd been pressed into service because of being in the doghouse and hadn't bothered to get any details.

He leaned over to Sam and whispered, “Does he actually have a heart?”

She turned to look at him and their lips were inches apart. Her eyes widened a fraction before she said, “Of course he does.”

“What is he talking about?”

“Did you bother to read your invitation?” she asked.

“No.”

She shook her head in exasperation, but the corners of her mouth curved up as if she would expect this from him. “My father is kicking off a fund-raising drive for the Catherine Mary Ryan Cancer Center. Colon cancer killed my mother and he wants to fund a diagnosis-and-treatment facility dedicated to her memory.”

“The valley certainly needs one.” The dim light underscored the shadows in her eyes and he recalled her saying she'd been raised with Ryan's children. “How old were you when your mother died?”

“Six.”

His father died because his cop instincts made him intervene in a convenience store robbery. Mitch knew how it felt to lose a parent at a young age, but he'd had his mother. And Robbie for a while. Senseless death made him angry. The guilt and pain that haunted him twisted together and knotted in his gut.

“Mitch?”

He blinked, clearing away visions of the past and focused on Sam. “That must have been tough. Losing your mom so young.”

She nodded. “But every cloud has a silver lining and tonight is all about that. Making something good come out of tragedy.”

In his opinion the two were mutually exclusive, but he wouldn't tell her that because the sparkle was back in her eyes. He wouldn't live up to her low expectations and say anything to snuff it out.

“That's the spirit, Sunshine.”

Before she could respond to that, the room erupted in applause because her father had completed his remarks. Sam stood to turn her chair around and he took care of that like the chivalrous guy he was. When they sat again, he noticed the waitstaff was distributing dessert and coffee while a group of musicians set up behind the lectern at the front of the room.

“Looks like there's going to be dancing,” he commented.

“On the invitation it was clearly stated that the evening included cocktail hour, dinner and dancing.”

“I like surprises.”

“See. Even boring clouds have a silver lining.”

“Maybe. But only if you'll take a turn with me on the dance floor.” He was sure she'd turn him down and was already marshaling his arguments.

“I'd love to,” she said.

Strains of a slow song drifted to them and he stood, holding out his hand to her. She slid her fingers into his palm and when she rose, the muted light caught the sequins in her dress and the glitter on her skin.

Speaking of surprises…He'd get to hold the silver lining in his arms.

The wooden floor in the center of the room filled with other couples and Mitch placed Sam's hand in the crook of his arm as he led her there. He held his breath, anticipating the pleasure of her closeness. Then he pulled her into his arms and found the softness of her pressed against him more intoxicating than his Jack Daniel's.

He looked down at her. “I was sure you'd tell me to take a hike.”

“I love to dance.”

“So I could be any jerk off the street and you'd have agreed?”

Her alluring mouth curved up when she smiled. “I believe we established that my jerk quota has been filled recently. So, I'd have to say no.”

“Then I'm not on your jerk list?”

“I don't think that about you. Quite the opposite.”

He found her completely charming and was grateful to be on her good side. “What's the opposite of a jerk?”

“You're a guy who saves lives. In my book that makes you a—”

“Here you are, Samantha,” said a voice behind them.

Sam leaned to the side. Even with heels she wasn't tall enough to see over his shoulder. “Hi, Dad.”

Mitch turned and deliberately left his arm around Sam's waist. “Ryan.”

“Dr. Tenney. How nice of you to join us this evening.” His tone said he wasn't actually feeling the love.

“You throw a great party,” Mitch answered politely, if only to prove to Sam that he could be polite.

“Thank you. The turnout is very gratifying.” He looked at Sam. “My remarks were well received.”

“Absolutely,” she answered, tensing.

They'd been too busy talking to listen to the speech. In his opinion Arnold Ryan was a pompous ass who gave his daughter a hard time for no good reason. Mitch tightened his hand on her waist, hoping she felt his support.

“So, Doctor, how are things in the E.R.?” Ryan asked.

Mitch shrugged. “Funny you should ask. Sam was just singing my praises.”

“Samantha is easily impressed,” he said, with a sardonic look at his daughter.

“No,” she said. “When I was there for his precounseling observation he saved a drowning victim the paramedics brought in. A little boy. Two years old.”

Arnold slid his hands into the pockets of his tux trousers. “It's a good thing he was there.”

The sarcasm in his tone told Mitch he was indeed one slipup away from the door hitting him in the backside on the way out. He wasn't sure why this guy disliked him, but the feeling was becoming more mutual by the minute.

“Dad, it was the most amazing thing to watch the E.R. staff work together to save that child.”

“The E.R. staff is very good at what they do,” Mitch informed her father. “They have to be because we see everything from car accidents to the common cold. But I don't have to tell you that.”

“No, you don't.”

“Mercy Medical is lucky to have a doctor with his skills,” Sam said.

“And he definitely has them. Along with a finely tuned abrasive streak. If only rudeness saved lives,” Ryan snapped. “We're still dealing with the fallout from your confrontation after that particular incident.”

“I hate waste,” Mitch said, anger knotting in his gut. “Makes it hard to be diplomatic.”

“That's where my profession comes in,” Sam said quickly, looking very uncomfortable. “Smoothing out the rough edges will make him even better at what he does.”

“What he does is take the rules and bend them into oblivion.”

“Just give the counseling time, Dad. Darlyn Marshall is also very good at what she does. Sometimes people don't realize how they come across and simply need to learn coping techniques to keep the little things from turning into big issues.”

“If I hold my breath waiting for that,” her father said, “I would be in urgent need of emergency services myself. Either someone fits in or they don't. Talking it to death is an exercise in futility.”

“You do realize you're referring to your daughter's profession,” Mitch said, eyes narrowed.

“Indeed I do. More's the pity for her.”

When Mitch felt her tense, his edges turned rougher and he couldn't keep his mouth shut. “If that's the way you feel, why bother with the program?”

“It wasn't my idea. Believe me.” Without giving his daughter a look he said, “If it was up to me, you'd be out. And frankly this is all just a waste of time and money, in my estimation. I don't expect any results and we'll be back to square one, which is asking for your resignation.”

“What if I prove you wrong?” Mitch asked, barely able to rein in his anger.

“I'm not wrong. And if my daughter would stop wasting her time and take my advice to find a real profession, one worthy of respect, she would be much better off.” His mouth thinned in distaste when he looked at Sam. “Now if you'll excuse me, there's someone I need to talk to. I'll see you later, Samantha.”

Mitch was about to follow and felt Sam's hand on his arm. “Don't,” she whispered.

“Just one good shot,” he said through clenched teeth.

“Please. No—” Her voice caught and abruptly she turned and walked in the opposite direction.

Mitch didn't realize she was leaving until she stopped at the table, grabbed her purse and wrap, then hurried toward the exit. He followed her out the double doors, down two sets of escalators, through the casino and past the registration desk. For a small woman she went pretty damn fast in her high heels. Before he knew it she was through the front doors and outside. When he caught up with her, he heard her say something to the attendant about a cab.

“Sam—”

“Go away, Mitch.” She wouldn't look at him.

“I'll walk you to your car.”

“It's not here. I came with him.” Her voice was unsteady and she caught her top lip between her teeth. “I think…it's better if I take a cab home.”

“Ignore him.”

“Easy for you to say—” She had her back to him.

“Okay. It is easy for me. I'm an objective observer. In spite of the fact that you think I have the sensibility of a water buffalo, I realize that you're dealing with an emotional component. But, Sam—” He put a hand on her shoulder and gently turned her toward him.

Her eyes were moist with tears and something tightened in his chest.

He'd been susceptible to a woman's tears a time or two. His ex-wife. His mother when she pleaded with him time and again to help Robbie. Pain sliced through him at the memory. He didn't trust tears. Female tears were tools of manipulation. Interesting the first syllable of that word was
man
. He should just walk away and let her get a cab. Let her deal with the real water buffalo in her life on her own terms. The words were on the tip of his tongue until he saw her mouth tremble and her struggle to control it.

Instead of “good night” he said, “I'm taking you home.”

M
itch was driving on Interstate 15 south and nearing the turnoff to the 215 Beltway before Sam said anything. The only reason she did was to give him transition directions.

“Take the Beltway east. Toward Henderson.”

“Okay. Which exit?” he asked.

“Green Valley Parkway.

She'd been a blubbering idiot; there was no recovery from that. Except that after speaking she felt the lack of conversation.

“Nice car.” It was a two-seater Mercedes. Red. Hot. A chick magnet.

He glanced over. “Thanks.”

She glanced over at him, all sexy in the driver's seat. He'd taken off his black tie and released the first button on his pleated white shirt. Lights from the freeway danced over the angles of his handsome face and created enigmatic shadows as he aggressively guided the purring machine along the transition curve to the 215 and home.

She couldn't believe she'd let her father get under her skin like that. He was the same thoughtless man she'd learned to compensate for a long time ago. He hadn't changed, but she'd lost it, and that hadn't happened for a very long time. The only variable was Mitch. Something about being criticized in front of him had pushed her over the edge.

Yet Mitch had come to her rescue. Sir Galahad in a hot, red car. She should probably make conversation, but her emotions were still unstable and held together by a thread. The best thing she could do was gut it out until she was alone. Finally, Mitch exited the freeway.

“Turn right. It's the last apartment complex before Horizon Ridge.”

He did as she directed, then slowed to a stop at the gate. She gave him the number code and the gates swung open, allowing him inside. A few more directions later and he parked in front of her unit.

“I'm sorry about—” Tears welled in her eyes and emotion thickened in her throat. One humiliating incident tonight wasn't enough? Another meltdown was pathetically close. She was two for two. It was time to give Sir Galahad the night off. “Thanks for the ride,” she whispered.

That was all she could manage without losing it. She slid from the car and shut the door, then hurried to the stairway leading up to her apartment. Grabbing her long skirt in one hand so as not to trip, she quickly climbed the stairs to the second floor. Behind her she heard a car door close and footsteps following. She stopped at Unit 27 and opened her purse, then moisture blurred her vision. But Mitch was there, big and strong and smelling so good, so masculine.

Without a word, he took her bag and easily located her key. After opening the door, he reached in and flipped the light switch on, then rested his warm palm on the small of her back, guiding her inside.

She took a deep breath and met his gaze. “You've certainly gone above and beyond the call of duty tonight.”

“It's the least I can do.”

No, the least would have been to let her take a cab. And she wished he had. “Thank you for everything. Good night—”

“Are you throwing me out, Ms. Ryan?”

“Yes. I'd really like to be alone.”

He set her purse on the sofa table in the entryway, then noticed the decanter of brandy and glasses. Without asking permission, he poured some of the liquor into two snifters and handed one to her.

“No, thanks, I—”

“Doctor's orders,” he said, touching his glass to hers, before glancing around. “Nice place.”

Following his gaze she took in the beige-and-maroon chenille corner group, the circular oak table and four chairs in the dining area, distressed mahogany buffet with battered copper accessories on top. She'd painted the walls a harvest gold with one wall covered in a bold burnt orange. It was colorful, warm and inviting.

“My father h-hates it,” she said.

Mitch moved closer and the spark of anger in his eyes was clearly visible in the dim light. In spite of the simmering hostility, his touch was gentle when he crooked a finger beneath her glass and urged it to her lips for a sip.

“Your father is a first-class idiot.”

Maybe, but he was the idiot who'd raised her and she loved him for that. She owed him a lot. “Thanks for getting the valet to let my father know not to wait for me.”

His mouth pulled tight for a moment but all he said was, “You're welcome.”

“And thanks for not giving me too hard a time when I insisted the valet tell him that I wasn't feeling well.”

“As opposed to you'd rather walk barefoot on glass than get in the car with him?”

“Yes,” she said. “I know you don't understand—”

“You're right. I don't get it. You're bright and beautiful and witty. I don't understand why you let him get away with treating you like a ditz.”

“He's entitled to his opinion about what I do.”

“That doesn't give him the right to be vicious.”

She took another sip of brandy and felt it warm her inside. The look Mitch was giving her heated her, too, in an entirely different way.

“How is what my father did tonight different from what you do when you have a strong conviction about someone or something? I've seen you in action and there was no holding back.”

“You're not doing something that gets someone hurt,” he defended. “If people would just stop and think—”

“In your opinion. It's the facts as you see them and when you unload that opinion, people's feelings get hurt.”

He ran his fingers through his hair, then drained his glass and set it on the coffee table she'd painted in a deep, cocoa-brown. “Trust me, my behavior is nothing like your father. He's an ass.”

“I can't argue with that. And yet he's on a mission to raise money for a cancer treatment center to honor the memory of the woman he loved. So he's an ass with shades of gray.”

“There's got to be something in it for him,” Mitch said.

“Tonight's event was a lot of work. I hope he does get something out of it.”

“You were having a good time until he showed up.”

She nodded. “Yeah.”

He moved in front of her, close enough to feel the warmth of his body. “If I remember right, you'd just said that I was a guy who saves lives. And that makes me a—”

“What?” she asked.

“That's what I'd like to know. You didn't get a chance to finish the thought.”

Hero
was what she'd meant to say. And tonight he'd shown her he was one of the good guys outside of work, too. She finished the brandy in her glass and set it beside his. The warmth lingered inside her along with the sadness.

“That's not all I didn't finish.” Her eyes filled again as she remembered how happy she'd been when Mitch held her in his arms and guided her around the dance floor. He was looking puzzled, waiting for her to explain. And all she could say was, “We left our dessert—”

Her voice caught and she turned away. “Please don't think I'm ungrateful, but I'd really like to be by myself now.”

“Don't, Sam—” He moved behind her, curving his fingers around her arms. “Don't cry. He isn't worth it.”

When he turned her toward him, a single tear slid down her cheek. He cupped her face in his hands and brushed the moisture away with his thumb as his gaze skipped over her face. Staring at her, he shook his head as he let out a sound that was part exasperation, part groan. Then he lowered his mouth to hers.

The touch was soft, tentative, testing until her sigh of surrender. Then the contact turned into an explosion of heat and need. His arms came around her, crushing her to him and she'd never felt safer or more secure. She'd never needed like she did now. No questions. No overthinking. She'd never lost control this way, not even with the man she'd almost married. This was simple, basic lust—easy to understand and explain. And best of all when she wanted him with every fiber of her being there was no room for anything but the insatiable yearning.

He kissed her, then ran his tongue over her lips, coaxing them open. He didn't hesitate to plunge inside, giving as much as he took. She held on to the lapels of his jacket for all she was worth, enjoying the primal strength of him hidden by the sophisticated clothing. He was like a big present just waiting to be opened and the anticipation built along with a delicious pressure deep inside.

They were both breathing hard when he pulled back and studied her face. “Sam—”

“I know.”

And she did. Sliding her hands over his chest, she pushed his tuxedo jacket from his shoulders, letting it drop on the carpet. He reached out and pulled the pins from her hair and she shook the strands free. Passion etched his face as he slid one finger beneath the strap of her gown and down her arm before tugging it over her breasts and hips until it pooled at her feet. Reaching behind her, he unhooked her strapless bra, allowing her breasts to spill free before his hands were there to cup and caress her.

Sam sucked in a delicious breath when he stroked an aroused nipple. Then he bent and took it into his mouth, the pleasure so intense she could hardly stand it.

She undid the buttons on his shirt with shaking fingers and he yanked it off before she rested her hands on his broad chest, the dusting of hair tickling her palms. He kissed her again and her lips parted, allowing him access. Taking full advantage, he dipped his tongue inside and stroked until liquid heat poured through her, leaving her thighs shaking and a pressure building deep inside.

She'd never needed like this before, never wanted the way she wanted Mitch.

She brushed her fingertips across his abdomen and over his waist, feeling his spasm of response as she traced the sensitive spot just above the waistband of his slacks. When she slid a finger beneath, he sucked in a breath. In a heartbeat he swept off the rest of her clothes and his, then lowered her to the carpet with her dress, his jacket and everything else around them. All she wanted was him inside her. All she could think about was relieving the pressure he'd built in the center of her being.

With his knee he parted her legs, then slid into her where she welcomed him with open arms and waiting warmth. He plunged deeper, drove her higher until her sudden and unexpectedly swift release exploded into a fireball that shattered into a thousand points of light. Before she was back in one piece he thrust once more, then stilled above her and groaned out his own satisfaction.

For several moments he simply held her tight, his body a solid sweet weight on her. Then he rested his forehead to hers and she felt more than saw his smile.

“You okay?” he asked.

“Yeah.”

The response was automatic, but she realized it was the truth. He'd wanted her. He'd told her she was bright and beautiful and the words were a balm to her battered soul. She was very all right and couldn't regret what they'd just done. He kissed her nose, then took her lips in an achingly tender touch.

His slow, sexy grin was a wicked challenge. “Are you still sorry about missing dessert?”

She shook her head. “That was twice as good with none of the calories.”

“Good answer. As much as I hate to, it's time to go. I have to be at the hospital before God.”

When he levered himself up and reached for his clothes, she grabbed the afghan from the arm of her sofa and wrapped it around her naked shoulders. After dressing, he looked down at her, all satisfied male. “Next time I'll make sure there's a bed.”

She blinked up at him. “Next time?”

“I'm a confident guy.”

“There can't be a next time.”

“Why not?” He reached down a hand and pulled her to her feet, staring into her eyes for a long time. “I want to see you, Sam.”

The problem with losing control and rational thought was that when both returned, everything came back into focus in a rush. She couldn't regret what they'd done, but…Why did there always have to be a but?

She shook her head. “That's not smart.”

“I believe it would be one of the smartest things I've done in a very long time.”

“This was a huge mistake, Mitch,” she said, looking at her bra and panties still on the floor. “You're a client of my firm.”

“But not
your
client. It's not an ethical violation.”

“But it's a gray area.” She bit her lip. “So very, very gray.”

“Then let's just cut to black. I want to see you. Personally. On a date. You, me, dinner. Maybe a movie. A show. I hear there's a new musical at the Venetian. I'll get tickets. We could—”

“No. Let's just chalk it up to—whatever—and move on.”

He dragged his fingers through his hair. “I'm not going to argue with you.”

That would be a first. “Good.”

“It's late. You're tired.” He threaded his fingers through her hair and cupped her face in his hands as he dropped a tender kiss on her lips. He brushed his thumbs gently over her cheeks before saying, “We'll talk about it another time. Good night, Sam. Lock the door after me.”