Expecting the Doctor's Baby (9 page)

Forget that he was a client. Forget her professional responsibility. It was time to face the fact that she had feelings, intense feelings, for a man who believed loving was another word for obligation. Caring about a client in a personal way was bad enough. Caring about a man who was completely wrong for her was foolish and just plain stupid. The problem was that she simply didn't know how to smarten up.

 

Mitch followed the red taillights of Sam's practical little import until she turned into her complex. His responsibility to see her safely home was effectively complete. But when the security gates swung shut behind her he suddenly felt the need to make sure she got inside okay.

He turned in and stopped at the keypad and punched in her code, hoping it hadn't changed from the last time he'd been here. Memories of that night were never far from his mind and when the gates opened again, he let out a long breath.

This felt a lot like a B horror movie when some idiot goes into the basement alone and everyone but the idiot knows he's going to get whacked. Mitch knew being here didn't make him the sharpest scalpel in the drawer but he couldn't seem to turn the car around.

He wasn't sure why he was here. One minute he'd been in the bar, brooding and miserable. He was alone and doing a damn fine job of it. Then he'd seen Sam, looking so incredibly sweet, beautiful and concerned. About him. That big heart of hers had compelled her to come looking when he'd stood her up for his appointment. Then, in the bar, he couldn't get rid of her. So he got mad, spilled his guts and still she'd stayed, listening and encouraging. Then she'd said it was getting late and she had to go. She had plans the next day. It had been on the tip of his tongue to ask her to stay, but he didn't. Something got in the way.

In order to be successful one must learn to surmount a fear every day. He was afraid of getting close because love makes you responsible and that was too much to live up to. He wasn't looking for success. He just didn't want to be alone.

So he'd insisted on following her home.

Now he was climbing the stairs to see her into her apartment.

When she heard his footsteps on the walkway, she turned. “I didn't know—You didn't have to do this.”

He took the key from her hand just as he'd done the last time. “A gentleman always sees a lady safely home.”

The stiff breeze blew strands of hair around her face and he tucked them behind her ears as she clutched her purse in front of her like a shield. When she shivered, he instinctively moved to shelter her from the wind.

“Are you cold?”

“No. Yes,” she amended. “You know how it is in Vegas. One day it's eighty degrees, the next it's fifty.”

Her voice was all nerves and the idea that he'd made her edgy was extremely satisfying. He wanted to make her as jumpy as she made him. He wanted to dig beneath her cool coach's exterior and find the woman who was jealous when he'd flirted with her sister. Better yet, he'd like to be with the sensuous lady who'd taken him to a place he'd never been before.

“I'd be happy to warm you up.” He rubbed his hands up and down her arms.

“Thanks. But it's best if I just go inside. Thanks for seeing me home, Mitch. Good night.”

He'd have let her go if there'd been any conviction in the words. She was wearing black slacks and a matching jacket, short and perfectly fitted to her small waist. Beneath it was a silky gold blouse that brought out all the highlights in her big brown eyes. The need to take it off and make her eyes light up for completely different reasons was becoming too difficult to ignore.

“Aren't you going to invite me in for a nightcap?”

Her expression was wry. “Isn't that just the way? I'm out of club soda and fresh lime.”

“I can be fresh,” he said.

“That's not breaking news.”

He leaned a shoulder against the door frame and looked down at her. “I'm shocked and appalled. I do believe my sensitivity coach just insulted me.”

“You said it. I simply agreed with you,” she countered. “There's a difference.”

“I thought you were supposed to spin my behavior into a more positive light.”

“And I thought you liked to be right.”

“I do,” he agreed. “So let me show you just how fresh I can be.”

He cupped her cheek in his hand, then lowered his lips to hers. Half-expecting her to back away, he was pleased and surprised when she didn't. He forced himself to go slow, kiss her softly, even though he wanted, with an almost desperate intensity, to pull her into his arms and feel every part of her pressed against him. He ached for her in a way he'd never ached for anyone before.

She swayed toward him and he slid his fingers into the hair at her nape, making the contact of their mouths more firm. He sucked on her top lip then bit down gently, before pressing a light kiss there. When he pulled back and looked down, her eyes were closed and there was a dazed and dreamy expression on her face to go along with her unsteady breathing. The look cranked the blood through his veins and sent it points south, ratcheting up his need.

She was as turned on as he was.

Then the haze faded and she looked distressed. “I—I have to go now, Mitch.”

“I'll go with you.”

She shook her head. “That's a very bad idea.”

The need throbbing through him said otherwise. “You're wrong about that, coach.”

“That's exactly why it's not good. You're my client. It's unethical for me to even kiss you, let alone—You know.”

He did know. And what he had in mind didn't feel the least bit unethical from where he was standing. If she was using sex to influence him, he could see her point, but that's not what was happening here. He wanted her and he'd bet everything he owned that she wanted him, too. All he had to do was make her see the wisdom of it.

“You mean this?” he asked, lowering his mouth to hers again.

He slid an arm around her waist and pulled her against him, savoring the feel of her breasts pressed against his chest. For the rest of his life he would be grateful that she hadn't worn a coat tonight. He kissed her and when he traced her lips with his tongue, she opened for him and he didn't waste the opportunity. Dipping inside, he caressed the warm sweetness of her mouth. Their tongues dueled in a seductive dance until he thought his chest would explode.

He dropped gentle kisses on her nose, eyes and cheeks, then trailed his mouth across her jaw and down her neck. All the while heat balled in his belly and billowed outward.

Breathing hard, he pulled back. “That didn't feel unethical to me.”

“Mitch, I can't—”

He pressed a finger to her lips. “Not what I want to hear.”

Why was he letting her get to him?
Letting?
That implied control over his feelings and he so wasn't in control. This
thing
for her just was and if he was as brilliant and worth saving as everyone thought, he'd walk away and never look back. But he couldn't make himself U-turn any more than he could in the car. His life would lose the only light and color in it. If he knew anything it was that life was fleeting and fragile and could disappear in a flash. It was a breeding ground for regrets and he had too many already.

She pressed her forehead to his chest, fighting to suck in air. When she looked up, her eyes were pleading for understanding. “You're a doctor. If anyone should understand, it's you. I'm ethically bound to maintain my professional distance from a client.”

If that was the only thing standing in their way, he had the perfect solution. “Okay, then.”

“I'm glad you understand.” Regret stood out in her eyes as she turned the knob on her front door and opened it a crack. “I really have to go now—”

“Tell me something, Sam.”

“What?”

“Tell me you don't want this. Tell me you're not the least bit interested in me. Not the least bit tempted to throw ethics out the window and burn up the sheets with me.” He curved his fingers around her arm and held her gaze. “Tell me that and I'll walk away without looking back. And don't lie to me because you're not very good at it.”

She caught her top lip between her teeth. “I can't say that.”

“That's what I thought.” He let out a long breath. “In that case, you're fired.”

In one motion, he pulled her into his arms and inside her apartment then nudged the door closed. Sam reached over his shoulder and twisted the dead-bolt lock. He kissed her until she was breathless and he ached with need.

“I want to see what your bedroom looks like,” he said, his voice hoarse.

“Pink.”

“What?”

She took his hand and led him past her beige-and-maroon sofa and the kitchen with the copper stuff on the hutch. In the hall she turned right and flipped a switch on the wall. A brass lamp beside the bed lit the room in a golden glow. It was definitely pink, from the roses on the comforter to the sheets beneath. The walls were a soft shade of pink with white crown molding and door. This was a surprise, a contrast from the living room's harvest gold with the one red wall that had given him a hint of the passionate side she kept hidden.

He grinned down at her. “It's a good thing I'm secure in my masculinity.”

“A very good thing,” she said, sliding her hands over his chest to push off his jacket.

That was all the encouragement he needed. In seconds their clothes were in a heap at the foot of the bed and the sheets were as bare as Sam. Without taking his mouth from hers, he backed her toward the bed.

“Wait,” she said.

“What?”

“Do you have—You know.” When he stared blankly, she said, “Protection.”

He did and automatically answered, “Yes.”

Then he reached for the wallet in his jeans to retrieve the condom. The first time she hadn't mentioned it. Of course he hadn't, either, because the blood drained from his head, making rational thought impossible. Later he'd figured she was still on the pill, after her broken engagement.

When he turned back and saw her derriere as she crawled onto the bed, rational thought again drained from his head along with the blood pounding elsewhere.

With protection in place, he slid in beside her and took her in his arms. Her bare breasts burned into his chest and he brushed his palm down her back and over her butt, gently squeezing. She curved a hand over his shoulder, up his neck, then traced one finger along his ear. It was like a bottle rocket going off in his head.

He rolled her onto her back, then leaned down to take the tip of her breast in his mouth. The feel of her skin against his mouth and his hands made him feel as if he'd died and gone to heaven. He turned his attention to her other breast as he slid his hand between her legs, dipping one finger into her feminine warmth. She was as ready as he was and he'd been ready for too damned long.

“I need you, Sam—”

“Ditto,” she whispered.

He raised over her, spreading her legs wide with his knee, then pushed gently into her. It was like coming home. He slid his hand between them, and with his thumb found the nub of nerve endings that was the heart of her pleasure. He rubbed it, experimenting with the right amount of pressure until she sucked in a breath and went still, at the same time breathing in a series of harsh gasps that told him she'd found her release.

He thrust in and out until his body tensed. A moment later it felt as if his skull was exploding in the best possible way. When he could move, he rolled to the side, taking her with him wrapped in his arms.

When he could think again, his first thought was that he was going straight to the devil.

His second: hell would be worth it.

T
he next morning Sam put coffee grounds and water into the automatic pot and turned the switch to On. Mitch was behind her, leaning against her cupboards, dressed only in worn jeans zipped but not buttoned, leaving an intriguing expanse of chest and belly exposed. His hair was tousled from sleep and his jaw dark with stubble. The look worked even better than the tuxedo, better than scrubs. Only naked would have been superior to the way he looked right this moment.

She wasn't sure whether to be happy or upset about last night, then decided to go with happy. Career and personal fallout could just wait while she savored the moment. But they had to get one thing straight and it couldn't wait for coffee.

Wearing nothing but a thigh length champagne-colored silk robe, she turned to face him. “You fired me, Mitch, and you can't undo that any more than I can take back going to bed with you. It would be like shutting the barn door after the horse got out. So to speak,” she added when the corners of his mouth turned up in a wicked grin.

“Not a problem from my perspective.” He met her gaze briefly, then lowered his own to somewhere in the region of her knees.

“So you're willing to finish your coaching sessions with Darlyn?”

“Not a problem from my perspective,” he repeated, still staring intently.

“Focus—”

“I am.”

“Not on my legs.”

“Okay.” Slowly his gaze scanned upward then settled on her face. “Not a problem from this perspective, either.”

The compliment started a warm glow in her belly that spread until happiness touched her everywhere. Last night had been probably the best night of her life and today was shaping up nicely, too. For this moment in time she wasn't going to wonder about tomorrow. She wasn't going to think about his revelation that he was only into temporary fixes.

She'd known all of that when he kissed her and still she couldn't resist the chance for the pleasure his arms offered.

“Good. Then you can make an appointment with Darlyn to complete your coaching and explain that it's time for a change since you've gone as far with me as you can.”

“The best part is that's no lie.” Again he grinned the wicked grin that turned her bones to liquid.

He straightened away from the counter and moved toward her, a predator on the prowl. Her heart started racing and she couldn't seem to catch her breath when he crooked a finger and nudged her chin up for a soft kiss. A morning-after endearment.

He looked down and said, “What are my chances for a cup of coffee?”

“Oh.” She wasn't exactly sure how long ago the pot had gone silent. “Coming right up.”

She opened the white enamel door of the upper cabinet and pulled out two mugs. After pouring the steaming liquid into each, she handed one to him, then put sugar and cream into hers.

“Thanks.” He took a tentative sip, then blew into the steam.

“Do you want something to eat? Cereal? Eggs and toast?”

“No bacon?”

She wrinkled her nose. “Can you spell cholesterol, Doctor?”

“Eggs sound good.”

“Scrambled or poached?”

“Surprise me,” he said.

“I think over easy so you can dip your toast in the runny part. My mother used to make them that way for me, so I could have fun with food.”

She pulled out the toaster, omelet pan, bread and eggs, then started cooking.

“What else do you remember about your mother?” Mitch asked, back braced against the cupboards beside her.

She pushed the bread down into the four-slice toaster, then cracked three eggs into the pan. “I have flashes of memory from when it was just the two of us. She was always there for me and I knew how important I was to her. Then she remarried.”

“Ryan.”

“Yeah.” She glanced up and saw his mouth pull tight. “I think I always sensed that I was the worse part of ‘for better or worse.'”

“You could never be that.”

“Nice of you to say.”

“I'm not nice. You know that better than anyone. So it must be the truth.”

The sadness she always carried inside her pushed against the boundaries and she fought to keep it back. “I didn't notice so much while my mother was still alive. She always made me feel special.” She looked up at him and shrugged. “Then she died and my stepfather was stuck with me.”

The toast popped up and she buttered it, then slid the eggs out of the pan onto two plates. “Silverware is in that drawer closest to the table.”

Mitch found it and followed her and the food to the dining area. After grabbing two napkins from her pumpkin-colored pottery bowl on the counter, she grabbed the coffeepot and set it on a cow-shaped copper trivet on the table. Then she sat down at a right angle to him.

He ate in silence for several moments, then said, “How did you feel about being adopted?”

“Confused.” She held her fork suspended over her plate.

“Why?”

“I don't think it was a conscious thing and I only put it together with the perspective of maturity and hindsight.”

“Not to mention your brother's bombshell?” he asked.

“That, too. On a certain level I think I was aware that my father wasn't crazy about me and didn't really want me around. So I was pathetically grateful when he told me he was going to make me his daughter legally.” She met his dark gaze. “I didn't know consciously until Connor connected the dots.”

“Yeah.” He put his fork and knife on his empty plate. “Obviously it was a manipulation to bump the public's perception of him as a swell guy. He legally adopted his dead wife's orphaned child and looked like a hero.”

She winced at the harsh assessment, even though it was probably the truth. “Try to see it from his perspective.”

“Do I have to?” He pushed his plate away, then refilled both of their coffee cups. “I don't think it's a well-kept secret that I don't think much of him. Never have and never will.”

“Okay, then look at it from my point of view. He did the right thing, regardless of his motivation. He gave me a home, clothes, food.”

“He gave you criticism and manipulation.”

“You just described every parent in the world.” She took a bite of toast and chewed thoughtfully. “He's the only father I've ever known. The dynamic is complicated, but the result is the same.”

“And that is?”

“I can't help wanting his love and his respect.” She met his gaze. “So much so that I accepted a marriage proposal from a man my father picked out. I never loved Jax, which is probably why he cheated.”

“That's just bull.” Mitch stood up and anger rolled off him in waves. “If he wasn't happy, he should have manned-up and said so instead of going behind your back. How can you blame yourself for the fact that the creep was unfaithful?”

“The same way you hold yourself responsible for your brother's accidental overdose. It's the way I'm wired.” She watched the muscle move in his clenched jaw. “I guess I thought if I married a man approved by my father he would love me.”

“Screw that.” Mitch jammed his fingers through his already tousled hair. “It was nothing more than an arranged marriage. That went out with hoop skirts and powdered wigs and you should tell him what he can do with it.”

She cradled the hot mug between her cold hands. “I can't do that. Don't you see? I got a glimpse of what it's like to have no one to care about you. It's no more appealing now than it was when I was six. It's a risk I'm not willing to take.”

“So you put up with all his crap instead—”

There was a knock on her door and Sam started. She automatically glanced at the clock on the microwave over the stove, surprised that it was 10:05. It was Saturday morning and—

“Oh, my God.” She stood up.

“What's wrong?”

“Connor. I completely forgot.” First Mitch's crisis, and then his kisses had pushed everything else from her mind.

For one moment, she thought about asking Mitch to duck into the bedroom, but knew he'd never go for that. When there was a second knock, she hurried and unlocked the dead bolt, then opened the door. Her brother stood there dressed in khaki pants and a hunter green sweater with the collar of his shirt poking out. Very preppy. Very proper. And she was in her short, silk robe. So not proper.

So not ready. What with passion, sex and Mitch spending the night, she'd completely forgotten her brother was picking her up this morning. “Hey, Connor.”

“Hi, Sam. Someone overslept, I see,” he said, glancing at her appearance. He brushed past her and walked into the apartment. His back was to her but she knew when he saw Mitch because his shoulders tensed. “Or not.”

She pulled the tie on her robe tighter as she walked around him and stood between the two men who were oozing testosterone like an oil spill from a run-aground tanker.

“Connor, you remember Mitch.”

“Yes.” His eyes narrowed. “Doctor.”

“Ryan.” Mitch stood with feet braced wide apart, arms folded over his bare chest. Classic male posturing, which was not helpful for anything.

This was awkward. “I'm so sorry, Connor. I completely forgot about our trip to the art exhibit.” She looked up at Mitch. “It's at the Wynn Hotel. A private collection that's on display.” She looked up at her brother. “I can be ready in fifteen minutes.”

“So,” Connor said, not looking at her. “You spent the night with my sister.”

“What was your first clue?” Mitch asked.

“It's not a big deal, Connor—”

“You're my little sister. If someone is taking advantage of you, it's a very big deal.”

“Mitch isn't doing that,” she protested. “It's a long story and—”

“I bet it is,” her brother said, never taking his eyes off Mitch. “Sam, you're too trusting for your own good—”

“Sam's a grown woman,” Mitch interrupted. “A consenting adult. And, by the way? Where were you when she needed protecting from her sleazebag fiancé?”

“Mitch—” Sam blew out an exasperated breath. Another situation with multiple methods for a peaceful resolution but he went with confrontational. Maybe it was just as well she couldn't be his coach any longer.

Connor took a step forward. “At least he put a ring on her finger and wasn't a one-night stand—”

“Because he was sleeping with every other woman in town,” Mitch growled.

“I don't give a rat's ass about him. It's my sister I'm concerned about. Did you think about her. Her reputation? Career? Family?”

“Hello? I'm right here.” Sam stepped between them and looked up at Mitch. “It would probably be best if you go now.”

His narrowed gaze jumped to her and she could feel the tightly coiled anger mixing with an overabundance of testosterone. She held her breath.

Finally he nodded curtly. “I'll call you.”

“Okay. If you want.”

“I want.”

“Good.”

That was a lie. The day that had started out happy just blew up in her face.

Career and personal had just collided head-on and for the first time in her life she was more upset about the personal.

 

Two days later, fittingly on Monday morning, Mitch walked into Arnold Ryan's outer office and looked at his beehive-haired assistant in her late fifties. He'd been called to see the administrator and was pretty sure it had something to do with him spending the night at Sam's. Mental note: her brother was a snitch, and news traveled fast in the Ryan family.

Although he admired the fact that Connor was looking out for his sister, the protective behavior also highlighted the differences between them. Mitch had a habit of letting down the ones he loved. Connor, on the other hand, was the guy in the white hat, riding the white stallion hell-bent for leather to rescue damsels in distress. Even if that meant ratting out his sister.

From the outer office where Mitch stood looking out floor-to-ceiling windows, there was a good view of Mercy Medical Center's serenity garden. Hunter green carpet covered the floor and wood-framed chairs in a lighter shade were scattered around the small room.

“May I help you?”

Mitch moved to the desk where the nameplate read Jennifer Pinto. “I'm here to see him.”

“One moment, Dr. Tenney.”

“Thanks.”

Her blue-eyed gaze narrowed slightly behind her wire-rimmed glasses as she picked up the phone. “Dr. Tenney is here to see you, Mr. Ryan.” She nodded and said, “Go right in.”

He started to say thanks, then thought better of it. This interview hadn't been his idea, but apparently Sam had planted the seed for the simple rules of sunshine, and it was beginning to bear fruit.