To Have the Doctor's Baby (3 page)

“The goal is to fertilize the egg.”

“Yeah. I think that was covered in Birds and Bees 101.” He moved closer, glancing at her computer printout, but mostly to feel the warmth of her. Draw in the sweet floral fragrance of her skin. That was something he'd missed and it hadn't responded to the shut-down-feelings therapy.

“Everyone can use a refresher course. Even you, Doctor.” She looked at her notes. “Ovulation is the key. Besides guessing about when it occurs, there are ovulation predictor kits available at the pharmacy and basal-body-temperature-charts to know when it's happening.”

“Really?”

All this fell into her territory and he didn't need to know. But he liked watching her when she talked, the intensity and enthusiasm. The combination made her so damn beautiful he could hardly breathe. Still, this wasn't about him. The amount of time and effort she'd put into this was a clear indication of how deep her desire to have a baby.

“When you pee on the stick from a kit, it will turn purple the day before ovulation, indicating a surge in…” She stopped and read from the paper. “Luteinizing hormone, which is what causes the ovary to release an egg. The key is to time sex within a day of the LH surge.”

Nick was focused on her mouth and pretty much didn't hear much of anything until she said “sex.” He didn't need a predictor kit or a thermometer to know he had a surge of his own
and
a spike in body temp.

He said the only thing he could think of, what with
the blood flowing south of his belt. “Science is pretty amazing.”

“And fascinating.”

“Anything else I need to know?” Like when and where. Now was okay with him. He took a sip of water and not because he was thirsty.

“There was some information about positions during sex.”

He nearly choked. “Oh?”

“Yeah. Missionary might be more promising, but there aren't any studies to back it up.”

If Ryleigh was involved, he'd be willing to volunteer for research on the subject. “Okay. I can see where that would be practical.”

“Then I saw something about lying still afterward. Remaining horizontal for fifteen minutes.” She shuffled through the papers, looking embarrassed and pretty damn cute. “Again, there's no evidence to support the theory that it makes a difference, but it can't hurt, either.”

So, a woman's inclination to cuddle afterward might be based in biology and science, not emotion,
he thought. “Got it.”

“I found a website with frequently asked questions.”

“Okay, now I'm starting to get performance anxiety.”

She slid to her corner of the couch and tucked her legs up beside her. A flush crept into her cheeks, and she didn't quite meet his eyes.

She crossed her arms at her waist. “There was some discussion about a woman achieving climax—to increase the chances of conceiving.”

No pressure
.

“And?” When she hesitated, he said, “Don't tell me. There are no studies.”

She laughed. “No. But there's a belief that the contractions move the guys along toward the target.”

“It makes sense.”

But he could truthfully say that not once when he'd made love to her had his goal been to move the guys. He'd only ever wanted to hold her in his arms, make her happy. And he was pretty sure he'd succeeded in bed. In every other way, he'd failed her, which was why making things up to her now was so important.

She lifted her gaze for a moment. “And last but not least there's the debate about a.m. or p.m.”

“Morning or night—what?”

“Sex.” She sat cross-legged and leaned forward. “Studies have been done on this one and some indicate that there are more swimmers in the morning. But only a million, give or take. Fairly insignificant.”

“Hey, that's my guys you're talking about.”

“I didn't mean to insinuate.” She smiled, and the way her eyes lit up tied him in knots. “The thing is that when you're talking eighty-eight million as opposed to eighty-seven million, it sounds like a lot but really isn't.”

“I actually knew that only one is required.” Was it just him, or was it hot in here?

“Right.”

His gaze slid past hers to the bare walls, stack of boxes and unattractive, serviceable furniture. She was a nester and looked out of place in this cracker box with ugly furniture. It was just wrong. Fixing people was what he did, and the words popped out of his mouth before he'd thought them through.

“Move in with me.”

She blinked and sat up straighter. “What?”

“To achieve your objective, timing is everything. If that predictor stick turns purple, your body temp goes up and
nature is good to go, what happens if you're here and I'm there?” He shrugged. “It's the classic setup for missed opportunities.”

“There's some logic to that, but I don't know, Nick.” She caught her lip between her teeth, the very first time she'd looked indecisive. “Invading your space?”

Her lack of enthusiasm made him want to convince her even more. “It was your space, too.” He'd gotten the house in the divorce. “There's plenty of room, as you know. And we don't want to drag out the process, right?”

“Yes, but—”

“Like science, nature and biology it's practical.”

He phrased it the same way she had. Distantly. As if they were talking about another couple being intimate.

Nick remembered all the messy emotions that had nearly brought him down right after she'd left. A guy puts up armor and when a girl gets through it leaves a mark. But this was different. The rules had been discussed and all parties involved agreed. Distanced. Simple. Goal-oriented. She'd get what she wanted. His guilt would be erased. Win/win. Both of them could move on. No feelings, no mess.

“Don't you want to maximize the chances of conception?” he asked.

“Yes.” She met his gaze and her own was dark with determination. “More than anything in the world I want to have a baby.”

“Well, then?”

“I've done the menstrual math. The old-fashioned way,” she added. “By my calculations ovulation is about a week away. Next Monday.”

“So I'll help you move in Saturday. You don't want heavy lifting to shock your eggs or anything. Relax the rest of the weekend.”

“You're sure about this?” she asked skeptically.

“Yeah.” The gate on his feelings opened for a split second and excitement leaked out.

“Okay, then. I'll move in.”

Nick nodded and again his gaze was drawn to the boxes around the room. She'd said it was a mess and only now did he realize that was a metaphor for his life. He hadn't really expected her to take him up on his offer to move in, but there was no denying he was far too pleased that she had.

In about a week they were going to do what a man and woman did to make a baby. He was pretty pleased about that, too.

R
yleigh stopped her compact car behind Nick's silver SUV at the gated entrance to the neighborhood. She watched him lean out the driver's window and speak to the guard, then cock his thumb toward her, obviously explaining that she would be living with him. That there was no need to call out the SWAT team on her account.

When the SUV pulled forward, she followed, then stopped when the guard held up his hand.

She lowered her window. “Hi.”

“Miss Evans.” This man was different from the one who'd worked the gate when she lived here. He was young, twenty something and wearing a light blue uniform shirt with navy-colored, official-looking emblems. “Doctor Damian explained that you'll be staying with him.”

“That's right.” But only for well-timed sex.

He handed her a visitor's pass. “Just put this on your dashboard and you're good to go—or stay.”

“Thanks.”

“Have a nice evening.”

“You, too,” she said, displaying the cardboard square where he'd directed.

This was the first time she'd been back since they'd broken up, and driving through the community was surreal. Nothing had changed, but everything felt different. The houses were all large, expensive and well-maintained. But it wasn't familiar. She felt distant. And sad. She'd really loved the house and this area.

She pulled into the circular drive, parking behind Nick's car. He was standing beside it. Glancing at the stately, two-story house brought on that surreal feeling again, but really she'd been wearing that hat ever since she'd presented her how-to-conceive-in-a-nanosecond research.

As far as bizarre moments went, that topped the list. But she'd felt it important to mention everything that could possibly expedite the process. She wanted to get pregnant right away for lots of reasons, not the least of which was not to see Nick after mission accomplished. It didn't seem prudent to tempt fate too far what with her attraction to him still going on. The only way she'd managed to get through her sex notes was by keeping the conversation clinical and detached, as if she were talking about someone else.

But it wasn't someone else temporarily moving into Nick's house. It was her, the same woman who'd moved into this place seeing everything by the light of the stars in her eyes and the delusion that they were going to be blissfully happy there for the rest of their lives. She wasn't sure which philosopher said the only thing we could count on was change, but the time came when she'd wanted to choke him. She hated change. It was almost always bad.

Bliss and happiness were elusive and highly overrated.
Living in the real world wasn't as much fun, but the highs and lows were smoothed out into straight and steady. She could live with straight and steady.

Blowing out a cleansing breath, she opened her car door and stepped onto the concrete drive separating the house from the landscaping. The dry riverbed running through the length of the yard was still dry and lined with smooth rocks. It was bordered by gold and purple flowering lantana bushes. Everything looked just as it had when she'd left. Nothing had changed but her.

“Why don't I take your things inside?” Nick said.

His deep voice from behind startled her out of the bittersweet reverie. She turned and forced a big smile. “Sounds like a plan.”

After she unlocked her trunk and started to pull out her suitcase, he put a hand on hers.

“I'll get it. I'm pretty sure it hasn't gotten any lighter since I put it in there.”

“Thanks.”

His palm was big and strong, his fingers warm. The touch had heat pooling in her belly and flushing her cheeks. Twilight had dropped shadows over the craggy mountains not so far away, and she was pretty sure Nick couldn't see how the brush of his hand affected her.

That was something else that hadn't changed. But attraction without emotion was like a bow without an arrow—no power to wound.

It took several trips to carry suitcases, garment bags and toiletries into the house. He'd suggested she stay here while looking for a permanent place of her own and she'd brought a lot of clothes with her. The apartment was utilitarian and good for storage, but she'd be more comfortable in a house.

Looking around the two-story entry, she wasn't so sure.
Memories attacked from every direction. Nick carrying her over the threshold when they bought the place. The huge kitchen with granite countertops was especially bittersweet. He'd made love to her beside the stainless-steel refrigerator because his eyes went smoky, her insides turned liquid and they simply couldn't hold back. In fact, the day they moved in he'd declared his intention to make love to her in every room of the house. They'd nearly met that challenge.

She scanned the family room with its big flat-screen TV and the dark green corner group in front of it. In spite of all her efforts to stop it, a big sigh leaked out.

Nick stopped beside her. “Are you okay?”

“Fine.” Afraid he would see the lie, she didn't look at him. “Why?”

“You're awfully quiet.”

“Just checking out the old stomping grounds.”

He rested his hands on lean hips. His jeans were worn nearly white in the most interesting places. The long sleeves of his navy-blue shirt were rolled up, revealing wide wrists and a dusting of dark hair on his forearms. He always dressed casually, and right now was no exception. It also wasn't an indication of whether or not he was working. He'd told her Carlton Gallagher was on call today, and she wondered if she should feel honored. Maybe tomorrow. “And?”

“What?” She was a little disturbed by how easily one look at him could annihilate her concentration.

“How does it look? Your old stomping grounds.”

“The same,” she answered truthfully. “I was just remembering how festive everything was at Christmas.”

The corners of his mouth turned up. “You mean with the tree in here instead of the living room?”

“Yeah.”

“I stand by what I said then.”

“As do I.” She could feel the warmth from his body and smell the slightly spicy scent of his skin. Quivers started inside her and rippled everywhere. Bumping up against the bittersweet recollections. “The decorated tree would have been fabulous in the front window as people drove by and looked at the outside decorations.”

“But we wouldn't have enjoyed it.” He held out his hand and indicated the large room. “Here, we could see it along with a fire in the fireplace, watching TV, or eating dinner.”

His insistence was ironic since he'd hardly ever been there for dinner, nights in front of the fire, or watching TV together. But that was water under the bridge.

“You won. We did it your way.” She'd given in because making him happy was her goal. Now it was her turn to get what she wanted.

“Other than that, how does it look?” he asked.

“The same. And I'm a little surprised.”

“Redecorating isn't my thing.” The teasing tone was missing from his voice.

Was he feeling nostalgic, too? Not the Nick she remembered.

“That's not what I meant.” She looked up at him. “I'm surprised you didn't sell the house after the divorce.”

“I had my reasons.”

The dark look in his eyes made her wonder. “Such as?”

“I didn't get around to it, then the housing market tanked. Moving is time-consuming and it really doesn't much matter where I get my mail.”

All practical reasons,
she thought. If the situation had been reversed, she'd have sold it at a loss simply because
it was too painful to share the space with the ghosts of what would never be.

“And I'm hardly ever here,” he added.

That wasn't new information. It was time to move forward. Literally.

“So,” she said brightly. “Where do you want me?”

A sexy smile turned up the corners of his mouth. “Do I get a vote?”

She didn't have to ask where his thoughts had gone. That made two of them, but she wasn't here for
that
sex. This wasn't personal.

“I meant which bedroom.”

“Take your pick,” he said. “Although there's not really much of a choice.”

She walked upstairs to check it out for herself. The master bedroom was off the landing at the top. She peeked inside at the four-poster bed, matching oak dresser and armoire. A pair of running shoes beside the walk-in closet and a towel carelessly tossed on a corner chair indicated he still slept in here.

Ryleigh moved past the doorway and peeked into the room beside it. “This would make a great nursery.”

“That's what you said the first time you saw the house.” His voice was husky.

That wasn't something she would have expected him to remember, and the sweetness of it made her chest tight. “It's a good-size room, close to the master. If the baby cried, one of us would have heard.”

“So you said.”

But it was still empty, a reflection of what her marriage had become. Not at all like her romanticized vision before she'd realized that being in love by herself wasn't working for her.

She quickly checked out the other three bedrooms and
realized he was right about not having choices. The room farthest away from Nick's was the only one furnished. She'd wanted a comfortable guest room, just in case they needed it and had started decorating there. In her plan, the others could wait for the babies they were going to have. But plans changed and the family never happened.

“I'll take this one,” she finally said.

“I figured.”

He went back downstairs for her things and she was glad to be alone. How ironic was that? She'd never felt like that when this was her home. So now she was over the first hurdle, the one she'd dreaded most. Facing down the past. Part of her had wanted to turn down Nick's offer to stay here, but that would have given it importance, adding complication and breaking their cardinal rule.

Now she'd walked down memory lane and somehow felt more whole. Stronger. Unlike the immature girl who'd lived here before, she was a woman going after what she wanted. Until zero hour, she'd be sleeping as far from Nick as she could get. With luck it was far enough to keep any more memories from following.

On the up side—she and Nick never had sex in the guest room.

 

The night after moving into Nick's place, Ryleigh juggled a pizza box in her hands, then rang the doorbell of her friend's condo. Almost immediately it was opened and Avery O'Neill stood there in jeans and a royal-blue sweater. She had blue eyes, a blond pixie haircut that was incredibly flattering and she barely weighed a hundred pounds soaking wet. At just over five feet, she was shorter than Ryleigh. Almost no one was shorter than her. This woman was too cute for words, but Ryleigh didn't hold that against her. They were best friends.

“Hey, you.”

“Hey you back.”

“Get in here.” Avery pulled the door open wider and took the pizza. She walked the length of the extensive tiled entryway and into the kitchen. The white cupboards topped with black granite were a big, bold look for her pretty petite friend. After setting down the box, she opened her arms. “Now for a proper welcome-home hug.”

Ryleigh squeezed her hard, then held her at arm's length and studied the new look. “Love the hair.”

“Thanks.”

“It makes you look like a fairy, like you belong in a Harry Potter or Lord of the Rings book.”

“Spencer Stone calls me Tinker Bell.”

The doctor was the finest cardiologist at Mercy Medical Center and Nick's best friend. Ryleigh still remembered the look on his face when he thought she planned to approach the guy to father her baby. It could have been jealousy. A girl could hope anyway. But probably it was just shock.

Her friend was the hospital controller and handled the day-to-day hospital money issues. They'd met when Ryleigh was executive assistant to the administrator. “Is Doctor Drop-Dead-Gorgeous still giving you a hard time about all the cardio equipment he wants to buy for Mercy Medical Center?”

“Always,” her friend said.

“If he was a pediatric cardiologist I might be able to help you out. But he's a big-people doctor.”

“Yes, he is. And likes to brag that he fixes broken hearts.”

“He does.”

“And he's good at it,” Avery admitted grudgingly. “If he weren't it would be a lot easier to dislike him.”

“But you manage?”

Her friend shrugged. “He hits on women like crash dummies hit windshields.”

“And that's a problem?”

“Not for me. I can handle him.”

Ryleigh didn't doubt that. She might look small, blonde, fragile and defenseless, but Avery was not an air-head, didn't take any crap and could handle pretty much anything.

She pulled two paper plates out of the pantry and scooped a piece of pepperoni pizza onto each one. Then she carried the food into the adjacent family room and set it on the glass-topped table sitting between the green and coral floral sofa and the fireplace with wall-mounted flat-screen TV above.

“Well, I like your new look. It's adorable and becoming. Fresh and new since I last saw you.”

“Barely four months ago when I visited you in Baltimore.”

“I know that tone.” Ryleigh followed her and sat on the couch. “You're annoyed.”

“Yes, I am.” After filling two glasses with red wine, Avery sat beside her.

“Why?”

“Let me count the ways.” Avery held up her index finger. “First, you moved away.”

Ryleigh finished chewing a bite of pizza, but it tasted like cardboard. She knew where this conversation was headed. “You know why I had to leave.”

“I know you believed it would save your marriage, but I think we can all see how well that turned out.”

“Sounds stupid when you say it like that, but distance seemed like a good idea at the time.” She sipped her wine, but it didn't dull the memory of how much it had hurt to
leave Nick. “I know now that I was hoping he would beg me not to go. Even after I'd started the job, I had a fantasy that he'd come after me, bring me back. It was immature and naive.”