Two Doctors and A Baby
“You know I’m only eleven years younger than you.”
He snapped his fingers. “That’s right—I was playing Little League when my father was screwing your mother.”
“Which isn’t my fault any more than it’s yours,” she pointed out.
He sighed, because she was right. And because he knew his mother would be appalled if she ever found out that Nora had come to visit and he’d been less than welcoming.
His mother was another innocent devastated by her husband’s infidelity, although she had forgiven John Garrett a long time ago—before anyone knew that the affair had resulted in a child. And even after learning about the existence of her husband’s illegitimate daughter, Ellen had gone out of her way to make Nora feel she was a part of their family—efforts that the woman in question had mostly resisted.
“Red or white?” Justin asked her now.
“Red, please.”
She followed him into the kitchen, settling herself on a stool at the island while he uncorked a bottle of Napa Valley merlot. He slid a glass across the counter to her and decided—what the hell?—he wasn’t on call, and poured a second glass for himself.
“Thank you.” She took a tentative sip, then set the glass down. “I’m looking for a job.”
“And you want to cash in your DNA results for a cushy office at Garrett Furniture,” he guessed.
She shook her head. “I have no interest in your father’s company.”
“Isn’t he your father, too?”
“Well, yes, but that was more by accident than design.”
He nodded in acknowledgment as she sipped her wine again.
“Besides, an office job would bore me to tears,” she told him. “I like to work with people—that’s why I became a registered physical therapist.”
Which he already knew but had no intention of revealing to her, because she’d then want to know how and why he knew it, and he didn’t intend to share that information. Yet.
“Where’d you go to school?” he asked, pretending he didn’t know the answer to that question, either, as he lifted his own glass to his lips.
“The University of Texas at San Antonio. Graduated with honors.” She opened her purse and took out an envelope, offering it to him. “My résumé.”
“What do you want me to do with this?”
“Look at it and, if you think it’s warranted, consider writing a letter of recommendation for me.”
“Why me?”
“Because there’s an opening at Mercy Hospital and the Garrett name carries a considerable amount of weight there.”
“I’m surprised you didn’t go straight to my mother,” he commented. “If you’ve done your homework, you’re aware that she’s on the hiring committee.”
“I’m aware,” she admitted.
“So why didn’t you knock on her door?” he challenged.
She traced the base of her glass with her finger. “Because a part of me was afraid she’d refuse to give a recommendation...and another part was afraid she would give it.”
He shook his head. “Every time I think I have you figured out, you say or do something that surprises me.”
“I don’t need you to understand me—I just need a letter.”
“I can’t give you that without some understanding of who you are and whether or not you’ll fit in with the rest of the staff.”
She slid off her seat. “Then I guess I should be going.”
He stepped in front of her, blocking her path to the door. “Why Charisma? Why Mercy?”
“Why not?”
“You didn’t come here just for a job.”
She met his gaze evenly. “I have family here.”
“Speaking of family, what do Patrick and Connor think of your decision to move to North Carolina?”
Her eyes narrowed at the mention of her brothers. “What do you know about Patrick and Connor?”
“Quite a lot, actually,” he told her. “Patrick is twenty-seven, single and a deputy in the Echo Ridge sheriff’s department. Connor is twenty-eight, a graduate of the Thurgood Marshall School of Law currently employed as a prosecuting attorney, which is probably why he’s trying to keep his relationship with a certain young woman who works as a public defender under wraps.”
“You had my family investigated?” she demanded, her question filled with icy fury.
“Does that bother you?” he challenged. “Does it seem wrong that some stranger could come along and meddle in the lives of the people who matter the most to you?”
“Touché, Dr. Garrett.” She reached past him to pick up her glass and tossed back the rest of her wine. “I guess that means I’m not going to get a recommendation.”
“I’m not saying no,” he told her. Because he was a firm believer in the old adage about keeping friends close and enemies closer, and he wasn’t yet sure which category his half sister fit into. “I just want some more information.”
“My life’s an open book—and one that you’ve apparently already read.”
He ignored her sarcasm. “Can you meet me at the hospital tomorrow?”
“What time?”
“Two o’clock. By the fountain in the courtyard.”
She nodded. “I’ll be there.”
He followed her back to the foyer and plucked her coat off the hook just as another knock sounded. Since no one had buzzed from the lobby, he assumed that it was probably Lianne from across the hall. For a woman who was always baking something—muffins or cookies or banana bread—it baffled him that his neighbor never had all of the ingredients she needed. His brother, Ryan, liked to tease that Lianne asking to borrow sugar was code for her wanting to give him some sugar, but her flirtations were mostly harmless.
But when he opened up the door, it wasn’t Lianne on the other side. It was Avery Wallace.
“You’re on your way out,” she said, noting the coat in his hand.
He shook his head. “It’s not mine.”
Her eyes flickered past him to Nora, then to the island with the bottle of wine and two glasses. Her color went frosty and her tone, when she spoke again, had chilled by several degrees. “I’m sorry—I obviously should have called first.”
He turned to hand the coat to Nora, whose gaze was openly curious as it shifted from him to his new guest and back again. Clearly she was hoping for an introduction, but he wasn’t inclined to make it.
“I’ll talk to you later,” Avery said, already turning away.
He caught her arm. “You can stay. Nora’s on her way out.”
Thankfully, Nora didn’t have to be told twice. She slipped past him. “I’ll see you at two o’clock tomorrow.”
He nodded, pulling Avery through the door before closing it.
She tugged her arm out of his grasp, looking uncertain and slightly disapproving. “She’s a little young for you, isn’t she?”
“I don’t know,” he said mildly. “How young is too young to be my sister?”
“Your—” she looked back at the door through which Nora had departed “—sister?”
He nodded.
She frowned. “I didn’t know you had a sister.”
“Neither did I until seven months ago.”
“Sounds like there’s a story there,” she mused.
“I’d tell you about it sometime, but you barely stick around long enough to finish a consult never mind an actual conversation.”
She flushed but did not respond.
“So why are you here?” he asked. And then, because he couldn’t resist ruffling her feathers a bit, he said “Did you come to count the notches on my bedposts?”
She sent him a scathing look. “You said you don’t have bedposts.”
“Because I don’t,” he confirmed. “Which I’d be happy to prove to you if you come down the hall with me and—”
She cut him off by shoving an envelope against his chest. “This is why I’m here.”
He held her gaze for a long minute before he opened the flap and pulled out a single page. He immediately recognized the logo of Charisma Medical Laboratories at the top, then saw her name in the “patient name” box. “What is this?”
“You did get that MD behind your name from medical school, didn’t you?”
“Okay, I guess what I should have asked is ‘why is this?’”
“New Year’s Eve.”
His brows lifted.
She huffed out a breath. “I should have figured you’d make me spell it out. We didn’t just have sex, Garrett. We had unprotected sex.”
Justin nodded soberly. While he had no objections to casual sex, he was never careless about protection. Not since that one time when he was a teenager. That one time—one forgotten condom and one terrifying pregnancy false alarm—had been enough to scare the bejesus out of him and make him swear that he would never be caught unprepared again.
And he never had—until he’d found himself in a hospital supply closet with Avery. Then everything had happened so fast, and his desperate need for her had overridden everything else.
“I’m sorry,” he said, because although the words were grossly inadequate they were also true.
“Obviously neither of us was thinking clearly that night or what happened between us never would have happened,” she said.
He wondered how it was that—despite all the other thoughts screaming in his head—he could be amused by such a prim remark delivered in her characteristically cool tone. Wanting to shake some of that cool, he stepped closer to her.
“We had sex, Avery. Incredible...mind-blowing...ground-shaking sex.”
“I was there,” she acknowledged, her gaze remaining fixed on the ceramic tile floor. “I know what happened.”
He tipped her chin up. “So why can’t you say it?”
She jerked her head away. “Because I’m embarrassed.”
“Why?”
“Because I used to take pride in the fact that I was one of probably only a handful of women on staff at the hospital who had not slept with Dr. Romeo—and I can’t say that anymore.”
He’d grown accustomed to the nickname so that it didn’t bother him anymore. Not that he would acknowledge, anyway. “Honey, I haven’t slept with that many women who work there.”
“I don’t care,” she insisted. “Or I wouldn’t care, except that now I’m one of them.”
“It’s not as if I’ve been walking around wearing a sign—I Melted Dr. Wall-ice.”
She glared at him. “This isn’t funny.”
“I agree,” he said. “Nor is it anything to be ashamed of. We’re two unattached, consenting adults who gave in to a mutual and compelling attraction.”
“We had unprotected sex.”
He nodded. “My bad. I’m not in the habit of carrying condoms in my scrub shirt,” he said, attempting a casualness he did not feel. “But that still doesn’t explain—” he held up the lab report “—this.”
“I wanted to reassure you that there’s no reason for you to worry—” she bit down on her lower lip “—on my side, I mean.”
“But you’re worried about mine,” he realized.
He couldn’t blame her for being concerned. He was well aware of his reputation around the hospital—and well aware that it had been greatly exaggerated. That knowledge had never bothered him before, but now, seeing Avery’s misery and distress, he wished he’d clarified a few things. Or a lot of things.
Of course, it was too late now. She’d obviously made up her mind about him and nothing he said was going to change it. He put the lab report back into the envelope and returned it to her. “Most of the other women I’ve been with just want to cuddle after sex.”
“Most of the other women are why I’d like some quid pro quo.”
He nodded. “I’ll take care of it tomorrow.”
Chapter Four
In retrospect, Avery probably could have handled the situation better, but the whole experience with Justin was way outside her comfort zone. She wasn’t great with personal relationships in general, and men like Justin—not that there were many men like Justin—flustered her beyond belief.
He was so totally confident and unapologetically sexy, and completely aware of the effect he had on people. Especially women. It was why, for most of the three and a half years she’d worked at Mercy Hospital, she’d put as much distance between them as possible.
Of course, distance wasn’t always possible. There were times that they needed to consult and collaborate with respect to the care of patients, and at those times, she did what had to be done, careful to maintain a calm facade and professional demeanor. But when she had a choice, she chose to stay far away from his orbit, because she didn’t trust herself to resist the magnetic pull that he seemed to exert on women without even trying. She hadn’t been able to resist it on New Year’s Eve. She hadn’t wanted to resist him.
When she’d realized that they’d had sex without a condom, she’d panicked a little. Or maybe a lot. And then she’d started to think about all the possible repercussions of having unprotected sex with a man who’d had numerous other sexual partners. As a doctor, she would have been irresponsible to ignore his history, especially after she’d already been irresponsible in having unprotected sex with him.
She didn’t see much of Justin over the next few days after her visit to his apartment, which wasn’t unusual. Depending on their schedules, she might cross paths with him numerous times in a day or not at all for several shifts. What was unusual was that she found herself looking for him, wondering when she might see him and even the wondering filled her stomach with an uncomfortable fluttery feeling.
When she did see him, his demeanor toward her was nothing but professional, and she strove to treat him with the same courtesy. But her awareness of him was heightened now, and whenever he was near, her body stirred with not just memories but longing.
Friday afternoon, she’d just finished a consult regarding the course of action for a multiple pregnancy when he caught her in the conference room.
“I’ve got those test results you wanted,” he told her.
She’d been so focused on her work that it took Avery a moment to realize what he was talking about. But when she did, the knots that had been in her belly since New Year’s Day tightened.
She looked at him expectantly. His statement suggested that he intended to share the results with her, but his hands were empty. “Are you actually going to let me see them?”
“Of course,” he agreed. “At dinner tonight.”
She sighed. “Dr. Garrett—”
“Dr. Wallace,” he countered, his tone amused.
“I’m not going to have dinner with you.”
“Yes, you are,” he said confidently. “Because you want to hold the lab report in your hands and meticulously scrutinize every letter and digit.”
She did, of course. Because she needed to be sure. But she didn’t believe he, as a medical professional, would really hold back the results. Certainly not if there was any reason for her to be concerned.
“You’re clean,” she decided, feigning a nonchalance she didn’t feel. “You wouldn’t be playing games otherwise.”
“And if I’d told you I was clean, that our romantic—” she snorted derisively at that, while he narrowed his gaze and continued “—liaison was the first time I’ve forgotten a condom since I was a horny, fumbling seventeen-year-old, would you have believed me?”
“Probably not,” she admitted.
“Which is why there has to be a tiny niggling of doubt in your mind,” he said. “Barely a seed right now, but if you don’t hold those results in your hand, that seed will grow...and grow.”
She glared at him, because dammit, he was right. “What time did you want to eat?”
His smile was smug. “Seven o’clock. Valentino’s.”
She shook her head. “Seven o’clock works, but I’ll cook.”
“I’d be flattered by your offer to cook for me if I didn’t suspect your true motivation is that being seen in public with me might damage your reputation.”
“I suspect you’re just as worried about your own, considering that I’m not your usual type.”
“And what is my usual type?” he asked curiously.
“Ready, willing and able.”
“You’ve got me there,” he acknowledged. “But then it’s not really true to say you’re not my type, because you were all of those things when we were in SC together.”
She frowned. “SC?”
Despite the fact that they were alone in the room, he lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “I decided that should be our code for the supply closet. That way, if anyone overhears us talking, they’ll think we stole away to South Carolina together rather than a six-by-eight utility room.”
“No worries,” she told him. “We’re not going to be talking about it. Not after tonight.”
“Seven o’clock at your place?” he prompted.
She nodded and gave him her address.
“You’re not worried that being alone with me will tempt you to jump my bones again?”
“I didn’t ‘jump your bones’ the first time,” she denied hotly.
“You made the first move.”
“It was a kiss. Simple, casual, friendly.”
“It was a spark,” he countered. “And considering how skillfully you’ve dodged me for more than three years because of the red-hot attraction between us, you had to know that one little spark would ignite a firestorm.”
Thankfully, he didn’t stick around for a response, because she didn’t know what to say to that. He was right—for more than three years, she had dodged him and the uncomfortable feelings he stirred inside of her. And as soon as she got through this dinner tonight, she would go back to dodging him again.
It was the only way to ensure that the red-hot attraction didn’t lead to her getting burned.
* * *
Justin immediately recognized the address that Avery had given him because it was on the opposite side of Memorial Park from his own place. He knew their dinner wasn’t technically a date, but he picked up flowers for her, anyway, and had the bouquet in hand when he buzzed her apartment at precisely seven o’clock—just as she rushed in through the front door.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I got caught up at the clinic so I’m running a little bit behind schedule.”
“That’s okay,” he said.
She fumbled with her keys. “Why don’t you come back in half an hour?” she suggested. “By that time, I should have everything well under way for dinner.”
“Because I’m here now and I can help,” he told her.
“I invited you to eat dinner not make dinner,” she pointed out, clearly unhappy that he wasn’t going away and letting her control the timetable.
“I don’t mind.” He followed her into the elevator, where she stabbed a finger at the button for the fifth floor.
It was a corner unit of the U-shaped building, with a view of the tennis courts and pool. The interior was exquisitely—and he suspected professionally—decorated, with comfortable furniture in neutral colors, framed generic prints on the walls and a bookcase filled with medical texts. They were no personal touches in the room. No magazines or candles or decorative vases or bowls.
She went directly into the kitchen and, when he followed, he saw that the galley-style cooking area was equally pristine—the cupboards were white with simple steel handles. The white quartz countertops were bare of clutter except for a single-serve coffeemaker. The deep stainless steel sink was literally spotless, without even a spoon or a cloth in sight.
“Can I get you something to drink?” she asked.
“What are you having?”
“Water.” She opened a cupboard to take out a glass and filled it with ice then water from the dispenser in the door of the refrigerator.
“That works for me,” he said.
She turned to hand him the first glass—and nearly dumped the contents all over him when she discovered that he was directly behind her.
Thankfully, he caught it before it tipped too far. “Relax, Avery.”
She managed a strangled laugh as she filled a second for herself, drinking down half of it before setting it aside.
“We can go out if you’re not comfortable with me being here.”
“It’s not you—or not specifically you,” she amended. “It’s just that I’m not used to other people being in my space.”
“Apparently,” he noted, offering her the bouquet.
“Oh.” She looked at the bright blooms as if she wasn’t quite sure what to do with them.
“They probably want some water, too,” he told her.
“Of course,” she agreed, moving to the cupboard above the fridge to pull down a clear glass vase.
She seemed more comfortable when she was doing something, and she kept her attention focused resolutely on the task while she filled the container with water, trimmed the stems of the flowers, then arranged them in the vase.
“These are really beautiful,” she said. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
She carried the vase to the dining room and set it in the middle of the table. When she returned to the kitchen, she pulled a plastic container—neatly labeled and dated—out of the fridge, then dumped the contents into a glass bowl. He glanced over her shoulder at the thick red sauce with chunks of sausage and peppers, onions, mushrooms and tomatoes.
“That looks really good,” he said.
“I don’t always feel like cooking when I get home from work, so a couple of times a month I go on a cooking binge where I make all kinds of things that I can throw into containers in the freezer for quick meals later on.”
“What do you make besides pasta sauce?” he asked.
She bent to retrieve a large pot from the cupboard beside the stove, then filled it from the tap and set it on the back burner. “Enchiladas, jambalaya, chicken and broccoli—”
He must have instinctively cringed at that, because she laughed, the unexpected outburst of humor surprising both of them and easing some of the tension.
“You don’t like broccoli?” she guessed.
“Much to my mother’s everlasting chagrin,” he admitted.
“That’s too bad, because my chicken and broccoli casserole is delicious.”
“Well, it’s been my experience that the right company makes any meal taste better, so it’s possible I could change my mind if you wanted to make it for me sometime.”
She smiled at that. “Let’s see if we get through this meal before making any other plans.”
He sipped his water as she went back to the fridge and retrieved various items for a salad. She washed the head of lettuce under the tap, then spread the leaves out on a towel to dry. It was apparent that she had a system and she lined up her ingredients and utensils on the counter as if they were surgical instruments.
“I know how to chop and dice,” he told her.
She glanced up. “What?”
“I’m offering to help make the salad.”
“Oh. Thanks, but it’s not really a two-person job.”
And he could tell that the idea of letting someone else help—and mess with her system—made her twitchy.
“You’re right,” he agreed. “So why don’t you let me handle it while you go do whatever you usually do when you get home from work and don’t have someone waiting in your lobby?”
She hesitated a minute before admitting, “I was hoping for a quick shower.”
“So go take a shower,” he suggested.
“I will,” she decided. “After I get this finished—”
He took her by the shoulders and turned her away from the counter. “Go take your shower—I’ll take care of this.”
She still looked skeptical. “Are you sure you don’t mind?”
“Of course, I don’t mind. But if you’d rather I forget about the lettuce and come wash your back—”
“I can wash my back,” she interjected. “You handle the salad.”
As he tore up the leaves, he tried not to think about Avery down the hall in the bathroom, stripping out of her clothes. As he chopped up celery and peppers, he ordered himself not to envision the spray from the shower pouring over her sexy, naked body. As he sliced cucumber and tomato, he didn’t let himself imagine any soapy lather sliding over her breasts, her hips, her thighs.
But damn, all the not thinking, envisioning and imagining made him hot and achy. He shoved the finished salad back into the refrigerator and put the cutting board and utensils in the dishwasher. He could still hear the water running in the bathroom, and the mental images he refused to allow continued to tease at his mind.
Desperate for a distraction from his prurient fantasies, he decided to give himself a quick tour of her apartment. There was the spacious and stark living room, which he’d glimpsed upon entry into her apartment, then the kitchen and the dining room that was connected to the kitchen. The first door in the hall was a second bathroom. Like the kitchen, white was the color scheme in here, dominating the floor tile, the fixtures, even the towels and the liquid soap in the dispenser on the pedestal sink.