“I’m not sick.”
The tremulous words hit him with the force of a bullet.
He stared at her, convictions and fears crashing, burning.
Had she said…? Yes, she had. But that could mean nothing. She’d already denied knowledge of why she’d fainted. She could still be undiagnosed, or in denial over the diagnosis she’d gotten, hoping he’d have a different verdict.…
“It’s my baby.”
This time, only one thing echoed inside his head. Why?
Why did he keep getting shocked by each new verification that this woman had a life that had nothing to do with him? That she’d planned and lived her life without his being the major part of it?
Often he’d found himself overwhelmed by bitterness without apparent reason. He now admitted to himself what that reason had been. That he still couldn’t believe she hadn’t waited to find him, had accepted a deficient connection with someone else.
But that sense of betrayal was ridiculous, had nothing to do with reality. Her marriage had been imminent when he’d seen her. So why did it shock him so much that she had a baby, the normal outcome of a years-old union?
And that baby was sick. Enough to need his surgical skills.
His heart compressed as he realized the reason, the emotions behind her every word and tear so far. The same desperation he’d once felt, to save someone whose life he valued above his own.
How ironic was it that her intensely personal need for his purely professional services had made her finally seek him out?
He’d long given in to fate that had deemed that their paths diverged before they’d had the chance to converge. But to have her enter his life this way was a punishment, an injury. And he wasn’t in any condition to take more of either.
If it had only meant his own suffering, he would have taken any measure of both. But he held his patients’ lives under the steadiness of his hand, their futures subject to the clarity of his decisions. He couldn’t compromise that.
Now he had to deal her the blow of refusing her baby’s case. He would make sure her baby got the very best care. Just not his.
He inhaled a burning breath. “Ms. McNeal…”
As if feeling he’d let her down, she sat up, eyes blazing with entreaty. “I have Ryan’s investigations with me, so maybe minutes will do. Will you take a look, tell me what you think?”
She only wanted his opinion? Didn’t want him to operate on her baby? If so…
Again, as if she felt him relenting, she scrambled up. He noticed for the first time the briefcase and purse she’d dropped. All he’d seen had been her. In spite of everything, his eyes still clung to her every move, every nuance, and his every cell ached with long-denied impulses.
He saw himself striding after her, catching her back, plastering her body against his, burying his fingers in the luxury of her golden cascade of hair, sweeping it aside to open his lips over her warm, satin flesh. What he’d give for only one taste, one kiss…
She was returning, holding the briefcase as if it contained her world, her dawn-sky eyes full of brittle hope.
Ya Ullah, how was beauty like that even possible?
He’d never been attracted to blondes, never preferred Western beauty. But to him, she was the embodiment of everything that aroused his wonder and lust. And it was only partially physical. The connection he felt between them, that which needed no knowledge or experience, just was, was everything he wanted. When he couldn’t have her.
She started fumbling with the briefcase’s zipper as she neared him, and another idea occurred to him.
If this would be only a consultation, he owed her a full one after all the suffering she’d endured for the mere hope of it.
He should also give himself a dose of shock therapy. Seeing her with her baby, with her whole family, might cure him of this insidious malady he’d been struck with at her sight.
He stayed her hand with a touch, withdrew his as if contact with her burned him, and before he tugged her against him.
“I won’t be able to give you an opinion based on those investigations. I don’t rely on any except those done to my specifications.” Alarm flared in her eyes. He couldn’t believe the effect her distress had on him. It…physically hurt. He rushed to add, “Anyway, my preferred and indispensable diagnostic method is a clinical exam. Is your baby downstairs with his father?”
Her gaze blipped, and she barely suppressed a start.
Before he could analyze her reaction, she murmured, her voice deeper, huskier, “Ryan is with his nanny at our hotel. They both got too tired and Ryan was crying nonstop and disturbing everyone, I had to send them away.” Agitation spread across her features like a shadow. “I thought I’d bring them back as soon as I got an appointment with you. But the hotel’s near the airport, and at this time of day, even if I’d told Rose to come as soon as I knew you’d see me, it would have taken her too long to get here. I didn’t even tell her, because Mr. Elkaateb said you had only minutes to spare. That’s why I said an hour won’t do.…”
He raised a hand, stopped her anxiety in its tracks. “I’m going home on my private jet, so the timing of my departure is up to me. Call your nanny and have her bring Ryan over.”
Her eyes widened. “Oh, God, thank you…”
A hand wave again stopped her. He hated the vulnerability and helplessness gratitude engendered in others, was loathe to be on its receiving end. Hers took his usual discomfort to new levels.
She nodded, accepting that he wanted none of it, dived into her purse for her phone.
In moments, with her eyes fixed on him, she said, “Rose…” She paused as the woman on the other side burst out talking. Realizing he must hear the woman, Gwen shot him an apologetic, even…shy glance. “Yes, I did. Get Ryan here ASAP.”
He barely stopped himself at a touch of her forearm. “Tell her to take her time. I’ll wait.”
The look she gave him then, the beauty of her tremulous smile, twisted another red-hot poker in his gut. He had to get away from her before he did something they’d both regret.
He turned away, headed back to the desk and blindly started gathering the files he’d scattered.
When she ended her phone call, without looking up he asked the question burning a hole in his chest, trying to sound nonchalant, “Isn’t your husband coming? Or is he back home?”
He needed to see her with her husband. He had to have that image of her with her man burned into his mind, to erase the one he had of her with him.