Lilah squeezed her eyes closed. The memory of her argument with Carlos rang in her ears. Her belly churned with nausea, unusual for this late in the day. She still battled morning sickness and, no question, upset emotions made it worse. She curved a hand protectively over her stomach, the baby bump barely discernable so early in the pregnancy. Carlos hadn’t even noticed when he’d pulled her camisole from her waistband. But she could feel the changes in her body, the swollen tenderness of her breasts, a heightened sense of smell and an insatiable nightly craving for marinated artichokes, a food she had previously hated. While circumstances were far from perfect, she loved her baby with a fierceness that still overwhelmed her at times.
A lock of hair slithered over her cheek and she realized her French twist must be wrecked from Carlos’s hands as they’d kissed in his office. Her nipples tingled in lingering awareness of just how fast and high he could stoke desire inside her. She plucked pins from her hair and let the rest slide free around her shoulders, not as professional as she preferred at work, but no doubt better than the sexed-up mess she’d been seconds ago.
For her child’s sake, she needed to think rationally rather than with her emotions—or her welling hormones. Carlos obviously believed he was sterile and had only her word that the baby was his. While she wanted to think four years of friendship would have convinced him of her trustworthiness, that clearly wasn’t the case. He was a reserved and private man by nature. His aloofness—hell, his inaccessibility—the past months let her know their friendship wasn’t as deep as she’d believed. That she’d been forced to chase him down in the shower to tell him …
Releasing another trapped breath, she refused to get wound up again. She needed to take a step back from him and wait. Time would prove his paternity.
Content she’d regained even ground, Lilah straightened just as the door to the hall opened. She tucked the handful of bobby pins into her jacket pocket and smoothed a hand over her hair to clear any signs of her clench from Wanda’s perceptive eyes. There was a reason they called Lilah “The Iron Lady” around this place, and she intended to keep her reputation intact.
The door opened wider, revealing … not Wanda. Lilah tensed for a second, concerned about the press infiltrating the multiple layers of security she’d put in place. Then she recognized one of their newer radiologists, Nancy Wolcott. Her lab coat sported multiple decorative buttons on the lapel. Nancy had once relayed she wore the nonregulation “flair” to put her younger patients at ease. She must be working on the surgical case Carlos was so concerned about.
“Hello, Nancy.” Thank heaven her voice stayed steady. “Dr. Medina and I just finished our meeting. I’m sure he will be anxious to hear an update on his young Afghani patient from this afternoon’s surgery.”
“Oh, I’m not on that case.” Smiling hesitantly, the willowy brunette straightened a light-up shamrock pin. “Actually, I’m here on a personal note.”
Unease feathered over her. “A personal note?”
“I’m here to meet him for dinner. It’s after hours, so no worries about an administrative sanction. I’m not on the hospital’s clock right now.” She shrugged out of her lab coat and draped it over her arm.
Oh, God, Lilah really didn’t like where this conversation was headed, and the timing couldn’t have been worse. She should have seen this coming. Carlos had never been lacking for dates before his Medina identity became public. He was a hunky, wealthy doctor, after all. Albeit a workaholic, temperamental doc. Women were swarming him now that he’d tacked prince onto his list of attributes.
She scrambled for something to say and a way to get out. Fast. “No one can fault your dedication. I know well how many days you’ve worked longer shifts when we needed you. Now if you’ll excuse me—”
The younger woman stopped her with a light touch to the arm. “I should explain. Carlos—Dr. Medina—and I have been going out for the past few weeks. We’ve been careful to keep it under wraps.” She adjusted one of the dozen frames on Wanda’s desk. “He really hates how intrusive the media can be, so we’re waiting for the perfect time for a controlled press release.”
No worries about steeling a breath. Nancy Wolcott had knocked Lilah into next year without even trying. Carlos, of course, hadn’t said a word about it.
And they’d been dating for weeks, not days, not a onetime outing over coffee. But a relationship that needed a freaking press release.
Lilah bit back bile. “I hadn’t heard.”
“I wanted to keep it quiet, too. I know he has a reputation for keeping relationships light but I think this might be headed somewhere.” Nancy laughed nervously, seemingly oblivious to the fact she was gushing. “Perhaps he kept his distance before, back when he had to maintain his royal background. But now that everything’s out in the open about his Medina name, he’s free to pursue anyone he wants.”
Hearing the infatuation in Nancy’s voice, Lilah wanted to hate her, to dismiss her like the royalty groupies who’d come out of the woodwork lately. She longed to find fault in someone who’d captured Carlos’s interest when a night of sex with her hadn’t moved him in even a passing way.
And yet she couldn’t be catty. Nancy didn’t know about that night with Carlos. No one did.
Furthermore, of every unattached female on staff, this one seemed least likely to be a gold digger or fame seeker. As a part of her job, Lilah knew the history of each employee. Nancy Wolcott was a nice person who very obviously had stars in her eyes over the new man in her life. Who could blame her?
Perhaps a woman who already had Carlos’s child swimming around in utero.
A cold ache gelling inside her, Lilah tuned in to the rest of Nancy’s lovelorn ramblings.
“I know I’m probably jumping the gun here, but he’s such a gorgeous, moody man. A woman can’t help but want to touch those inner depths.” Nancy pressed a hand to her heart, her eyes fluttering closed as she inhaled.
Lilah wanted to give the woman a good swift kick in her unrealistic expectations about Carlos Medina. Even when he’d dated in the past, she’d seen how emotionally detached the man could be, something that hadn’t changed one bit since the whole “son of a deposed monarch” revelation.
Not that she was surprised. There was no such thing as a fairy-tale ending. Libraries labeled it fiction for a reason. She’d seen firsthand with her parents how quickly love soured, how easy it was for a woman to turn into a pathetic moony-eyed doormat.
Her father had used his job as a Hollywood agent to seduce countless wannabe starlets. To this day his wife—Lilah’s mother—did her level best to ignore the indiscretions that messed with her perception of happily ever after with her hunky, rich dream man. On occasion, the bimbo of the month set her eyes on a ring or got angry when the contracts didn’t flow in and would confront the Mrs., forcing her to face her husband’s infidelities.
A fight would ensue. Tears would flow. He would offer up jewelry or a romantic getaway to “reconnect” and all would be forgiven until the next time when they repeated the same dysfunctional cycle all over again—leaving Lilah with two drawers jam-packed full of tourist T-shirts brought home by her lovey-dovey parents. In fact, her parents were on one of their make-up cruises now, and once they returned she would have to tell them about the baby.
About Carlos?
Listening to Nancy detail her evening with Carlos at the symphony, Lilah had to accept that the woman wasn’t blowing anything out of proportion. He really had asked her out on honest-to-God dates. Not that Lilah had entertained dreams of such with him. But damn it, they had slept together. They had been friends before that. And while he wasn’t the warm fuzzy kind, she deserved