Coming to her senses, she pulled free and stepped back, catching a flash of turbulence, quickly managed and hidden, in his expression. They shifted awkwardly, fumbling with their limbs as though they’d each grown a new pair and didn’t know quite how to work them, and then stared in opposite directions.
Finally, Thomas cleared his throat.
“So,” he said, “there’s a lab about a mile from here.”
Her lungs loosened up, allowing her to breathe again. Medical tests and procedures were second nature to her, unlike dizzying hugs from sexy men. “Right. Should I take Jalen there for the paternity test?”
“Yeah. I’ll arrange it.”
“Great.” Now that they were back in familiar territory, she risked a glance at his eyes, which was as jarring as a ten-foot drop in an elevator. Those brown eyes were way too intense and, for all she knew, saw too much.
And yet, she couldn’t look away.
“Knock-knock, dearie.” The receptionist tapped on the door and, without waiting for an answer, opened it and poked her head inside, providing just the snap back to reality that Lia needed. “Don’t forget your staff meeting. We don’t want this young lady with no manners to make you late, now, do we?”
Much to Lia’s surprise, Thomas demonstrated the beginnings of a sense of humor and quirked a brow. “This young lady does need work with her manners, but she has a name, and we should probably use it. Lia Taylor, meet my receptionist, Mrs. Brennan.”
The women exchanged reserved smiles and a grudging handshake, during which Mrs. Brennan’s keen gaze skimmed over Lia from head to foot, probably noting everything from her choice in eye shadow to her suspected weight and shoe size. This examination culminated in Mrs. Brennan shooting a wry glance at Thomas.
“Well, she’s a pretty little thing, isn’t she, Doctor? And don’t pretend you haven’t noticed.” A scowl crept across his face, flattening his brows and thinning his lips, but Mrs. Brennan seemed oblivious to this nonverbal warning and kept right on chirping. “I think I’ll just have to keep my eye on this one, won’t I?”
“Ah, Mrs. Brennan.” Thomas’s voice now had a steely edge. “You remember that discussion we had earlier, don’t you?”
Mrs. Brennan waved a hand. “Oh, I’m not digging into your personal life. I’m simply noting, in passing, mind you, that there’s something striking about wee Lia. You agree, don’t you?” And without waiting for any answer, she waggled those fingers again and swept back up the hall.
Lia gaped after her. What the hell was the poor man supposed to say to that?
Thomas cleared his throat and quickly busied himself by straightening some files on his desk. “Sorry about that,” he muttered. “Mrs. Brennan takes some, ah, getting used to, and I’m not sure—”
“It’s okay.” Lia shrugged and ducked her head as she started to leave, determined to get out of there before she either burst into tears again, or worse, her burning cheeks ignited. “I need to get back to work, anyway. I’ll get out of your hair. Bye.”
“Lia,” he said sharply.
“Yes?”
“You didn’t tell me …”
He hesitated, looking grim. He was allowed, she supposed; she’d dumped five tons of bricks on him in the last several minutes. Another of those endless beats passed between them, and she almost thought she saw color creep up his jaw from his neck. Was the arrogant surgeon feeling as flustered as she was right now? And why did it matter to her one way or the other?
“How can I stay in touch with you?” he asked.
Chapter 4
Thomas watched Lia go, straining his ears for any sound of her heels, long after she disappeared from view. There was some event he needed to go to pretty soon, he thought, but since his brain no longer seemed to be functional, he couldn’t remember what it was. Rounds, right? Wait—no. Patients. He had appointments with patients, and then he—No. That wasn’t it, either. He had a … meeting. A staff meeting. That was it. He should get going.
Except that stunned paralysis kept his ass stuck to his chair.
For the first time in living memory, possibly the first time ever, he didn’t know what to do. Which was funny because he was a textbook type-A control freak who could handle whatever emergencies life threw his way. Need someone to head up the surgery department? He was your man. Need a surgeon to keep someone from bleeding out on the table? Look no further. Need a physician to teach, publish and cook a mean three-course dinner in his spare time? Right here, pal.
A crisis in someone else’s life was a piece of cake.
A crisis in his own life was a whole ‘nother kettle of stinking fish.
Jesus.
What on earth was he supposed to do now?
Why couldn’t he get his thoughts to coalesce into something coherent? Something other than:
I have a son. I have a son with Lia. Our son could die.
There was no room for might, possibly or could.
I might have a son. Uh-uh. That didn’t work for him at all.
He had a son. Period. End of story.
And that was another thing. He hadn’t signed up for this. He’d been minding his own business, doing his own thing, not looking to be a daddy, so why did he now feel excitement at the idea of meeting the boy and terror at the idea of him being so sick?
Was he insane? Had all his marbles suddenly been lost?
He’d had a fatherhood scare once, about three years ago. A condom had ripped. While he’d tried not to hyperventilate with panic at the idea of being saddled with a kid at that point in his life, not to mention that particular girlfriend as a baby mama, she’d chattered happily about their future together if she was pregnant. He’d sweated bullets until she got her period, and then he’d answered the wake-up call and said his goodbyes, because she wasn’t the one and never would have been the one. That wasn’t the time. He hadn’t been ready.
Not that he was ready now. Of course he wasn’t ready.
No way.
Even if there was that unaccountable excitement surging inside him.
But he couldn’t go off all half-cocked. He probably should see about getting a lawyer and—
That was it! Max. He needed Max.
Snatching up his cell phone, he dialed the number, wishing for the billionth time, that Max Wade, his roommate from Dartmouth undergrad lived closer to Alexandria than NYC. It’d be nice to have this discussion over a Scotch and a steak after work, rather than in a hurried phone call.
Anyway, Max would help him out. He had the cold-blooded shrewdness of a great white shark and the sentimentality that polar bears feel for sea lions. Max would talk some sense into him or die trying.
“Maxwell Wade, attorney-at-law,” said Max in his ear after the third ring. “Speak to me. My time is money and you’re already up to eighty-five dollars for this phone call.”
Typical. “You’re full of shit, Wade, you know that? I’m wondering, does it squish in your shoes when you walk?”
Max laughed. “The answer to that question will cost you another eighty-five. It’s up to you.”
Emotion