Teresa Southwick - Expecting The Doctor's Baby

“Is that so?”

“Yeah. At our monthly status meeting my associates drafted me to represent them when I was preoccupied with figuring out how to convince you that we would work well together.”

The glitter in his blue eyes made her heart hammer against the inside of her chest. Suddenly there wasn’t enough air in the huge room, which made a witty comeback something of a challenge.

“Oh?”

“I promised myself that I’d bring it up the next time I saw you, but never expected I’d have the pleasure so soon.” He took her elbow and steered her to the bar, where he ordered a Jack Daniel’s on the rocks.

For someone who relied on talking to put food on the table and a roof over her head, being around Mitch was an incredibly humbling experience. Which was a good portion of the reason she could never work with him. She emptied her wineglass and set it on the bar.

“So, you don’t like dressing up?” she said, watching him take his drink, then slip five dollars into the bartender’s tip glass.

“I’m much more comfortable in my pajamas,” he answered, a knowing glint in his eyes.

Warmth crept into her cheeks. As far as his attire went, the pajamas were a good look. But in black tie and jacket he was a tall, dark, handsome fantasy come to life. How could she not fantasize about being in his arms with his lips pressed to hers?

Good grief. She needed to get away. “It’s nice to see you again. But if you’ll excuse me, I’m going over there to check out the silent auction items.”

“Great idea,” he said, falling into step beside her.

The man couldn’t take a hint if she pressed it into his hand. He was the perverse type who would stick like glue if she asked him to get lost. She simply turned away and felt his gaze on her as he followed.

They browsed the items on display—jewelry, paintings, pricey glass art, spa packages—and stopped by the large sign that read Marshall Management Consultants. After reading the fine print, he set his drink down and filled out a bid, then stuck it in the box.

“Wouldn’t you rather have a picture or a weekend spa getaway?” she asked.

He drained the contents of his glass and the ice clinked when he lowered it. “No.”

She folded her arms over her chest and blushed when the movement drew his gaze there. He made no effort to hide his positive reaction.

“Since when did you change your mind about what I do?”

“Since a very wise woman pointed out to me that if I don’t, my ass could be grass and in jeopardy of getting hit by the door on my way out.”

“You’re already getting counseling sessions,” she reminded him. “Why would you voluntarily buy more?”

“Let’s just say that I always get what I want.”

Sam didn’t miss the expression in his eyes, the intensity snapping there. She got that familiar, fluttery sensation in the pit of her stomach because the look clearly said he wanted her. And not for counseling.

She had a feeling what he wanted didn’t actually involve talking.

Mitch leaned back and slid his left arm across the back of Sam’s chair, noting that his fingers literally itched from the urge to touch her shoulder and explore the shimmery, sexy, mysterious softness of her skin. He took a steadying breath and glanced around the ballroom, lights dimmed for dinner. Flower arrangements in fall colors of orange, gold and brown decorated the tables, garnished with small pumpkins as a salute to Halloween coming in a few weeks. Candles glowed from the center of the array and the flame only made his dinner companion look more captivating.

He leaned closer and said, “I told you to stick with me. Is this a good place, or what?”

“Technically I’m not with you,” she said pleasantly. “My father gave me a ride. And you crashed this table.”

“A gentleman wouldn’t abandon a lady whose date is home sick. Especially a lady who looks so beautiful.”

“Oh, please—”

He touched a finger to her lips, stopping the words, but kicking her pulse into a flutter. If he hadn’t been focused on the fascinating place where clavicle and neck collided, he might have missed it. Tapping gently, he said, “Don’t say anything you’ll regret.”

“I’d just like to say that if you insinuated yourself next to me in order to continue your campaign to change counselors, you’re wasting your breath.”

“The seat was open,” he said, feigning self-righteous indignation. “I only wanted to keep you company.”

“And I was looking at this as an opportunity to meet strangers.”

“Problems become opportunities when the right people join together,” he said, quoting the words on her wall.

“Exactly,” she agreed.

“How about for tonight we call a truce? You won’t ask if I’ve been playing well with others and I won’t hit you up to be my coach.” He held out his hand. “Deal?”

She looked at it, hesitating.

“What?” he asked, meeting her gaze.

“I’m just trying to find the asterisk in that statement.”

He frowned. “I’m sorry?”

“You know, the asterisk. Have you ever noticed that everything has an asterisk—an exception to the rule? Fine print. Excluded under the warranty. Discount applies only when a pregnant ape swings across the freeway at exactly 12:01. Life is an asterisk and one always needs to tread carefully lest they rear up and bite one in the backside.”

“I’m shocked and appalled,” he said.

“Oh?”

“Who knew the poster girl for optimism, voted most likely to be positive, bright and cheery, had such a cynical side.”

“Go figure.”

Her shrug did amazing things to the bare shoulder that was driving him completely nuts.

“All I’m saying is that we agree not to talk shop,” he clarified.

“Okay.”

But before they could talk about anything, the public address system emitted static and then Arnold Ryan was introduced. Since their backs were to the dais, Sam turned her chair around to see. Mitch did the same and managed to get his close enough to brush her arm. The contact left a trail of silver glitter on the black sleeve of his jacket and he thought how characteristic of her to leave a glow on everything she touched.

“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen,” Arnie greeted the crowd. “Thank you all for coming. We’re gathered here for a cause near and dear to my heart.”

That’s when it hit Mitch that he’d been pressed into service because of being in the doghouse and hadn’t bothered to get any details.

He leaned over to Sam and whispered, “Does he actually have a heart?”

She turned to look at him and their lips were inches apart. Her eyes widened a fraction before she said, “Of course he does.”

“What is he talking about?”

“Did you bother to read your invitation?” she asked.

“No.”

She shook her head in exasperation, but the corners of her mouth curved up as if she would expect this from him. “My father is kicking off a fund-raising drive for the Catherine Mary Ryan Cancer Center. Colon cancer killed my mother and he wants to fund a diagnosis-and-treatment facility dedicated to her memory.”

“The valley certainly needs one.” The dim light underscored the shadows in her eyes and he recalled her saying she’d been raised with Ryan’s children. “How old were you when your mother died?”

“Six.”

His father died because his cop instincts made him intervene in a convenience store robbery. Mitch knew how it felt to lose a parent at a young age, but he’d had his mother. And Robbie for a while. Senseless death made him angry. The guilt and pain that haunted him twisted together and knotted in his gut.

“Mitch?”

He blinked, clearing away visions of the past and focused on Sam. “That must have been tough. Losing your mom so young.”