Anne Eames - The Pregnant Virgin

“Aren’t you afraid someone will recognize you?”

“For Pete’s sake,” he said, wiping his face with a napkin. “You make it sound like I’m about to commit adultery.”

“But you’ve got a reputation to maintain. You are a doctor—”

“Just barely.”

“Okay, so we’re lowly residents. Still—”

“Look, I’m sure as hell not going over there wearing scrubs or a white jacket with my name on the breast pocket. I’ll change first, go outside, then come in the separate entrance to the clinic. If someone sees me—” he shrugged “—they see me. But I don’t plan to advertise.”

Craig laughed. “Good thing. I can hear the jokes already. ‘Did ya hear about Brad’s trips to the sperm bank? Yeah, I hear he’s making money hand over fist’.”

“Very funny,” Brad said, taking the last bite of his corned beef on rye before standing. “I gotta run. Catch ya later.”

“I’d say ‘Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do’ but—”

“I won’t,” Brad said, picking up his tray. “Since I’m getting paid for it.” He left Craig laughing and shaking his head as he strode out.

Brad wished he felt as self-assured and laid-back about the subject as he sounded. In truth, his sandwich was lodged in his chest and he could feel beads of perspiration forming on his brow. This wasn’t going to be as easy as he’d made out.

Craig was right about one thing, though. The hospital grapevine would eat this one up if it got wind of it. He’d just have to be careful and make sure no one saw him.

It was ten to one when Ali tossed her purse into her desk drawer and eagerly opened her novel. She tucked the book safely from view behind the tall countertop and continued where she had left off.

She knew tonight would be the night. A fire crackled in the open hearth; candles flickered on every surface. He lifted his champagne flute to hers.

“To the love of my life,” he said, his eyes burning as bright as the fire, his gaze so intense she felt weak with love and desire.

He set his glass down and took her in his arms, his eyes riveted on her mouth, his lips inching closer until—

“Darling,” Ali heard, still in a daze.

“Yes-ss,” she drawled, her eyes hooded as she slowly lifted her head.

“Brad Darling? I have an appointment?”

Ali stared at the handsome face, stunned for a moment to see the one and same man she’d been ogling in the cafeteria.

“Y-yes. Of course,” she said, slamming her book closed and reaching for the top folder on the stack next to her. But when she glanced up again he flashed her his toothy smile and she could have sworn the air conditioning had stopped working.

Quickly she looked away and skimmed the contents of his file. “I see you’ve done all the preliminary work. Looks like everything’s in order.” Keeping her head down, she opened her appointment book. “How often do you plan to come?”

“Excuse me?”

“Once a week? Once a month?”

“Oh.”

She heard him exhale and she thought he must be nervous. Not unusual. Especially for first-timers.

“Uh—” he tapped on the counter “—let’s say once a week.”

Eyes still down, she asked, “Is this day and time good for you?”

“Yes, yes. Fine.”

“If you’ll have a seat, someone will be with you shortly.”

Out of the corner of her eye she watched as he passed her desk. His jeans were worn and tight, and she decided she liked this look better than the scrubs, although both packages were spectacular.

Damn. Why was she playing this game? After all, she was critical of guys who leered after women simply for their looks. Besides, she would never go out with someone who worked at the hospital. Especially not a doctor who probably thought he was God.

Aha! Now it all made sense. He was here in hopes of making little Gods—his contribution to mankind.

She pushed out of her chair and stuck the folder labeled “Darling, Brad” in the rack beside the closed door, admonishing herself for such shallow musings. Hopefully the technician would come out soon and usher the guy away.

But for some reason there was a delay and she heard Doctor Boy approach a while later. He stopped at the side of her desk and flashed her his Brad Pitt dimpled smile.

“Sorry to bother you. Any idea how much longer? I have to get back to work.”

If his hair was blond he could double for her favorite actor, she mused, his question taking a beat to register. “Um…let me go find out what the holdup is.” She stood, but he didn’t back up, giving her little room to navigate. She stared at a dark tuft of chest hair peeking above the second button of his light blue shirt and waited for him to move. He stood there riveted and she let her eyes drift up to his.

Big mistake.

Too blue. Too intense.

The door to the back opened and they both turned toward it.

“Darling?” the technician asked.

“Yes,” he said, then smiled at Ali one last time before he walked away.

Ali heaved a sigh and sat down. The book caught her eye, and she immediately grabbed it and opened the desk drawer. With one last look at the bare-chested hero on the cover, she shoved it into her purse. Maybe her sister had been right. At the very least, this wasn’t the best place to read a romance novel.

Fortunately the phone rang, then other clients arrived, and Ali suddenly found herself very busy.

But when “Darling, Brad” sheepishly passed her desk a while later and headed for the exit, her gaze followed him.

And in that instant a seed of an idea began to take root.

Brad walked briskly around the exterior of the sprawling complex, muttering under his breath. What had gotten into him back there? Flirting with her like that. The last thing he needed was a personal relationship with someone who worked at the sperm bank he planned to visit every week.

Real discreet, guy. Real discreet.

He yanked open a back door and strode inside. So what if she’s a knockout and built like a brick—

Forget it. Forget her.

He picked up his pace to the lounge and his locker. She could be the star of “Baywatch” with a Mensa IQ and it wouldn’t matter. He didn’t have time for a social life. At least not until his residency was over, and even then he would be hard-pressed to foot the tab for dinner and a movie.

With no one in sight he quickly changed back into his aqua scrubs, trying not to dwell on how long it would take him to repay one hundred and twenty thousand dollars in student loans.

Still, as the day progressed, Brad’s worries about money were replaced by the image of the woman in the clinic. He would see a patient with blond hair and it would remind him of hers—long, thick and silky-looking. He wondered what it would feel like and how she would look with it mussed and falling in her face. Sometimes he’d catch himself and redirect his thoughts. Other times he’d simply smile and go with the flow.

When things slowed around midnight, he found an empty bed and settled in for a short nap. As usual the day had been long and grueling and he was beat. With a weary sigh he closed his eyes. And there she was again.

Ali called Michelle Singleton, a computer consultant who had helped her get the position at the clinic. She’d met Michelle at her previous job where the team of arrogant doctors had used Michelle’s services. When Michelle gave notice that she wouldn’t be working for them any longer, Ali asked Michelle’s help in getting her out, too. A close friendship had been developing ever since.

As luck would have it, Michelle was free for lunch and she agreed to meet Ali in the cafeteria.

Ali arrived a few minutes early and staked out the same table she’d used with her sister the day before, except this time she sat on the opposite side. She tried to lie to herself as to why she did this, but she knew the truth. People were creatures of habit. Maybe that handsome creature would sit at his same table, too, and this way she wouldn’t have to crane her neck to watch him.