Mike wasn’t ready to doze off. He had computer work to do, and needed to set his alarm to get to work in the morning. Reluctantly, he eased away, careful not to disturb Paige.
How splendid she looked, the covers revealing a generous expanse of hair and breasts. He’d been a little concerned that if they became lovers, living together might throw them too much in each other’s way. But he’d run that risk, gladly.
Humming under his breath, Mike went to take a shower.
* * *
P
AIGE
COULD
HARDLY
BELIEVE
they’d made love in Bree’s bedroom. Yet the glimmer of purple glass on the bureau seemed to say that her aunt approved. After all, Bree had been no prude.
Although she missed waking up beside Mike, he was only down the hall, and later that night, they made love again. For the next few weeks, they continued to explore each other whenever the pair of them had a few hours free at the same time. Sometimes they used his bed, and once the living room sofa, but that proved too cramped, given their heights.
It was fun having him to play with, to share experiences, to take walks on the beach. Evening swims became a regular indulgence to wash off the cares of the day before plunging happily into their private intimacy.
Every now and then, Paige reminded herself that she ought to tell him about the pregnancy, but what was the rush? Her first prenatal checkup found everything progressing normally, and morning sickness hadn’t troubled her as much as it did some patients.
While she’d gained a few pounds, Mike didn’t seem to notice. No one else at work knew, either, except for Dr. Rayburn, his nurse Lori and Nora, who dropped by occasionally to ease her transition to work. She didn’t press the partnership issue, thank goodness.
You can’t go on keeping secrets.
One world with Mike, another shared with the tiny creature inside her body as it took shape millimeter by millimeter, and then her public persona as a take-charge physician serving her patients. The worlds were bound to collide and Paige intended to soften the impact before it happened.
A deadline presented itself: his family’s upcoming beach picnic to celebrate Independence Day. Paige didn’t want to risk being outed by some sharp-eyed family member, such as Mike’s mother, who’d experienced two pregnancies of her own, or perhaps Erica, who might get suspicious after seeing Paige in a swimsuit. Even a subtle disguise such as a one-piece instead of the bikini was likely to raise questions from Mike.
She meant to break the news the weekend before the holiday, but he had to put in extra-long hours on a case. Seeing his exhaustion when he arrived home, Paige shied away from holding such a serious conversation.
Before Saturday, I’ll find the time.
On Tuesday morning, however, she put her personal concerns aside while performing a tubal anastomosis on a woman to reopen her fallopian tubes. The patient had undergone surgical sterilization during a previous marriage, and now needed to have it reversed to start a family with her second husband.
Dr. Tartikoff had taught Paige the microsurgical procedure. It required a special microscope and tools that enabled her to use extremely tiny stitches to hold the reconnected tissues.
“You’re getting damn good at that,” said Dr. Zack Sargent, who’d asked to assist her. A couple of new surgical fellows took up most of Dr. T’s teaching time these days, leaving other doctors to coach each other on the procedures they’d learned.
“Thanks. She has two boys and longs for a girl, and her husband would be thrilled either way,” Paige remarked as she worked. “So, what’s up with your plans for a fertility scholarship? Are most of the doctors on board?”
“Hard to tell. That hundred thousand dollars is a big deal and most of them don’t want to commit with nearly six months to go.” Zack’s discouraged expression drew a sympathetic glance from surgical nurse Stacy Raditch, a sweet young woman who made no secret of her attraction to the broad-shouldered widower. Zack never seemed to notice the longing gazes that followed him even in unflattering operating scrubs with a cap covering his thick dark-blond hair. Paige, while she liked her fellow obstetrician, found him too earnest for her taste.
“How’re you doing in the race so far?” A chart in the doctors’ lounge tracked the number of qualifying pregnancies attributed to each physician. Paige hadn’t paid much attention, since she had little prospect of winning, but she’d noticed Dr. Tartikoff and Dr. Rayburn tied for the lead.
“Middling,” he replied. “But that should change once the egg donor program takes off. I’ve concentrated my efforts on refining the techniques for harvesting eggs and transferring embryos.” Due to Zack’s enthusiasm for the planned program, Dr. T had agreed to let him work closely with the new director once she arrived.
“Any word on when Ms. Garcia will get here?” Dr. Tartikoff had hired an administrative nurse he’d formerly worked with in Boston. Jan Rios Garcia, who had a master’s in molecular genetics, was now assistant director of an egg donor program in Houston. Her arrival had been delayed by contractual obligations.
“Latest word is September.” Zack broke off to pose a question about the current procedure, which Paige answered in detail, since she was teaching him as well as performing the operation.
“Didn’t Ms. Garcia used to work in L.A.?” Stacy asked when silence fell again. “I heard there was some problem at the hospital there.”
Zack narrowed his eyes at her. “Let’s keep gossip out of it.”
The nurse blinked in surprise at his sharp tone. “Sorry, Doctor.” She lowered her head as if hiding tears.
Zack’s expression softened. “I didn’t mean to snap. The truth is, I used to work with Jan. In fact, since it’s bound to come out, we were engaged. I made the mistake of believing some unfounded accusations that were made against her. By the time I learned the truth, it was too late.” He paused and for a moment Paige thought he might disclose more, but all he said was, “That was a long time ago. I’m hoping we can work together smoothly.”
“Surely she wouldn’t have accepted this position if she felt uncomfortable being around you,” Paige pointed out.
Zack blew out a breath that ruffled his surgical mask. “I’m not sure she knows I’m here. I’m not officially part of the program yet, and we haven’t been in touch.”
“You think she’ll hold a grudge?”
“Not exactly. I suppose it might be more politic for me to try to find a comparable program elsewhere, but I’m not willing to uproot my daughter. She’s had enough turmoil in her life.”
“She’s a sweetheart. You two were so cute dancing together at the wedding,” Paige said.
“Much as I regret what happened with Jan, I can’t be sorry I’ve become Berry’s father,” Zack responded.
“I’m sure it will work out.” Romances among staff members created tension when they fell apart, as Paige had learned at her last practice. Still, a long time had obviously passed since Zack’s involvement with Jan Garcia. “Is she married?”
“I haven’t paid attention to her personal life.” His tone made it clear the subject was closed.
September. When Jan Garcia arrived, would Paige still be here? She couldn’t imagine leaving these people and places so soon, yet if Nora decided to press the matter of buying into the practice, Paige might be forced to make a quick decision. Of course, she could join another practice in the area, but that would be awkward while she was dealing with the pregnancy. And then, if she lost Mike…
Of course you’re going to lose him.
She couldn’t expect a guy who didn’t want children to hang around after she brought a baby home. Sleepless nights, hours of crying and postpartum hormone swings took their toll on even the most compatible couples.
Mike would vanish with a flash of the suitcase and the rumble of a borrowed truck. No wonder she kept putting off telling him.
After closing the patient and removing her scrubs, Paige was halfway to the elevator when the sight of a towering and dearly familiar shape startled her. Mike hadn’t mentioned anything about meeting her for lunch.
“Hi.” She gave him a quizzical look. “It’s nice to see you, but what brings you to the hospital?”
“Any reason I shouldn’t stop by?” he countered.
Despite his light tone, the evasive answer bothered her. Mike was usually so direct. “Are you here to see me?”
“Just passing by.”
No one just passed by the second floor, since there were no regular patient rooms here. She’d seen him at the bulletin board before the wedding, Paige recalled. Initially, she’d believed he was posting a notice about the bridal couple, but that hadn’t turned out to be the case. Instead, he’d spotted her ad for a roommate—but he had never mentioned why he was there.
“Mike, what’s going on?” Surely if he had a health issue, he’d have told her. Besides, none of the second-floor facilities involved treating male disorders.
He swallowed. As she waited, it occurred to Paige that she might not be the only one in this relationship keeping secrets.
But what his might be, she hadn’t a clue.
Chapter Twelve
He should have paid more attention to Paige’s schedule, Mike reflected, irked at his carelessness. He knew perfectly well she performed surgery right down the hall on Tuesdays, because he’d run into her before. Since then, he’d switched his regular visits to Wednesdays but, preoccupied with a case, he’d stopped by today without thinking.
If he invented an excuse or avoided answering, that would create friction. Also, since he’d already informed his family, this hardly qualified as a secret.
“I’m a donor.” He tried not to squirm. Nothing to fuss about, especially given her profession.
“You’re…” Paige frowned “…a regular sperm donor?”
“Is there some other kind?” He’d much rather talk about meeting for dinner tonight and squeezing in some alone time. A client’s problem was going to cost him most of his free evenings this week, especially since he had to clear Saturday for the family picnic, but he didn’t want to miss connecting with Paige.
She took a deep breath. “As a matter of fact, yes. Targeted donors provide sperm for a specific couple. For instance, Dr. Tartikoff did that for his brother and sister-in-law. Then they decided to use a surrogate without his knowledge and, well, things didn’t go exactly as planned.” She smoothed back the dark red hair clipped at the nape of her neck. “That’s a long story you don’t need to hear.”
“Then why are you telling me?” Because she was nervous, obviously. But why?
Paige cleared her throat. “How long have you been doing this?”
“Since April.”
“April?”
“You know, the month that comes before May.” Mike hoped her reaction didn’t mean she expected to control this aspect of his life.
“Sorry. It’s taking me a minute to wrap my head around this.” She hesitated a moment before asking, “What inspired you to become a donor?”
“Egotism. Altruism. Pride. Good genes.” Plus a fascination he couldn’t explain, and didn’t intend to try. “You’re a doctor. You get the picture.”
“But you don’t want kids,” she blurted.
“I don’t want to
raise
kids,” Mike corrected. “What’s the big deal?” His position shouldn’t require defending.
“Do you have a master’s degree?” Paige asked out of the blue.
“Yes. In criminal science.” This conversation was growing weirder by the minute. “What does that have to do with anything?”
“Nothing.” She gave an apologetic wave. “I’m a little light-headed. I got so caught up in surgery, I didn’t notice how hungry I was.”
“Can you eat while operating?” He fell into step beside her en route to the elevator. “I mean, if you noticed you were hungry, what would you do?”
“In complex cases, doctors stay at it for hours and, yes, you eat. You’re the lord of the operating room. If you need a snack, someone fetches it for you. Sticks it in your mouth if necessary so you don’t contaminate your gloves.” Paige seemed glad to seize on a neutral topic, which was fine with Mike.
Also, the subject interested him. “The blood and guts don’t bother you?”
“Oh, I’d step away from the operating table. I wouldn’t want to drop taco sauce into an incision.” She shook her head. “That’s not what you asked. Does the sight of blood turn my stomach? No. If it did, I’d leave surgery to someone else.”
“You enjoy cutting people?” It seemed an odd choice for a woman who disliked boiling little sea creatures to collect their shells.
“In high school biology, when the other girls squealed about having to dissect a frog, I couldn’t wait to find out what was inside. The only bad part was that the frogs had been killed in order to educate us. I wanted to help, not harm.”
This was the kind of intriguing conversation Mike had come to expect from his flame-haired goddess. Thank goodness she’d moved past her reaction to his news. While many women might be taken aback by the idea of their lover fathering children with others, Paige was an obstetrician. With a little more reflection, no doubt she’d be cheering him on.
Alone with her in the elevator, Mike stole a quick kiss. “How about I pick up Italian food tonight? We can eat on the patio now that it’s quiet again.” Last week’s renters, a noisy bunch of young men, had been followed this week—mercifully—by two elderly couples whose loudest activity consisted of playing dominoes near an open window. In addition, Willy had made himself scarce, although Mike was keeping an eye on a halfway house newbie who took too much interest in the contents of parked cars.
“Can’t wait,” Paige responded. When the doors opened, she cast a vague smile in his direction and strode down a hall toward the doctors’ entrance.
Mike paused to watch the sway of her hips. The woman was stunning from every angle.
Telling her about his donations had been a good thing. With that out of the way, he saw clear sailing ahead until the end of summer and beyond. Far beyond, if he had any say in the matter.
* * *
T
OO
RESTLESS
TO
EAT
IN
THE
cafeteria, Paige carried a sandwich to her office in the adjacent building. She’d barely kept a grip on her thoughts after Mike dropped that bomb on her. Thank goodness he hadn’t realized how evasive she was being, because she was not prepared to deal with the possibilities his disclosure had raised.
With the door shut, she logged into the computer and accessed her chosen sperm donor profile. Height: check. Education: check. Coloring: check. That wasn’t proof, and even if it had been possible to run a DNA test this early, she’d never invade Mike’s privacy by stealing a sample.
On the sperm bank’s password-protected site, Paige searched the other donor profiles. No one else matched so many parameters. Beyond any reasonable doubt, Mike was the father of her baby.
Out of all those men, she’d chosen him. How ironic was that? And how unbelievably awkward.
She’d experienced a similar sensation once in high school when the gym teacher pressured her into trying out for basketball and another girl body-slammed her. Paige had lain on the wooden floor gasping for breath, her entire body feeling squashed to about an inch thick.
Now, deep in her brain, she heard the voice of a surgeon under whom she’d trained. Stumped when an operation unexpectedly went south, he’d called out, “Options!” He’d been seeking the surgical team’s input in a fierce attempt to save the patient’s life. And together they had, miraculously, hit on a solution.
Paige wished she could shout “Options!” now, or at least had a friend to help her cut through the tangle of conflicting emotions. In the past few weeks she’d begun to rely on Mike to fill that role. Mike, the last person on earth she could consult now. This was too touchy to share even with Nora, especially since the outcome might affect Paige’s decision about buying into the practice.
She’d have to serve as her own team. Bracing for action, she opened a file in the computer.
Option one: tell Mike he’s going to be a dad.
Out of the question. He’d flee, and she’d miss him terribly. It was too soon to say good-bye.
Maybe it was selfish to keep him in the dark. But revealing the truth would put him into an unfair position. The man rejected fatherhood. He’d been scrupulous about using contraception during their lovemaking, and had sacrificed his marriage to Sheila over that matter.
Also, simply because he had the right to walk out on Paige didn’t mean he’d get off scot-free. He’d spend the rest of his life knowing he’d fathered a baby with a woman he’d been close to. He might even see their child around town, if she chose to stay. That had to affect him, no matter how much he pretended otherwise.
Paige needed another possibility.
Option two: tell him and leave Safe Harbor. That had the merit of frankness, but it failed to address her other concerns. Besides, Paige didn’t want to be forced to abandon her house and her patients. If she chose to return to Texas, it ought to be for positive reasons.
Option three: admit she was pregnant, and pretend the father was a man no longer in the picture. But how could she account for the man’s complete absence and for switching her attention so quickly to Mike? Paige refused to claim a casual encounter with a stranger. She’d never do that. Also, she was a lousy liar, which ruled out option three completely.
Option four: …was there an option four?
Yes. Break up with him. But what reason could she give? He’d see right through a trumped-up excuse and, anyway, that brought her back to being a lousy liar.
And to longing to enjoy every possible minute with him. Paige pictured Mike lying in her bed this morning, covers draped across his chest, his invigorating citrus scent filtering through every cell in her body. She yearned for more of his company, no matter how doomed the relationship might be in the long run.
Option five: delay telling him she was pregnant until she came up with a better idea.
If only she didn’t have to face his entire family this weekend and pretend there was nothing amiss. She’d meant to disclose her pregnancy before then, but she supposed that had better wait until her next step became clear. She sighed. Option five won by default.
From down the hall, Paige heard Keely’s voice as she took a patient’s medical history. Duty called. Quickly, she deleted the file containing her options. Didn’t need the reminder, anyway.
Aunt Bree used to advise her to live more in the present and less in the future. Once again, her aunt had been right.
* * *
M
IKE
HATED
TO
DISAPPOINT
a client. Especially his biggest, most lucrative account—Kendall Technologies.
On Thursday, he pulled into the industrial complex on the east side of town. Spotting his windshield pass, a guard waved him on between rows of palm trees into a parking lot enlivened by beds of purple petunias and yellow marigolds.
In these sprawling, low-rise buildings, engineers developed medical and surgical implants and other devices under the close supervision of founder and chief executive Officer Reese Kendall, a multimillionaire in his early forties. In addition to the manufacturing facilities here in Safe Harbor, Reese had opened a plant in Phoenix, Arizona.
Until the past few weeks, Mike’s services to the company had focused on screening job applicants, reviewing security measures and looking into employee thefts of tools and occasionally the devices. Easy, routine work, with the occasional minor surprise to keep things interesting.
Now, laptop case in hand and discomfort dogging his steps, Mike cut across the lot to the administration building. Despite his and Lock’s best efforts, he hadn’t been able to identify the source of a major security breach.
This went far beyond the usual type of problem because it involved the theft of a prototype medical tool. A company in Russia had unveiled an identical product that, according to Kendall, couldn’t have been developed purely by chance because of built-in proprietary information not disclosed to outside parties.
“If they can steal this, what’s next?” Reese had asked when he brought Mike in. “We’re working on a portable scanner that could revolutionize medical treatment. I can’t afford to let this leak go unplugged, but if we bring in the FBI, they’ll disrupt our business, scare our customers and endanger our security clearances. I want to know who’s doing this and how.”
Mike had been thorough. Painstaking. Abrasive, where necessary. He’d performed complete background checks not only on the engineers and executives who might have had official access to the information, but also the cleaning crews and clerical staff. He’d searched for any fired or otherwise disgruntled employees and hired as a consultant a P.I. who specialized in computer forensics to look for evidence of hacking into the computer system. Financial records of individuals had been scrutinized as per waivers they’d signed prior to employment. At every step, he’d kept Reese apprised of the progress, or lack of it.
In the plush pastel lobby, he passed scrutiny from another guard, and took the elevator to Reese’s third-floor office. He’d missed his calling, Mike mused with a touch of envy as he took in the original glass artwork that transformed the hallway into a wonderland of shimmering hues and shapes. In a thousand years, a detective wouldn’t earn enough to afford a place like this.
His envy faded. Big facility, big problems. Small office, small problems. Though perhaps not so small if he lost his top client.
Rounding a corner, he caught sight of Reese’s secretary, a gray-haired woman wearing thick glasses who’d been personally selected by the CEO’s second wife. Persia Kendall was a former executive trainee who’d stolen him from his first wife, Nora Kendall—now Nora Franco. Obviously, Persia took no chances on being supplanted in turn.
“Mr. Aaron. Good. I’ll tell him you’ve arrived,” the secretary said, half rising from her desk.
“No need. I’m here.” Her boss sprang through the open doorway, hand outstretched. From his expensively cut dark hair to his designer silk suit, Reese Kendall might have stepped from the pages of a men’s magazine, except for the worry lines creasing his forehead.
As they shook hands, Mike’s gaze slid to a sculpted wooden wall clock. He was five minutes early. He’d never seen Reese this anxious.