Her Sister's Child. Lilian Darcy
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he playing? He was on his feet now, close enough for her to feel his pull on her senses. He couldn’t be hoping to seduce her into any sort of concession, could he?
“No,” he answered, his dark gaze boring into her eyes. “It’s about as personal as you can get. So can we get out of here? I want to take you to dinner.”
Why am I here? Why on earth did I agree to this?
Adam could see her thinking it as they sat at an intimate corner table in the Italian restaurant she’d nominated, waiting for their drinks to arrive.
She had argued at first, bristling and indignant and trying very hard to stay professional. Dinner? With him? Absolutely not! Without wanting to, he found himself smiling at the memory, and had to cover his mouth with his hand to hide it, pretending to scratch his nose.
She was incredibly…interesting…when she was angry, he decided, deliberately picking the safest word he could think of. She unconsciously stretched straighter to try and make more of her modest height, so that her neat, rounded breasts thrust forward, vying for prominence with her determined chin. Her eyes shot hot sparks, although cool gray eyes like hers ought not to have any fire in them at all. Her voice rose, and her vocabulary leaned heavily on her years at law school. Outside of the hospital, he hadn’t heard so many multisyllabic words in one sentence in a long time.
And he didn’t quite know how he’d finally talked her round. Didn’t remember what he’d said. He only knew that he’d fought for it with all the tenacity he had because it was crucial…literally a matter of life and death…that he and Meg Jonas get past their mutual hostility over the custody issue so he could tell her about Amy and ask her to look at making a bigger sacrifice for his little girl than she’d probably ever needed to make for anyone before in her life.
Well, he’d carried his point somehow. She’d finally stopped her indignant arguing, searched his face with shimmering, troubled eyes then murmured something about Lorenzo’s Trattoria and him following her car on his motorcycle. They’d both been so distracted that she hadn’t waited for him to put on his leather gear, and he hadn’t even thought of it, and now they were here and his body was still warming up after the chilly five minute ride in the rapidly cooling April evening.
“What is this about, Dr. Callahan?” she burst out as soon as her drink arrived.
He hadn’t taken in what she’d ordered, but it was long and cold and the glass was already beading with moisture. The way she held it, her fingers left five neat oval prints on the wetness when she took a sip and put the glass down again.
He took a slug of his beer before he answered her, still playing for time. Gut instinct told him that he had to establish at least a semblance of rapport with her before he answered her question properly.
“Let’s eat first,” he said.
But she wasn’t having that. “No! I’ve already given you more than enough latitude in this. You claim you’ve got something to say. Something that changes the whole situation. Well, I want to hear it! Now! And if I don’t, then I’m going to walk right out of here.” Her index finger stabbed in the direction of the door. “And the next step you’ll need to take will be to find yourself a good attorney to handle your side of the case.”
“Okay, okay.” Unfortunately, he could see that she wasn’t bluffing. Why should she? She had nothing to lose by maintaining their antagonism.
Or rather, he amended to himself, she thought she had nothing to lose.
But she was wrong. She had Amy to lose. And that was his greatest asset, he realized, because it meant that even if he did have to tell her the cruel facts now, bluntly, with no lead in, she just might understand.
Their waiter appeared, and Adam waved him away. “Not yet,” he said. “Give us a few minutes, okay?”
“No problem.”
Adam waited until the man was out of earshot, then just bit the bullet and came out with it as simply as he could. The words, as usual, tasted bitter and painful and impossible in his mouth.
“Amy is ill, Ms. Jonas. She has leukemia.”
“Leukemia!”
He saw the shocked widening of her eyes, and went on urgently, “She needs a bone marrow donor, and if we can find someone compatible, then she should…she will…recover completely. But if there’s no one…That’s why I needed to contact Cherie so urgently. I’m not a good match, and neither is anyone in my family. We all got tested when we heard of her illness, but it just didn’t work out. Cherie was our only hope, and even though she wasn’t the best mother in the world—hell, we both know that!—I know she would have done it.
“When you told me just now that she’d been killed…You know we weren’t involved long enough or deeply enough for me to carry a life-long grief over that, but my little girl…if I lost her…”
“Yes…”
“I thought she’d lost her best chance when you gave me the news, until I thought about the fact that you and Cherie were sisters. Would you be willing to do it? To get tested? And, if you’re compatible, donate your bone marrow to my baby?”
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