The Surgeon's Secret Baby. Ann Christopher
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“Lia.”
He sank his fingers deep into the silk of her hair, searching for the warmth of her scalp beneath, and tilted her head way back so he could have complete access to her mouth, which he took with deep, thrusting sweeps of his tongue. A remote corner of his brain was aware that his urgency was making him a little rough, and maybe he should ease up and let the poor woman catch her breath, but there was no time for that now. He’d waited too long and there were too many possible ways for their lips to fit together, tasting and nibbling, stroking and tugging, and the taste of her—a delicious combination of white wine and buttery icing from the cake—was far too delicious for him to slow down.
More. He needed more.
“I want you.” Jesus, was that him with that guttural and animalistic voice that sounded as though it belonged to a caveman? Too far gone to manage gentle, he grabbed fistfuls of her hair, learning the feel of it, and then ran his fingers over her forehead and dimpled cheeks, and across those lips that were slick and swollen now, but still smiling. “You have no idea how much I want you.”
The Surgeon’s Secret Baby
Ann Christopher
MILLS & BOON
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Dear Reader,
Here’s what brilliant surgeon Thomas Bradshaw likes: working hard, playing hard and women. Here’s what he doesn’t like: surprises. Too bad he’s about to get blindsided by the biggest surprises of his life.
First surprise? He has a kid. A precocious eight-year-old son who will die soon if he doesn’t receive a kidney transplant, to be more specific.
Second surprise? The kid’s mom, Lia Taylor, a woman so beautiful and intriguing that he has a hard time thinking straight when she’s around.
Biggest surprise of all? This instant family may just be the best thing that’s ever happened to him in his life….
Happy reading!
Ann
P.S. Don’t forget to look for my next Kimani Romance titles, Sinful Temptation (February 2012) and Sinful Seduction (March 2012), which introduce Alessandro and Antonios Davies, the Twins of Sin.
To Richard
Special thanks to my wonderful editor, Kelli Martin,
and to the other ladies in the Hopewell General series,
Brenda Jackson, Maureen Smith and Jacquelin Thomas,
for being so delightful to work with. Finally, big hugs
and kisses to Mom, for helping me with my medical
questions. Guess I owe you some gingersnaps, eh?
Acknowledgment
Special thanks and acknowledgment
are given to Ann Christopher for her contribution
to the Hopewell General miniseries.
Chapter 1
Accusing gazes followed Special Agent Lia Taylor through Hopewell General Hospital.
They burned twin laser holes in the back of her head as she toured the facility, which was so massive, foreign and overwhelming to her that she might as well have been dropped via parachute into Beijing or Abu Dhabi. Her first-day jitters intensified, threatening to cause an ulcer in the lining of her churning stomach.
How in God’s name had she, an FBI systems analyst with an impeccable record, landed herself here, in this hospital and this predicament? How could this possibly work? When would she ever go back to life as she knew it?
Soon? Never?
She felt like a tiny little fish, so far out of water that she’d never make her way back to her pond again. It didn’t help that the immortal words of Judy Garland’s Dorothy Gale kept running through her overwrought brain:
Toto, I’ve a feeling we’re not in Kansas anymore.
No one in the building seemed to speak her language—she caught snippets of conversation from passing personnel, which included incomprehensible phrases like, So, you’re thinking bowel disimpaction? Dude. I hope you’re ready to glove up and dig in, and Did you finally get rid of that GOMER? and Negative appendix? Now what? She was sure she stuck out like a surgical clamp on a chest X-ray. Worse was the creeping certainty that people were staring and whispering as she passed, muttering darkly about the things she’d done and what she was:
Hacker.
Thief.
Criminal.
Or maybe those accusations were only in her mind.
Man, she hoped so.
Picking up the pace, which was tricky because of her pencil skirt and black pumps, she hurried after her new boss, Germaine Dudley, M.D., chief of staff. He seemed determined to lose her in this labyrinth, possibly because if she disappeared forever into the depths of, say, nuclear medicine, he’d never have to deal with her again.
They would not be winning any popularity contests with each other, she and the good doctor. Oh, no. And while she might be imagining the disapproving glances of everyone else around her, his were the real deal.
“This is the back way into the E.R.” Dr. Dudley reached out a weathered brown hand and smacked the wall switch plate, making the heavy metal doors whoosh open ahead of them. They strode into yet another nerve center—the hospital seemed to have dozens of them—where so many scrubs-and-Crocs-wearing people hustled by it was as though she’d stepped into Grand Central Station. “This is the easiest way to get here from the cafeteria, if you ever need to.”
“Great.”
He pointed. “The admissions desk is on the other side of that door. This is the nurses’ station, of course.”
“Of course,” she murmured.
Without breaking stride, he shot her yet another narrow-eyed look over his shoulder, his lab coat flapping as though it, too, was irritated with her. “Am I boring you?”
“No,” she said, and decided it was past time for her to grow a backbone where this man was concerned. He was not, after all, the Antichrist, even if he was in a position to make her life uncomfortable for a while, and they needed to get a few things straight. “But I can see you’re not thrilled to be my tour guide, and I feel bad for taking you away from your real duties. Maybe someone else can show me the rest of the hospital … ”
The suggestion made him stop and snort with obvious disbelief. “Nice try,