The Surgeon's Secret Baby. Ann Christopher
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if he should have his receptionist get security in there to kick Lia out after all.
Her cheeks burned hot with embarrassment as she got a grip. “Sorry,” she muttered, easing up and ready to back away and let the poor man go. But then a strange thing happened.
Thomas hugged her back, gathering her in arms that were hard and strong and bringing her up against a broad chest, which was a lovely resting spot for her weary head. A croon rumbled in his throat, reassuring her without words, and the delicious warm scent of his skin, fresh from a recent shower, she thought, fogged her brain.
That was when reality intruded.
It had been years since she’d been pressed close to any man like this, and she wasn’t immune to this particular man’s appeal, even in her frazzled state. They fit together too well, and it shouldn’t feel this good or this right to be chest to chest and thigh to thigh with someone she’d just met. Now was not the time for her dormant hormones to wake up and demand attention.
Coming to her senses, she pulled free and stepped back, catching a flash of turbulence, quickly managed and hidden, in his expression. They shifted awkwardly, fumbling with their limbs as though they’d each grown a new pair and didn’t know quite how to work them, and then stared in opposite directions.
Finally, Thomas cleared his throat.
“So,” he said, “there’s a lab about a mile from here.”
Her lungs loosened up, allowing her to breathe again. Medical tests and procedures were second nature to her, unlike dizzying hugs from sexy men. “Right. Should I take Jalen there for the paternity test?”
“Yeah. I’ll arrange it.”
“Great.” Now that they were back in familiar territory, she risked a glance at his eyes, which was as jarring as a ten-foot drop in an elevator. Those brown eyes were way too intense and, for all she knew, saw too much.
And yet, she couldn’t look away.
“Knock-knock, dearie.” The receptionist tapped on the door and, without waiting for an answer, opened it and poked her head inside, providing just the snap back to reality that Lia needed. “Don’t forget your staff meeting. We don’t want this young lady with no manners to make you late, now, do we?”
Much to Lia’s surprise, Thomas demonstrated the beginnings of a sense of humor and quirked a brow. “This young lady does need work with her manners, but she has a name, and we should probably use it. Lia Taylor, meet my receptionist, Mrs. Brennan.”
The women exchanged reserved smiles and a grudging handshake, during which Mrs. Brennan’s keen gaze skimmed over Lia from head to foot, probably noting everything from her choice in eye shadow to her suspected weight and shoe size. This examination culminated in Mrs. Brennan shooting a wry glance at Thomas.
“Well, she’s a pretty little thing, isn’t she, Doctor? And don’t pretend you haven’t noticed.” A scowl crept across his face, flattening his brows and thinning his lips, but Mrs. Brennan seemed oblivious to this nonverbal warning and kept right on chirping. “I think I’ll just have to keep my eye on this one, won’t I?”
“Ah, Mrs. Brennan.” Thomas’s voice now had a steely edge. “You remember that discussion we had earlier, don’t you?”
Mrs. Brennan waved a hand. “Oh, I’m not digging into your personal life. I’m simply noting, in passing, mind you, that there’s something striking about wee Lia. You agree, don’t you?” And without waiting for any answer, she waggled those fingers again and swept back up the hall.
Lia gaped after her. What the hell was the poor man supposed to say to that?
Thomas cleared his throat and quickly busied himself by straightening some files on his desk. “Sorry about that,” he muttered. “Mrs. Brennan takes some, ah, getting used to, and I’m not sure—”
“It’s okay.” Lia shrugged and ducked her head as she started to leave, determined to get out of there before she either burst into tears again, or worse, her burning cheeks ignited. “I need to get back to work, anyway. I’ll get out of your hair. Bye.”
“Lia,” he said sharply.
“Yes?”
“You didn’t tell me …”
He hesitated, looking grim. He was allowed, she supposed; she’d dumped five tons of bricks on him in the last several minutes. Another of those endless beats passed between them, and she almost thought she saw color creep up his jaw from his neck. Was the arrogant surgeon feeling as flustered as she was right now? And why did it matter to her one way or the other?
“How can I stay in touch with you?” he asked.
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