To Have the Doctor's Baby

She’d been living with him—correction: she’d been living under his roof—for two days, and one evening without her had felt lonelier than any he could remember since the divorce. In hindsight, asking her to move in was probably a bonehead move, but there was no way to undo it without looking like a complete ass. He wasn’t willing to go there.

He combed his hair, spritzed cologne on his bare chest, then dressed in jeans and a cotton shirt. It was his belief that a suit and tie intimidated little kids, or maybe that was just rationalization. Either way he was comfortable.

At least he was until walking into the kitchen. His body went hot and hard at the sight of Ryleigh. Her back was to him, but she had a pretty spectacular rear view. She was wearing a red suit and four-inch come-and-get-me heels. The skirt probably hit her just above the knee and left what seemed like a mile of leg showing. Her shiny brown hair teased the jacket collar and he ached to nudge the silky strands aside and kiss her neck.

She used to moan and quiver, then rotate into his arms when he did that. This was one of those times that hindsight was twenty/twenty. He hadn’t kissed her neck often enough when he’d had the chance and the right.

Moving farther into the room, he cleared his throat.

“Hey.”

“Good morning.” She glanced over her shoulder. “Want coffee?”

“Yeah. Thanks.”

She poured some into two mugs, then brought one to him where he stood by the granite-topped center island. Her black leather Coach purse was there with her red cell phone beside it.

“Here you go.”

He took the cup and blew on the steaming liquid before taking a sip. “Good. Better than mine.”

“That coffee maker hardly looks used. Do you even make any for yourself?”

“Not much,” he admitted. “I usually have it at the office or the hospital.”

But having it with her was so much better. Maybe the taste wasn’t so excellent as much as just looking at her sweet, fresh, beautiful face made it seem that way.

“I picked up a few healthy food items from the grocery store.” Ryleigh set her mug beside her cell phone. “And I’m making oatmeal. Want some?”

“Is that a trick question?”

“No trick.” A laugh bubbled out as she pulled a pot from under the cupboard beneath the cooktop. “I’m fixing it anyway. I’ll double the amount if you’re interested.”

He was interested all right, but not in dry oats hydrated with water. “I’d rather poke myself in the eye with a sharp stick.”

“I bet if there was bacon, sausage, ham or steak involved your attitude would be different.”

“You’d win that bet because none of the above have the taste and characteristics of wallpaper paste.”

In a warning gesture, she shook a wooden spoon at him. “One of these days, Doctor, your cholesterol and triglycerides will go through the roof and you’ll be singing a different tune.”

“I’m willing to risk it.”

She shrugged. “Your body.”

True enough, and it was much more interested in hers. The fitted jacket hugged her waist and hips like a lover’s hands. He’d seen her naked and some things you couldn’t un-see just because the marriage was over. Too many times to count, a vision of her in his bed wearing nothing but a sexy smile had haunted his thoughts, filled his dreams.

But not once in the visions had she been standing in front of a stove stirring mush. Although he liked having her there, it would have been nicer if she’d been doing it minus the red suit and anything she was wearing underneath it.

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