Pregnant By The Playboy Surgeon

“The X-rays look good,” he said and though she understood what he wasn’t saying, she pressed on, “So Timmy will be normal again?”

He sent her a pained look and sighed. “I’ll give it my best shot but I’m not a miracle-worker.”

“That’s not what I hear,” she clipped out, almost rudely and flushed when one eyebrow rose up his forehead at her snippy tone.

But she wasn’t about to be intimidated—not like that day almost sixteen years ago when another bad boy had caught her fascinated stare and with a slow smile had propped his shoulder against her locker. Leveling her with a sleepy, knowing look, he’d drawled, “Think you can handle what I’ve got, little girl?” and roared with laughter when she’d turned tail and bolted.

She felt exactly like that now but managed to lock her knees before they ignored the imperative from her brain to stand firm. She held his gaze a little defiantly.

His brow wrinkled, as though her behavior surprised him.

No more than it was surprising the hell out of her too.

After a short pause he repeated, “We’ll do our best.”

She gave a curt nod and had turned to go again when his voice called her softly.

“Dr. Stevens?” He waited until her gaze met his. “Don’t believe everything you hear.”

Dani got the feeling he was talking about more than just the hospital gossip that had him sleeping with more women than there were days in the month. And that was only since his return. Not only was she sure the rumors were grossly exaggerated but she hadn’t received any creepy vibes from him.

Maybe not but you didn’t get any creepy vibes from Richard either, a little voice of reason reminded her. At least, not before the wedding. And look how that turned out.

When she didn’t respond, Dr. St. James sighed and looked as if he wanted to say something more. She braced herself, ignoring the way her pulse increased.

But then the anesthetist called his name and all he said was, “I have to go.”

And look at that. She could feel the rush of disappointment that he hadn’t...what? Pushed her up against the wall and put his hands and mouth all over her?

Sheesh, woman. Get a grip. This is a surgical suite. And maybe you could stop looking at his mouth and remember that you’re on sabbatical from men. Remember why you’ve given them up.

She turned away abruptly, determined to leave with her dignity intact but yet again his voice—a rough slide of velvet against her skin—stopped her in her tracks.

“Oh, and Dr. Stevens...?”

Awareness skated across her and she wanted more than anything to escape.

He waited until she looked back before drawling softly, “I’m not just a pretty face.”

She was embarrassed that he’d heard what she’d said in the ER but pride stiffened her spine and had her lying smoothly. “I wouldn’t know.”

She relaxed, inordinately pleased that she could be cool and professional—or at least pretend to be—beneath that intense green gaze. His hypnotic eyes held her hostage for a moment longer, then he nodded brusquely and turned away.

Before the door swung shut behind her she could hear the steady beeping of the monitors over her thundering pulse and she said a quick prayer for little Timmy—and one for the steady hands of those he’d been placed in.

Once in the elevator, away from prying eyes—especially intense green ones that seemed to see right through her—she sagged against the wall and locked her knees to keep from sliding to the floor. Pressing a shaky hand to her even shakier belly, she gave a ragged moan and banged her head against the side of the elevator a couple times, hoping to knock a little sense into her head.

Oh. My. God. She couldn’t believe it. The guy she’d brushed off, then spent way too much time thinking about, was a surgeon...at the very same hospital where she worked. Not only that, he was the very same Dr. Hot Stuff all the female personnel—married and unmarried—were drooling over. And if that didn’t have alarm bells shrieking away in the back of her mind, nothing would.

Not interested, she told herself firmly. She’d barely survived a relationship with one rich, handsome and hotly in demand man and she had no intention of melting for another.

Nope. No way. No how. Absolutely no melting.

But she’d dreamed about him, she was forced to admit. The type of dreams a girl never shared with anyone—not even her best friend. The types of dreams that made her blush just thinking about them, because she hadn’t had a sexy dream since she was a shy, awkward teenager mooning over hot bad boys.

She would rather step in front of a bus than have him suspect that she was like every other woman, swooning when he turned his green eyes her way, ramping up her hormones while every nerve-ending, every strand of DNA, perked up and did a Mexican wave.

Look at me! her nipples had yelled.

The elevator doors opened and she was hugely relieved that the hallway was empty and she could enjoy her little freak-out in private. Instead of heading for the ER, she ducked into the bathroom and barely resisted the urge to shove her entire head under the cold water tap and drown herself.

She splashed her hot face instead and when she caught sight of her flushed cheeks and bright eyes, paused to give herself a stern lecture. No brooding over hot, sexy surgeons with green eyes, she told her reflection firmly. At least until you can behave like a mature professional.

On second thought, she should just stay away from the entire species altogether. Besides, he had even more women throwing themselves at him than Richard Ashford-Hall III. She wasn’t ever going to be one of a crowd again. She would never put herself in a position where she had to fight for any man’s attention. It was too humiliating to discover that no matter what you did you’d just never measure up.

Besides, she was damaged goods, wasn’t she? And no man, Richard had told her cruelly, wanted damaged goods. If she couldn’t do what she’d been put on the earth for—provide him with an heir—she was no good to anyone.

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