About the Baby. Tracy Wolff
an eyebrow at her teasing, he reached for the champagne flute and kept his gaze locked with hers as he downed the effervescent liquid in one swig.
“Shall I get you another?” she asked dryly as he set the glass on top of a stone ledge.
“Shouldn’t that be my line?”
“Perhaps, but I haven’t finished my drink yet.” She held up the nearly full glass for his inspection.
“I won’t hold that against you,” he answered with a smile. He couldn’t help it—he really liked looking at her. Clasping her free hand in his, he murmured, “Dance with me.”
Her lips twisted in contemplation and when she didn’t immediately answer, he slipped the glass of champagne from her hand and set it next to his empty one.
“Come on,” he urged. Wrapping his right arm around her waist, he pulled her against him and started to glide over the redbrick patio.
“You want to dance here?” She paused for a moment, refusing to budge as she considered.
“What’s wrong with here? Live a little,” he mimicked, certain the dare would get to her.
She laughed then, a husky, full-bodied sound that made him laugh along with her. “Nothing’s wrong with here. I just didn’t realize terrace dancing was one of your specialties.”
It wasn’t, but he had a feeling it was right up her alley. And when she stopped resisting and allowed him to propel her out of the shadows and into the small pool of light cast by the old-fashioned globe lantern, he knew he was right.
They were close enough to the ballroom to hear the music, and for long seconds neither of them talked as they moved together under the heavy branches of a centuries-old magnolia tree. With her heels on, she was only a couple inches shorter than his own height of six foot four.
He liked the way she fit against him. When the song ended, she tried to step away, but he held on. She indulged him for a moment, eyes closed and head resting against his shoulder. Then, with a sigh, she stepped away. He let her go, but when she tugged a little in an effort to free her hand, he refused to relinquish it. “How was Africa?” he asked softly.
“Same as always.” While the reply was flippant, the sadness that moved behind her eyes was anything but. “Beautiful, but nightmarish.”
“Did you get everything taken care of?”
“As much as we could. Cholera isn’t something to play around with. We managed to vaccinate nine refugee camps as well as educate them on prevention measures and the handling of blood and tissue samples. It’s not enough, but at least this outbreak is under control. But I’m sure it will pop up again soon and then we’ll be right back where we were two months ago.”
His stomach clenched a little at the thought of Kara going up against such a miserable illness¸ but he made himself ignore it. After all, it wasn’t the first time she’d taken on a deadly disease and it sure as hell wasn’t going to be the last. She was an epidemiologist for the Center for Disease Control. Traveling to hot spots around the world and figuring out where and how the outbreak happened was her job—and her calling.
Concern about his best friend’s safety might keep him up some nights, but he was the only one. An adventurer through and through, Kara rarely worried about herself. She relished the thrill of running a virus to ground, as well as helping the people who so much of the world preferred to forget.
He understood her drive, her need to make the world a better place. He’d done his stint in For the Children, one of the leading organizations that brought doctors into developing nations, and in doing so had seen just how desperately people needed help.
But, unlike Kara, he hadn’t been able to hack it long-term. He’d gotten out early, had chosen to start a low-income clinic in the poorest area of Atlanta instead. Not because he didn’t believe in helping those who couldn’t help themselves, but because he knew that staying in Africa, witnessing the soul-deep suffering, would eventually kill him—as it nearly had his clinic partners, Amanda Hart and Jack Alexander.
Together the three of them dealt with everything at their clinic, from gunshot wounds to diagnosing cancer. And while there never seemed to be enough time, enough money, enough anything, at least here he could see that he was making a difference. When he’d been in Ethiopia it had felt like everything he’d done had been barely a drop in a leaky bucket.
Though he knew Kara didn’t feel the same way about her time in Africa, he couldn’t help asking, “You sure you’re okay?”
“I’m fine. A little tired is all,” she admitted with a grimace. “I got in late last night and my body’s clock is all messed up.”
“So what are you doing here? You should be home sleeping.”
“Well, that was the plan. But earlier, I called the clinic to see if you could do lunch today but you had scheduled appointments right through your lunch hour, as usual. Your receptionist told me about this benefit event. And since I know how much you love these things, I figured it was my duty as your oldest and dearest friend to dust off my dancing shoes and suffer right along with you.”
“Have I mentioned lately that you are a terrific best friend?”
“A time or two.” She pretended to buff her nails on her dress. “But it’s a sentiment that bears repeating.”
“No doubt.” He draped an arm around her shoulders, gave her a quick squeeze. “And I very much appreciate your sacrifice.”
“And well you should. I’ve been in Somalia for the last seven weeks, running around in hiking boots and tennis shoes. Squeezing my feet into these heels—” she held up one slender foot encased in a pair of red-sequined stilettos “—has been absolute torture.”
“I don’t deserve you,” he said with a grin.
“Well, that’s obvious. But since you’ve got me, at least until the next crisis rears its ugly head, what do you say we blow this pop stand and go find something more interesting to do—after I sit down for five minutes.”
“I can’t leave. I’m one of the hosts,” he said as he cupped a hand around her elbow and escorted her to the closest stone bench.
She sat, gratefully, and kicked off her right shoe so she could rub her toes. “Which is why you’re hiding out on the patio? Because you’re so concerned about your hosting duties?”
“I’m taking a break. I wanted a breather before I had to start making the rounds to say good-night to everyone.”
“So take a longer break. I was just in the ballroom. It’s well after midnight and the party has already started to break up. Amanda, Jack and your mother have everything under control.”
“No doubt. But Amanda threatened me with many, many painful things if I stepped out of line tonight. Not to mention what my mother said she would do if I embarrassed her. Somehow I think ducking out right before I’m supposed to position myself near the door and thank everyone for the copious amounts of money they’ve spent here tonight definitely falls into both categories.”
“Okay, I can understand your fear of your mother’s wrath. She can be scary when she gets going. But don’t tell me you’re afraid of a pregnant woman?”
“Damn right I am. Amanda’s mean,” he said with affection, so Kara would know he was teasing.
“I have to admit, I wondered how she got you here. Normally it’s impossible to get you to attend a big charity event, even if it is for your own clinic.”
Lucas shook his head. “I’m not even sure how we ended up having a big charity event, to be honest with you. One second I’m complaining about how hard it’s been to pry funding out of the government and our regular donors—at a time when we need it most. The next thing I know Amanda’s dialing her husband to see if his cable news network might like to sponsor a