Formula: Father. Jolie Kramer
yeah.” Her fingers played over his medical books, and he felt a little surprised that her nails were polished. Which was idiotic. The woman was a fashion model, one of the most famous in the world. Of course she’d have her fingernails polished. She wasn’t the kid who espoused the idea that makeup was a plot to keep women subservient and that high heels were a medieval torture device. He wondered if she’d ever really been that kid.
“So what brings you home, Darcy?” He cleared his throat, surprised at how gruff he’d sounded.
She didn’t answer him right away. She looked around the room once more, then at him. “It is home, isn’t it?”
“I heard you live in New York now.”
“Not anymore. I sold my apartment.”
“Oh?”
“I bought a house. A great big beautiful house.”
“In Manhattan?”
Her smile came back, and it was easy to see why she’d made it to the top of her rarefied world. Her eyes lit up, and the face that had launched a thousand magazines looked luminous and so beautiful it seemed impossible. He rarely noticed the details of a woman’s appearance, but with her, he couldn’t help it. Her skin looked softer and smoother than any child’s. Her eyes, doe-shaped and mysterious, chocolate brown with thick, dark lashes, made him think of Audrey Hepburn. But it was her mouth that had captured the attention of the entire male population. Her lips, which she’d hated as a girl, were her trademark. Almost too generous, her smile suggested much more than a demure kiss. It was sexy and sweet, both at the same time. And then there was something more…something he couldn’t identify, even though he’d given it a great deal of thought.
She’d been a beautiful girl, but she’d blossomed into an exquisite woman. A woman who could have any man she wanted. The rich, the famous, the infamous. All she had to do was crook her little finger, and they’d lie down before her. The tabloids had chronicled her love affairs in terrible detail. It was his private masochism that made him keep reading the damn things, even when each word hurt like hell.
She tilted her head to the side, and her hair, as dark and luxurious as mink, fell over her shoulder. “What is that look for?”
“What look?”
“You know what I’m talking about. Come on, Maitland. It’s me. The science nerd from fifth grade. The one who helped you get back at Craig Thomas for stealing your homework. Remember?”
“Of course, I remember.” He stepped behind his desk, needing the distance and the furniture between them. “But a lot has changed since fifth grade, huh?”
“Maybe not too much? At least I hope not too much. I liked us back then.” Her statement and the look in her eyes were enigmatic, and before he could even venture a guess as to what she meant, she moved to the wall of diplomas. “I hear you’re the man when it comes to fertility.”
He laughed as he sat down. “You make it sound like I’m the one doing the fertilizing.”
She smiled, too, and for a moment, it was as if they were in high school again. But the feeling left him as quickly as it had come.
“Why did you choose this?” She nodded toward his diplomas, then turned to him again. Her gaze held no humor, just intense curiosity.
“I was going to be a surgeon at first, which was more out of rebellion than a love for surgery. But then I did a rotation in reproductive obstetrics, and everything changed. I figured I could make a difference here at the clinic. And there you have it.”
“I have a feeling that was the Cliff Notes version.”
“I didn’t want to bore you silly.”
She sat across from him and leaned forward so her elbows were on the edge of his desk. “Maybe someday you’ll tell me the whole story.”
He didn’t answer her. It didn’t seem likely that their paths would cross again. He still wasn’t sure why she’d come today.
“Mitch?”
“Yes?”
“Tell me about this artificial insemination. I mean, what it takes.”
His curiosity made him speechless for a moment. Was this for her? Was she—
Her right brow rose slightly, and he set his curiosity aside. But as he explained the different methods of insemination, the ovulation kit, the fact that most pregnancies occur in the first four cycles of therapy and all the other basics, he couldn’t look at her. The only reason he got through the entire spiel was that he’d done it hundreds of times before.
When he came to the end of the talk, he met her gaze, and once more he was reminded of sitting next to Darcy in algebra, when Mr. Green was explaining a new concept to the class.
Mitch’s grasp of the subject always suffered because he’d end up watching Darcy. No one listened the way she did. She would lean forward, like now. Her eyes widened, and when she had her moment of comprehension—that great aha!—she blinked rapidly for several seconds. If she didn’t understand something, she nibbled on her lower lip.
He’d dreamed about that.
She sat back in the suede wing chair, sighed, and as if she’d read his thoughts, nibbled on her lower lip. He forced his gaze away from her mouth. “You have questions?”
She nodded. “The donors,” she said, her voice a little timid. “How does the woman select which sperm…”
“Assuming it’s not going to be the husband’s?”
“Yeah. Assuming that.”
“We have a sperm bank here, on the premises. Each donor is screened very carefully, and we keep up-to-date profiles on each one.”
“Wow,” she said, more to herself than him.
“Darcy?”
“Hmm?”
“You want to tell me what this is about?”
She nibbled a little more on that lucky lower lip, then she took a deep breath. “I’ve quit modeling. For good. I bought the Kendrick place. In fact, escrow closed this morning. I’m not married, and I don’t think I ever will be. I’ve come back to Austin to have a baby. And I want you to help me.”
CHAPTER TWO
DARCY HELD HER BREATH as she watched Mitch go into shock. She wished she knew for sure which tidbit had made him pale. That she was giving up modeling? No. Mitch wouldn’t care about that. He’d never been particularly impressed with celebrities or fashion.
That she’d bought the Kendricks’ house? They’d played on the great expanse of lawn that was Marjorie and Bob Kendrick’s front yard so often, it was like their personal playground, right around the corner from the Maitland house. Darcy had told Mitch that one day she would live there. He hadn’t believed her. Frankly, she hadn’t believed it, either.
Who was she kidding? The shock had nothing to do with careers or houses. It had everything to do with babies.
Mitch came out of his stupor with a jolt, then coughed to cover his lapse. He opened his mouth, shut it, opened it again, then shook his head as he shut it once more.
“Surprise,” she said, trying to lighten the mood.
“To say the least.” His voice sounded a bit funny, but at least words had come out this time.
“So, can you help me?”
“Can I? Yes. Should I? I have no idea.”
“Why?”
He blinked at her as if she’d missed something incredibly obvious. “Because I— You and I— Because we—”
She grinned. It had always been fun to make Mitch sputter. She’d