The Baby Who Saved Dr Cynical. Connie Cox
and understood neither of them had room for more than a series of one-night stands.
That had been at first, but he’d soon figured out that Stephanie wasn’t the kind of woman that a man could treat casually. He’d tried his best to treat her as well as she deserved. She was a prize, a hidden treasure.
And he’d prized knowing that she wore a kinky thong under her skirts and tailored trousers. He’d prized even more the fact that he was the only one who knew.
Or at least he had been the only one.
Obviously his best hadn’t been good enough.
Who was that soft glow for? Was she dating someone already?
No. As fast as word traveled throughout the hospital, he would have heard. Wouldn’t he?
And why was he still dwelling on it? He’d broken off relationships before, quickly and cleanly with no regrets.
That their break-up bothered him at all was a clue that their relationship had mutated into more than he had intended. He probably would have insisted they take a step or two backward himself if she hadn’t called it off between them. Probably.
But a total severance of the relationship was a bit extreme.
Stephanie didn’t need to amputate the head to cure the headache, did she? What was wrong with the “two aspirin and call me in the morning” approach?
He knew she’d been under severe pressure ever since their department had been hit with the big lawsuit. He could understand how she could be overwhelmed. But lawsuits settled down eventually. She would come back to him in due course if only he could find the patience to wait. Right?
And she was definitely worth the wait.
Until then he would bury himself in his work.
He smiled in anticipation as he cranked up his music. Pulling up a half-dozen resources on his computer screen, he reviewed Maggie’s list of symptoms.
Exhilaration coursed through his veins as he lost himself in the hunt for the elusive answer. Yes, unraveling the mysteries of medicine was what he’d been born for.
Everything else was secondary.
Why, then, did memories of Stephanie naked in his bed keep distracting him from his purpose in life?
Once safely behind her office door, Stephanie let her shoulders sag. That was twice she’d tried to tell him about the baby and twice he’d let duty distract him.
Maybe she should send him a text message.
Or maybe she should say nothing at all. He’d notice soon enough anyway.
He was one of the topmost recognized diagnosticians in the country. She was surprised he hadn’t already guessed. Maybe he didn’t want to know.
If he asked, she’d tell the truth. Otherwise it wasn’t as if she wanted or needed anything from him. She had the monetary capacity to take care of her child herself. And she was determined to have the nurturing capacity, too. Unlike Jason Drake.
After her rallying self-talk she expected to feel strong. Instead she just felt lonely.
She pushed the button on the intercom. “Marcy, has my dress been delivered yet?”
“Yes, I’ll bring it in.”
“Thanks.”
Marcy gave a perfunctory knock on the door before coming in, carrying the dress covered by a garment bag. “The seamstress sends apologies but she wasn’t able to let the dress out at all.”
“I was worried about that. I’ll just have to wear it as is.” She should have checked her wardrobe sooner, but hadn’t realized how much her body was changing until last night, when trying on her formal wear.
“Could I see it?” asked Marcy.
“Sure.” Stephanie unzipped the bag.
Cocktail-length, red, sequined, halter-topped and backless. She’d originally bought the dress for an Independence Day gala. Now it was the only one that still fit her swollen breasts. It stretched much tighter across her torso and her derriere, too, giving her a vintage Marilyn Monroe look that she’d never had before.
“Wow! That will make a statement.”
Since the dress was so much glitzier than the pale, elegant chiffons she usually wore, it was sure to raise eyebrows among those who knew her. Being dateless, she would have to stand up to the scrutiny all by herself—a test of her self-confidence and poise.
She might as well get used to her single state. She would not be dating anyone for a long while.
She did not need another complication in her life, and she’d never been the kind of woman who had to appear on a man’s arm to make herself feel confident.
Although she had to admit she’d had her fantasies about Jason Drake.
“I bought it two months ago for the big Independence Day celebration and ended up not going. But tonight, with our supermodel and her friends in attendance, I thought it might be appropriate.”
When Stephanie had originally tried it on she’d indulged in a bit of daydreaming, imagining the look of desire in Jason’s eyes as she took off her evening stole.
She had intended to invite him to a white tie evening of fine dining, a full-scale orchestra and fireworks viewed from the rooftop of a prominent hotel to celebrate Independence Day.
Of course imagining Jason even accompanying her had been a fantasy. Every formal function she’d asked him to attend he’d cancelled on her, or flat-out turned her down.
“Dr. Drake is going to drag you back to his cave when he sees you in this,” Marcy said.
“Why would you think I was going with Dr. Drake?”
Marcy looked puzzled, then embarrassed. “I thought that break-up thing was just a rumor to throw off everyone at the hospital. He bought a ticket at the head table next to you as soon as I put out the invitation list two weeks ago.”
“He did?” Stephanie couldn’t imagine why. “Marcy, are you sure? Attending galas and balls is not on Dr. Drake’s list of favorite pastimes. He’s probably never put on a tux in his life.”
“Not that he needs one.” Marcy grinned. “Scrubs suit him just fine.”
Yes, they did. More than that, they defined him. He was a medical professional inside and out. She should know. She’d seen him both ways.
Stephanie turned away to hide her reaction to memories of Jason both in and out of his scrubs.
“Thanks, Marcy, for bringing in my dress.” As she rezipped the garment bag she couldn’t stop herself from imagining how Jason’s hand on her back would feel as he unzipped the dress for her.
What would he look like in a tux, tie hanging loose around his neck, pearl buttons undone enough to show the firmness of his well-defined pecs?
Of course she would enjoy removing any type of clothing he wore. She had loved peeling off his scrub shirt that first time.
And the feel of his well-washed T-shirt, still warm from his body, wrapped around her own body … It gave her quivers just thinking about it.
Jason wore casual clothes with the charismatic attitude of the ultimate bad boy. The aged jeans and T-shirts he wore after work and on weekends molded to his rebellious personality as well as his athletic shape.
All those hours he spent scaling mountains and fighting white-water rapids made for sure-footed grace and iron-hard muscles.
In a moment of passion, she’d asked to go with him one weekend. When he suggested an Independence Day campout instead of the gala she’d traded in high heels for hiking boots, eaten charbroiled burgers to the music of night birds, then watched the stars pop against a velvet