Tempted by the Heart Surgeon

by Lucy Ryder

  “Daphne—”

  “Get those paramedics,” Daphne snarled. “Because if I can’t have this baby in a hospital, I’m not having it at all.”

  * * *

  Sam opened her mouth but the next contraction hit and she had to make a grab for Daphne before the girl hit the floor. Once it passed, Sam sank onto the floor beside her and stared at the hunky doctor.

  Adam, she reminded herself. His name was Adam and he had one knee on the floor, his large hands on Daphne’s belly. The look of concentration on his handsome face was surprisingly attractive.

  “Are you okay, Daph?” Her heart was racing and she felt the edge of hysteria trying to push through her shaky control.

  Oh, God. She hoped the EMTs made it in time.

  “No. I...am...not...okay,” the other woman gritted out, as she dug her fingers into Sam’s arm and rode the next wave by huffing, puffing and squeezing out a strangled moan. “I’m about to pass a watermelon through my vagina. What part of that sounds okay?”

  Sam winced again, both because Daphne’s grip rivaled a muscle-bound logger and she had used the V word in the presence of a man neither of them knew—even if he was a doctor.

  “You’re going to be fine,” Adam said, a hint of warm laughter in his voice that he quickly swallowed the instant two outraged females turned to glare at him.

  Daphne huffed and puffed, eyeing him with intense dislike. “This is all your fault,” she snarled through gritted teeth.

  A dark eyebrow climbed up his tanned forehead as he eyed her warily. “Me?”

  “You’re a guy, right?” Daphne snapped, suddenly collapsing against Sam and breathing like she’d run up twelve flights of stairs in stilettos. She pointed a shaky finger at Adam. “If you and your...your kind didn’t look at women with those hot, sexy eyes, none of this would happen.” Sam assumed by the way she said your kind—bitten off with more than an edge of teeth—that she was contemplating violence against poor old Stan.

  “Look at him,” the girl panted, glaring at Adam. “I just bet he could impregnate some unsuspecting woman at a hundred paces. Better watch those eyes, girl. They’re potent. One look and he’ll have you performing a naked lap dance.”

  Sam made a strangled sound in the back of her throat and snapped her knees together as though Daphne knew what she’d been up to a couple hours earlier. And as though he knew what she was thinking, Adam’s amusement grew, his warm gaze snaring hers and holding it captive as his grin widened.

  Just when she thought things couldn’t get any worse, she heard Adam say, “Can you remove her underwear so I can check dilation?”

  Blinking at him uncertainly, she said, “I’m sure you didn’t mean what I think you just said because there’s no way I’m removing anyone’s underwear. Let alone someone I only met two days ago.”

  “Hey,” Daphne objected through clenched teeth. “We survived two days of the high school histrionics together, so I think we’re more than a little acquainted.”

  Adam’s eyes were clear with a message she had no trouble interpreting. His expression said that if he’d asked her to remove her panties, she wouldn’t have been balking.

  Okay, so he might be right. Maybe. But she’d need another dozen shooters to contemplate that.

  “Oh, for God’s sake,” Daphne burst out. “It’s not like he’s going to be seeing your lady parts stretched beyond recognition. I’d do it myself but—Oh, God!” She squinted at Adam in panic and sprawled onto her back to huff and pant like she was struggling for air. “Tell me they’re not getting closer together because I told you we’re not doing this here.”

  “Okay,” he said mildly, sending Sam a pointed look. “I won’t, but it would help if I could see what’s going on.”

  Sam hesitated for a couple of beats, then sighed in resignation because no amount of pretending was going to change the situation. Besides, she was almost twenty-eight. Practically thirty. Way past the age when she should be over a stupid little thing like embarrassment and panic attacks at the worst possible moment.

  Reaching beneath Daphne’s bridesmaid dress—the one that made the pregnant woman look like a giant luminous beach ball decked out in a frilly pink skirt, she felt for the hip band and gave a tug.

  Apparently enjoying her discomfort, Daphne giggled and tried to lift her heaving body off the floor so Sam could tug her underwear down her thighs. Too busy trying to pretend Adam wasn’t controlling a smile and or that she removed people’s underwear every day, Sam ended up wrestling with it like a demented squirrel digging for nuts when the swatch of lace snagged on Daphne’s two-inch heel.

  Oh, God. Face flaming and muttering something about guys being useful for exactly nothing except turning women into giant beach balls with legs, she yanked at the offending garment and shoved it at a giggling Daphne.

  Adam was silent for a couple of beats, then said mildly, “Good job,” with such a straight face that Daphne’s hoot of hilarity smoothed over his next move as he gently nudged her knees apart and bent to look at ground zero.

  With perspiration dotting her brow and seeming unconcerned that a man other than Stanley was looking at her naked crotch, Daphne huffed out breathlessly, “Tell me you were mistaken and that I’m not about to—oh,” and promptly broke off with a low moan as another contraction hit.

  “No mistaking that, Daph,” Adam said quietly, sending Sam a narrow-eyed look. “Junior’s head is already crowning. Don’t push until I say, okay?”

  “I thought I told you we weren’t doing this here,” the laboring woman wheezed as she collapsed against Sam. “Besides, I want to push more than anything. Except maybe strangle Stan for getting me this way.” Then she grabbed Sam’s hand and squeezed as she rode out the next contraction. “And the instant I get out of here,” she gritted out, “I’m telling him there’ll be no more sex for him...ever!”

  “Okay, Daphne,” Adam said calmly, his eyes gleaming with concentration. “The head’s emerging. I want you to push now.”

  Daphne’s body bowed with the force of her effort and her face went red until Sam thought she’d pop a blood vessel. She made a godawful noise that sounded like she was being ripped apart from the inside and Sam’s heart clutched in sympathy.

  She locked her gaze on Adam’s face, the calm in the storm. But—what if something went wrong, she thought suddenly. What if the baby got stuck and they couldn’t get it out? Her heart stuttered, a fist closing around her chest in a squeezing grip that threatened to cut off her air because she suddenly wanted more than anything to help.

  Her fingers went numb and there was a loud buzzing in her head. What if...what if she froze and Daphne—or her baby—died because Sam was too terrified to move? What if—?

  “Amanda.” A deep masculine voice penetrated the white noise blocking out everything but the tumble of memories that still managed to give her nightmares. Memories that still made her freeze nearly two decades later—

  “Hey,” Adam said, his voice deep and smooth and soothing.

  Sam blinked, realizing that he was talking to her. “Huh?”

  He waited until her gaze cleared. “You okay?”

  Hiding a wince, she licked her dry lips. “I’m f-fine,” she said with grim determination. Get a grip, she ordered herself. It’s not like you’re the one giving birth. “I’ve just never w-witnessed a b-birth before.”

  After a short silence, he nodded. “It’ll be okay,” he said briskly, straightening to pull off his jacket. “Women have been giving birth for millennia.” She only just prevented the jacket from slapping her in the face when he tossed it at her. She opened her mouth to ask what the heck he was doing when he reached between his shoulder blades with one hand and proceeded to strip his T-shirt over his head in that unique way guys had of undressing, leaving her gaping at him in shock—and admiration, darn it.

  “Damn,” Daphne wheezed, echoing Sa
m’s thoughts and staring at a whole symphony of muscles bunching and flexing beneath acres of satin-smooth skin. “I’d hate you if you weren’t so pretty to look at.”

  And because Sam was staring at him, she’d swear she detected a rush of color beneath his skin. She blinked. Had the hot guy just blushed?

  Without missing a beat, he ordered, “Another push, Daph,” sending Sam a challenging stare as he thrust his T-shirt at her. “Here, hold this. I’d ask you to sacrifice that dress for what’s coming next but I have a feeling you’re not wearing a hell of a lot under there.”

  Sam took the warm soft garment and couldn’t resist one last peek at his wide rippling chest, shifting arm muscles and sculpted abs covered in acres of dark coppery gold skin. The perfect distraction from the panic attack hovering at the edges of her mind. But even as her heart rate slowed, he was suddenly frowning and ordering Daphne to stop pushing.

  “Stop?” the woman gasped, lifting her head to gape at him. “Are you crazy?” She let rip with an eerie moan that streaked up Sam’s spine and set all her hair standing on end. “I can’t stop now!”

  “The cord,” Adam said softly, doing something between Daphne’s thighs that Sam couldn’t see. “It’s wrapped around the baby’s neck.” He looked up briefly as both women inhaled sharply. “But not to worry,” he soothed, transferring his attention back to what he was doing. “As long as you don’t push or put pressure on this...” He cursed softly which made Sam’s blood run cold and then he was humming encouragement. “Got it. All clear. Just a couple more pushes, Daph, and you’ll be able to hold your baby.”

  * * *

  By the time they heard the commotion and a frantic man yelling, “Daphne, I’m coming, babe,” Daphne was propped up against Sam, gazing with wide-eyed wonder at the miracle in her arms.

  Fifteen minutes later, the elevator had reached the lobby and the paramedics were rushing forward to take over the care of Daphne and her baby.

  Trembling from reaction, Sam would have tripped in her haste to get out of the elevator if not for the large warm hand cupping her elbow and keeping her upright.

  “Don’t go anywhere,” Adam murmured in her ear, as he brushed past her to where the EMTs were loading Daphne onto the waiting stretcher. The look of utter pride and joy on Stan’s face as he stared down at his wife and child brought tears to Sam’s eyes. Thank God Adam had been there to prevent Daphne’s baby from strangling himself on his umbilical. Thank God she hadn’t let Daphne down, she thought as relief washed over her in a knee-weakening rush. And thank God she’d kept herself from losing it. It had been a close call, but other than those brief moments of mind-numbing panic, she’d managed to breathe through the worst of it and help bring a child into the world.

  That in itself was a major victory but—

  Daphne’s sharp, “Wait!” cut through Sam’s thoughts and she looked up to see the other woman staring at her. “I don’t know how much to thank you for being there. I hope you don’t mind.”

  Sam blinked in confusion. “Mind?”

  Looking flushed and serene, Daph linked her fingers with Stan’s and leaned into him. “That I named him after you both.” She looked briefly up at Stan, who nodded. “Meet Samuel Adam Prescott.”

  Stunned, Sam could only stare back and manage a garbled, “It’s... I... I didn’t do anything, Daph. I—”

  “You did,” Daphne interrupted huskily. “More than you know.”

  Sam gulped, terrified that she would lose control of the threatening tears “You’re w-welcome,” she rasped.

  Adam, who must have realized that she was holding onto her composure with difficulty said, “It’s an honor, Daph and she’s right, we didn’t do anything. You did all the hard work.”

  His deep baritone poured over Sam like warm honey, making her feel as though they’d been partners when she knew he’d been the center of calm.

  “I know I acted like a crazy person in there,” Daphne continued solemnly, echoing Sam’s thoughts. “But I was wrong.”

  Sam licked her dry lips. “W-wrong?” God knows Sam was starting to sound like a parrot but she couldn’t seem to help herself. The combination of adrenaline, a very private sense of accomplishment and the solid male strength and heat seeping into her back had rendered her speechless.

  Daphne smirked at Adam’s close proximity to Sam. “So totally worth it,” she said, waggling her eyebrows. “Even from a hundred paces.” She was grinning broadly as they wheeled her away, leaving Sam burning with embarrassment because Adam, who knew exactly what Daphne meant, chuckled softly in her ear.

  Her body responded instantly, her skin hot and itchy suddenly felt two sizes too small for her body. Like her hormones were suddenly in overdrive.

  What the heck, she thought, aghast. What normal woman emerged from a crisis feeling jittery and turned on enough to contemplate jumping a complete stranger?

  Clearly, she needed to get out of there before she did something reckless and crazy.

  CHAPTER THREE

  ADAM LOOKED DOWN into Amanda’s face, noting her high color and ragged breathing.

  “You okay?” he asked softly.

  She jolted like he’d zapped her with a live current. Nervously licking her lips, she lifted her eyes briefly to his, only to skitter away again at the intensity she found there.

  “Uh, excuse me?”

  “You’re flushed and jumpy.”

  Her flush promptly deepened, making him wish he could read her mind. Avoiding his gaze, she lifted a hand to fan her face. “It’s really hot in here,” she said breathlessly, blithely ignoring the blast of cool air from the overhead air vent and the wash of goose bumps popping out across her skin. “I think I’m having a coronary. Maybe I should have it checked out.”

  “You’re not having a coronary,” Adam said calmly, having seen her dilated pupils and the rapid pulse in her throat.

  She sucked in air and pressed the heel of her hand to her breastbone. “Are you sure? It feels like I’m having a heart attack.”

  “You’re having a panic attack.” The panic—coming on the heels of her bold kiss in the bar earlier—came as a surprise. He’d have pegged her as a party girl if not for the fear he’d seen beneath her pale-faced determination to handle a potential crisis and the way she was currently clutching his jacket as though her life depended on it.

  Her eyes cut to him, eyelashes fluttering wildly. “Don’t be ridiculous. I am not panicking.”

  “All right,” he said reasonably. “Then tell me that wildly fluttering pulse in your throat is a sign of arousal.” One hand flew to her throat. “That your hand is shaking because you want to touch me and your ragged breathing is a sign that you want to be kissed...and touched.”

  Her eyes widened. “What? N-no!” she choked out and spun away, her eyes darting around as though searching for an escape route. He stepped into her and caught her shoulders in his hands, forcing her gaze to his.

  “Then maybe,” he said gently, shamelessly using his soothing doctor voice, “you should tell me what has you so spooked that you’re considering bolting out into the night. Which I would advise against,” he said when her gaze flickered in the direction of the street while her body vibrated like a guitar string. “Not in that dress.”

  Her eyes flew back to his and after a couple of beats, her shoulders sagged, her eyes squeezing shut. She abruptly turned away but he’d already seen her face and could only wonder at the embarrassed misery. Something moved in him then—something hot and tight and unfamiliar. Something that stirred that strange feeling of connection.

  Hating to see her suffer, Adam tugged her around and dipped his knees to peer into her face. “Hey.” He gave a gentle shake. “It’s not that bad.”

  “Not for you, maybe,” she hiccupped on a shaky laugh. “You’re not the one who looks like a neurotic flamingo.”

  “A very cute flamin
go,” he chuckled, relieved to see the panic fading from her gorgeous eyes. “And everyone has a neurosis or two.”

  She took a deep breath that threatened the integrity of her bodice, briefly drawing Adam’s fascinated gaze. “I bet you don’t,” she said, releasing her indrawn breath in a long sigh. “I bet you don’t let the past freeze you at the wrong moment so that you’re useless.”

  Adam studied her a long moment, wondering what had happened in her past that sent her into panic mode at the hint of an emergency. “You’d be wrong,” he said mildly. “I have my demons the same as anyone else.”

  He could see by her expression that he’d caught her interest. “I bet you don’t let it turn you into a shaking mass of insecurities though,” she pointed out with a touch of self-loathing.

  “Don’t be so hard on yourself,” Adam chastised gently. “I’m just better trained at handling medical emergencies.” Feelings though? They usually sent him into a panic. Especially odd feelings for women in pink. Feelings that tempted him to sweep her into his arms so that he could provide the protection of a strong chest and broad shoulders.

  Those—those were dangerous and to be avoided at all costs.

  “I come from a family of doctors,” she burst out in a low agitated voice like she was admitting some deep dark secret. “You’d think I would have learned enough not to freak out when someone goes into labor.”

  “Hey, I nearly panicked when she went into labor,” he admitted with a chuckle. “I’m a cardiothoracic surgeon, not an ob-gyn. Heart attack? I’m your guy. But birthing babies?” He gave an exaggerated shudder. “Believe me, I panicked.”

  “You did not,” she argued on a spluttered laugh. “You were great with Daphne.” She paused for a long moment, her eyes searching his face. “You’re a great doctor.”

  “Yeah,” he agreed so casually that she laughed again. His gaze warmed. “At least that got you to stop thinking about whatever it was that had you wanting to bolt for the door.”