No Exchanges, No Returns

by Laurie Kellogg

  He strode out of his study and roamed across the rear of the house to the laundry room. He poked his head into the garage.

  The Escort was here, so she had to be somewhere in the house. Maybe she was napping.

  As he closed the laundry room door, the faint sound of a radio in the backyard drew him to the family room’s French doors.

  He reached for the handle and froze at the sight of her poised at the edge of the pool, dipping her toes in the water to test its temperature.

  Just as he’d suspected she might, in his absence she’d abandoned her aversion toward swimming. He didn’t know what the big deal was about him seeing her in a bathing suit. Except for the slight thickening in her waist, from the rear, no one would guess she was five months pregnant.

  Regardless, he was glad to see her taking advantage of the pool.

  She gathered her long hair up, twisted it into a knot, and secured it on top of her head with a barrette.

  A split second passed before the image of her naked back traveled from his retina to his brain, alerting him that not an inch of fabric interrupted the expanse of milky skin between the nape of her neck and her red bikini bottom. Which could only mean she was—

  His breath hitched as his body went on full alert. She turned toward the house and picked up the sweating bottle of spring water she’d left on the table. As she tipped her head back to drink, her naked chest thrust out, emphasizing her swollen breasts and their rosy peaks.

  Oh, man. The last time a topless woman had affected him this way had been....never.

  No woman’s body had ever looked sexier to him than Casey’s, her belly swelling with his baby and her nipples as pink and plump as a couple of raspberries just before they ripen.

  After seeing such an erotic picture of motherhood, he’d never again be able to look at Botticelli’s Madonna paintings quite the way he once had.

  He stepped back from the door so she wouldn’t see him and watched her descend the steps into the shallow end of the pool. She swam a few strokes, then flipped over to float on her back, her lush breasts bobbing above the water’s surface.

  With every second that passed, his fly grew tighter, and his breathing turned more ragged. Dragging himself away from the door, he squeezed his eyes shut. What the hell kind of man was he? She’d die of humiliation if she knew he’d been spying on her this way.

  Stomping out the front door to his car, he tugged at his inseam and scowled at the bulge under his fly. He didn’t dare talk to her right now. If he hung around, he’d very likely finish what he’d started last night—and Casey would undoubtedly end up hating him.

  His only recourse was to throw himself into his work and stay away as much as possible until he got his libido in check. As aroused as she’d gotten him, that could take quite a while. And a lot of cold showers.

  Chapter 7

  The incessant beeping was enough to drive a sane woman crazy. Brianna winced at the pounding in her skull that made all her previous headaches seem tame.

  Wasn’t the whole point of the surgery to put an end to them? At least the pain proved she hadn’t died—unless, of course, the intensity meant she’d been denied entrance through the pearly gates.

  Her lashes turned to lead as she dragged her eyes open and reached up to feel the bandage on her head.

  “Good morning, dear” whispered a gray-haired nurse adjusting the IV. The beeping mercifully stopped. “It’s about time you woke up.”

  “Morning?” Brianna rasped past the dry soreness in her throat. She’d gone into surgery at six a.m. on Monday, and it appeared to still be dark outside. “W-What time is it?”

  “Four-thirty,” the nurse answered softly. “You had some minor complications, so you’re still in the ICU.”

  Brianna vaguely recalled coming out of the anesthesia and gazing into her neurosurgeon’s brilliant green eyes while he’d examined her. His gentle touch had been a complete contradiction to the rude man she’d met in his office. Despite the antiseptic odor lingering on his hands, he’d smelled wonderful.

  Funny, she could recall how great he looked and his sexy scent, yet she couldn’t remember a thing he’d told her about her surgery or prognosis. “What kind of complication?”

  “Just a little more swelling than usual,” said the nurse in a hushed voice. “The extra cranial pressure made you slip into a light coma.”

  A coma? “What day is it?”

  “Wednesday.”

  She’d lost almost two full days? Her heart galloped in her chest. “No one called my sister, did they?”

  “I’m not sure who was notified about your condition.” The nurse pressed Brianna back down as she struggled to sit up. “Relax, dear. We don’t want you getting up just yet.”

  Why did the woman keep whispering? Brianna frowned, noticing a pair of long male legs stretched out from a chair just beyond the edge of the privacy curtain where she heard a faint deep snore.

  Oh, Lord. Were those David’s feet? The loafers on them looked just like his.

  As much as she didn’t want David involved in her treatment, a tiny part of her hoped he’d raced to her bedside. She shifted a few inches over in the bed for a better view and caught a glimpse of Dr. Hunky’s sleeping face. She heaved a relieved sigh.

  “Doctor,” the nurse reached down and gently shook his knee, receiving an abrupt snort in response. “You asked me to let you know when Ms. McIntyre woke up.”

  “Thanks.” Marc Huntley yawned as his legs drew back. A second later, he peeked around the curtain, bleary-eyed, sporting a serious case of bed-head. “Hey, there.” He scratched his heavy five-o’clock shadow and lowered her side rail. “How’s the noggin?”

  “Let’s just say I now know what it’s like to be clobbered by a wrecking ball.” She cleared her throat. “How long have you been here? You look worse than I feel.”

  “Just a while.”

  Behind him, the nurse rolled her eyes and shook her head.

  “I couldn’t leave while you were making me and my team look bad.” He shined a penlight in her eyes. “Focus on my finger,” he commanded as he moved his index finger back and forth in front of her face. After he’d checked her eyes, he held her two hands. “Squeeze as hard as you can.”

  She complied, and her left arm felt wimpy compared to her right. “You didn’t call my sister, did you?”

  “Almost. But I knew how you felt about keeping her out of the loop, so I decided to give you a few more hours to come around.”

  “Thank you. I was so groggy, I don’t remember what you told me in the recovery room. Were you able to remove the entire tumor?”

  “Ninety-eight percent.” He pulled a rubber hammer from his shirt pocket and tapped both her elbows. “Malignant cells can extend beyond the tumor’s visible boundaries, sometimes even to the opposite side of the brain. So we’re never totally sure if we’ve gotten it all. That’s why we follow up with chemo and radiotherapy.”

  “Oh.” It was silly, but she’d foolishly hoped he’d tell her the tumor had mysteriously disappeared since her last MRI. Or there hadn’t been anything there all along. Like maybe it had been just an air pocket or something. She sucked in a shuddering breath. “Please tell me that was the bad news.”

  “Yup. The good news is your tumor was better differentiated than we anticipated and didn’t grow much since you were diagnosed, so the cell reproduction rate is even slower than we first thought. We also didn’t see any evidence of abnormal cells in the cerebral-spinal fluid.”

  “So that’s good news.”

  “It’s very good. We can reclassify your tumor as a grade two. Now that the swelling’s subsiding, your prognosis is better than most of my patients’ outlook.” He held up a hand in front of her. “Now, using your left hand, touch your nose and then my palm several times fast.”

  She reached up and poked herself in the cheek and totally missed his hand. Finally, on the third attempt, she hit both targets. “Great. I’ve got brain damage don’t I? And I’m
left-handed.”

  “We have to wait until the swelling’s gone to tell. Overall, you’re doing great. Physical therapy should help you compensate for any residual effects from the surgery. Don’t rush things.”

  As he straightened, she grabbed his wrist. “I don’t know how to thank you, Dr. Huntley.”

  He smiled down at her hand on his arm. “You can do that by calling your family so they can support you. It’s important for your recovery.” He glanced at his watch and yawned. “I’ll keep you in the ICU for the rest of today. The nurse will remove your catheter and get you up. If you’re stable this evening, we’ll transfer you to a regular room.”

  “Thanks.”

  “And quit worrying.” His mouth twisted in a cocky smirk. “Remember, you’ve got the best in the Midwest.”

  As he strutted out the door, scribbling notes, disappointment hit her like a cold rag in the face. Was she actually looking forward to his return?

  “How long was he really here?” she asked the silver-haired nurse straightening Brianna’s bedding.

  “I can’t say for sure. All I know is, he was here at the end of my shift yesterday morning, and he was still here when I came on at eleven last night. I’m sure he had office hours and did rounds in between.”

  “Does he always sit with his patients after surgery?”

  “No, dear. As far as I know, it’s a first for him.”

  Uh-oh. “I was that critical?”

  The nurse pressed her lips together as if stifling a smile. “No more critical than any of his other patients.”

  Was the woman saying what it sounded like? “Are you insinuating he’s interested in—”

  “I’m sorry. I’m really not at liberty to speculate about Dr. Huntley’s motives.”

  Brianna mentally shoved aside the prospect. No way. He couldn’t possibly be interested in her. Not after how obnoxious he was to her when they first met. Obviously she’d wounded his professional ego, and now he was simply determined to prove her wrong about his bedside manner.

  Oddly enough, she was impressed with the arrogant rooster.

  ~*~

  So much for his plan to keep Casey at a distance.

  David gritted his teeth and opened the door to help her out of his car Thursday evening. He’d completely forgotten about the childbirth prep class until he’d found the reminder note she’d left him last night.

  He breathed in her sweet scent and took the pillow she’d brought with her. Guiding her into the hospital, he was greeted by an overly friendly chorus of Hi, Dr. Lambert and a series of furtive, speculative looks from the various hospital personnel they passed.

  Most of his coworkers knew Brianna, but just his closest friends were aware of his impending fatherhood and that her sister was carrying his child. Until that afternoon, only Paul and Matt Foster had known about his divorce.

  Casey glanced over her shoulder at the group of nurses whispering behind them. “David, please tell me I’m paranoid and all these people aren’t talking about us.”

  He wished he could. “Uhh—I’m sorry, Tinkerbelle. I meant to tell everyone about our situation before this, but I kept putting it off. It sort of slipped my mind our class was tonight.”

  She stopped short, digging her sandals into the tan carpet. “Are you saying everyone you work with still thinks you’re married to my sister?”

  “No-o.” He stared down at the floor. “I asked Paul to spread the word through the hospital grapevine today.”

  “So our baby is the latest juicy piece of gossip?”

  He slapped the up button for the elevator. “I guess that’s one way of putting it.”

  “Well, how else?” The steel doors slid open, and she stepped onto the elevator. “Do you realize what it looks like to everyone?” She pointed to the crowd in the lobby that disappeared when the doors snapped closed. “They’re all thinking the same thing your mother believes—that I’m a home wrecker.”

  Knowing the kind of bed hopping and sexcapades that went on among the hospital staff, it wouldn’t surprise him if some of his coworkers believed he’d knocked Casey up the good old-fashioned way and made up the surrogate story to cover his supposed infidelity.

  Tipping her chin up, he stared into her eyes. “Tinkerbelle, please don’t think I deliberately meant to humiliate you. Everyone’s making nasty assumptions about me, too. If they’ve pegged you as a home wrecker, then I’m cheating scum.” He pressed the button for the NICU’s floor. “Believe me, I would’ve avoided this scandal if I could have. Being branded an immoral womanizer may cost me the appointment to chief of peds.”

  “Right.” A tiny snort escaped her. “More likely your cronies will slap you on the back and call you a stud. While I, on the other hand, will be branded the temptress and seducer. Men have been blaming women for their lack of restraint since Adam and Eve.”

  True. He couldn’t dispute that women still got a raw deal when it came to society’s double standards.

  “Ask any rape victim. It’s always the woman’s fault for flaunting herself.” The doors slid open, and she stomped through them. “If you ask me, the Department of Defense is fighting the war on terror all wrong. If men in the Middle East are so weak-willed that they expect women to be covered from head to toe, just think how fast the fighting would end if the U.S. sent an army of Playboy bunnies overseas.”

  “I’m sorry.” He raised his hands in surrender, suppressing a smile. “You’re right. The world doesn’t judge men with the same yardstick. If it’ll make you feel better, I’ll call the Secretary of Defense and present your idea to him.”

  She glared at him. “Ha-ha. You’re not funny.”

  No, but as usual, she was. He loved her sense of humor even when she was ticked at him. The sparks flaring in her eyes and the pink flush in her cheeks did things to him he didn’t want to think about.

  Casey glanced down the hospital corridor and asked in a hushed voice, “Why’d we get off here? The class is in the community education room.”

  “I figured, since we’re a few minutes early, I’d check on the twins.”

  As he guided her down the hallway, a feminine giggle echoed from the NICU’s nursing station. “—anyway, it seems Dr. Lambert was plowing his sister-in-law’s field. When his wife found out, she filed for divorce.”

  Casey gasped and grabbed his arm, yanking him backwards.

  Another nurse, Sandy, leaned on the counter with her back toward them. “Dang it.” She stamped her white rubber-soled shoe and chuckled. “I wish I’d known he was looking for a greener pasture.”

  “Get in line, girlfriend.”

  He shook off Casey’s viselike grip and stomped the last fifteen feet down the hallway. “I’m sorry to disappoint you ladies, but my equipment never left the shed, and I don’t foresee it doing so anytime in the near future.”

  “D-Dr. Lambert.” Wanda, the statuesque, mocha-skinned nurse who’d begun the gab-fest backed away while Sandy hung her head.

  “Do you two have so little to do that you have to amuse yourselves trashing the reputation of a woman you know nothing about?”

  “N-no, sir.” Sandy shook her blond head, trembling. “Please forgive us. We had no idea you were on the floor.”

  Obviously. “So if I weren’t around, your gossiping would’ve been all right?”

  “No, sir.”

  He crossed his arms over his chest. “For your information, my ex-wife had fertility issues, and Casey generously agreed to carry my baby—several months before I had any marital problems. Her serving as her sister’s surrogate had nothing to do with my divorce.” He jerked his head back toward her. “I think you owe her an apology.”

  The two nurses peeked past him and had the good grace to look mortified at the sight of Casey standing five yards away in a turquoise maternity tank top and black shorts.

  “I’m sorry,” they murmured in unison.

  “You can show her how sorry you are by telling all the other bigmouths in this hospital that w
e are not now nor have we ever had an affair. If they have anything to say about my personal life, they should say it to my face.”

  He strolled back to Casey and led her by the hand to the nursing station. “You can also tell them, if anyone insults my child’s mother again, I’ll see to it that person ends up in the unemployment line.”

  “Oh, wonderful,” Casey muttered under her breath. “Threaten their jobs. That should convince everyone nothing’s going on between us.”

  Good point. In Shakespeare’s famous words, the lady—or the man in this case—protested too much.

  The problem was, something very definitely was going on with him. Something he couldn’t explain and refused to analyze.

  ~*~

  “Why don’t you sit down,” Sandy suggested to Casey in an obvious effort to make amends after being reamed out by David. The petite nurse pushed the swivel desk chair over to the glass wall of the fishbowl nursery for her.

  Inside, four preemies struggled to finish developing enough to survive outside their transparent incubators, while a few other babies lay swaddled in blankets in rolling bassinets.

  “Thanks.” Casey smiled and sank onto the padded seat, watching David through the window while he examined the preemie twins. Her throat tightened at witnessing how gentle and loving he was, taking the time to cuddle and talk to the babies.

  He would be a wonderful daddy—assuming he quit spending his life at work.

  A lock of his dark chocolate hair fell over his forehead and softened his chiseled features. It never ceased to amaze her how incredibly good-looking one man could be. Even the sterile gown he’d put on couldn’t hide his swimmer’s shoulders. Was there any wonder the entire nursing staff had the hots for him?

  What those other women didn’t know was he was ten times hunkier on the inside. In the last two weeks, she’d seen the gentle, caring side of him her sister had undoubtedly fallen in love with regardless of whether he had his professional and personal priorities mixed up.