His Secretary's Little Secret

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His Secretary's Little Secret Page 12

by Catherine Mann


  “My baby, too,” he reminded her quietly, firmly. “I want you to put your feet up.” Standing, he cleared a space for her on the bed, fluffing pillows before gently sliding his hands under her arms to prop her at one end. He also set an empty small trashcan nearby diplomatically. “In case you’re feeling ill again, you can use this rather than getting up. Is this typical for how long your nausea is lasting each day?”

  He went into doctor mode. She could see it in the patient way he asked her the question. Feel it in the touch he brushed on her forehead, surreptitiously checking to see if she ran a fever.

  As his longtime assistant, she knew he was assessing her symptoms while trying to keep her at ease. Just like a sick deer. Or a surly monkey. How flattering.

  “Our baby,” she reminded him, remembering his possessive words. “And the nausea’s gotten worse this week.”

  Her stomach churned again, bile rising in her throat. With a deep breath in, she tried to settle herself.

  “Yes, ours, which gives me a say in the child’s life.” He took her wrist in one hand, his thumb squared over the pulse that she guessed was sporadic at best.

  She felt like crap.

  “I’m glad to hear you feel that way.” She wanted to keep up her end of the conversation, tell him she didn’t need his veterinarian care for her very human baby. Except she appreciated the way he tugged the blankets over her. Mopped a cloth on her forehead.

  When had he gotten a damp cloth? Nerves pulled tighter inside her, making her head spin faster. She was glad he wanted to be a part of their child’s life, but she could also feel her control of the situation slipping away.

  “Portia, I would never abandon my child.”

  Determination and something Portia thought looked like hurt passed over his features, finding purchase in the tension of his expression.

  “I know that.” Yet while she knew Easton was kind, she hadn’t been sure how he would respond to the news based on how quickly he’d bailed on old relationships. “Yet you’ve admitted to feeling ambivalent about parenthood. You’ve purposely steered clear of meaningful relationships and you climb around in trees like a mash-up of Peter Pan and Tarzan.”

  “I’m not sure I like that analogy at all.” He knelt in front of her, taking her hands in his, meeting her gaze with such earnest urgency in those mesmerizing blue depths. “But right now, the important thing is to make sure our child is healthy and thriving. Do you think you could hold down some water or ginger ale?”

  She tried to answer but his concern for their baby—for her—touched her heart, and the more emotional she became, the more her stomach misbehaved. She was already so weak from morning sickness that she simply couldn’t face another bout.

  “I could try.” She said it only to make the medical professional in him happy.

  The thought of putting anything to her lips made her queasy. But this conversation was important in setting the tone for the rest of her and her baby’s lives. She’d done such a poor job telling him about her pregnancy and now was her chance to set boundaries. Assure him she would be okay on her own.

  Portia could hear Easton speaking, but the words grew softer as her head swirled. She worked to steady her focus by grounding herself in the beauty of his eyes, the rough velvet of his voice.

  “Portia? Portia are you listening?”

  “Yes, of course,” she said softly, her vision growing fuzzy around the edges.

  “Then what do you think?” he squeezed her hands.

  He sounded so distant, fading by the moment.

  “Easton?” She struggled to make sense of his words. “Think about what?”

  Her fingertips seemed to lose contact with the comforter, sending her into a widening spiral. Nothing made sense. She tried to reach out for his hand. For the bed. For anything, really. But her vision sputtered, growing foggier as she tried to figure out what she thought about the proposal. No use.

  More nausea, more dizziness, the room giving way like some scene out of Alice in Wonderland.

  She fainted, her world swallowed by the unknown.

  * * *

  An hour later, sitting dumbstruck and numb in the ER waiting room, Easton stared hard at the window to the outside world as if he could somehow get himself and Portia back to that familiar reality. Not that staring helped. He barely registered the sway of palm trees or the glimpses of the ocean.

  His thoughts kept turning inward, replaying the morning’s events. Portia telling him she was pregnant, growing paler and disoriented. Portia fainting suddenly on her bed, scaring the living hell out of him.

  Typically, Easton was the sort of man people liked to have around in emergencies.

  When he was a teenager, he and his brother had hiked up a hill in Virginia. Their parents had let them have free range that afternoon. Easton had pushed them to explore. But as they neared the top of the hill, Xander lost his footing, tumbled down, falling on the rocks and trees, breaking his right arm in three places. Even then, Easton possessed a doctor’s cool hand for dealing with injury and illness. He helped his brother to his feet, and calmly transported them both to a hospital. Fear never pushed at him once.

  But today when Portia had been nonresponsive...he’d felt fear wrap icy hands around his heart and mind. The ride over to the hospital became a blur. She’d gone straight into a wheelchair, unable to stand without swaying. Seeing his beyond-competent Portia so incapacitated leveled him.

  The staff’s urgent and worried care revealed just how fragile and ragged she’d become. Why the hell hadn’t he made sense of her symptoms earlier in the week? Maureen had told him something was off. He knew something was off.

  And yet he’d ignored all those signs, too damn focused on his own goals. He was a first-class ass. By the time he’d handed her over to the hospital staff, her pale skin had felt so clammy.

  The cackle of a loose parrot from outside snapped him back to the ER waiting room. He stood, wanting to be in the exam room with Portia. To do something, anything, to help her. Instead, he was out here. He sat back down, back pressing into the hard plastic of a lime-green chair. Across from him, he watched an older couple in their sixties talk in hushed tones.

  The man’s swollen ankle was propped up on a stool. His wife stroked his arm, love shining in her eyes along with a hint of irritation. Over what?

  Not that it mattered. Easton just grasped for distractions.

  Two seats away, a small girl cried intermittently. Her mom stroked her hair, cooed to her. Soothing the toddler. No father in sight.

  Easton’s heart seized. He wouldn’t be that way with his child—an absentee father. If everything was okay.

  Everything had to be okay.

  Worry pushed into his thoughts again. He felt shock stiffen his joints. What if something terrible was happening to Portia right now? He clenched his hands into fists, squeezing. Trying to get a grip on the situation.

  He’d been upset with her that she hadn’t said anything to him before this morning. He wasn’t sure what would happen with them. Her news had changed everything. But more than anything else, he wanted her to be okay.

  A swoosh of the automatic doors sounded, letting in a blast of muggy heat from the outdoors an instant before a familiar voice called out to him.

  Xander.

  His brother had arrived, two cups of coffee in hand along with a bag of something.

  “Easton? What’s going on? I heard you were rushing Portia to the hospital.”

  “Who told you that?” Easton asked, surprised to see his brother huffing and puffing in front of him.

  Xander snorted and passed over a large cup of aromatic java. “Do you think anything’s a secret with all those volunteers around?” He held out the bag. “Want a doughnut?”

  Clearly some things were secret since his brother made no m
ention of what ailed Portia. Still, Easton got the point. “No, thank you. The coffee’s just what I need though. Thanks.” He took a bracing drink of the nutty brew, then set the cup on his knee. “Portia’s pregnant.”

  “What?” His brother blinked, surprise coloring his face. All that boardroom bravado gone. Xander dropped into a seat beside Easton, setting the bag and his coffee on the steel end table. “I’m...confused. Surprised. Details?”

  “She’s pregnant, and the baby’s mine.” Easton took another sip of the strong coffee. Too bad they didn’t serve IV caffeine around this place.

  “Congratulations, brother.” Xander clapped him on the shoulder once, twice. “I assume you’re happy—but hell, wait.” Worry crept into his voice. “Why is she here?”

  “Her morning sickness is out of control. They have her hooked up to IVs since she’s dehydrated.”

  “All during the pregnancy with Rose, Terri battled that. You remember.”

  “Sort of, yes.” A memory of his niece after Terri died wandered across his mind. He’d taken her to the beach, built towering sandcastles for her. Easton told her stories of magical lands and talking animals. His flair for theatrics making her squeal with sharp giggles of uncontrollable laughter. He’d always thought his role as über-involved uncle would quell any parenting needs. Easton was crazy about his niece. But then Xander remarried Maureen and Rose didn’t need him as much anymore.

  For a few weeks, the lack of time with his niece had been strange. He felt like a castaway from that family unit.

  But with Portia...

  New possibilities leaped before him. He wanted Portia—he sincerely wanted to marry her. And he wanted to be there for their baby. To do whatever it took to be a good husband and father.

  Because, damn it all, they would be a family. He wouldn’t be relegated to the sidelines. He knew what it felt like to be an afterthought in his parents’ lives. He wouldn’t let his child entertain so much as a hint of a notion that that could be true.

  He might not have planned on being a father, but he would figure out how to do this. He would be there for the baby and for Portia.

  Xander angled forward, elbows on his knees. “You should be in there with her.”

  “They’re going to let me join her soon. We’re not married so I don’t have a spouse’s rights.”

  “You look shell-shocked.”

  “I only found out about the baby this morning.” Easton combed his fingers through his hair, likely doing more harm than good. “I’m still...adjusting to the news.”

  Adjusting didn’t even begin to cover it. He’d been set on romancing Portia, taking her out on dates, winning her back into his bed. He hadn’t thought beyond that. He didn’t do long-term relationships well. At all. His history spoke to that.

  But now the baby—and yes, the power of his growing feelings for Portia—flipped his world upside down. He needed to think. To process. And figure out how to become someone she could depend on.

  “Is she planning to have the baby?” Xander whispered, eyes darting around the emergency room.

  “Yes, of course.” He’d been so relieved when she had reassured him on that score. Of the million questions he had for her when he’d heard the news, that one had been the most important and she’d put his mind at ease.

  “Then congratulations, brother. You’re about to embark on the most amazing experience of your life.” Xander slapped Easton’s shoulders again.

  “Thanks.” He meant it. Still, he had worries and doubts.

  His brother had embraced parenthood full-on. But he had always been better with personal relationships, too. He’d taken time to build something with Terri before they married and had Rose. Easton, on the other hand?

  Every woman he had ever dated had been disappointed with his brand of interpersonal skills. Before, it hadn’t bothered him. Much. But for Portia? He wanted to be better.

  Xander leaned away, astute eyes locked on Easton. “You don’t look happy.”

  “I’m just concerned about Portia right now.” He wasn’t ready to talk about his concerns and explain what a mess he’d made of things by not pursuing Portia outright after the tropical storm. He’d wanted her then, had played in his mind a million ways to angle for another night together, yet he had stopped short of acting on those thoughts. Now he wondered what had held him back. Whatever it was had made his life a helluva lot more complicated.

  “Of course you’re concerned about her and the baby. I understand. I’m sorry. What can I do?”

  “I appreciate your coming here. You could have just called though, you know.” He hated distracting his brother with personal matters. He didn’t like burdening him or taking him away from his family.

  “We’re brothers. I was worried. You would have done the same thing if the positions were reversed.”

  “Truth.” He nodded, meaning it all the way to his soul. His brother was his best friend, always had been. “You’re right about that.”

  “And besides, you must have forgotten your damn phone again and didn’t answer when I tried to reach you.” Xander cast a sidelong glance his way, eyebrows knitting in faux annoyance.

  Easton welcomed the ribbing, needing to share a laugh with his brother now more than ever. His laugh tangled up with his brother’s, rumbling in the waiting room as a doctor in green scrubs stepped through one of the endless row of doors.

  “Easton Lourdes?” the tall silver-haired doctor called, clipboard in hand.

  Easton rose from his chair, lungs tight as he nodded.

  The doctor waved a hand, motioning for him to follow. “You can see Ms. Soto now.”

  * * *

  Portia kept her arm preternaturally still, glancing at the IV needle. Though she knew she could move her arm slightly, she felt like it needed to stay still as she processed the events of the morning.

  She clenched her jaw as she looked at the ultrasound. A tiny bean-like figure was displayed on the screen. Her baby. The future frightened her slightly—or it had until the doctor came in with the ultrasound monitor. She watched her child move, become real before her eyes.

  Looking around the sterile white room, she knew she needed to plan. To figure out what direction she’d take. Her fingers itched for pen and paper...to make checklists and doodle storks.

  The medicine she’d been given worked wonders. For the first time in weeks, she didn’t feel sick to her stomach in the morning. That alone stabilized her.

  The thin door that led from her room to the rest of the ER allowed muffled sounds to pass through the light wood. Sounds of machines beeping, a small child crying, a cart rattling down the hall. Adjusting her weight, the paper crackled beneath her, bringing her back to the stillness of her room.

  The blue cotton hospital gown allowed air to kiss her back and neck, the coolness refreshing her as she leaned forward, letting her paper-shoed feet dangle off the edge. She tested her balance and found the floor didn’t wobble or spin anymore.

  At the sound of a quick knock, Portia raised her head and called, “Yes?”

  “It’s me.” Easton’s deep voice filtered through.

  Nerves tingled but her stomach remained steady. She reached for the blanket and draped it over her shoulders and wrapped it around her protectively. “Yes, come in.”

  The door clicked open an instant before a wide hand swept back the privacy curtain. His broad shoulders and chest in a refuge-branded polo shirt filled her vision, blocking out the rest of the world. He shoved his hands in his jeans pockets. “How are you feeling?”

  “Better, much better. The fluids help and they gave me something for nausea.”

  “So you’re, um, both okay?” Concern furrowed deep in his brow, and for the first time since they’d met, he seemed unsure.

  “Yes, we are.” Lifting her left hand, she pointe
d to the ultrasound machine behind him. The image of the baby—their baby—was frozen in black and white on the screen. “You can see here. That bean is your child.”

  He turned to face the ultrasound machine, the profile of his face in her direct line of vision.

  Portia watched the way his eyes squinted and refocused, almost as if his identity as a doctor disappeared, leaving behind a man in awe. Of course, she was aware he could read this ultrasound from a medical standpoint—note nuances, explain away the shape.

  The man in front of her clearly did not process the image from such a technical angle. Instead, his lips, though pressed together, curled upward in a faint smile. His cheeks softened. She couldn’t get over the expression of awe on his face. The possessiveness and pride etched into his stance. Looking at him now, she began to realize all his talk about not wanting to be a father was false or delusional. He’d already become attached. This baby wasn’t just hers anymore.

  And her baby’s father was a man of money and power. She couldn’t help but remember how his brother, Xander, had used that wealth and power to ensure he maintained full custody of his daughter after his first wife died. Portia had applauded his efforts, since in that case, his former in-laws had strange ideas about what a child needed to be happy.

  But the incident worried her now as it occurred to her Easton had the same kinds of resources at his disposal. He’d admitted he had never invested in a long-term relationship. What if he got tired of Portia but wanted more time with his child?

  Easton eyed her, his rich dark hair falling in waves, catching the cold, sterile hospital room lights. “You’re absolutely sure you’re alright?”

  “The hormones are really something else.” She swiped away those worries, telling herself she was being ridiculous.

  “Can I get you something to make you more comfortable?” He gestured around the room. He was trying, she could see that. “Like a pillow or another blanket?”

  “Once the meds kick in a little more, how about an ice cream sundae, loaded with peanuts, bananas, cherries and fudge sauce?” Her taste buds shouted yes, but she still wasn’t confident her stomach would cooperate. All the same, it felt good to dream that soon she could indulge all these cravings.

 

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