Valentine Babies (Holiday Babies Series)

by Risk, Mona

  “Wow.” He squinted, searching for more challenging questions. “Ever ridden on an elephant?”

  She nodded. “Yes, in India and Thailand.”

  “How I wish I could have been there. How about a camel?”

  She tilted her head and peered at him. “Are we playing a game? Know you in 10 questions or something like that? Because I’m good at questioning people too.”

  He burst out laughing. “Fine by me. I’ll answer your ten questions when we’re done with mine.” At least, he’d managed to help her bury the disturbing thoughts that had plagued her at the church. “Can we continue?”

  “Okay, I toured around the pyramids of Egypt on a camel.”

  “Lucky girl. To think I’ve never been north of New York. I never crossed any ocean. You must have so many stories to tell.”

  “Actually, I wrote about and reported on many historical events.”

  “Did you ever visit a war zone?”

  Her smile disappeared. It was as if he’d lowered a shutter over the brightness of her eyes. “Yes.” She stared at her plate and forked her meat. Her lips pinched in a sad line.

  Damn his question. He must have touched a raw nerve. Had she lost someone dear during a war?

  “You don’t like this question. Is it part of what disturbs you so much?”

  “Yes.” Her voice came as a hardly audible whisper.

  Now he’d spoiled his previous effort. He cleaned his plate. “You’ve hardly eaten anything?”

  “I’m not very hungry today.”

  “Stomach problems?”

  “Just emotion.” She reached for another bread roll and munched on it. He’d bet his old car that the emotion she claimed had nothing to do with her sister’s wedding and was all about her personal problems.

  “Let’s dance.” Pushing out her chair, she stood.

  For an instant, Greg stared at her. Had she decided his distraction methods were effective? What a girl. “Good idea.”

  He followed her, admiring her back. The round hips swayed enticingly and sent a surge of heat to his groin. Bad idea.

  He forced his gaze to move higher. To her elegant neck and the artistic twist of brown hair high on her head. He could imagine brushing feathery kisses along the creamy length of her throat. Bad, bad idea.

  On the dance floor, Roxanne didn’t wait for him and mingled with the dancers. He joined her and wrapped an arm around her waist, swung her to the strong beat of the music, spun her into his arms and out again. She laughed and followed his fast-paced lead as they moved and grooved to the music.

  His gaze locked onto her eyes, assessing her mood. A smile lingered on her lips and her cheeks flushed a pink hue. Once again, her distress had faded, kicked away by the fun of the moment and her resolve to fight her inner pain. Hope fluttered in the air. Greg allowed himself a sigh of relief and enjoyed his partner’s liveliness.

  The music stopped and the coordinator announced that the bride would throw her bouquet. Roxanne spun. Panic furrowed her face. Her eyebrows gathered in a scowl. She started toward the door, but four bridesmaids caught her after a few steps and dragged her back to the dance floor. Greg eased beside her. She needed support. What was entertaining for the others obviously upset her.

  “Be a good sport. It’s Madelyn’s night,” Heather scolded.

  “It’s just for fun,” Claire added, with a big laugh.

  “You don’t have to catch it,” Tiffany advised.

  “Are you ready?” Her bouquet in hand, Madelyn surveyed the dozen young women waiting, their arms raised high, and swiveled to face away from them.

  Only Roxanne stood on the side, her mouth a stern line, her fingers clenched over her stomach.

  “One. Two. Three,” the groom called. His bride balanced her flowers over her head but didn’t throw.

  “Come on. Toss it,” the young women shouted.

  Madelyn laughed and hurled the bouquet to the side. It hit Roxanne squarely in the chest. She automatically closed her arms around it.

  “Bingo. Roxanne got it.” Laughing and squealing, the female crowd encircled the maid of honor.

  Madelyn ran to her sister and hugged her. “It pays off to have played on the basket ball team.”

  “You did it on purpose. Why?” Roxanne glared at the roses in her hands.

  “For a good omen. I want you to have the happiness I enjoy. You’ll be the next bride, Roxy.”

  The color drained from Roxanne’s face. “No, I won’t. I’ll never get married.”

  Poor girl. She was back to step one, with sorrow gnawing at her heart.

  “And now,” the coordinator announced, “the groom will remove the bride’s garter and toss it to the eligible bachelors. The lucky winner will share a dance and a kiss with the bouquet winner.”

  “Oh no,” Roxanne wailed.

  “Yes, yes,” the crowd chanted, unaware of the drama.

  Greg squeezed her hand. “It won’t happen. I promise.”

  He’d have to catch the garter to protect her from an unwanted kiss.

  An unwanted kiss he was dying to give her.

  Chapter Two

  “Lucky girl.” The bridesmaids fussed around Roxanne, applauding and laughing.

  “We’re not college girls anymore. It’s a silly tradition.” Roxanne slammed the bouquet on the table and resumed her place.

  “But it’s so much fun,” Heather retorted. “I remember at my wedding—”

  “You were only twenty-one. A kid, not knowing anything about life.” She regretted her words as soon as she blurted them.

  “Get off your high horse,” Heather snapped. “I didn’t meet kings and presidents, but I’m happy with my husband and my children. I hope you can settle and be happy too.”

  Her younger sister had the knack of getting on Roxanne’s nerves. But she wouldn’t begrudge her happiness. “I’m sorry, Heather. I didn’t mean to belittle you. You chose the best thing in life, a family. Enjoy every minute with them.”

  Heather frowned. “Since when were you so humble? You sure know how to confuse me.”

  Roxanne decided to shut her mouth from now on. No one knew her secret. Not the happy part, or the unexpected tragedy, and especially not her devastating dilemma.

  The music blared as the bride sat on a chair in the middle of the dance floor and the groom kneeled in front of her. Madelyn raised her skirt to her knee, revealing her bejeweled garter.

  The guests clapped their hands to the rhythm of the music. “Go, go, go.”

  Nick trailed little kisses along his wife’s legs until he reached the garter, gripped it between his teeth, and lowered it down Madelyn’s leg and over her foot. He brandished it like a trophy.

  “Yeah,” his friends shouted.

  “Okay, guys, are you ready?” A group of young men gathered in the middle of the dance floor. Nick spun and raised his arms, the garter dangling from his hand.

  Roxanne threw a disgusted look at the group. She’d endure the dance and the kiss to please her sisters. Her eyes rounded when she saw Greg run from between the tables, leap over two chairs, elbow past two ushers, and spring up as if he were participating in a high-jumping competition.

  Oh my. He caught the damn garter. She couldn’t hold in a bubble of laughter.

  “No fair!” the men shouted.

  “I got it. And I dare anyone to take it.” Greg lifted a fist.

  Nick burst out laughing and held out his hand to him. “Congratulations, man. You earned your prize the hard way.”

  They all spun toward Roxanne. Determined to be a sport, she sauntered toward Greg. “Ready for my dance.”

  His lips curled in a sidelong smile. Was it smugness or the same simple pleasure she felt when he brought her against him, both arms wrapped around her waist? She laced her fingers at the back of his neck. They swung slowly to the soft music, their locked gazes exchanging silent conversation—she, expressing gratitude for saving her from the throng of eager young bachelors, and he, conveying confusion an
d a desire to understand her.

  His warm breath fanned her cheeks, melting her insides. How would his kiss feel? An ardent show-off? Would he bend her over his arm to gain applause from the crowd? Maybe he’d begin with a tender brush over the lips that would turn passionate. A tingle spread through her as she imagined the sensation.

  The smile slowly faded from his face, but his gaze never left her. Had he guessed her improper thoughts? She knew she was blushing and hated it. He stopped moving and she realized the song had ended. Around them, the couples dancing swiveled toward them, everyone expecting the big moment—the fun moment.

  Now. He was going to kiss her, now.

  Greg eased her away, then bent, and brushed her cheek with a quick peck she hardly felt.

  That was it? A sigh of disappointment escaped her.

  “Thank you.” His hand flattened over her nape and his fingers did a discreet dance that sent warm tremors through her chest.

  “For what?”

  “For coming to dance with me. For not hiding.”

  “Not my style.”

  “I like your style.” He chuckled. “Shall we continue to dance?”

  He was such an easy-going guy. Not pushy or conceited. Under different conditions, she could see herself befriending him. She relaxed against him. “Of course.” They danced to another slow song, then shifted to the swift moves of faster rhythms, and stayed on the dance floor for the next half-hour.

  “The bride and groom will cut their cake.” The guests cleared the dance floor and two waiters rolled out a table with the three-story cake.

  A hand on her back, Greg walked her to their seats where dessert was already served, a crème brûlée and berry fruits in addition to the scrumptious cake. Roxanne felt a surge of hunger. She realized she hadn’t eaten much and bit with pleasure into the creamy dessert.

  Three bites later, her insides somersaulted. She pressed a hand to her mouth and another to her stomach. The nausea subsided. She reached for a French roll and caught Greg’s sharp look. The piece of bread refused to go down her throat. Actually, more stuff moved up with her bile. She coughed on the bitter taste and managed to swallow back.

  Gripping her roll, she pushed out her chair. “Going to the rest room.”

  ****

  Greg focused on Roxanne’s back as she navigated her way to the ballroom door. Here and there she grabbed the back of a chair and paused. He frowned, his medical instincts on alert. When she disappeared from his view, he got up and darted to the hallway.

  A few feet before the restroom, Roxanne swayed, paused, and resumed her walk. Her unsteady stance worried him.

  Should he call her? Hold her arm? He walked faster to catch up with her.

  Suddenly, her knees buckled. She leaned to the left, her hand flat on the wall, and started slipping to the floor.

  “Roxanne.” He reached her before she hit the carpet. “Roxanne, can you hear me?” He tapped her cheeks.

  She moaned.

  He scooped her up and jogged to the elevator.

  “Greg.”

  He glanced behind him. Tiffany was running toward them.

  “What’s wrong with Roxy?”

  “She fainted. Help us. Call the elevator and come with me,” he ordered. “Has she ever fainted before?” he said as they rode to the second floor.

  “Not that I know of. She’s the healthiest one among us. Always athletic and full of energy.”

  “Tiffany, put your hand in my left pocket. There’s a card, the key to my room. Go ahead, open the door. Room 210,” Greg added as soon as the elevator stopped.

  She ran ahead and opened the door for him and his precious load. He laid Roxanne on one of the two double beds and rushed to the bathroom to get his cologne. Holding the open bottle under her nose, he waved it while tapping her cheek. “Roxanne. Answer me. Roxy, can you hear me?”

  Her breathing accelerated and she wriggled to shift her head away from the strong smell.

  “Roxy,” Tiffany yelled as she squeezed her sister’s shoulders.

  Roxanne moaned. Her eyelids fluttered.

  Tiffany bent over her sister, kissed her face, and shook her shoulders. “Open your eyes, Roxy, please.”

  “Easy on her. No need to dislocate her shoulder. She’s back,” Greg said.

  “Is she coming down with epilepsy like Madelyn did a year ago?” Tiffany’s lips wobbled in fear.

  “Absolutely not. She hasn’t eaten much today and she was too emotional.”

  “Emotional to the point of fainting? No way. You don’t know Roxy. She’s the pillar of our family.”

  “Maybe she’s coming down with a virus. Listen, stay with her. I’ll go get my medical kit from my car and examine her. Okay?” Roxanne could have fainted from lack of food today or...

  A new suspicion nudged into his mind. “Good God, I hope I’m wrong,” he muttered to himself. Soon he’d find out. Although, he wasn’t sure how he could help if his theory proved right. “Tiffany, talk to her. She’s awake.”

  Greg was back in less than five minutes. Tiffany was holding a glass of water to Roxanne’s mouth to help her drink.

  He set his stethoscope in his ears and pressed the disc over her back, trying to listen through the velvety material. “Cough.” He circled the disc on her back. “Good. Now, can you unzip the dress and lower it?”

  Tiffany frowned.

  “I’m a doctor. An OB/GYN. I examined naked women all day long. Right now she’s a patient like any other.” Not exactly true, but he’d do his damnedest to ignore her pretty assets. “Stop being bashful and lower the dress.”

  Tiffany squeezed her sister’s hand. “Do as he says,” Roxanne murmured. She tried to raise herself. They both helped her to a sitting position. Tiffany unzipped the back of the dress and lowered the bodice.

  “Good enough. It’s going to be cold on your skin,” Greg warned. He focused on the metallic disc of his stethoscope and moved it over her upper chest, and around the burgundy lace half covering her breasts. Listen. Don’t look. He dutifully avoided the generous mounds, and pressed the disc at the base of her bra.

  “No problems with your heart and lungs.” He glided his instrument under her skirt, just above her belly button and listened, then he pulled back. “You can dress.”

  He turned his back while Tiffany helped Roxanne with the sleeves. There were more tests to be done. One in particular, but he wanted the little sister out of the way.

  “Are you staying at the Marriott for the night, Roxanne?”

  “No. I’m driving Mom home. We have to prepare for tomorrow’s bridal brunch. The others are staying.” Roxanne’s voice was low and feeble.

  “You can’t drive in this shape. Can you bunk with your sisters?”

  “Not enough space.” Tiffany shook her head. “I have a room but I’m sharing it with two of Heather’s kids and Claire will be keeping the other two.” She shrugged. “Mom’s idea to make sure her daughters behave.”

  “Roxanne can stay here. There are two beds. I’ll keep an eye on her. A very professional one. I don’t want her alone in case she faints again.”

  Both young women looked at him but didn’t answer.

  “Tiffany, can you explain her absence to the family without worrying them?”

  “I’ll tell them she’s having a drink with you at a bar.”

  “But...” he started and looked at Roxanne.

  She shrugged. “They’ll think I’m being independent and selfish as usual. Don’t worry.”

  “In that case, I’ll drive you home tomorrow. You’ll feel better after a good restful night.”

  “Tiffany, please get me something to wear to bed.” Roxanne sighed and closed her eyes. The poor girl was trapped and would probably welcome any help. As if there was anything he could do.

  “Be right back.” Tiffany disappeared and returned with a short pink gown. “That’s all I have.”

  To give them some privacy, Greg went to the bathroom to change into a pair of sweat pants
and a T-shirt.

  A few minutes later, he heard a knock on the bathroom door and immediately worried. “Is she out again?”

  “No, she’s fine and ready to sleep. Please, call me in an hour.” Tiffany scribbled her cell phone number on the pad on the night table.

  “I will. Good night, Tiffany.”

  As soon as the door closed, he went to stand beside the bed. Roxanne’s hair, loose now, spread over the pillow, and framed her heart-shaped face. The fading makeup couldn’t conceal her pallor. He wanted to hold her and promise that everything would be all right. And yet he didn’t know what her everything encompassed, what fears she hid behind her closed eyelids.

  “Roxanne.” She opened turquoise eyes that looked huge but so tired. “I want you to take a test. I’ll help you to the bathroom.” He spoke in the soft but firm tone he used with his patients.

  Dejection washed over her face. “You think I’m pregnant?”

  “Are you?” He wished she could trust him and let him treat her.

  “Probably.” Tears filled her eyes. “Although I’ve never checked. Don’t believe in these home tests. I missed only once. Maybe it’s the emotion...”

  “We’ll talk about it in a moment.” He supported her to the bathroom and gave her the tube and the sheet of instructions. “It’ll take three minutes.”

  He paced the bedroom as he waited. What a weird evening. A few hours that seemed like months. To meet a gorgeous woman, be attracted to her and swamped in a heap of problems, before even knowing or dating her—problems he was just guessing.

  She’d obviously had a man in her life. Had he abandoned her? What an idiot. How could any man in his right mind dump such a wonderful girl? But then, he’d heard so many sad stories at his hospital.

  How could Greg help? To begin with, as a doctor, he’d do his job and make sure she was healthy. As a man? Damn it, he wondered what he could do. Or wanted to do. He’d seen two sides to Roxanne. The sassy reporter who couldn’t care less about people’s opinion. And the anxious young woman who’d tried all night to smother her pain and present a brave front.

  He hadn’t dated much. His medical studies and career had consumed all his time. And then his mother had claimed the few free hours left. He’d given up bringing women home. Mom did her best to alienate them with her erratic behavior.