The Rookie

by Julie Miller

  “Looks like he was only with us for a short time. He made regular donations for two months and then he left us.”

  “Is that unusual?” she asked, crossing around his desk and sinking into a red leather chair to give her tired feet a rest.

  He traced his mustache with his thumb and forefinger in a habitual gesture that revealed nervous frustration. “Not necessarily. Every case is different. Though most of our donors do stay with us for one to four years.”

  “Four years?”

  “Some of our donors see it as a way of preserving their place in the future. For others, it’s a steady income.”

  Four years. Rachel sat forward in her chair, wondering if the timespan was a coincidence or a clue. “Do college students ever donate their sperm?”

  “Of course. They’re some of our best customers. They can always use the extra money, and we like them because they tend to be healthier than older men.” He frowned as a new thought struck him. “You don’t think you’ve been contacted by one of your students, do you?”

  Now, there was a disturbing thought. Though she could think of one blond student who would make excellent father material.

  Andrew Washburn had been clearly concerned by her report that her sperm donor had made contact with her. She’d left out the details of just how unsettling his form of contact had been. In an effort to help her—and to protect his clinic from liability—he’d stayed late and answered every question he legally could.

  He’d promised to call 93579 himself and remind the donor of the privacy clause in his contract. He’d sorted through records, both on-screen and in the hard copies he stored in manila folders. He mostly told her the facts she already knew. The father had brown hair. He lived in the Midwest. He had a high I.Q.

  “What about mental illness?” She was grasping at straws now. “Could the father have some kind of disorder that would make him forget the rules of his contract or lay claim to my baby?”

  Dr. Washburn removed his glasses and steepled the earpieces between his hands. He shook his head, his mouth creased in an apology that was nearly hidden by his thick mustache. “The father has no mental problems on record. Either in the donor himself or in his family line.”

  He rose and circled the office, stopping in front of her and sitting one hip on the edge of the desk. He leaned forward and took her hand, sandwiching it between his. “I am so sorry this breach of trust has happened, Rachel. Believe me, the Washburn Clinic will do everything in its power to rectify the situation.”

  Her mouth crinkled into a wry smile. “Except tell me his name.”

  He inhaled a sharp breath before patting her hand. “Except tell you his name.”

  Dr. Washburn stood and pulled Rachel up along with him. “The hour is getting late, dear. Could I take you to dinner as a small recompense for the anguish we’ve caused you?”

  Anguish? He didn’t know the half of it. “No, thanks, Doctor. Right now, I think I just want to get home and get some sleep.”

  “I understand.” He released her hand and headed toward a small room at the back of his office. “Just let me get my coat and double-check that everything’s locked up, then I’ll walk you out.”

  The room in the back turned out to be a private washroom. While Dr. Washburn went in, Rachel pulled on her coat. As she buttoned up, she drifted closer to the massive walnut desk. Though the doctor had made a point of keeping 93579’s file hidden away, she couldn’t help but glance down at the open folders on top of his desk.

  Most of the information she skimmed. It was a meaningless collection of pertinent physical facts, personality profiles and donation records. But one item leapt out at her with gut-twisting clarity. A tiny photograph, no bigger than a matchbook. Rachel pressed her lips together to keep from crying out.

  David Brown.

  Forgetting all ethics when faced with finding the truth about her baby, she quickly scanned his file. The number listed on the folder was 90422. Not a match. Unless the report was mislabeled.

  She glanced up to check that Dr. Washburn was still occupied in the washroom before reading the rest of David’s file.

  He’d been donating sperm for almost two years now, from the middle of his first semester at UMKC to the present. According to the payments listed, he’d earned enough to buy his books each semester and maybe pay rent for a month. Beyond his health report and a current address, the details here were pretty thin. There was no family tree. No hobbies or talents were listed. No information at all about his life before UMKC.

  She wasn’t sure what the gap in information meant, but she’d file it away in her memory and sort through it later.

  First Simon. Now David. Were there other men in her life with a connection to the Washburn Clinic? Men who’d have a reason to hurt her?

  Or was she still looking for some anonymous donor who simply didn’t think she was fit to be the mother of his child?

  RACHEL DROVE HER BUICK around the curves of Brush Creek Boulevard on the south side of Kansas City’s Country Club Plaza, objectively admiring the dramatic lines of the Mediterranean-style architecture. Even without the million-plus colored lights that decorated the red-tile rooftops during the holiday season, it bespoke wealth and old-world elegance.

  Many of the shops had closed for the night, but there were still several tourists and locals walking about, visiting one of the trendy restaurants or window-shopping. Some of them were dressed to the nines, others hurried along in jeans and tennis shoes. But they all moved about together. They all belonged to someone. They all felt safe and carefree enough to go out and enjoy each other’s company.

  Rachel was alone.

  She wondered when she, too, would feel safe.

  And with all the questions running through her mind in her search for logical explanations, it would be a long time before she’d feel like celebrating anything again.

  She turned north and drove past the Nelson-Atkins Art Museum, finally heading toward her empty condo. She’d dined alone on salad and pasta at a chain restaurant. And though she’d been very disciplined about following the rules of her O.B.’s prescribed diet, she’d indulged a craving by buying two scoops of coffee ice cream.

  She pulled into the parking unit behind her building and punched the remote to open her garage door. Woo-woo, she thought sarcastically. Was this the same kind of excitement, the same kind of fulfilling life her daughter had to look forward to?

  Oh, how she hated these mood swings. They bothered her even more than the morning sickness or raging appetite or weight gain had.

  She was a psychologist. She should be stronger than this. She’d spent years studying how the human mind functioned. Her recent research had specialized in how a pregnant woman’s mind worked. And while she didn’t suffer from any clinical or chemical depression, she still had to deal with these bouts of self-pity that turned her from a mature, rational human being into a sad, lonely woman who pigged out on ice cream and cruised the Plaza wishing she had someone to share her joys and responsibilities with.

  “Get over it!” she chided herself out loud. Before she’d let this funk become debilitating, she’d chase it away with anger. She pounded the steering wheel once for good measure, then shut off the engine and reached for her bag.

  Still fuming, and finding strength in the cleansing emotion, she slammed the car door and walked outside, heedless of the pair of eyes that followed her every movement.

  Armed with the mace on her key chain, she closed the garage and headed for the front door at a brisk pace. She followed the cleared sidewalk around to the front of the brownstone, then hurried up the front walk, just as the crunch of snow behind her registered.

  Rachel had her key ready for the lock and let herself in, barely breaking her stride.

  That’s when the charging figure leapt over a snowbank onto the stoop. The big man braced one huge, black-gloved hand against the door before she could close it, and shoved his way inside.

  In one awkward motion, Rachel jumped
back and raised the can of mace and sprayed. In a flash of gold and black, the man ducked.

  “Doc, it’s me!” He snatched her wrist and twisted it down to her side, pushing her against the row of mailboxes and trapping her there with his body. “Where the hell have you been?”

  The voice cut through her fears long before her vision could make sense of what she saw. Josh Tanner. Gold hair. Black jacket. Low voice.

  Without a trace of humor in it right now.

  Remnants of fear mixed with anger, giving her the audacity to punch him in the shoulder. “Dammit, Josh, you scared me.”

  As rationality pushed its way past emotion, she realized that he hadn’t hurt her. The grip on her wrist was firm, but gentle. Only her shoulders touched the wall behind her. He’d had the presence of mind to protect the baby by angling himself to the side and pinning her with just his arm.

  But gentle consideration didn’t equal an explanation. “What are you doing here?”

  “Waiting for you. You’re late.” That electric-blue gaze flashed with sparks like a downed power line sizzling and leaping about with an unleashed power.

  Though he quickly released her and stepped away, Rachel kept her back pressed to the wall, feeling some of that same loose energy coursing through herself. “I thought I told you goodbye. I thought I made it clear that we can’t be seen together outside of class.”

  “That was before Daddy popped up and penned you that note.” He yanked off his gloves and jammed them into his pockets, giving her the impression that he wasn’t about to willingly turn around and go home.

  Rachel planted herself squarely and stated her position very carefully. “I’m not your responsibility. Now, get out of here.”

  She whirled around and marched up the stairs, hoping a warning look and a turned back would drive her message home.

  But Josh fell in step behind her, following her with his bulk and heat and hardheaded determination. “Somebody needs to be responsible for you. You take stupid chances and put yourself in needless danger.”

  She stopped halfway up and turned, expecting to glare down at him. But standing just a step behind her put him at eye level. She refused to be daunted. “What are you talking about?”

  “Walking from your car down that blind driveway, for starters. Walking from your office to your car by yourself, even though I warned you not to.”

  “Excuse me?” She tugged her hat off her head and swatted him with it. “Are you following me?”

  “I’m keeping an eye on you.”

  “Don’t.” She turned and stormed on up the stairs. “I already have someone who’s taken up watching me for a hobby.”

  “Exactly.” In two long strides, he’d joined her on the landing. “You get to me more than any woman I’ve met in a long time. Maybe I can’t hold your hand in public, but, by damn, I’m going to see that you stay safe.”

  “You are following me.” She spun around and glared up into those sparking eyes. “How does that make you any different from Daddy?”

  He recoiled as if she’d struck him. For one endless moment in time, she stood there staring at the changing emotions playing across his handsome face. She felt guilty. She’d hit him way below the belt. She’d accused him of something she knew in her heart could never be true. She wanted to apologize. But, dammit all, he’d scared her. He refused to take no for an answer. He refused to let her suffer alone.

  “Different?” His entire body suddenly went still. Rachel backed away a step, then another, distancing herself from a man who was suddenly years older, suddenly much harder, suddenly much more potent than any student she’d ever taught in any class. “You mean from the creep who sends you sick notes about taking your baby? This is how I’m different—”

  Without further warning, he reached out and grabbed her by the shoulders, quickly closing the distance she’d put between them, and brought his mouth down to cover hers.

  Josh’s kiss was raw and wild, full of an intensity and passion she’d never experienced before. This was so wrong. So dangerous to her peace of mind.

  So intoxicating.

  No! She pounded the heels of her palms against his shoulders and twisted her hips, trying to escape the assault on her senses.

  But she was no match for his strength. His arms swept behind her back, lifted her onto her toes and pressed her closer to the hard, fiery heat of his body.

  She was no match for his passion. Her beating hands stilled as his lips began to work a magic on hers that woke long-untouched parts of her body and made her achy with desire.

  She was no match for his need. She breathed a heavy sigh and surrendered to the hunger that filled her woman’s soul.

  Opening her mouth beneath his, Rachel returned his kiss. She dug her fingers into his jacket, clinging to Josh and pulling herself into his kiss.

  He was her hero. He was her baby’s hero. His gallantry had kept them both safe time and time again. There was no threat from this man. And the way he was holding her now, the way he was kissing her—he was very definitely all man.

  And her curves and planes that hadn’t felt sexy for so long reveled in the sweep of his hands on her back and bottom. Lips that hadn’t been touched for so long yielded to the heady force of his kiss. She tasted the unique male contours of his mouth. Brushed her tongue along the warm salt of his skin.

  A fire sparked low in her belly, below her baby’s precious home, filling her with an erotic heat that pulsed between her legs and tingled at the tips of her sensitive breasts.

  Rachel hung on to Josh’s powerful shoulders and gave herself over to the stirring needs in her body and heart. The need to be held. The need to be cherished. The need to feel sexy and pretty and desirable. The need to be all a man could ever want—even if it was just for a few, short, stolen moments in time.

  Chapter Eight

  Josh had died and gone to heaven.

  The sexual hunger that had drawn him to Rachel time and time again, when the world around them kept telling them it was wrong to feel this way, exploded in an embrace that left him hard and shaking.

  He speared his fingers into her hair, soft as the sable it resembled in color, and let the thick tresses tease his palms. Her body was a treasure of abundant curves. And her mouth?

  Soft and supple. Giving and gorgeous. More delicious against his than any fantasy he’d imagined from the second row of her class.

  He’d simply intended to prove his point. To remind her that he was here because he cared. He’d watched her condo for her return because she wasn’t safe. And he desperately wanted her to be safe.

  He’d kissed her to prove that he was a better man than she gave him credit for. Worthy of her trust. Deserving of her notice.

  But this was wild. This was one kiss that was getting out of hand.

  This was the way it should be between a man and a woman.

  He slipped his hands inside her coat, trying to move impossibly closer. The clingy dress she wore hugged every curve, giving his palms a chance to enjoy her sensuous figure—

  Something thrust against his stomach. Something as soft and fleeting as a love pat.

  “Whoa.”

  The unexpected touch startled him, though his throat could barely produce the husky reaction. He tore his mouth from Rachel’s and leaned back. They still clung to each other, linked together, belly to belly.

  Josh looked down and studied the juncture where their two bodies touched. He breathed heavily in and out through his nose and mouth, trying to make sense of what had just happened.

  The flat knit of Rachel’s dress cupped her pregnant belly like a second skin. A moment later, the blue knit moved, stretching outward, then receding—like watching a heart beat.

  “I saw it.” He was awed, and it cooled the heat that fired in his loins and kindled a brand-new fire closer to his heart. “That’s the baby, right?”

  But when he lifted his gaze to Rachel’s face, he could see she didn’t share his excitement. The beautiful flush of pass
ion on her skin, the telltale signs of a man’s possession around her mouth, meant little compared to the flat, impenetrable wall of withdrawal in her eyes.

  She let go of his jacket that had wrinkled in her grasping fingers and pushed back against his hands. “That’s the baby. Anne-Marie Livesay. My baby.”

  Josh released his hold and watched her put a good three feet of touch-me-not distance between them. He shrugged in disbelief, ignoring the pinch of pressure against his sore ribs. “You don’t want anyone else to share in all the cool wonders of bringing a new life into the world?”

  “I don’t want to share anything with you, period.”

  You don’t measure up, Taylor. In his mind he could hear Lieutenant Cutler’s voice, condemning, in much the same tone as Rachel had used. You have to prove to me that you’re your own man. That you’re not just riding along on your family’s history with the department.

  He hadn’t surrendered to Cutler’s challenge without a fight, either. “What just happened here, then?”

  “A mistake.”

  Deep in his gut he knew that was a lie. That no matter what the rules of society said, he and Rachel were dynamite together. Two people didn’t connect on a physical level like that unless there was something deeper that already existed between them.

  But Rachel was determined to deny those feelings. She smoothed her hair where he’d mussed it with his greedy hands, then overlapped the front of her coat. She held it in place by splaying one of her long, expressive hands across her belly. Was she protecting her baby? Or hiding her from his curious gaze?

  Damn, but she was stubborn. “I’m not going to apologize for kissing you.”

  “No, but I’m going to apologize for kissing you.” She reached into her pocket and pulled out her keys, essentially dismissing him by turning her back on him and walking to her door. “That shouldn’t have happened. It won’t happen again.”

  From where he stood, he watched her profile, set in stone and refusing to show any emotion. He watched her trembling hands grow steady as she unlocked the dead bolt and the doorknob.