Getty, after all that work the last dozen years, was ready to have a life for herself outside of the office. At thirty-five, she wasn’t exactly getting any younger, and she hadn’t had a serious boyfriend in years. She wanted a family, wanted to be a mother. She didn’t have time to meet the perfect man and fall in love, so she was going to go it alone. Her mom and dad supported her and would be there to help her when she did need to travel. Her appointment next week had been set at the fertility clinic for three months. Next week, she’d start the search for a competent sales exec, and begin easing herself out of that part of the business.
“Earth to Getty,” Stacey intoned in her already deep alto voice. “You just passed the diner.”
“Shit. I’m sorry.” She frowned, looking for a spot to parallel park her BMW. “Lost in thought.”
“About the guy?”
“No, just stuff. Personal stuff. Let’s go have some lardy pie.” She flashed a grin as she put the car in park.
* * * *
Eric and his friend were already there, sitting at a large round booth. Smiling politely, Getty slid in next to Eric. His eyes were blue, she noticed, something that hadn’t been very clear in the club, but here in the well-lit diner they were startling. His brown hair was just a touch too long, just enough to make her fingers itch to touch it. When he’d kissed her in the club, she hadn’t been able to resist burying her hands in it, so she knew it would be soft to the touch.
“Hello again.” He smiled back at her and his eyes melted something in her.
Stacey was already practically in Skip’s lap, and Anna slid in next to Getty, disdain clear on her face as she glanced across at Stacey.
A waitress approached and took their order, leaving a carafe of coffee on the table. True to his word, Eric ordered pie—apple—and talked Getty into sharing it with him. Anna picked at a plate of french fries next to them. The conversation was light, and he made her laugh—a lot. Almost uncharacteristically so. Skip was funny too, and she found herself opening up to their banter. They’d talked about the dance club and popular music, steering clear of personal subjects until—
“So, Getty, you said you travel a lot for business? What do you do?” Eric’s intense eyes focused in on her.
“She makes sure I don’t starve.” Anna smiled for the first time that evening.
“Anna is a fashion designer. When we finished college, she wanted to start a clothing line. I sold the car my parents gave me for graduation to bankroll it. Now she’s writing her own ticket and I’ve made back my investment many times over.”
“Wow. That’s a pretty intense thing to do for a friend.” Eric seemed both suspicious and admiring. The look on his face put Getty immediately on the defensive. Her cheeks heated in indignation. What is it about people that makes them think they can judge Anna like that? Why did nobody ever understand that what she and Anna had was a partnership? She might own the company, but Anna was the one whose designs she was selling day in and day out.
“Without Anna, I’d have nothing,” she said. “I believed in her then and I believe in her now.” She smiled at her friend. “Everyone should have an Anna in their life.”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to imply that your business was one-sided. My apologies, Anna.” The look of contrition on Eric’s face was clear. Getty felt herself softening a bit. Time to change the subject.
“So what do you do?” She asked.
“I’m, um. I’m a doctor.” He looked uncomfortable for a moment.
Skip laughed. “Dude, for a guy who likes Dr. Who as much as you do, you need to take some cues from David Tennant on how to deliver that line.”
“Well, I’m not the Doctor, I’m a doctor.” Eric looked even more uncomfortable now.
“What specialty?” Getty asked.
“I’m a reproductive endocrinologist. I help people get pregnant.”
And just like that, Getty felt the warmth leave her face and tumble into her gut like last weeks’ garbage going from the curbie to the truck. She couldn’t be sitting here, flirting with a man, when she knew full well there was a possibility she’d be knocked up within the next month. Even knowing it was just a flirtation, knowing it couldn’t be more, was almost like cheating on her plans. Selfishly, she wished she could have held on to the illusion for a few more moments.
“Getty, are you okay?” Concern tugged his brows together.
“You know, I’m not feeling so hot. If you all will excuse me, I should go.” She fumbled with her keys, trying to pass them to Anna, who was looking at her as if she had three heads. “Here, you guys take my car, I’ll call a cab.”
“I’ll go with you,” Anna said. “Make sure you’re okay.” The look she gave Getty brooked no argument.
“I’ll give Stace a ride home, or call her a cab, whatever she prefers,” Skip murmured from somewhere in the neighborhood of Stacey’s neck.
“Wait a minute.” Eric jumped to his feet. “Just like that?” His expression was wounded.
“I—I’m sorry. It was really nice to meet you. I enjoyed the dance.” Getty forced herself to smile politely, though it felt more like a grimace. She couldn’t look at those gorgeous blue eyes. “Sorry,” she mumbled.
From the street, she looked over her shoulder once to see Eric still standing behind the table, eyes following her, his face looking like someone had just told him his dog had died. Getty knew exactly how he felt, only worse because it was her secret that was nipping this particular bud before it could bloom.
Chapter 3
“So, tell me about this girl you met Friday night,” Eric’s twin sister called from the kitchen. He was lying on his stomach putting together puzzles with his niece. He frowned, pretending he didn’t hear her.
“Yeah, Ewic. Tell.” The four-year-old looked at him, blue eyes serious.
“Erica, did you put her up to this?” he bellowed. Erica came out of the kitchen with a tall glass of ice water, which she handed to him before settling into a chair.
“Nossie is in a stage.” She raised an eyebrow. “So, c’mon, tell me.”
He maneuvered himself into a sitting position and looked at his sister, trying to decide how much to tell. To be perfectly honest, he couldn’t get Getty out of his mind. The way she’d been so hot on the dance floor, and then she just sort of froze up and took off on him when she found out what he did for a living. Sure there was some controversy surrounding fertility treatments, but he wasn’t ashamed of what he did. And she didn’t strike him as the type to get all religiously conflicted about helping people get pregnant.
“It’s nothing,” he answered finally.
“That look on your face isn’t nothing, Bub,” Erica said.
“Okay, she’s fu—freakin’—amazing-looking.” He blushed as he changed the word at the last moment, remembering his niece on the floor next to him. “She’s blonde, and tall, and she can really, really dance. I kissed her on the dance floor and it was beyond hot, but later, over coffee … she freaked out, and she left me with a half a plate of pie and no appetite.”
“Weird.” Erica looked at him in that intense way that made him feel like she was trying to read his mind. “Skip seems to think she really liked you. He says her friend said she was into you.”
“Why are you talking to Skip?” Eric looked sharply at his sister.
“I just wanted to know if he’d heard anything.” She fell silent, looking at Nossie. Eric didn’t need to ask, he could hear the pain in his sister’s voice.
Erica’s husband, Odie, had been missing for over a year. He’d been traveling in South America doing research for some art project, and he’d just stopped calling her. His phone went straight to voicemail at first, and then nothing. Fearing kidnapping, they’d expected a call from someone wanting ransom, but that call had never come. He’d just disappeared.
Skip was the one who had taken time off to go looking for him. He and Odie had been close friends, and Erica couldn’t get a passport for Nossie that quickly. He
’d found nothing, and the government now had him listed as “missing, presumed dead,” but Erica hadn’t given up hope that someone would see the posters and call Skip.
“Erica…” Words clogged in his throat as he watched a tear catch the sunlight streaming in the window and turn golden as it fell into her lap. “I’m sorry.”
“I just wish he were here.” She sighed. “Nossie needs him. I need him.”
“I know.” He reached for his sister and she let him hug her for a moment.
“But we’re here to talk about you.” She pushed him back, swiping at her eyes. “And the girl with the weird name.”
“Getty.” He supplied the name, moving to sit on the couch. If he was going to be interrogated, he might as well get comfortable.
“Getty. So what did you say to Getty that made her get up and leave?”
“Nothing! Well, I think I sort of insulted—unintentionally, mind you—her business partner, then we changed the subject and I told her that I’m an RE, and she freaked and left, said she wasn’t feeling well. I never would have pegged a girl who rubs her ass on a guy she just met for one of those people who thinks fertility treatments are evil.”
“Language, Eric.” His sister shot a glance at Nossie.
“Sorry.”
“Maybe it was the mention of pregnancy that wigged her out. Some people just can’t deal with that stuff as casual conversation. Or maybe she really did feel sick. Who knows.”
“Yeah, well, that ship has sailed. Back to spending my Friday evenings with Lucky and the Doctor, cultivating a few Rose Tyler fantasies.”
“I never imagined we’d be like this in our thirties, Bub.” Erica sighed. “Alone. Me a single mom. You a divorcé. It’s not how we planned things to go, is it?”
“Well, you do live next door, so we got that part right.” He grinned. “And Nossie is awesome.”
“Les I am.” The cherub on the floor smiled at him.
“Les you are.” Erica scooped her daughter into her arms for a kiss.
Chapter 4
Getty lay on her back, feet in the stirrups, the paper hospital gown crinkling around her. Her tests had all been normal, careful ultrasounds of her ovaries had shown she was approaching ovulation. They’d decided on intra-uterine insemination, a process that would inject the donor’s sperm through a catheter, directly into her uterus, from there to hopefully fertilize an egg and get her pregnant.
She shook with nerves. She hadn’t seen the doctor who was on the schedule this morning, didn’t know him. She felt vulnerable, something that was not like her. Give her a conference room full of corporate buyers and she was confident, self-assured. But lying here, wrapped in paper, waiting for a stranger to impregnate her, all that confidence disappeared.
“Gerd Gymirsdottir?” A sharp knock on the door behind her as it opened. She looked back over her shoulder and her face flooded in horror.
Dr. Freyr was Dr. Eric Freyr, the brown-haired, blue-eyed sex-on-a-stick she’d danced with just three weeks before. A nurse trailed in behind him.
“I told you a nickname was necessary for survival.” If it was possible, she blushed even more as she said it.
“Getty?” His voice was incredulous. “What on earth are you doing here?”
She swallowed. “I’m sure any information you need is in my chart.”
“Yeah. I’m sure it is.” He nearly spit the words out as he shut the door. The nurse gave him a questioning look. “Forgive me. I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you were a patient here. Would you like me to ask one of the other docs on rotation today to do your insemination?” Blue eyes met hers, full of questions. She didn’t owe him any answers.
She shook her head. “No, you can do it.” She turned to the nurse. “Dr. Freyr and I are acquainted socially.” She wasn’t embarrassed. She wanted a baby. She didn’t have—or want, she reminded herself—a man in her life. This was how single women got pregnant without sex. He of all people should understand that.
He sat on the stool, brought the paperwork over. She was vaguely aware he was sitting between her legs as he handed her the pen and the chart.
“This signature line is for your consent to the IUI procedure. The one below is your acknowledgment that we are using anonymous donor sperm.” His voice was cold and professional, but her response to it wasn’t. It brought back memories of the dance floor and she felt her breasts harden under the hospital gown, her nipples tingling.
She quickly signed the forms and handed them back. She lay back down as the nurse prepared the catheter and Eric—Dr. Freyr—put on the gloves. Some twisted little imp in her brain wanted to tell him to leave them off and she stifled a giggle. Hysterics. She was on the edge of hysterics. She closed her eyes tightly and counted to three, trying to quiet her nerves.
“Getty, I’m going to insert the speculum now, it will be easier if you relax.” She looked down to where his face was framed between her knees, and she let out the breath she didn’t realize she was holding. His expression had softened. He gave her a half smile as he held up the metal instrument.
She took another deep breath and looked back at the ceiling, trying not to think about what he was doing, though the feel of his sleeves brushing her thighs and his gloved hands on her skin broke through the little barrier she’d tried to throw up in her brain.
“And the catheter—this might feel odd, almost like a pinching feeling as it goes through the cervix.” He warned.
She winced. It didn’t hurt, but here she lay, her legs spread, his hands inside her, and it was the most coldly clinical moment of her life. Certainly not how she’d ever imagined conceiving a baby. She swallowed against the tide of emotions rolling over her as she felt first the catheter, then the speculum being removed. Eric freed her feet from the stirrups, gently lowering them.
“Just lay here and relax for a bit, okay?” His voice was quiet and soothing. “You did great. I’m going to ask to have a couple of minutes of office time added to your visit today—you won’t be charged for it—I’d like to talk to you.”
“I really don’t think that’s necessary, Dr. Freyr.” She kept her voice cold. Who did he think he was to want to “talk” to her about her life decisions? He was just a guy she danced with, a guy she let kiss her in a moment of weakness. He wasn’t even her doctor.
“Getty…”
“No.” She closed her eyes.
“Fine. Just stay here and relax for a few minutes before you leave, okay? There’s no hard proof that it helps, but it certainly can’t hurt. Two weeks from today, if you haven’t started menstruating, you should take a pregnancy test. If it’s positive, call us and we’ll get you in same-day for a blood draw.”
She nodded, eyes still closed, heart pounding in her chest.
“Getty.” Something in his voice, something warm and melty, made her open her eyes, turn to look at him.
“Good luck.” He smiled one shining, beautiful smile before he disappeared through the door, his nurse trailing after him.
Chapter 5
“Skip, did you know Getty was a patient here when you hit on Stacey?” Eric cornered his friend in the break room.
Skip’s face got weird, evasive. “No,” he said finally, looking at Eric.
“Are you sure? You didn’t recognize her?”
“Dude, look at her chart. Look at the date on her new patient paperwork. She came in for the first time the week after I met Stace—who doesn’t know about this by the way, if that’s your next question.”
“I see you did the ultrasound four days ago, you must have recognized her.”
“Yes.”
“And you didn’t think to mention?”
“Eric … I love you like a brother. You and Erica and Odie have been my best friends since college. But I feel weird talking about a patient like this.” Skip shrugged and walked away.
Eric buried his hands in his hair—shaking. His gut kept clenching at the shock he’d felt when he walked into that room and saw her lying on the ta
ble. A jolt of attraction had sliced through him, followed by all those questions—questions he knew damn well he had no right to ask. A very small, very primitive part of him had wanted to tell her he could think of a preferable way to get her pregnant.
Right, like he could have said one of the million things that popped into his mind with a nurse in the room? No way. Even thinking them, he was ashamed of himself. He had spent the last weeks thinking about Getty almost non-stop, but she was the last person on earth he wanted to see in his clinic.
The gut-curling, cock-hardening, oh hell, just once, just-let-me-get-her-out-of-my-system kind of lust that raced through him when he thought about her showed no sign of abating. She was his own private temptation incarnate, and she was now irrevocably off limits.
To say he didn’t sleep that night would be an understatement. He tried, God knows he tried. He tossed and turned in his great big empty bed, in his sterile, empty house, torn between hoping Getty’s insemination worked so he’d never see her again, and hoping it didn’t so he’d have an excuse to see her again.
And the more he thought about Getty and insemination and babies and pregnancy, the more confused he got. Not to mention the raging hard-on he’d been sporting seemingly non-stop since the night he’d danced with her. That’s what he got for missing his date with Dr. Who: an inappropriate obsession with an unattainable woman.
And now he had the entirely inappropriate knowledge of how smooth the skin on her inner thighs was, how perfect and pink her pussy was, that she was blonde everywhere. As if he needed those sights and smells to collide with his memory of one sweet strawberry-lip-gloss-scented kiss in a dark dance club. He groaned into his pillow, reaching for his dick and a hurried, fantasy-driven release as his only hope for sleep.
Two in Winter Page 2