by Layla Silver
More to the point, she was a client, and pretty soon she’d be carrying someone else’s baby. I was already risking too much. I had to keep my distance for both our sakes.
“This is me,” she said, stopping in front of one of the doors.
I was pleased to see that there were electronic locks instead of an easier-to-break-into key lock.
Gemma turned, tipping her head up to look at me with those huge, beautiful eyes. “I appreciate you bringing me home,” she said softly. My insides went liquid at the low, vulnerable tone of her voice. She bit her lip. “I hope you won’t think I’m a bad candidate for surrogacy after catching me out like this.” She glanced down at herself, her expression twisting in chagrin.
Disapproval flared at the idea she’d judge herself harshly or expect me to. “You’re a beautiful woman, Gemma,” I said without thinking. “You deserve to have a good time when you can.”
She deserved the world, and looking at her now, I knew I wanted to give it to her. I wanted to press her back against the door and kiss her senseless, to take her home with me and offer her everything I had. But she was a client. Utterly and completely off-limits.
Gemma smiled, her face lighting up as if I’d paid her some great compliment instead of simply stating the truth. Then, without warning, she went up on her toes and pressed her lips to mine.
Chapter 8 – Gemma
Caleb was a wall of heat and muscle, and I leaned into him, drawn to the strength of him like a moth to a flame. His lips were soft and dry against mine, and the heady feel of him made my pulse pound in my ears. I wanted his arms around me, wanted more.
He stiffened, his hands closing in a gentle but commanding grip on my elbows.
Horror sluiced through me, icy and slick. I jerked back with a gasp, my head and stomach suddenly spinning like I’d spent too long on a carnival ride. What had I done? What had I been thinking?
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to—” Stumbling a half-step back, I wheeled around, punching my code into the lock with shaking, panicked fingers. He was my doctor. He’d brought me home out of polite duty, and I’d thrown myself at him like some kind of street hooker!
The lock beeped, and the door gave. I stumbled inside, my borrowed heels abruptly feeling precariously high and thin. “I’m sorry,” I babbled again, gripping the door to stay upright. “I won’t do it again. Ever. I swear. I just—I’m sorry.” Reflexively, I half-turned, shoving the door shut as if that could protect me from what I’d just done.
In the second before it closed, I caught a glimpse of Caleb. He stood perfectly still, his stormy eyes darker than I’d ever seen them. Then the door was shut, and I was leaning against it, unable to stay upright on my own, my heaving breaths harsh in my ears. The seconds stretched in a kind of surreal terror, and then I heard him turn and stride away, his steps clipped on the old wood of the hallway floor.
Tears burned the backs of my eyes, and I shoved myself off the door. Stumbling to the small table, I collapsed into a chair and tugged my heels off. Mortified, I suddenly couldn’t bear to wear any of my borrowed fineries. I dragged myself to my feet, pushed the dress’s straps off my shoulders, and left it on the chair. Then I stalked to the bathroom, peeled off my underwear, and started the shower on the hottest setting I could stand. Shivering, I climbed in and huddled under the scalding water, trying not to cry as it pounded away the makeup and hairspray.
Caleb—Dr. Hawthorne—I’d kissed him! What kind of desperate, crazy woman throws herself at a man she barely knows? Much less her doctor! What must he think of me? I knew exactly what he must think, and the idea wrenched a sobbing laugh out of my chest. I’d been dreamily imagining my first kiss for years. I could never have envisioned it would happen like this.
Moaning, I curled a little further in on myself.
It wasn’t supposed to be this way. I’d told myself I’d wait for my mate. It was what they taught us in the commune—to keep ourselves pure and innocent, so we could offer our mates the best of ourselves when we wedded. Or because the Elders liked taking virgin wives.
The ugly thought dragged me partially out of my misery, anger cutting through my humiliation and bringing some strength back. I would never have been in this mess if the damn Elders hadn’t kept us all terrified and pressed under their iron thumbs. Well, they could go straight to hell. I’d had my first kiss on my own terms, and so would my sisters. I’d make sure of it.
And okay, fine, I hadn’t made a great choice, throwing myself at Caleb just now. But even one-sided and agonizingly brief, the kiss had been amazing. I couldn’t regret it, even if I knew it was a mistake. I just couldn’t do it again.
Dr. Hawthorne—I resolved not to let myself think of him in any other way from now on—would understand. He’d said so, hadn’t he? That I was allowed to go out and have fun, and he’d seen me with a drink. He knew I wasn’t quite all together tonight. That was why he’d insisted on bringing me home.
Grabbing the soap, I started to scrub myself ruthlessly. I’d apologized, and I would again at my appointment on Monday. I wouldn’t be able to drink as a surrogate anyway, so nothing like this would ever happen again. I would be completely responsible, like a proper surrogate should. So what if my doctor happened to be the most handsome man alive? I was a grown woman, and I could keep my hands to myself. I would. I had to.
Rinsing off, I shut off the water and stepped out. You cannot screw this up. Everyone is counting on you.
I wobbled a little on my feet as I dried off, and then I crawled into bed without bothering to put on a stitch of clothing. I was asleep before my head hit the pillow.
***
My alarm went off in the darkness. I jerked upright and immediately regretted it. My head was pounding, and my tongue felt parched and furry. What on earth had been in those drinks Viv bought me? I’d only had two—one and a half, really—and I felt like I’d been hit by a truck.
Fumbling my way out of bed, I staggered through the motions of getting ready for my shift at the cafe on auto-pilot. While my body was sluggish, my thoughts were a wild jumble. They bounced erratically, refusing to stay too long on any one thing, and had only just started to settle into some kind of order by the time I let myself out of my apartment and headed for the elevator.
I’ll go to the library after work, I decided as I stepped inside and hit the button for the ground floor. No, the bar first.
I’d formally quit my job at the bar, then go to the library. I needed to get my mind off of Dr. Hawthorne and into the project I was supposed to be occupied with—finding a way to free my family.
Projects, part of my brain corrected as I stepped out of the building. My stomach fluttered nervously at the reminder that I needed to start preparing for a baby, too. Being a surrogate was a job, and it would be my responsibility to grow the healthiest baby I could. I had the agency materials on healthy pregnancies to get me started, but I should check out some books on it, too. Learn as much as I could.
I’d ask that nice librarian at the assistance desk to help me with internet and catalog searches, again. I felt a now-familiar flash of resentment at the Elders as the bus lumbered to a stop in front of me and the doors hissed open. Everyone else my age knew how to use the web like it was their second nature, but internet access had been strictly banned on the compound. I was years behind.
You can learn, I told myself unrelentingly as I dropped into a seat. You can, and you have to. And just maybe, if I was exceptionally lucky, all of that would be enough to keep my body and brain too busy to think longing, absolutely unacceptable thoughts about the delicious Dr. Hawthorne.
Chapter 9 – Caleb
I stared at the computer screen. Gemma’s name stared back.
No amount of quiet but concerted effort on my part had been enough to get her reassigned to another physician. With Dr. Niels out, everyone’s caseloads were heavier than usual, and there simply wasn’t room for anyone to take Gemma off my hands. Granted, I was entirely sure tha
t if I told Dr. Carlton about the outrageously hot sex Gemma and I had had in my dreams for the last three nights, she’d promptly find a way to fit Ms. Stone into her docket.
Unfortunately, she’d also probably fire me. I wanted this job, and I strongly suspected Gemma needed her position as a surrogate, so the fact that I couldn’t stop remembering how she’d kissed me or keep my rebellious brain from imagining in graphic detail how beautiful she’d be carrying my baby instead of someone else’s had to remain my secret problem. Ugh.
Scrubbing my face with my hands, I leaned back in my chair and tried to pull myself together. I was a professional, and I was damn good at my work. More than that, I truly couldn’t shake the belief that Gemma was meant to be my mate. If she was, she needed my protection and, in this case, that meant protecting her ability to get her feet under her by keeping my distance. Doing anything else would mean ruining both our lives, and I couldn’t do that to her.
I simply had to find a way to keep it together.
Gemma appeared at my door at eleven sharp, once again wearing her purple girl-next-door dress and only the faintest touch of cosmetics. Everything about her screamed nervousness so clearly it hurt. I never wanted to make clients nervous, and knowing I was a source of anxiety for my mate was akin to being stabbed.
“I’m sorry. About Friday,” she blurted before I could say anything. She twisted her hands together in her lap anxiously. “It was terribly out of line, and I can’t imagine what I was thinking. I hope—I hope it won’t … change anything.” She darted a glance at my face, her eyes huge with worry. “It won’t happen again, I swear.”
The invisible knife in my chest twisted. I knew she was saying all the right things and that for both our sakes, I had to back them up. But I hated the idea that she might genuinely regret our kiss.
Be a good mate, I told myself, bracing against the pain of what I had to say. Be what she needs from you.
Pulling up the best gentle smile I could muster, I forcibly injected mild humor I didn’t feel into my tone. “We’ve all done impulsive things with a drink or two under our belts. No harm done.”
None to our professional relationship, at least. My heart might never recover, but that was my problem, not hers.
Gemma looked somewhat relieved but still anxious. Her worry crawled under my skin like biting insects, and I abruptly switched topics, desperate to take her mind off the matter.
“You got all the paperwork we sent?”
“Yes.” She seemed to collect herself at that and sat up a little straighter. “I gave it all to Victoria.”
“Excellent.” Falling back onto my clinical persona, I pulled a report out of her folder and turned the paper around. I slid it across the desk so she could read it. “All the blood tests came back, and you’ve got a pretty rare blood type.” It was the same as mine, actually, which had not helped my efforts to stop fantasizing about her carrying my baby, but I kept that to myself.
“Is that bad?” she asked, her brow furrowing as she leaned closer to skim the page.
“No,” I clarified, quickly, kicking myself for having been unclear. “It means there’s a smaller group of shifters that we can pair you with than we could’ve if you had a different blood type, but we’ve got such a diverse client base that it won’t be any problem.”
“Oh, good.”
Trying not to notice the way her dress subtly clung to her curves when she leaned back, I tucked the first report away and pulled out another sheet. “It looks like you’ve agreed to a closed process, is that right?”
“That’s where the father and I never meet, right?” She tilted her head inquisitively.
“Right. The father or parents—you might surrogate for a couple in which the female can’t donate genetic material, but her male partner can—will be able to follow your progress via the online system, but you’ll never have any direct communication with them. They’ll be called in when you go into labor, and the baby will go directly to them.”
The discussion evolved from there into me detailing the next steps, setting her follow-up appointments, and giving her an introduction to the online system. By the time she left, she seemed a little overwhelmed. I wasn’t much better.
But where her overwhelm stemmed from the system and the reality that she had an actual date for the day she’d conceive, mine came wholly from having her so close.
The fact that her regular clothes hid considerably more skin than the glamorous, barely-there ensemble she’d sported on Friday did nothing to dampen my awareness of her. Without the fancy trappings, she looked sweet and vulnerable. It was an alluring dichotomy, and it only made my aching desire to touch her deepen. I wanted all of her. The golden goddess and the weekday sweetness. Knowing I could have neither was torture.
Fortunately, Gemma had been my last appointment before lunch. I had an hour to get out of the office and clear my head before I saw my next patients. Closing up my office, I schemed new ways in which I might discretely manage to foist Gemma’s case off on Dr. Carlton as I headed down the hall. I had to figure out something. If I was struggling this much before the surrogacy even started, watching my mate carry someone else’s baby for nine months might just kill me.
The sunshine that greeted me when I stepped outside was welcome, and I let it soak into me as I turned toward where I’d parked my SUV. I was going to indulge in something hearty and maybe stupidly unhealthy for lunch, I decided. A reward to myself for doing the right thing with Gemma.
It was peak lunch hour, but I knew of a food truck in one of the plazas not far away that would fit the bill. It was what Chas called “a sleeper.” Not too many people had discovered it yet, but its steak wraps were to die for. I could grab one and eat it next door in the little park that abutted the plaza. There might even be time for a short, brisk walk around the park’s miniature lake. Hopefully, the combination of food and exercise would be enough to get my head back on straight.
“Caleb!”
The sound of my name had me turning automatically, even as I registered whose voice it was. Irritation flashed through me, and ice balled in my stomach. Great. “Portia.”
She flashed me a bright smile, her perfect teeth a gleaming white behind her red lipstick. “You haven’t stopped by the lab since you started,” she pouted coyly. “I thought I’d get to see you.”
“Dr. Niels is out,” I reminded her, brusquely. “Everybody on the ground floor has had their hands full.”
I could tell it wasn’t the answer she wanted, but I’d long since grown out of being amused by her machinations.
“Mmm, that’s true,” she agreed, tapping a manicured fingernail against her lip. “I’m sure it’s stressful.” Her eyes narrowed calculatingly. “We could go out for drinks, maybe,” she wheedled. “Catch up. It’s been a long time.”
The offer would never have held any appeal, but coming so close on the heels of Gemma’s sweetness, it was all the more unpalatable.
“This isn’t school,” I told her sharply, shaking my head with a hard frown. “It’s the real world, Portia. I worked too hard to get here to risk my reputation by dating a coworker.”
A muscle in her jaw twitched with fury at the rejection, but she’d never admit I’d struck a blow. Instead, she propped a hand on her hip and feigned disinterest. “I was just being friendly. But fine.” She waved a hand dismissively. “Go on, get out of here. We wouldn’t want anyone misinterpreting things and besmirching your precious reputation.”
I ignored the insult and did exactly that, turning on my heel and striding away. I may not have been able to have the woman I wanted, but I sure as hell wasn’t wasting my time on anything less now that I’d found her.
Chapter 10 – Gemma
I was pregnant. Really, truly pregnant. With a baby. I felt bizarrely conspicuous as if somehow it would be obvious to everyone.
It wasn’t, of course. The baby was almost unbelievably tiny, impossible to feel or sense to anyone besides me. Even I couldn’t feel it, re
ally. Just the hormones that now rushed through my body, making the entire world feel different. Brighter. Sharper.
It wasn’t just the hormones that left me feeling floaty and a little off-balance, either. I had money in my pocket. The first surrogacy payment had come through at the same time I got my one and only paycheck from the bar and the backpay adjustment from the cafe. My rent was paid, and just a few hours ago, I’d been able to do some proper grocery shopping. My fridge and cupboards were stocked with fresh, healthy food, the kind I needed to be eating for the baby.
For the first time since fleeing the compound, I could breathe easily, finally free of the gnawing, creeping fear of losing everything.
Thank you, I thought fervently at the baby. Thank you for making this possible.
It was strange, talking to the baby. It couldn’t hear me, obviously, but talking to it made me feel better. Like we were in this adventure together. It didn’t feel like mine, even though it was made from my eggs, was growing inside my body, nourished by my blood. It felt like a gift. A treasure entrusted to me for just a little while.
I’ll take care of you, I’d promised it last night when I carried a stack of library books back to the apartment. I’d read them all and be the best surrogate I could. This morning, while shopping, I’d splurged on two brand new notebooks. One to journal through my pregnancy, the other to make plans for freeing my family. It seemed right to buy them at the same time, both projects indelibly intertwined.
The bus went over a bump, jolting me from my thoughts. It was slowing, and I got to my feet, gripping the overhead bar and heading toward the door. Jennifer, the kind librarian who had helped me find baby books, had recommended Willowby State Park when I’d mentioned wanting to find somewhere to go walking.