After only a moment’s hesitation, Simmons took the card. “Let me get you the address, Dr. Wyatt.”
About damn time.
Three
Jeannie all but collapsed onto the concrete step in front of Nicole’s house, too numb to even weep.
No, that was wrong. This was her house now.
Nicole was dead.
And since there were no other living family members, Jeannie had inherited what Nicole had owned. Including their childhood home.
Everything left was hers now. The sensible used family sedan. The huge past-due bills to fertility clinics. The cost of burying her sister.
The baby.
It was too much.
Death was bad enough because it had taken Nicole, leaving Jeannie with nothing but wispy memories of a happy family. But who knew dying was so complicated? And expensive? Who knew unraveling a life would involve so much damned paperwork?
That didn’t even account for Melissa. That baby girl was days old. It wasn’t right that she would never know her mother. It wasn’t right that the family Nicole had wanted for so long...
Jeannie scrubbed at her face. It wasn’t Melissa’s fault that delivery had been complicated or that Nicole had developed a blood clot that had gone undiagnosed until it was too late. Dimly, Jeannie knew she needed to sue the hospital. This wasn’t the 1800s. Women weren’t supposed to die giving birth. But Jeannie couldn’t face the prospect of more paperwork, of more responsibilities. She could barely face the next ten minutes.
She looked up at the sky, hoping to find a star to guide her. One little twinkling bit of hope. But this was Chicago. The city’s light pollution was brighter than any star, and all that was left was a blank sky with a reddish haze coloring everything. Including her world.
She was supposed to be at work. She was supposed to be fixing the perfect Manhattan for the perfect Dr. Robert Wyatt, the man whose tipping habits had made her feel financially secure for the first time in her life. A hundred bucks a night, five nights a week, for almost three years—Dr. Robert Wyatt had single-handedly given Jeannie the room to breathe. To dream of her own place, her own rules...
Of course, now that she had an infant to care for and a mortgage and bills to settle, she couldn’t breathe. She’d be lucky if her job at Trenton’s was still there when she was able to go back. If she would be able to go back. Julian might hold her job for another week or so, but Jeannie knew he wouldn’t hold it for two months. Because after an initial search of newborn childcare in Chicago, she knew that was what she’d need. Jeannie had found only day care that accepted six-week-old babies, but the price was so far out of reach that all she’d been able to do was laugh and close the browser. If she wanted childcare before Melissa was two months old, she needed a lot of money. And that was something she simply didn’t have. Even if she sued the hospital, put the house on the market, sold the family sedan—it still wouldn’t be enough fast enough.
Even though there were no stars to see, she stared hard at that red sky. This time she caught a flicker of light high overhead. It was probably just an airplane, but she couldn’t risk it. She closed her eyes and whispered to herself, “Star light, star bright, grant me the wish I wish tonight.”
She couldn’t wish Nicole back. She couldn’t undo any of the loss or the pain that had marked Jeannie’s life so far. Looking back was a trap, one she couldn’t get stuck in. She had no choice but to keep moving forward.
“I need help,” she whispered.
Financial assistance, baby help, emotional support—you name it, she needed it.
There was a moment of blissful silence—no horns honking in the distance, no neighbors shouting, not even the roar of an airplane overhead.
But if Jeannie was hoping for an answer to her prayers, she didn’t get it because that was when the small sound of Melissa starting to cry broke the quiet.
Sucking in a ragged breath, Jeannie dropped her head into her hands. She needed just a few more seconds to think but...
The baby didn’t sleep.
Was that because Jeannie wasn’t Nicole? Or was Melissa sick? Could Jeannie risk the cost of taking Melissa to the emergency room? Or...there was a pediatrician who’d stopped at the hospital before Melissa was discharged. But it was almost ten at night. If anyone answered the phone, they’d probably tell her to head to the ER.
The only person she knew who knew anything at all about small children was Dr. Wyatt, but it wasn’t like she could ask him for advice about a fussy newborn. He was a surgeon, not a baby whisperer.
Jeannie had helped organize a shower for Nicole with some of Nicole’s teacher friends and she had picked out some cute onesies. That was the sum total of Jeannie’s knowledge about newborns. She wasn’t sure she was even doing diapers right.
“Please,” she whispered as Melissa’s cries grew more agitated, although she knew there would be no salvation. All she could do was what she had always done—one foot in front of the other.
Jeannie couldn’t fail that baby girl or her sister. But more than that, she couldn’t give up on this family. She and Nicole had just started again. It felt particularly cruel to have that stolen so soon.
A car door slammed close enough that Jeannie glanced up. And looked again. A long black limo was blocking traffic in the middle of the street directly in front of the house. A short man wearing a uniform, complete with a matching hat, was opening the back door. He stood to the side and a man emerged from the back seat.
Not just any man.
Oh, God, Dr. Robert Wyatt was here. Her best, favorite customer. All she could do was gape as his long legs closed the distance between them.
“Are you all right?” he demanded, coming to a halt in front of her.
She had to lean so far back to stare at him that she almost lost her balance. He blocked out the night sky and her whole world narrowed to just him.
Yeah, she was a little unbalanced right now. “What are you doing here?”
Because he couldn’t be here. She looked like hell warmed over twice, and the shirt she was wearing had stains that she didn’t want to think about and she was a wreck.
He couldn’t be here.
He was.
He stared at her with an intensity that had taken her months to get used to. “Are you all right?”
It wasn’t a question. It was an order.
Jeannie scrambled to her feet. Even looking him in the eye, it still felt like he loomed over her. “I’m fine,” she lied because what was she supposed to say?
She liked him as a customer. He was a gorgeous man, a great tipper—and he had never made her feel uncomfortable or objectified. Aside from that phantom touch of his hand brushing against hers—which could’ve been entirely accidental—they’d never done anything together beyond devise the perfect Manhattan. That was it.
And now he’d followed her to Nicole’s house.
The man standing in front of her looked like he would take on the world if she asked him to.
His brow furrowed. “If everything’s fine, why aren’t you at work?”
“Is that why you’re here?”
“You promised you’d be back today and you weren’t. Tell me what’s wrong so I can fix it.”
She blinked. Had she actually wished upon a star? One with magical wish-granting powers?
“You can’t fix this.” It didn’t matter how brilliant a surgeon he was, he couldn’t help Nicole. No one could.
“Yes, I can,” he growled.
He growled! At her! Then he climbed the first step. “I need you to be there, Jeannie.” He took another step up, another step closer to her. “I need...”
“Robert.” Without thinking, she put her hand on his chest because she couldn’t let him get any closer.
She felt his muscles tense under her palm. It was a mistake, touching him. That phan
tom contact a week ago in the bar? The little sparks she’d felt then were nothing compared to the electricity that arced between them now. He was hot to the touch and everything had gone to hell, but he was here.
He’d come for her.
He looked down to where she was touching him and she followed his gaze. He wasn’t wearing a tie, which was odd. He always wore one. She stared at the little triangle of skin revealed by his unbuttoned collar.
Then his fingertips were against her cheek and she gasped, a shiver racing down her back. “Jeannie,” he whispered, lifting her chin until she had no choice but to look him in the eye. His eyes, normally so icy, were warm and promised wonderful things. His head began to dip. “I need...”
He was going to kiss her. He was going to press his perfect mouth against hers and she was going to let him because she could get lost in this man.
Just as she felt his warmth against her lips, Melissa’s cries intruded into the silence that surrounded them.
“Oh! The baby!” Jeannie hurried into the house.
“The baby?” he called after her.
How much time had passed since Robert had emerged from the back of that sleek limo? Could have been seconds but it could’ve just as easily been minutes. Minutes where she’d left Melissa alone.
By the time she got back to the baby’s room, Melissa was red in the face, her little body rigid, her arms waving. Was that normal? Or was Melissa in pain? Or...
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Jeannie said as she nervously picked the baby up, trying to support her head like the nurse had shown her. She was pretty sure she wasn’t doing it right because Melissa cried harder. “Oh, honey, I’m so sorry.” Sorry Nicole wasn’t here, sorry Jeannie couldn’t figure out the problem, much less how to fix it. “What’s wrong, sweetie?” As if the baby could tell her.
Melissa howled and Jeannie couldn’t stop her own tears. She couldn’t bear the thought of losing this last part of her family.
“Here,” a deep voice said as the baby was plucked out of Jeannie’s arms. “Let me.”
She blinked a few times, but in her current state of exhaustion what she saw didn’t make a lot of sense.
Dr. Robert Wyatt, one of the Top Five Billionaire Bachelors of Chicago, a man so remote and icy it’d taken Jeannie years to get comfortable with his intense silences—that man was laying Melissa out on the changing pad, saying, “What seems to be the problem?” as if the baby could tell him.
“What...” Jeannie blinked again but the image didn’t change. “What are you doing?”
Instead of answering, Robert pulled out his cell. “Reginald? Bring my kit in.”
“Your kit?”
He didn’t explain. “How old is this infant? Eight days?”
She wasn’t even surprised he hadn’t answered her question, much less come within a day of guessing Melissa’s age. “Nine. Nicole, my sister, went into labor right after I last saw you.” She tried to say the rest of it but suddenly she couldn’t breathe.
Robert made a gentle humming noise. The baby blinked up at him in confusion, a momentary break in her crying. “What was her Apgar score?”
“Her what?”
Who the hell was this man? The Dr. Wyatt she knew didn’t make gentle humming noises that calmed babies. There was nothing gentle about him!
Robert had Melissa down to her diaper. The poor baby began to wail again. He made a tsking noise. “Where is the mother?”
Jeannie choked on a sob. “She’s...” No, that wasn’t right. Present tense no longer applied to Nicole. “She developed blood clots and...”
Robert’s back stiffened. “The father?”
“Sperm donor.”
He made that humming noise again. Just then the doorbell rang and Melissa howled all the louder and Jeannie wanted to burrow into Robert’s arms and pretend the last week had been a horrible dream. But she didn’t get the chance because he said, “My kit—can you bring it to me, please?”
“Sure?” When Jeannie opened the door, the man from the car was there. “Reginald?”
“Miss.” He tipped his hat with one hand. With the other, he hefted an absolutely enormous duffel bag. “Shall I bring this to Dr. Wyatt?”
“I’ll take it. Thank you.”
“Babies cry, miss,” he said gently as he handed over the bag. “The good doctor will make sure nothing’s wrong. Don’t worry—it gets easier.”
The kind words from an older man who looked like he might have dealt with crying babies a few times in his life felt like a balm on her soul.
“Thank you,” Jeannie said and she meant it.
Reginald tipped his hat.
It took both hands, but she managed to lug the kit back to the baby’s room. Melissa was still screaming. Probably because Robert was pinching the skin on her arms. “What are you doing?” Jeannie demanded.
“She’s got good skin elasticity and her lungs are in great shape.” He sounded calm and reasonable. “Ah, the kit. Come,” he said, motioning right next to him. “Tell me everything.”
Jeannie did as she was told, putting her hand on Melissa’s little belly as Robert dug into the duffel. “She hasn’t stopped crying since I brought her home two days ago. Nicole never even left the hospital. I don’t know anything about babies.”
“Clearly.” She couldn’t even be insulted by that. “Which hospital? Who were the doctors?” He came up with a stethoscope and one of those tiny little lights.
Oh. His kit must be an emergency medical bag. “Uh, Covenant. Her OB was some old guy named Preston, I think? I don’t remember who the pediatrician is.” She realized that, at some point, Robert had shed his suit jacket and had rolled up his sleeves. He still had on his vest but there was something so undone about him right now...
He’d almost kissed her. And she’d almost let him. The man who didn’t like to be touched, didn’t show emotion—she’d touched him and he’d come within a breath of kissing her.
Even stranger, he was now touching—gently—Melissa.
This just didn’t make sense. Robert didn’t like touching people. Simple as that.
What exactly had she wished upon? No ordinary star had this kind of power behind it.
Robert listened to Melissa’s chest and then peered into her mouth and ears before pressing on her stomach.
With a heartbreaking scream, the baby tooted.
“Oh, my gosh. I’m so sorry,” Jeannie blurted out.
“As I expected,” Robert said, seemingly unbothered by the small mess left in the diaper that was thankfully still under Melissa’s bottom. He listened to her stomach. “Hmm.”
“What does that mean?” Dimly, Jeannie was aware that this was the longest conversation she’d ever had with him.
“When was the last time you fed her?”
“Uh, about forty-five minutes ago. She drank about two ounces.” That, at least, she could measure. She’d watched a few YouTube videos on how to feed a baby. Thank God for the internet.
Wait—when had she started thinking of him as Robert? Except for that one time, she hadn’t allowed herself to use his given name at Trenton’s because that implied a level of familiarity they didn’t have.
Or at least, a level they hadn’t had before he’d shown up on her doorstep to make an accidental house call. Or before she’d touched his chest and he’d caressed her cheek and who could forget that near-kiss?
Robert it was, apparently.
“What are you feeding her?”
“The hospital sent home some formula...” She couldn’t even remember the brand right now.
“Get it.”
She hurried to the kitchen and grabbed the can and the bottle she hadn’t had the chance to empty and clean yet. By the time she got back to the baby’s room, Robert had apparently diapered and dressed the baby and was wrapping her in a blanket so th
at only her head was visible.
“This is called swaddling,” he explained as, almost by magic, Melissa stopped screaming. “Newborns are used to being in the womb—not a lot of room to move, it’s warm and they can hear their mother’s heartbeat.”
Embarrassment swamped her. “I thought... I didn’t want her to get too hot.”
“You can swaddle her in just a diaper—but keep her wrapped up. She’ll be happier.” He scooped the baby burrito into his arms and turned to Jeannie, casting a critical eye over her.
“Where did you learn how to do that?”
“Do what?”
She waved in his general direction. “Change a diaper. Swaddle a baby. Where did you learn how to take care of a baby?”
He notched an eyebrow at her and, in response, her cheeks got hot. “It’s not complicated. Now, some babies have what we call a fourth trimester—they need another three months of that closeness and warmth before they’re comfortable. Hold her on your chest as much as you can right now. She doesn’t need to cry it out.” His lips curved into that barely there smile. “No matter what the internet says.”
She blushed. Hard.
He tucked Melissa against his chest as if it was the easiest thing in the world. He didn’t seem the least bit concerned about how to support her head or that he might accidentally drop her or any of the worries that haunted Jeannie. Nor did he seem worried in the slightest about holding a baby in the vicinity of a suit that probably cost a few thousand dollars. He made the whole thing look effortless. Because it wasn’t that complicated, apparently.
She wanted to be insulted—and she was—but the sight of Dr. Robert Wyatt cuddling a newborn, for lack of a better word, hit Jeannie in the chest so hard she almost stumbled.
“Here,” she managed to say, holding the formula out for him.
With a critical eye, he glanced at the brand. Then, without taking it, he pulled out his cell again. “Reginald? Find the closest grocery store and pick up the following items...”
He rattled off a list of baby products that left Jeannie dizzy. When he ended the call, he nodded to the formula. “That brand has soy in it. Her symptoms are in line with a soy sensitivity.”
Seduction on His Terms Page 3