His Heir, Her Honor Page 8

  Her heart fluttered in a way that was totally out of character for her. She was usually so controlled.

  “Obviously, I’m much better at hiding my emotions than you give me credit for if you’ve never noticed how you affect me.”

  A suspicion tugged at her mind. “Have you been drinking?”

  “Not a drop.” He crossed his heart with two fingers like the Boy Scout she couldn’t picture him being.

  “Me neither.” Her breathy answer puffed into the cool night air.

  “Actually, I’ve had a helluva day and something in your face tells me you have, too. The kind of day no alcohol can fix.” He zeroed in with a perception that had her eyes stinging.

  Thank goodness the rest of the partiers were still inside and out of sight. How he’d found her here, she didn’t know. Maybe he needed the peace as much as she did.

  She blinked hard and tried to tell herself it was just the biting wind making her tear up. Emotions aswirl like the spiraling snow, she boldly tugged both sides of his tuxedo tie. “You look quite stunning yourself, Dr. Medina.”

  His fingers banded around her wrists, hot and strong and so very enticing. Like him. “Then since we’re both clearheaded, lovely Lilah,” he whispered, nipping her ear once, lighting a static spark in her veins, “there’s no reason not to do this.”

  Was that moan from her?

  Deliberately, slowly, his lips grazed her cheek in a slow trek that had her gripping the rail to keep her legs from folding.

  “And do this.” His arms swept around her as he captured her next sigh with his mouth….

  “Lilah?”

  Carlos’s voice startled her from her daze, back to the present in his Vail, Colorado, mountain retreat. The memory of his kiss then was as real and stirring as the one he’d given her earlier. She reached for her mug of cider, needing to ground herself in the moment. “I’m sorry. What did you say?”

  She eyed him over the top of her mug, inhaling steaming scents of cinnamon as a log shifted in the fireplace, launching a shower of sparks. Those pinpricks of light didn’t come close to the kind of sparks Carlos could set off inside her.

  He set aside his mug on the coffee table. “Why have you never married?”

  His abrupt shift to the personal stunned her into silence for two pops of the logs in the fireplace. How in the world had their conversation shifted to that topic while she’d been daydreaming? Not that she intended to offer up what she’d really been thinking about.

  “Why haven’t you?” she retorted carefully. “You’re older than I am.”

  “Touché.” He saluted her lightly. “I apologize for the sexist sound to my question. To show my contrition, I’ll answer first. I decided a long time ago to stay a bachelor.”

  “Because…?” she asked, suddenly curious to the roots of her hair.

  “Standard eternal bachelor reasons,” he answered with a wry grin. “I’m a workaholic. I didn’t want to subject any woman to the Medina madness.”

  The last reason was far from standard. “There have been women lining up outside your office ready to volunteer for that mayhem. In fact, Nancy seems ready to hustle to the front of the queue.”

  His smile flattened to a humorless scowl. “I haven’t asked for or encouraged any of them.”

  “Yet still they flock to your side.” The second the words left her mouth, she winced at sounding jealous. But she was carrying the man’s child after all. Any of those women would be a part of her child’s life through him.

  Great. Now she was jealous and concerned.

  Carlos massaged his knee absently. “They’re flocking to the title and the money that comes with it. They wouldn’t care if I was a troll with an extra eye in the middle of my forehead.”

  Laughter burst free and she clapped her hand over her mouth.

  He cocked an eyebrow. “I wasn’t joking.”

  “I know, but still, the image you painted…” She couldn’t stop laughing. She knew the giggles had more to do with releasing tension than anything else. Her body was wound so tight from the events of the past two days she needed the outlet, a release for her swelling emotions.

  And her emotions weren’t the only thing that would be swelling soon. Her hand slid to her stomach.

  Just the thought of that jolted a fresh burst of laughter until she clapped a hand over her mouth again. Carlos stared at her as if she was half-crazy, and maybe right now… Who knew? She hiccupped and a tear fell free. Then another. More. Until she couldn’t stop the flood of an altogether different emotion as a sob tore its way through her heart and up her throat.

  Seven

  Carlos had seen patients cry more times than he cared to remember. Although he didn’t like to think he’d become jaded, he couldn’t afford to let tears sway him or he wouldn’t be able to treat his patients.

  But seeing Lilah so upset sliced through what little restraint he had left.

  Unable to keep his distance, he swung his feet from the sofa and knelt beside her before she finished scrubbing her wrist across her cheeks. Only once had he known Lilah to lose it, about three years after he’d begun working for the Tacoma facility. She had gone to the mat with the insurance company for a patient of his, a child whose spine had been fractured in an amusement park ride accident—at the C7 vertebrae. The parents were supposed to be grateful their child could use his thumb to work the electric wheelchair.

  Lilah had crushed opponents standing in the way of getting that boy everything he needed.

  Late on the night of the boy’s surgery, Carlos had been making rounds and found Lilah sitting by the kid’s bed, a tear-soaked tissue in her hand. To this day he could envision her face in silhouette, a single tear clinging to her chin, as if that drop of water was every bit as stubborn as the woman, refusing to surrender. He’d never known why that case hit her harder than others, or if he’d just never before caught her during the emotional fallout. But something had shifted inside him then, releasing a gnawing need that dogged him until he gave in to temptation the night of the Christmas party.

  A log dropped and popped as he knelt in front of her.

  He knuckled a fresh tear from her cheek. “Are you all right?”

  “Yes and no and I don’t know.” Her words jumbled on top of each other. “I almost wish I could blame it on hormones.”

  “The past couple of days have been overwhelming.” For him, too.

  “An understatement.” She nodded tightly, her last bit of control obviously brittle.

  Hooking his arm around her shoulders, he slid up beside her on the couch and drew her to his chest. Her shoulders trembled as she choked back sobs, then finally let go, crying into his sweater. He rested his cheek against the top of her head and inhaled the scent of her shampoo, lightly floral and so different from the antiseptic world they usually inhabited together. His hands skimmed up and down her spine, the soft cashmere reminding him of the massage he’d given her on the plane. Right now, though, her zipper would stay firmly in place. She needed something different from him and, by God, he would deliver.

  He stroked her back, made what he hoped were soothing noises and held her until her tears slowed. Each gentle breath pressed her breasts to him. He gritted his teeth against the temptation to pull her closer and savor the lush curves of her. Nearly three months of no sex—of no Lilah—sent desire grating through him.

  He felt like a bastard for being turned on while she was so blatantly upset. Protectiveness and passion got tangled up inside him. All the barriers he’d worked to resurrect around her crumbled.

  Sniffling, she finally eased away, swiping her hair from her face and straightening her dress. She braced her shoulders and faced him, chin jutting with determination.

  “Okay,” she said simply.

  Huh? “Okay what?”

  “Let’s make the most of this time away and have sex 24/7.” She reached behind her neck to tug down the zipper on her cashmere dress. “Starting now.”

  Shock stunned him still u
ntil the rasp of her zipper brought him out of his stupor. Yes, he’d wanted her naked, but not this way, not when she wasn’t thinking clearly.

  Not when his own mind was such a mess.

  “Whoa.” He gripped her shoulders to keep the top in place, confused as to what brought her abrupt about-face and concerned about what had upset her. “Hold on there a second, Gypsy Rose Lee.”

  Her forehead pleated in frustration. “You’re telling me to stop?”

  “As much as it pains me to say this…” He took in the generous swell of her breasts so close, only an inch away from where he clasped her wrists. But he had to hold strong. “We need to talk this through.”

  Confusion faded from her face, replaced by increasing anger snapping from her as tangibly as the crackles in the stone hearth. “I’m not sure what kind of head game you’re playing here, but I do not appreciate it. I could have sworn back in the plane today that you were totally turned on.”

  “Believe me, I was.” He winced. “I am.”

  A slow, sexy smile creasing her face, she swayed closer, her green eyes glinting jewel tones. “Then what’s stopping you?”

  As much as it pained him, he forced out the words that would push her away for the night. “It would be wrong to take advantage of a woman when she’s drunk or crying.”

  When they went to bed together again—and he was damn determined that they would—he wanted her every bit as certain as he was. Although the anger tightening her face made it clear his road back into her arms might not be smooth. He’d wounded her pride.

  “Fine, then.” She yanked up her zipper and swiped her fingers under her eyes a final time, clearing away all signs of tears.

  Except for a tiny smudge of mascara streaking into her hairline. He thumbed the splotch and she jerked away.

  He wished life’s messes were as easily cleared. “Sleep on it. If in the morning when you’re dry-eyed and rested you’re still interested, then believe me, I’ll have you on the nearest flat surface before the crepes cool.”

  The anger in her face eased a hint to reservation. “You can cook crepes?”

  “Is that such a surprise?” He wanted to coax a smile to her face, end this day on a lighter note, anything to keep tears from her eyes. “I would have made them for you that morning if you’d stayed around.”

  She studied him with a narrowed, discerning gaze. “Is that what the cold shoulder has been about these past months? Because I left before breakfast? I remember things differently.”

  “Tell me what you recall.” He could only think of how much he’d gone through the motions that morning, his insides shredded by the memories of his mother’s assassination. He’d been intent on not letting Lilah get too close, maintaining the distance that protected him from a past he didn’t stand a chance of reconciling.

  “I remember the scent of bacon in the air along with the gruff tone in your voice and the way you hauled on your clothes for work.” Hurt leaked into her voice, filling him with regret. “Can you deny that breakfast together would have been decidedly awkward?”

  The last thing he wanted was to revisit the past in any form, especially given how poorly he’d handled it all in the ensuing months. He mentally kicked himself for bringing up that night in the first place. “Why don’t we focus on now, rather than then? Meet me for crepes in about—” he glanced at his watch “—nine hours.”

  Steeling himself from taking things further tonight, he pressed a kiss to her cheek and tasted the salty remnants of her tears. He stood quickly before she could pull away or get angry again, and gestured the way toward her room. As she walked ahead silently, he realized that while her crying had stopped, he could still see the tension rippling through her spine. He’d accomplished nothing to help her.

  God, he hated being mystified when it came to this woman. He always, always could reason his way through anything. But the way he felt about Lilah had wreaked havoc on his self-control.

  With the scent of her still on his skin bringing back memories of their night together, it was all he could do to keep from charging after her and taking her up on her enticing offer….

  He watched Lilah across the ballroom. Their kiss on the rooftop garden had spiraled out of control until they were seconds from having sex right there. Only the prospect of frostbite had convinced them to relocate. To his office. ASAP.

  Anticipation ramped his heart rate as he tracked her making her way through the throng toward the exit, doing her best to disengage herself from the other partiers attempting to snag her attention. Jim—the head of pediatrics—was especially persistent, but then the guy wanted a substantial chunk of some grant money that had just come through.

  Vaguely, Carlos registered his own name being called. He half glanced to find the new radiologist—Nancy Something—waving to snag his attention. He nodded politely then surged ahead before he could become entangled in a conversation. His full focus was on Lilah and their assignation.

  His office was distant and private since Lilah had relocated his space after the Medina exposé hit the news and brought reporters rushing into his life. And speaking of the press, he checked his back to make sure no one followed him down the back hall.

  He slid his key into the office lock just as a hand fell to rest on his shoulder. Lilah. Turning, he looped an arm around her and sealed his mouth to hers again, reaching behind to open the door.

  Her fists tightened in his tux, her kiss increasingly frantic. Their legs tangling, he backed into his workspace, kicked the door closed and flattened her to the door.

  He didn’t know how this had flamed so high so fast, but he’d never wanted a woman as much as he had to have Lilah. Here. This minute.

  Her hands fell to his pants and made fast work of his belt. Even now, the woman was bold and efficient. Strong. He admired that about her. He wanted to wrinkle her perfect dress, to ruck it up to her waist and bury himself inside her until she was lost in the moment. Out of control. Calling out his name. Especially with her fingers nudging down his zipper.

  Good thing he was always prepared. He pulled the condom from his wallet and plucked out the packet of protection.

  Reflexively, he pushed back thoughts of the children he would never have. Of how he didn’t even dare risk adoption, risk exposing any child, any woman, to the dangers his family had faced. He would not, could not live through the nightmare of watching another woman suffer because of her connection to the Medina name.

  Restraint shaky, he gathered Lilah’s dress, bunching the silky fabric upward. He revealed his Grecian goddess inch by inch of creamy leg, nudged aside her panties and sunk inside. The warm clamp of her body took him to a level beyond anything he’d experienced…beyond anything he would feel again since this was the only night he could have with her….

  Embers blurring as he stared, Carlos rubbed his fingers together, the moisture from Lilah’s tears soaking into his skin. Had he done the right thing in turning away from her, sending her to her room? Hell, half the time he didn’t know what he was doing when it came to her. He reacted with his gut instead of his brain.

  The tears she’d cried were so different from the ones shed by his patients and their worried parents. In those cases, he knew how to respond, his eyes firmly fixed on healing. Here, he didn’t know how to ease her pain.

  Then it hit him like the logs blazing back to life.

  He was the cause of her tears and her tension. He’d sensed her anger the day she’d told him about the baby—tough to miss when she’d slapped him. But so intent on protecting her with distance, he’d missed the obvious.

  Intellectually, he’d understood she believed him to be the father. He’d assumed she must have mixed up dates. Yet as he thought back to what she’d said in his office, he recalled her emphatic insistence that there hadn’t been anyone other than him for months.

  She had no reason to lie. Lilah had never been impressed by his money or his pedigree.

  Bracing a steadying hand on the mantel, he let the im
plications line up in his brain. That left him with two possibilities. Either the baby really was his or someone had taken advantage of Lilah without her knowledge, not as far-fetched as it sounded. Some bastard could have slipped any number of date rape drugs into her drink. His hands fisted at even the possibility of her being taken advantage of so callously. So criminally.

  A fresh wave of protectiveness—possessiveness—flooded him until he accepted the inevitable. She was his. Which made her baby his regardless.

  The reality of that settled inside him. There was no cutting her out of his life. No turning his back. She and her child were his to keep safe. He hadn’t planned on linking his life to anyone else’s. Being a Medina had never brought peace to anyone, most certainly not to his mother.

  But walking away from Lilah was no longer an option.

  The next morning, Lilah combed her fingers through her damp hair, wide awake thanks to her shower. Sleep had been hard to come by.

  Sure, she’d been reckless throwing herself at Carlos last night. Still, his rejection had hurt.

  She hadn’t cried again though. She’d refused to waste another tear on him. Instead, she’d stared dry-eyed at the soaring ceiling, warm honey-colored cedar planks overhead bathed in moonlight, then with the first morning rays.

  Now the window let blazing sunshine through, but shed little illumination on her confused emotions. Hitching her jeans over her hips, she raised the zipper, then realized she couldn’t button them any longer. Her waist was expanding. Time was ticking away to settle her life.

  Could she trust he’d only pulled away out of honor? If so, could there be some hint to an answer about why he’d kept his distance in recent months?

  Or was this just more of the same evasiveness from Carlos? There was only one way to find out.

  Refusing to hide in her room all day, she yanked a pale pink angora sweater over her head—and down to cover her thickening waist. She would face whatever the day held with her eyes dry and her chin up. For her child. For her own pride. Lilah yanked open her bedroom door and padded down the hall, her socked feet sinking in the handwoven wool rugs. The second her foot hit the top step on the lengthy staircase, she smelled…