The Nurse's Baby Secret

Normally, she could.

“Maybe you should have thought of that before you took a job two hours away,” she tossed out.

“My taking a job two hours away has nothing to do with you,” he insisted with more than a hint of annoyance.

Good. His words annoyed her, too.

And hurt. His words hurt. Deep and to the core.

“It should have,” she said so softly she wasn’t even sure he’d hear her.

“Says who?”

“Says me.” She lifted her gaze to his and dared him to say otherwise.

His jaw worked back and forth and a visible struggle played on his face. “Why do you get to decide that it should have?”

“For the same reasons you got to decide that it didn’t.”

He let out a low breath. He stepped closer, stared down directly into her eyes. His gaze narrowed. “You think I should have said no to the position?”

Her stomach rumbled and she clenched the tips of her fingers into her palms. “That’s not what I’m saying.”

“Then what are you saying?”

“That I should have mattered enough for my opinion to have counted. I didn’t.”

He studied her for a few long seconds. “My career means everything to me.” His tone was flat, almost cold. “I won’t let anyone or anything stand in the way.”

Ouch. There it was. The truth.

A truth she’d not understood because for the past year they’d obviously been on the same page. Sure, he worked hard and long hours, but so did she. Their jobs hadn’t been an issue. Finding time to spend together hadn’t been an issue.

She’d thought they’d been each other’s priority. Obviously, in Charlie’s case it was more a case of convenience than priority.

She’d been easy.

No, she hadn’t. She’d not immediately fallen into bed with him. Not immediately. But too quickly. The attraction had been so strong. The sexual chemistry so magnetic.

Even now, with everything that had happened, with her body threatening to reject her evening meal, his nearness made her heart race, her breath quicken, her nipples tighten, her thighs clench. He made every sense come alive, made every nerve ending aware.

She hated it. Hated that even knowing she didn’t mean what she’d thought she’d meant he had such power over her body.

He wasn’t the man she’d thought he was—wasn’t the man she’d fallen so hard for. That man had been an illusion. She’d fantasized and projected upon him. Maybe because of their strong sexual chemistry and her desire to believe the intensity of their lovemaking was due to something more than just physical attraction. Outdated of her, no doubt, but that had to be it.

She didn’t know how she was going to handle her future, her baby’s future, but at the moment one thing was very, very clear to her.

She looked Charlie straight in the eyes and felt an inner strength that surprised her. Sure, he’d probably always affect her physically. He was a good-looking, virile man who gave off an over-abundance of pheromones and her body remembered all too well the magic he wielded. But he’d destroyed the rose-colored glasses that she’d adoringly looked at him through. What she now saw wasn’t worthy of what she’d been willing to give him.

“You don’t belong here,” she told him. “Not in my apartment. Not in my life.”

Not ever again.

* * *

Savannah’s words stung Charlie in places deep within his chest. Places that weren’t supposed to be accessible to anyone, much less vulnerable to words that were all too reminiscent of those flung at him in the past.

He took a step back.

He wavered between wanting to beg her to forgive him and telling himself to walk away and forget her. She was right. He didn’t belong. He’d never belonged. Never would.

He’d always known that. Had never been able to forget that until Savannah. Look at what that memory lapse had caused.

Looking exhausted, Savannah closed her eyes then turned her back to him and walked over to her sofa, where she sat down. “I don’t feel up to doing this again, Charlie. I’m sorry, but I just don’t.”

Her skin had lost its color and she had crossed her arms over her belly.

“You look pale.”

She didn’t comment, just proceeded to turn a few more shades toward ghastly gray. Hands over her stomach, she leaned forward and made a noise that might have been a moan, but might have been a dry heave.

Despite not being invited in, he stepped further into her living room and toward the sofa. “Are you okay?”

Without looking up, she shook her head. “No, I am not okay. Get your stuff and leave.”

He was torn. She wanted him to go. She really did. He could hear it in her voice. But how did he just walk out when she looked as if she was majorly ill?

Then she was.

With a panicked glance at him, she bolted off the sofa and toward the half bath just off the living room.

Worried, Charlie followed her to the small half bath, grabbed a rolled up washcloth from the basket that sat on the vanity, and ran cold water over it, all the while keeping his eyes trained on Savannah. She knelt over the toilet, gripping the sides and heaving out the contents of her stomach.

When he’d squeezed out the excess water, he folded the washcloth. He pulled her hair back away from her face, put the washcloth across her forehead, and helped support her while she leaned over the toilet.

He didn’t say a word, just held the washcloth to her forehead, kept her hair back from her face, and felt torn into a million directions as to what he should do.

He couldn’t leave her like this even if he wanted to.

He couldn’t.

He didn’t have it in him to walk away with her ill.

When her heaving seemed to have subsided, she glanced up at him with a tear-streaked face and he felt something in his chest squeeze painfully tight.

“I hate that you saw me like this.”

Kneeling, he took the washcloth and gently wiped her mouth. “I’m a doctor, Savannah. I’ve seen worse.”