Читать книгу Maternally Yours - Kathie DeNosky - Страница 9

Elena Delgado pressed a shaky hand to her stomach, took a deep breath and slowly got to her feet. She closed her eyes and leaned against the side of the rest room stall. The nausea wasn’t supposed to last all day. If it was, they would have called it something besides morning sickness. But she’d been ill almost from the instant the test stick turned blue.

She didn’t mind in the least. She’d gladly go through whatever it took to complete this pregnancy successfully. She bit her lower lip and took another deep breath. This was her last hope of having her own child, of holding it and loving it with every fiber of her being—she simply couldn’t afford another trip to the sperm bank. Not financially. Not emotionally.

When her stomach finally settled down, she pulled the door open and walked over to the vanity. The click of her black medium-heeled pumps striking the tiled floor echoed through the empty room. She shivered at the hollow loneliness of the sound.

Tears filled her eyes as she looked at herself in the mirror above the bank of sinks. She’d been alone all of her life. So why was she feeling so lonely now?

Disgusted with herself, Elena jerked paper towels from the dispenser on the wall and held them under the faucet, then pressed the cool wetness to her flushed cheeks. Her unstable emotions had to be caused by the hormonal changes from her pregnancy. That was the only thing it could be.

Otherwise Elena Delgado never cried. Ever.

She finished wiping away the last of the tears, draped her coat over her arm, then checked her watch. Groaning, she quickly grabbed her shoulder bag, said a silent prayer that her queasy stomach would remain calm for the next hour and walked out into the stylish reception area of Connelly Tower.

Heading for the elevators, she shook her head. She hated to be late for anything. It was rude and inconsiderate to keep people waiting. She shifted from one foot to the other as she impatiently waited for an elevator. Just one more slowdown in a day that had been filled with a series of delays and frustrations.

She’d awakened this morning to find that sometime during the night the ancient furnace in her building had finally given up the fight against Chicago’s cold, hard winters and died. It had taken her twice as long to get ready for work because she couldn’t stop shivering. Then she’d gone out to find that her car wouldn’t start, forcing her to walk six blocks in the frigid February temperature to catch the L.

The polished brass doors of the elevator finally swished open and Elena hurriedly stepped inside. She pressed the button to the seventeenth floor, and as it began to move, she closed her eyes against a wave of nausea. Express elevators should be outlawed, she decided as the rapid ascent played havoc with her already iffy stomach.

When it eased to a stop a few seconds later and the doors opened, she stepped out into the plushly carpeted corridor on shaky legs. After she met with Brett Connelly to arrange interviews with the rest of the Connelly family, she would spend the weekend trying to feel human again. But when she left, she would take the stairs.

Brett Connelly tapped the highly polished surface of his mahogany desk with his fountain pen. Glancing at his watch for the third time in as many minutes, he resumed staring out the window at the early-evening shadows covering Lake Michigan. He hated to be kept waiting. If the detective investigating the attempted murder of his older brother, Daniel, didn’t show up damned quick, Brett was calling it a day. Babe didn’t like him to be late getting home from work. In fact, he’d be lucky if she didn’t destroy some of his things to get back at him. She’d done that several times already.

The intercom on the corner of his desk suddenly buzzed, interrupting his thoughts. “Yes, Fiona?”

“Your four o’clock appointment has finally arrived, Mr. Connelly.”

“Thank you. Send her in.” As an afterthought, he added, “If you’d like, you can leave now.”

“Thank you, Mr. Connelly. I’ll see you on Monday. Have a nice weekend.”

“You, too, Fiona.”

Seconds later his office door opened, and a young woman with shoulder-length, tawny-brown hair walked into the room. Brett couldn’t keep from staring. This was the hotshot detective from the Special Investigative Unit of the Chicago Police Department?

Whoa, baby! He’d been expecting some middle-aged battle-ax who looked like a man and had a hard-as-nails attitude. Instead they’d sent a petite woman who had to be somewhere in her midtwenties and could put beauty queens to shame with her looks. He made a mental note to call and thank his father for assigning him the task of liaison between his family and the police.

Brett rose to his feet as his gaze zeroed in on her left hand to see if she wore a wedding band. She didn’t.

Sending a silent thank-you to the powers that be, he rounded the desk, treated her to his most charming smile—the smile that had kept his social calendar filled since his sophomore year in high school—and extended his hand. “I’m Brett Connelly, Vice President of Public Relations. And you are?”

She quickly shook his hand but didn’t return his smile. “I’m SIU Detective Elena Delgado. Sorry I’m late, Mr. Connelly.”

She wasn’t offering an explanation for her tardiness, and Brett wasn’t asking for one. He was too preoccupied with the tingling sensation running from his palm, up his arm and warming his chest.

“Since we’ll be working so closely together, please call me Brett, Ms. Delgado,” he said, rubbing his thumb over the silky skin on the back of her hand.

She dropped his hand, and the look she gave him indicated that she hadn’t been the least bit affected by his never-fail smile or his touch. At least not the way he’d been affected by hers.

“Shall we get down to business, Mr. Connelly?” she asked politely.

Her no-nonsense demeanor certainly went with her job. But it wasn’t often that he encountered a female he couldn’t charm. He took it as a personal challenge.

As she continued to gaze at him expectantly, he noticed something about her that had escaped him when she’d first entered the room. Elena Delgado looked tired. Very tired. Dark circles smudged the pale skin beneath her chocolate-brown eyes, and her voice sounded extremely weary. Maybe that had something to do with her no-nonsense attitude and refusal to use his first name.

Whatever the reason, something about her stoic demeanor urged him to take up the gauntlet and improve her mood. He checked his watch. It was dinnertime and he was already late getting home. Daniel and his wife, Erin, were safely hidden from any further attempts on Daniel’s life in the tiny island country of Altaria, so there was no immediate threat to his brother on that front. And Babe would treat him to the cold shoulder now, anyway. In fact, she’d probably already started destroying the living room. Being an hour or two later wouldn’t make much difference.

Besides, Elena looked as if she could use something to lift her spirits. What better way than spending an evening out on the town?

“I was just getting ready to leave for the day,” he said, walking over to remove his suit jacket from the brass coat tree in the corner. Shrugging into it, he reached for his leather overcoat. “Why don’t we discuss the details of the interviews over dinner?”

She shook her head, and if the expression on her lovely face was any indication, it wasn’t going to be easy changing her mind. “I’d rather not, Mr. Connelly.”

He wasn’t about to let that deter him. “I skipped breakfast and worked through lunch,” he said truthfully. “It’s dinnertime and I’m hungry.” He smiled. “And I’m betting you are, too.”

Her stomach chose that moment to rumble, making any protest she might have had ineffective. Her cheeks colored a pretty pink. He hadn’t seen a woman blush like that in years.

Brett chuckled. “Then it’s settled.” He pulled on his overcoat and placed his hand lightly at the small of her back to usher her to the door. “We’ll talk over dinner.”

She didn’t look happy, but Brett took it as a positive sign when she allowed him to steer her to the elevators. The swift ride down to the basement parking garage was a silent one and he began to wonder if he was losing his touch. By the time the doors opened, she looked positively miserable about being in his company.

“I’ll bring you back to pick up your car,” he said as they stepped out into the parking area.

“My car wouldn’t start this morning,” she said, sounding even more tired than before. “I took the L.”

“Well, you’re not taking it home,” he said emphatically. Police detective or not, he didn’t like the idea of a woman riding the elevated train alone at night. It just wasn’t safe. Before she could protest, he quickly led her to his black Jaguar and opened the passenger door. “Do you like Italian food?”

She practically collapsed into the bucket seat before she answered. “Yes, I normally love Italian food, but I don’t think it would be—”

“Good. Then Italian it is,” he said, closing the door. When she glanced up at him, he thought her complexion looked a little green. But he dismissed the notion. The fluorescent lights, combined with the shadows of the underground garage, cast an unnatural glow on everything. Walking around to the driver’s side, he opened the door and slid behind the wheel. “I know a great little place not far from here.”

She looked as if she intended to protest again, but when he started the car and backed from his parking spot, she clamped her mouth into a tight line, closed her eyes and leaned her head back against the seat.

Brett felt a twinge of guilt that he’d insisted they have dinner, when it was plain to see she was dead on her feet. But reason won out. She had to eat. This way she wouldn’t have to worry about cooking something for herself when she went home. Satisfied that he’d be doing her a favor by taking her to dinner, he steered the car out of the garage and into the flow of traffic on Michigan Avenue.

Ten minutes later he helped her out of her coat and held the chair while she settled herself at his usual table for two in a corner of the restaurant. Removing his overcoat, Brett hung both wraps on a nearby hook, then seated himself and stared at her over the flicker of a candle stuck in a Chianti bottle. She looked thoroughly exhausted.

“Why don’t we save this discussion until Monday morning?” he asked. “You look like you’re ready to drop.”

“I’m fine,” she insisted. She extracted a notepad from her shoulder bag. “I’d like to get the preliminaries out of the way so I can get started with the interviews Monday morning. Have you been filled in on what I’ll need from you, Mr. Connelly?”

Brett leaned back in his chair and folded his arms across his chest as he tried to get his mind back down to business and off of the erotic scenario her innocent question evoked. He could think of several very exciting things he’d like for Elena Delgado to “need” from him, but scheduling meetings with his family wasn’t among them.

Clearing his throat, he focused on the job his father had assigned him, which Brett had been eager to accept. He wanted nothing more than to get to the bottom of who had tried to kill his brother Daniel. “When Dad called, he said you wanted to interview the rest of the family to help with your investigation.”

She nodded. “That’s right. Your father told me you’d take care of setting up the times and place.”

He grinned. Being efficient and anticipating others’ needs were the very reasons he was considered one of the best PR men in the textile industry. “I’ve already got the jump on it. I’ve arranged for you to speak privately with each of them in a conference room at Connelly Tower, starting Monday.”

“Good.”

“But it may take several days to get all of them rounded up,” he warned her.

He propped his elbow on the table and cupped his chin in his hand as he watched her brush a strand of silky brown hair from her flawless cheek. He’d have liked nothing more than to touch her soft skin, to run his hands through her hair. The dancing candlelight cast a soft glow on her lovely face, and Brett wondered what it would be like to hold Elena close, to kiss her.

“I understand that it will take several days to speak with everyone,” she said, bringing him out of his delightful musings. She glanced up from making notations on the notepad. “I’d also like to interview some of the employees at Connelly corporate headquarters. They may have information that will aid my investigation.”

“That can be arranged. Anything else?”

“Not that I can think of.” She glanced at her notes. “Of course, I’ll need to interview you, too.” She gave him a half smile. “I don’t see any reason why we can’t take care of that this evening.”

Heartened by the small gesture, he decided he might not be losing his touch after all. Although it hadn’t been the warmest of expressions, it was a start and gave him something to build on.

“Not tonight,” he said, shaking his head. “I’m tired and so are you. Besides, I’m your first interview Monday.” He grinned. “You wouldn’t want to throw off my schedule before we even get started, would you?”

She frowned. “I doubt that my taking your statement now will make a difference.”

“Oh, but it would,” he said, trying not to smile. “We wouldn’t be able to enjoy our dinner and I might get indigestion. If I did, it would probably keep me awake tonight and I wouldn’t get anything done tomorrow because of being tired. Then on Sunday I’d have to catch up on all the things I missed doing on Saturday, and…” He tried to affect a pitiful expression. “Well, I think you see how it would throw off my schedule.”

She stared at him for several long seconds before she slowly placed her pen on the table. “Let’s get something straight right now, Mr. Connelly. This isn’t a social—”

Their waiter chose that moment to place a basket of bread sticks on the table. “Good evening, Mr. Connelly. Would you like a wine list?”

When Brett gave her a questioning look, Elena shook her head and smiled up at the man. “No wine for me.”

“A glass of wine will help you relax and take the edge off the day,” Brett said. Turning to the waiter, he added, “Bring two goblets and a bottle of your best wine, Vinnie.”

Elena did a slow burn. Brett obviously had the idea that because he was extraordinarily handsome, very successful and a member of the influential Connelly family, he could control any situation he pleased. Boy, oh boy, was he in for a rude awakening.

Any other woman would probably be down on her hands and knees, thanking the moon and stars that she was dining with the very eligible Brett Connelly. But Elena wasn’t just any woman. Fortunately for her, she was immune to his movie star good looks, his bluer-than-blue eyes and his engaging smile. She’d been down that path before and learned her lesson well. The last thing she wanted to have to deal with was a playboy like her ex-husband.

She started to tell their waiter not to bother bringing a glass for her, but Brett chose that moment to speak to the young man hovering beside him. “And I think we’ll both have a salad with the house dressing and the calamari, Vinnie.”

“Very good choice, sir,” Vinnie said, treating Elena to a grin that said he’d watched Brett in action before.

As soon as the waiter walked away, Elena glared at Brett. “Don’t you think that was a bit presumptuous of you?”

“You don’t like calamari?” he asked, looking shocked. “I thought everyone liked it. If you’d prefer I order something else—”

When he raised his hand to hail Vinnie, she shook her head. “That’s not the point, Mr. Connelly.”

With a recalcitrant lock of wavy black hair hanging low on his forehead and confusion written all over his handsome face, he looked like a little boy who had no idea what he’d done wrong. She almost smiled. She’d bet he didn’t wear that expression very often.

“What is the point, Elena?” He placed his hand on hers where it rested on the top of the table. “And please, call me Brett.”

All thoughts of him looking like an innocent little boy were instantly erased. His warm palm caused the oddest sensation to course through her, and his rich, smooth baritone was releasing a herd of butterflies in her less-than-stable stomach. She quickly snatched her hand away and placed it in her lap. The man deserved every bit of the playboy reputation reported in the society columns. Too bad he was wasting all that charm on her. Thanks to her ex-husband, Michael, she was totally immune to that kind of tactic.

“I told you I didn’t want wine,” she said. The fluttering in her stomach changed to a churning sensation, and her palms turned cold and clammy. “I think it’s time we set some ground rules, Mr. Connelly. I’m not interested in anything but the investigation of your brother’s attempted murder, so you can stop this right here and now.”

One dark brow rose in question as he stared at her. “What makes you think I’m trying to do anything but cooperate with your investigation, Elena?”

“Mr. Connelly—”

“Call me Brett.”

“You steamrolled me into having dinner with you.” She gathered her notepad and pen and jammed them into her shoulder bag. “You decided I could wait to interview you until Monday, then you even went so far as to decide that I’d have wine when I clearly stated that I didn’t want it. Do you see a pattern here, Mr. Connelly?”

“Not really,” he said, mesmerizing her with his guileless blue eyes and sexy-as-sin voice.

“I don’t like being told what to do,” she said, needing to put some distance between herself and Brett Connelly. She quickly rose to her feet, but the room swayed and she had to place her hand on the table to steady herself. “I’m used to being in control and calling the shots when I’m assigned to…an investigation.”

“Are you all right?” he asked, jumping to his feet. To his credit, he looked genuinely concerned.

“I’m…fine.” Elena closed her eyes in an effort to clear her vision. When she opened them again, Brett was standing at her side with his hand beneath her elbow. “It’s been a long trying day, at the end of an exhausting week, Mr. Connelly. I think I’ll skip dinner, catch a cab and go home.”

“I’ll drive you.”

“No, it isn’t necessary,” Elena said, trying desperately to fight the increasing dizziness. “Please, stay…and enjoy your…dinner.”

Brett studied her for several long moments. He wasn’t sure what the problem was, but he knew for certain Elena suffered from more than just a simple case of exhaustion. Her breathing had become shallow and labored, and her face had become a ghostly white.

“Mario,” Brett called, motioning for the maître d’. When the little man hurried over to them, Brett explained, “Ms. Delgado isn’t feeling well and we’ve decided not to have dinner after all.”

“Very well, Signore Connelly,” Mario said, shooting Elena a worried look as Brett held her coat. “I’m sorry the signorina has fallen ill. I hope she will be all right.”

Nodding, Brett took her by the elbow and started to guide her toward the door. But the moment she turned, her steps faltered and she stopped abruptly. She looked up at him, and he could see a mixture of fear and panic in her expressive brown eyes, and the desperation as she sagged against him.

“Please…help me…Brett,” she whispered, a moment before her lashes fluttered shut and she lost her battle with consciousness.

Without a second thought, he swung her up into his arms, cradled her to his chest and shouldered his way through the exit. Fortunately, he’d been able to park in front of Mario’s and it was only a few feet to his car.

He quickly placed her on the passenger seat of the Jag, fastened her seat belt, then trotted around the front of the car to slide into the driver’s seat. Jamming the key into the ignition, he shifted into first and shot from the parking space.

“Hang on, Elena,” he said, fighting an unfamiliar sense of panic as he wove his way around slower-moving vehicles. “I’ll have you in Memorial’s E.R. in less than two minutes.”