Читать книгу Hot Single Docs: Giving In To Temptation: NYC Angels: Making the Surgeon Smile / NYC Angels: An Explosive Reunion / St Piran's: The Wedding of The Year - Lynne Marshall - Страница 15
ОглавлениеJOHN PARKED THE car, walked around to the other side, opened the passenger door and lifted Polly up and out. She slept sounder than his mother’s cat, and only stirred when he pulled her to his chest.
“Shh, go back to sleep,” he whispered in her ear, as he motioned with his head to the doorman of his building to let them in.
Marco the doorman gave a deeply inquisitive look but followed orders. John had been a resident in the building for three years now and had never brought a woman home in this condition.
“Drunk,” John mouthed to Marco, who gave an affirmative Aha nod.
“Park the car in your usual spot?” Marco whispered.
John nodded, knowing his car keys would be left in the parking-garage office where he paid a hefty monthly fee for the privilege of driving and parking in New York City.
He punched the elevator button with his elbow and hoped Polly didn’t wake up until he was ready. He’d driven the long way home around Central Park to make sure she’d fallen asleep deeply enough once he’d decided to bring her here.
As he rode the elevator to the ninth floor, he took the liberty to study her close up—flawless skin, though maybe a little pale, ash-blonde hair with waves that made him want to dig his fingers in every time he saw her. Her thick brown lashes fluttered the tiniest bit under his scrutiny and her nostrils twitched as she breathed softly. She was sweet and tender, and he felt the urge to kiss her.
The elevator door opened, and though it was a bit tricky to unlock his door with one hand while holding Polly with the other, he balanced her on his thigh and succeeded, and had them inside in no time at all. Before anyone on his floor had a chance to wonder what in the world he was doing with a woman in his arms on a Monday night at this late hour. He chuckled inwardly, thinking how they’d never probably even seen him with a woman before, had probably assumed he was gay or celibate.
The condo was dark, but he knew his way around by heart and took her immediately to the guest bedroom, where he carefully laid her on the double bed. She stirred but only to reposition herself on her side. Not wanting to freak her out in case she woke up, which surprisingly she still hadn’t, he laid a comforter over her, left the door ajar and went to the kitchen. There, he turned on the light and rummaged around the refrigerator for something to eat.
Three bites into a turkey and Cheddar sandwich he heard the gasp. “Where am I?”
He rushed down the hall to the bedroom. “Don’t worry, you’re at my place.”
“Why am I here?” She came to the door looking groggy and very appealing with mussed-up hair and heavy-lidded eyes.
“You didn’t tell me where you lived before you fell asleep, and you looked so comfortable I didn’t have the heart to wake you.”
“So you thought you’d make me a prisoner at your house?”
“You’re not a prisoner.”
“Then you’ll take me home?”
“If you insist.”
She stood staring, obviously considering his offer. Maybe she needed some convincing.
“Look, I was thinking of your best interests. I’ve got the guest bedroom and you’ll get a good night’s sleep, then I’ll take you home in the morning.”
“I don’t have to work tomorrow because I did the double shift.”
“That’s fine.”
“Don’t you have to be at work?”
“Not until nine. It’s my clinic day.”
“So you’ll take me home before you go to work?”
He nodded.
She leaned against the doorframe looking drowsy and too tired to put up a fight. “Where’s your bathroom, please?”
He gestured with his forehead towards the door down the hall, then took another bite of sandwich.
On her way back to the guest room she slowed down by the kitchen and gave him a suspicious glance. “Don’t get any ideas about sneaking into that room tonight.” She pointed to the guest room.
“I won’t.”
“Because what we did was a one-time deal.”
He didn’t bother to swallow his bite of sandwich. “By my count, that was a three-time deal.”
Obviously too tired to put up a fight, she tossed him an aggravated look then went inside the guest room and closed the door. At least she didn’t lock it. He took the last bite of sandwich and decided he’d got a kick out of riling her. Come to think of it, there was a lot about Polly he got a kick out of. Now, if there was only a way to get her back into his life on much better terms.
Early the next morning, John had a full breakfast prepared by the time he tapped on her door and woke her up. She rolled out of the room, stretching and yawning and looking even more inviting than she had the night before.
“What time is it?” she asked.
“Seven. Have some coffee. It’s decaf,” he said, before she could protest. Somehow he knew she’d take good care of the pregnancy. “I’ve scrambled some eggs and there’s fresh OJ over there. Do you like wheat or sourdough toast?”
“Wheat,” she said, before closing the bathroom door.
The fact that she didn’t throw a hissy fit or make a major protest about getting home right this minute gave him hope, and that notion made him smile. Maybe she was back to being that people-pleaser he liked so much, though the feisty version of Polly definitely had its merits. He smiled and pushed some perfectly scrambled eggs onto a second plate then sprinkled some finely grated Cheddar cheese on top.
They sat on bar stools in companionable silence while they ate at his granite counter.
“Tastes good,” she said, eating a second piece of toast slathered with blackberry jam.
“You’re eating for two now, right?”
He’d named the elephant in the room, and she took her time to respond. “I don’t need you to remind me.” Her gaze was brief and filled with icy-blue warning.
“I want to be a part of this pregnancy, Polly.”
“That’s not the impression I got when I told you about it.”
“I was in shock.”
“You wanted nothing to do with me or this pregnancy. You tried to pay me off, as if I’d go away and never mention another word about it.”
He reached for her hand and squeezed. “I didn’t mean it to come off that way. I wanted you to know you weren’t in it alone, and that you didn’t have to worry about money. That’s all.”
She dropped her gaze toward her lap. “We’re not for sale.”
If that was the metaphor she wanted to run with, he’d play along. “Look at it from my perspective.” He pointed to her stomach. “There’s prime real estate inside there, and though you may be the landlord, I own half of it.”
She made a face at him. “Have you always been this romantic?”
He shrugged. “It’s a gift.”
“You don’t have the right to make it all neat and tidy like that. Like a business deal.” Polly shoved another bite of egg into her mouth and stared straight ahead. Once she’d swallowed, she leveled a serious gaze at him. “I don’t have a clue what your issues are, but since I believe you do need to be there for this baby I’ll generously consider whatever part of ‘being there for this pregnancy’ you think you can handle.”
He grinned. That was the people-pleasing Polly he knew. “Good. For starters, I intend to go to all obstetric appointments with you.”
Her eyebrows dropped and furrowed. “That’s a very private thing.”
“And one doesn’t wind up pregnant by not doing a few very private things with the father of the baby, does one?”
She sighed. “Okay, you can come to the OB appointments.”
“And you should let me cook for you at least twice a week.”
“You cook?”
“What do you call these scrambled eggs?”
“A six-year-old can scramble eggs, Johnny.”
She’d called him Johnny again, and he’d consider it progress. “I happen to be a good cook, and I want to make sure you get a balanced diet.”
“Look, I may have gotten knocked up with little effort but I am not an idiot. I know how to eat healthily.”
“There was a lot of effort involved in you getting pregnant, as I recall, and for the record you didn’t get ‘knocked up’, as you so poetically put it, on your own.”
Silence stretched on for a few seconds while he regrouped. How long would he have to keep pointing out to her that she didn’t have to be in this alone? If he didn’t handle things right this time, he could blow it all for good.
“I was on birth-control pills,” she said. “I swear I was, but I’d taken antibiotics a few weeks back for a sinus infection.”
“I see.” He understood perfectly what she was getting at, she didn’t want him to think she’d set him up. Antibiotics could interfere with birth control pills’ potency and effect for a couple of weeks after use, enough to make a woman potentially vulnerable to pregnancy. Under the circumstances, and without added protection, which they’d completely blown off that night, pregnancy wasn’t out of the question. Polly and her baby onboard were living proof.
John ate the remainder of his breakfast vigorously. The real question was, though, why hadn’t she thought about that when they’d made love? Ah, hell, why hadn’t he thought about anything but how much he’d wanted her that night? There was no point in making this a blame game. What was done was done. They’d had sex, hot sex, and made a baby.
Though there was no way on earth he could invest emotionally in the pregnancy, or be a proper father, he could at least be an ally for Polly during a time when she would definitely need a friend. As for after the pregnancy? He downed the last of his orange juice. Well, he was content to take it one step at a time for now, and she’d just have to understand.
“So I’ll wait for you at the hospital parking lot on Thursday when you get off work, and take you to your appointment.”
“Okay.” She sounded like a teenager who’d given up on getting out of a major book report. “But can you take me home now? I’d really like to shower.”
“Of course.”
On Thursday, Polly ran a little late after change-of-shift report and had to run-walk to meet John at the car. He’d had the car brought up to the entrance and leaned against his silver sedan, checking his watch as she jogged his way.
“Sorry! We had some late admits and I couldn’t just dump and run.”
“I’ve already called the doctor’s office and let them know we may be a little late. I’ll drop you off in front then park.”
“Great. Thanks.” She fixed the flying strands of hair around her face, knowing her skin was probably shiny from working hard all day and that her colored lip gloss had long ago been chewed off. “I really appreciate it.”
“It’s the least I can do.”
The least he could do, was that how he looked at it? Was he only trying to get away with doing the bare minimum so as not to come off as a deadbeat? Boy, had she been there and done that with her aunts and uncles after her mother had died. Every part of that equation made her skin crawl, yet here she was, riding in John Griffin’s fancy car on her way to the doctor’s appointment he’d arranged. She was sick of people going through the motions on her behalf, but that seemed to be the repetitious hand life had dealt her. Resigned, she’d just have to make the best of it this time, not for her but for her baby’s sake.
Dr. Bernstein’s nurse was ready for her the minute she walked in and whisked her into one of the examination rooms in the glamorous medical suite. She had no intention of letting John in on the actual examination.
The doctor looked to be around John’s age and had gentle hands and an affable personality. He looked intently into her eyes as she explained her side of the pregnancy, and she believed him when he promised to keep her and the baby healthy and happy for the next eight and a half months.
“You can get dressed then meet me in my office,” he said on his way out the door after the thorough examination.
Polly suffered a surprise when she entered Dr. Bernstein’s office only to find John already sitting there, chatting amicably with “Geoff”, as he called him. The moment Polly stepped inside the conversation stopped and John shot up. He reached over and pulled out the chair next to him so she could sit. She’d give him points for always being a gentleman.
“Polly,” Dr. “Geoff” started right in, “you are a healthy young woman, and at this early stage in the process I’d say you’re going to do well. Your uterus and cervix look good, the pregnancy is implanted securely in your uterus lining, and your pelvic cradle should handle the body changes just fine. I want to get some baseline lab work done for you and start you on prenatal vitamins. In a couple of weeks we’ll do an ultrasound.” He scribbled on a prescription pad, ripped it off and handed it to her, then sat back in his chair and steepled his fingers. “Do you have any questions?”
“My due date?”
“Right. My calculations show March twenty-eighth, give or take a day or two.”
The skin on her shoulders and arms prickled. Somehow, this actual date of birth made everything come into focus. It was real. She’d have a baby and be a mom beginning March twenty-eighth. John must have noticed her emotional reaction when he put his arm around her shoulders and tugged her close. She couldn’t help the brimming tears. She was going to be a mother in eight short months from now. Only because the long and stressful day had caught up with her, and she needed it right this moment, she accepted John’s comfort as she buried her weeping eyes on his shoulder.
Back at the car, John grinned at her as he let her in the passenger side. “You agreed to let me fix you dinner twice a week, and I thought tonight would be a good time to get that routine rolling.”
“You don’t even know if I have food allergies or anything.” She’d recovered from the emotional high in the doctor’s office and had pulled up her guard again.
“Chicken tetrazzini with wholegrain noodles and a garden salad.”
Her mouth watered at the description. “I hate onions. Does it have onions?”
“Not now. I hope you like garlic, though.”
She bobbed her head as she slid inside the car. Hating having to hold back all her excitement about being pregnant, she tightened her jaw and ground her teeth for most of the ride back to John’s condo.
Marco the doorman gave her and John a knowing nod when they walked inside, and it made her pause. Had she ever seen him before? The small but tasteful lobby gave her the impression that well-off, long-time New Yorkers lived in the building. What a difference from her turn-of-the-century walk-up.
Though John had overall masculine flair in his taste in interior design, a maroon leather couch and chair with glass and chrome tables got her attention, and across the room a surprising floral-upholstered overstuffed chair and ottoman looked beyond inviting.
“Have a seat,” he said, gesturing to the living room that flowed naturally into his kitchen. “You need to rest as often as you can.” He tossed her the newspaper he’d just sorted out of his pile of mail. “Read this while I get cooking.”
“Don’t be so bossy.” At a little after five o’clock she was hungry and more than ready to eat, and decided not to give him a hard time, so she did what she was told and put her feet up, shaking out the newspaper and reading the headlines of the day, all of which were depressing.
She surreptitiously kept track of him while he cooked. He wore khaki slacks that fit in all the right places and a pale blue shirt. He’d removed the tie while he’d shuffled through his mail, and the open-collar look held her interest longer than she’d wanted. But most of all what kept her riveted to watching John was how he genuinely seemed to enjoy cooking. She liked discovering that about him.
He ran a tidy kitchen and was very comfortable in it, like cooking was a less sterile version of surgery. She thought of her living arrangement and the tiny outdated appliances she shared. What she’d give to have such a gorgeous modern kitchen at her fingertips. The comfort of the chair and the simple dream of living in a place like John’s soon had her closing her suddenly weary eyes...
“Dinner’s ready!”
Polly sat bolt upright. What time was it? She glanced at her watch. Six o’clock. She’d taken a forty-minute nap. The hint of garlic, chicken and freshly drained pasta weaving their way from the kitchen and up her nostrils was heavenly. “Give me a sec to wash up, okay?”
“Of course.” He whistled while he set plates and flatware on the bistro-sized table in the corner of the kitchen, and she stopped a couple of moments to enjoy the sight.
The food smelled fantastic and her taste buds went into overdrive, looking forward to the meal as she hurried down the hall to wash her hands.
He hadn’t lied. John Griffin was a darned fine cook. Every mouthful sent jets of pleasure through her gastronomic senses. She could get used to these twice-a-week meals, maybe bargain for a third as time went on. Piecemeal, really, since that was all he was offering in the way of getting involved in the pregnancy. Far be it from her to want to ruin a delicious dinner, but really was that the best the man could offer? She continued to eat with a disappointed outlook.
After a few bites John put his fork down and cast a pressing gaze at her. She wasn’t about to stop eating, but the daunting stare did slow her down a bit.
“I want you to know that I liked you right off. You know, that first week you came to Angel’s. I, or we, did something crazy and out of character, and now we’ve been thrown together in some pretty astounding circumstances.”
She wanted to ask him how long he’d practiced the speech, but decided, as he was finally opening up, not to be a smart-aleck.
He cleared his throat. “What I’m getting at is I know you’re disappointed in me. I’m only skirting around the perimeter of our predicament.”
She started to protest his calling her pregnancy a predicament, but when she opened her mouth he raised his voice a pre-emptive notch. “I don’t think any guy would know how to handle it perfectly, but I’m not making excuses for myself. I’m just being honest with you, because I think you deserve it.”
He got up, refilled his water glass, took a long draw and sat back down. “There’s something you need to know about me. Maybe it will explain why I’m not all balloons and bubbles over your pregnancy.”
Sensing his earnestness, she put her fork down and gave him her total attention. “Go ahead, John.”
As if the words strangled and fought in his throat, John’s pained expression made Polly brace for what he was about to say.
“I don’t even know if I told you that I used to be married. Happily married for two years. My wife, Lisa, was a financial adviser.” His voice clogged and he stopped every sentence or two to clear it. “Anyway, we were happy because she’d just found out she was pregnant.”
The heavy foreshadowing made the gourmet meal in Polly’s stomach suddenly feel like a large lump of paper maché. John talked to the table rather than engage her eyes.
“We’d stayed up late, planning, all excited about our baby, how our lives would change.” He had to clear that stubborn lump in his throat again. His nose ran and he wiped it with his paper napkin. Instinctively, the hair on Polly’s arms rose and John’s profile grew blurry.
“We were going to tell my parents over dinner that night. I kissed her goodbye that morning and she went to work on the twenty-second floor of the World Trade Center on September eleventh.”
Chills rolled over Polly’s skin. Tears broke free from her eyes and she realized the implication of that fateful day. She’d been a high-school student at the time, eating breakfast and listening to the kitchen radio when she’d heard the news report. She grabbed John’s knotted fist and squeezed tight. Oh, God, he didn’t need to say one more word. She understood. He’d lost everything he loved and held dear on one historic day.
Polly got up from her seat and circled around John, banding her arms around his chest as she cuddled him from behind. He sat stoic, like the rock of Gibraltar he’d tricked himself into becoming—for survival’s sake, she was sure, she understood that now. Bleeding emotionally for his loss, she stayed with him wrapped in her arms for several long moments as she mulled over their circumstances. She was willing to give him a pass for now, for not committing to their child beyond the neat and tidy logistics of appointments, well-prepared dinners, and finances.
Slowly, as she stood hunched over, holding him, a tiny thought wiggled and snaked its way clear of her emotional landslide on John’s behalf. The thought gained power and implanted itself in the center of her head. That was twelve years ago. Was John determined to keep his life stagnant and take the loss to his grave? More importantly, would Lisa want that for him?
They may have made love under unusual circumstances, but something bigger than both of them had come out of it. They’d made a baby. He could never get his wife or child back, but she and John had made a little life that was growing inside her. A baby with a birth date. March twenty-eighth.
* * *
It was Polly’s turn to clear her thickened throat. “John, please don’t get me wrong, I realize how horrific your loss was. But twelve years have passed, and that’s no excuse for abandoning your responsibility to this child.” She stood straight and placed her hand on her currently flat abdomen, one hand anchored to his shoulder. “This baby needs you now. You’re the father.”
He sat staring at his plate rather than acknowledge her, and when she’d given up on him answering she dropped her hands from his shoulder and her stomach and cleared the dishes from the table.
“I’ll take care of that,” he said, belatedly.
“No, this is my way of thanking you for a great meal.” As long as he held onto the past, she’d never have a chance to really get to know him.
John removed the remaining dishes and joined her at the sink. Together they worked in silence, cleaning the kitchen.
“Can you take me home now, please?” she asked, once everything was done.
“Sure.”
Noncommittal seemed to be all the man could offer, and his history explained why, but that definitely wasn’t something she’d settle for, and John really did need to let go of the past.
* * *
John watched Polly from across the kitchen. Her petite frame looked good in anything she wore, which happened to be hospital scrubs. She was right about so many years having gone by, he knew. He couldn’t argue with the logic of being held captive by a time capsule, but the habit had become so deeply rooted into his being that he couldn’t seem to break free. He’d been one of the first responders at the scene and to this day he had flashbacks of treating the injured and mangled, of staring into the faces of the dead, while desperate to find his wife. He’d taken risks amongst the falling debris and rubble searching for Lisa, but it had all been fruitless. She’d died and taken most of him with her. To this day he questioned why he’d lived and she hadn’t.
When Polly had gathered her things, he got his keys and they headed for the elevator.
An hour later, due to heavy traffic conditions, when John dropped Polly off at her century-old building on the Lower East Side, a crazy idea popped into his head. She was the one accusing him of abandoning his responsibility to the child. She’d probably never agree to it but, what the hell, when the time was right, he’d make his pitch.
He’d double-parked and watched while she climbed the stoop stairs and buzzed herself into the building. The thought of her surviving during the long hot summer while being pregnant and living in the ancient brownstone walk-up didn’t sit well. He couldn’t offer his heart to a stranger, but he owed her the common decency of making sure she was comfortable and cared for.
Patience, John, give her some time to realize how hard things will get on her own, then you can make her the offer she can’t refuse.
