him a contemplative look, Meg turned toward the door he’d indicated. “I’ll find out what I can.”
He waited for what seemed an eternity before the door finally opened. “Is she going to be all right?” he asked, his guilt increasing as he faced Meg. Her expression gave nothing away and only served to heighten his anxiety.
If he’d caused whatever Elena had been suffering from earlier in the evening to worsen by insisting she go to dinner with him he’d never forgive himself.
“As long as she takes it easy she should be fine.” Meg smiled knowingly. “They’re getting ready to release her as soon as the attending physician prescribes medication for the nausea. But your job is going to be to see that she starts eating regular meals and getting more rest. It’s important for everyone, but even more so for someone in Ms. Delgado’s condition.”
“Okay.” He’d agree to anything, if it would make up for his colossal lack of sensitivity.
Meg’s expression turned serious. “If she doesn’t, she’ll lose the baby, Brett.”
“The baby,” he repeated dumbly.
“Yes, the baby.” Meg’s beeper went off, and after checking the tiny screen, she smiled. “I’ve got to run.” She touched his arm, her face filled with understanding. “Look, Brett, she’s very upset and scared to death that she’ll have a miscarriage. I can tell she and the baby mean a lot to you. Just take good care of them and everything should be fine.”
“Me?” Brett opened and closed his mouth several times in an attempt to make his vocal chords work. “I didn’t— I mean, I’m not—”
“Relax. You’ll be a great father.” Meg turned to walk away. “Good luck to the three of you.”
Astounded, Brett watched the woman disappear around a corner, then looked at the closed door in front of him. Meg thought Elena’s baby was his.
The assumption that he was the father was almost laughable. For that matter it held true of his being the father of anyone’s baby.
He shook his head as he waited for Elena. If the truth came out, most of the society gossips would be shocked right down to the soles of their feet. Brett Connelly might have been seen dining or attending a social function with several different women, but he hadn’t been seeing anyone steadily for the past six months. And beside being extremely careful to take the proper precautions when he was with a woman, it had been more than a year since he’d had sex.
Fear clawed at every fiber of Elena’s being, and tears blurred her vision as she slowly got dressed. One thought kept running through her mind. She couldn’t lose this baby. She just couldn’t. Having already suffered two miscarriages during her disastrous marriage, this was her last hope for a child of her own.
She took a deep breath and forced herself to think positively. In seven months she’d have a beautiful child to love who would love her in return. This time she was not going to lose her baby.
Wiping the tears from her cheeks, she hoped with all her heart that Brett had gotten tired of waiting and left the hospital to pursue other interests for the evening. She took pride in her job and had worked very hard to earn her position as a special investigative detective. When she was on duty, as she had been this evening, she never allowed anyone to see her as anything but a consummate professional. Ever.
But Brett had witnessed her weakness, her vulnerability. It would be humiliating enough to face him on Monday morning when she began interviewing the Connelly family. Tonight it would be downright impossible.
Tucking the prescription and blister packs of medication the doctor had given her for nausea into her shoulder bag, she pushed open the door of the tiny examining room and walked out into the hall. She almost groaned out loud. There Brett stood looking as tall and handsome as ever.
He whirled around at the sound of her footsteps, and the look on his face surprised her. She would have expected a sullen impatience about him for the inconvenience she’d caused. Her ex-husband, Michael, had always worn that look whenever she’d done something to interrupt his plans. But Brett’s expression held nothing but concern.
“Are you all right?” he asked, closing the space between them to place his hands on her shoulders. She found the warmth from his palms oddly reassuring.
She nodded but couldn’t meet his worried gaze. How could she? She was far too embarrassed. He’d witnessed her at one of the lowest moments of her life.
“Is there someone I should call?” he asked. “A husband or friend?”
Still unable to meet his gaze, she shook her head. “There’s no one.”
Placing his forefinger under her chin, he lifted her face until their gazes met. “I’m really sorry, Elena,” he said, his voice soft and low. “I should have listened to you when you said you weren’t up to having dinner with me. Do you think you can find it in your heart to forgive me for being an insensitive fool?”
His gentle touch, the sincerity in his words and the apologetic look he gave her caused tears to flood her eyes again and a huge lump to form in her throat. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d heard a man apologize to her for anything, let alone ask for her forgiveness. In the entire four years of her marriage, Michael had only expressed regret a couple of times and he’d never asked for her forgiveness. Not the first time, when she’d discovered he was having an affair. Not the last time, when he’d told her he was moving out to live with the woman he’d been sleeping with for the previous six months of their marriage.
“Thank you for your help,” she said, forcing words past the tightness clogging her throat. “But you shouldn’t have waited. I’m sure you have more entertaining things to do with your evening than stand around the hospital.”
“No problem,” he said, smiling. He held her coat for her. “When we get to your place, I’ll call and have some food delivered.”
Elena shook her head. “Thank you, but you don’t have to do that. I’ll catch a cab and fix something for myself when I get back to my apartment.”
“The doctor said you needed to start eating regular meals and getting more rest.” Brett ushered her toward the exit at the end of the long corridor. “You can’t possibly do that if you have to cook for yourself. Besides, it’s late and you’re tired. You need to put your feet up and take it easy.”
“I’m used to fending for myself,” she argued. Tears were threatening again, and she had to get away from him before she humiliated herself further with a crying binge.
“It’s the least I can do. I feel responsible for you spending your evening in the E.R.”
As they walked out into the bitterly cold night, he put his arm around her shoulders and tucked her to his side to shield her from the brisk wind blowing in from Lake Michigan and the snow that had begun to fall. Before she could find her voice to tell him that he owed her nothing, he had her settled in the plush leather passenger seat of the Jaguar and was sliding into the driver’s seat.
“Do you think your stomach would be okay with soup?” he asked.
“I think so, but you don’t have to—”
“Elena, I do have to,” he interrupted.
