things like that. Especially not after her sister, Rosanna, had gotten pregnant in high school. Nope. Rosanna had been the bad example, the cautionary tale about why you didn’t sleep with men who didn’t love you.
Becca’s hand found her stomach again. If she’d stayed at the hospital the night of Victor’s accident, life would be drastically different right now.
“Do you want to talk about it?” Kate asked.
She shrugged. “I do, but not here.”
“Of course.” Kate sat forward on her chair. “There’s no privacy here. And you’re probably not up to it right now. But, Becs, I’m here for you. Okay?”
Kate reached out and squeezed Becca’s hand.
“Whatever you need,” she added.
Becca forced a smile. She recalled how her mother used to tell her it took more muscles to frown than it did to smile. At the moment, nothing could have felt further from the truth.
“Thank you, Kate. You’ve already done so much for me today.”
And she had. Kate had spent the afternoon in the emergency room with her. By now, Kate’s family would be home. Her husband, Liam Thayer, was head of Celebration Memorial pediatrics. He was one of the bigwigs at the hospital. Becca had thought about asking him to do a little sleuthing on her behalf to help her locate Nick.
Now that Kate knew, maybe she would. She’d be asking Liam to break the rules. And of course, she’d have to offer a pretty darned good explanation as to why she wanted personal info about a doctor who had interviewed at the hospital three months ago. That would mean she’d have to admit to Liam she’d slept with a man without even knowing his last name.
Other than pride, she couldn’t think of a good reason not to ask Liam to help her get an address or phone number, something more to go on than simply Nick, the hot doctor from San Antonio.
He was the father of her baby. He deserved to know.
But she and Kate would have that conversation another time. She couldn’t chance someone who worked in the ER overhearing them plotting to infiltrate hospital human resources.
Right now, her throat and lips were too dry to talk, and she was utterly exhausted. It took all the energy she possessed to place another ice chip in her mouth and close her eyes.
She wasn’t sure how long she’d been lying there drifting in and out of light sleep, dreams merging with the sounds in the ER; dreams of the night of Victor’s accident when her sister had been crazed with worry and had taken it out on Becca. She dreamed of Rosanna screaming at her, telling her to get out. Blaming her for what happened. And then the dream morphed into meeting Nick, making love to Nick...
That’s why she wasn’t sure if she was dreaming or if she really had sensed him standing there. But when she opened her eyes at the sound of someone pulling open the curtain surrounding her bed, Nick was standing there.
“Hi, Ms. Flannigan. I’m Dr. Ciotti.” He was looking down at the tablet in his hands, not at her.
It was him. All tall six-foot-something of him. Slightly longish brown hair. The lab coat and green scrubs didn’t hide the mile-wide shoulders, but they covered up the tattoos on his biceps.
God, those tattoos. One of them, a single word—Latin, she thought, but she wasn’t sure. The other was an ornate Celtic cross, which she found fascinating—especially now, because based on his last name, Ciotti, Nick Ciotti—his background might be Italian.
She’d memorized those tattoos. Just as she’d memorized the feel of the long, lean muscled planes of that body. Despite her weakened state, recalling these details had her feeling the same brand of hot and bothered she’d felt that night, the night they’d first met.
And now he was standing in front of her. As if she’d conjured him.
Becca blinked. What was he doing here? When she’d tried to find him, the people in the human resources department had sworn there was not a doctor with the first name of Nick employed at Celebration Memorial.
Maybe he was some dark angel who’d been sentenced to serve purgatory in emergency rooms... Okay, she wasn’t so out of it that she didn’t realize how delusional that sounded. Or that she probably had never looked worse. Maybe he wouldn’t recognize her.
And that would be preferable?
Maybe.
“I’ve just come on duty after a shift change, and I wanted to look in on you before signing your release papers.”
Had she conjured him? Or maybe she was hallucinating?
“How are you feeling?” he asked as he keyed something into the tablet, still not looking up. “I understand you’re pregnant. Are you feeling strong enough to go home?”
She didn’t quite know what to say. Especially since her entire body had gone numb at the sight of him.
When he finally looked up, their gazes met. His upright professionalism gave way to recognition. Recognition morphed into something that resembled utter shock. But it took only a couple of beats for him to compose himself. Becca could see the virtual wall go up around him.
“Hello,” he said. “It’s, uh—it’s nice to see you again.”
His words were clipped and matter-of-fact. There was no trace of the sex god who had zapped her of all common sense and discretion that night.
“It’s been a while, hasn’t it?” She tried to keep her voice light. It wasn’t an easy task, lying there on a gurney in a hospital gown, with parched lips and a dry mouth. How many times had she imagined running into him at a park or in a restaurant—in her imagination he was always dining solo, of course, waiting for her and overjoyed by the reunion. But the one scenario she’d never imagined was running into him as a patient in the emergency room, looking as she felt right now.
God, just kill me now.
She instantly regretted the figurative words. Her hand automatically moved to her belly in a protective stance.
She took a deep breath and reframed. This wasn’t the time for vanity. So what if her hair was a mess and her makeup had washed away hours ago? No matter what she looked like right now, she had important matters to discuss with him.
“How long has it been?” he asked. His shock and surprise had settled into a professional half smile that put miles of space between them. The expression established that they were acquaintances. That he was the doctor and she was the patient, and doctors didn’t sleep with their patients.
But until now, she hadn’t been his patient. He had only helped her out by answering questions about her nephew’s condition. Medical terms she hadn’t understood and he’d explained to her.
“It’s been three months,” Becca offered. “Twelve weeks, almost exactly to the date.”
Dr. Nick Ciotti glanced down again at the tablet in his hands. He scrolled with his fingertip. “Yes. So, it’s been...three months.”
She
