Chapter 5
Chapter
Five
KEEGAN
T hree o’clock will never get here. I’ve been watching the clock all damn day, and I swear it’s moving backward at this point.
At three, Calli has an appointment. I was positive she’d cancel, but unless she’s pulling a no-show, she’s still on the schedule.
I’m not sure how I’ll keep my wits about me. Especially since that woman has been the only thing I can think about since the dinner a few nights earlier. Hell, since the first day I met her.
And that kiss. The feel of her body pressing against mine, my hands running along her sides. Under her skirt. Grazing along the soft flesh between her thighs.
So tight. So wet. So willing.
“Agh,” I groan, burying my head in my hands.
“Dr. Russo, your three o’clock is here.” Alice narrows her gaze as she pokes her head in the door, but I wave off her concern.
Not now, Alice. Maybe not ever.
“Just give me a few moments. ”
I take a few controlled breaths, willing myself calm. Calmer, at least.
What a fucking mess. Let’s rehash all the ways this is a terrible conundrum. First, Calli is a patient. Beyond that, she’s a widow, desperate to have her dead husband’s child. And she wants me to do it.
The truth is, Callista will make an excellent mother. Of all the women who have walked through my door, I know without a doubt she will excel in that department. She deserves this chance, and I’m the man to make it happen.
No matter how much I hate it.
With a final groan, I push the button on the intercom. “You can send Ms. Webster in. Mrs. Webster.” I need to keep that fact foremost in my brain.
A moment later, the door opens, and my heart speeds up at the sight of Calli.
This will never work. I need to put some serious space between us. Time for every professional wall to come into play.
“Mrs. Webster. Have a seat.”
For her part, she’s certainly downplaying her beauty. Or attempting to, anyway. Clad in a pair of yoga pants, a sweatshirt, and a ball cap, she looks like she’s ready to spend the day binging Netflix.
She also looks gorgeous.
I focus my gaze on the computer as I pull up her test results, my fingers beating out an erratic rhythm against the desk. So much for being calm and collected. For a speed junkie, maybe. “Give me a moment, please. The computer is slow today.”
“Actually, I’d like to say something.” Her voice is low, tremulous.
I swallow before swinging my gaze to meet hers. “Go ahead. ”
She stands, her tiny frame once again pacing holes into my carpet. “I know you’ll want to transfer my case, and I understand completely, but I had to see you.”
“I never said that.” And I sure as hell don’t want that, either.
Her eyes are bright with tears when she dares to meet my expectant gaze. “But you should, especially after what I did. I’m so sorry, Dr. Russo. My behavior the other night was out of line. You have a girlfriend. You’re my doctor, but more importantly, I consider you my friend. My first friend in a really long time. Now, I’ve ruined all of that with my impetuous actions. I’m absolutely aghast at myself, and I’m so very sorry.”
I should be happy, right? She’s apologetic, accepting blame for a kiss she didn’t instigate. Every word she speaks is the right one. She agrees it was a mistake. It shouldn’t have happened.
But instead of calming me, I’m now more aggravated than ever. My blood pounds in my veins as she recants the kiss, apologizing for the way her hands slid against my body.
Fuck that noise. Because as soon as Calli admits she’s sorry, I realize I’m not. Not one damn iota.
Instead, my foot taps against the floor as I try to convince my body not to launch across the desk and have a replay of the other night. “What part are you sorry about?”
“All of it. Like I said. You have a girlfriend. You’re my friend?—”
“So, you wish it hadn’t happened. Is that it?” My temper is near boiling point at this juncture.
Her cheeks flush with color as she wrings her hands. She opens her mouth to speak, but no sound comes out.
But she doesn’t need to say anything more. It’s my turn. “I’m not sorry for kissing you, Calli. Maybe I should be, for the reasons you mentioned, but I’m not. I’m not sorry for touching you. I am, however, terribly sorry that you regret it. ”
“I don’t regret it.” She whispers her words, but I hear them.
And I can breathe again as my blood pressure returns to normal limits.
“But I should regret it,” she continues, as her pacing picks up speed. “I don’t know what it says about me that I don’t.”
“Why should you regret it?”
“You have a girlfriend. I don’t do things like that. I’m not a homewrecker, despite recent evidence to the contrary.”
“I told you before. She’s not my girlfriend. Megan was someone I took out once in a while and after our row the other night, she’s not in my life anymore.”
Calli sinks into the chair, but instead of relief, her face contorts with pain. “Is it because of what happened between us?”
“Yes, but not in the way you think. It’s not because of the kiss—and everything else—but because I realized I felt nothing for her. It was a waste of my time. Although you were the catalyst.”
She buries her face in her hands and groans. “Shit.”
“When you told me what she said to you, I was furious. Even worse was when she doubled down and claimed I belonged to her, when I know damn well she’s been on dates with other men just this week. So, I skipped the rest of the cocktail hour and dropped her at home. Ended it.”
“That’s where you’d gone?”
I nod and offer a shrug. “Then I returned to the dinner by myself. Don’t worry too much about Megan, though. She’s not exactly weeping into her pillow. She already has dinner plans with a colleague. He thought her tits were tremendous, too.”
Calli’s laughter sweetens the silence, and I join in, feeling the tension ebb from my body. “I knew her tits would come in handy.”
I kick back in the chair, letting my gaze roam over Callista. I know she’s my patient, but she’s also a beautiful woman. A beautiful, intelligent, insightful woman—who can kiss like there’s no tomorrow. “I didn’t think you’d come today.”
“I almost didn’t, but I couldn’t leave it like that. It felt so unfinished.”
“I agree. Besides, don’t you want your test results?”
She chews her lower lip, averting her gaze. “I don’t know, Dr. Russo. Do I?”
I return my focus to the computer and open her file. “Let’s see. Either way, it’s going to be okay. I promise.” I’m not sure why I say these words, although I know I mean them. I glance over her results, feeling a mixed bag of emotions.
Emotions that obviously show on my face.
Calli sags in the chair, shaking her head. “It’s bad, isn’t it? There’s something wrong with me.”
I turn the computer to face her, showing her the screen. “No, Calli. There’s nothing wrong with you. Physically, there’s no reason you can’t carry a child to term.”
She leans forward, trying to make sense of the myriad of numbers. “Then why did I keep miscarrying?”
“That’s our next step. There’s a good chance that something was wrong with the fetus, and it was your body’s way of protecting both of you. It’s not uncommon. It could be as simple as stressors in your life. Even your diet.”
“All three times?”
I fold my hands, flipping into the role of the doctor. “There’s also the possibility of a chromosomal abnormality.”
“English, please.”
“An incompatibility between your egg and your husband’s sperm.”
“That can happen?”
“It can. It often does.”
“Can we test for that?”
I nod, swallowing against the lump in my throat. “We can. We’ll perform a sperm DNA fragmentation test to ensure the genetic material of your husband’s sperm is compatible with life. Don’t worry, Mrs. Webster, we’ll make you a mother, one way or another.”
I expect a smile of relief, maybe even a clap of excitement. That’s standard now. Instead, Calli sits before me, clutching her purse and twisting a ring around her finger, looking anything but happy.
“I should be thrilled, right? There’s nothing wrong with me.”
“Absolutely. One hurdle cleared.”
“Then why am I so conflicted? I thought … I thought this was what I wanted, but what if I’m making a horrible mistake?”
This is my chance to shoot Calli’s plan dead in the water. Tell her to forgo this cockamamie idea. But I’d be the biggest bastard on the planet if I did that to her. She wants this child. And she had no reservations before our intimate encounter the other night. I can’t allow myself to read into it, or its ramifications. “I know you’ll be an amazing mother, Calli. But you don’t have to decide anything today. We still need to run additional testing. But we are one step closer to getting you pregnant … with your husband’s baby.”
I feel ill as I voice the words.
A feeling I’m unfamiliar with courses through my body. Callista is not mine. She never was, and she has totally different priorities in life than I do.
So why does the idea of her having another man’s baby fill me with dread? What is this exquisite anger eating away at my insides?
She pulls at imaginary threads on her pants, her nervousness echoing my own. “As if today isn’t already a mix of emotions, I also have a date tonight.”
“You do?” I manage, my throat constricting .
“God,” she groans, covering her eyes with her hands. “Are we still friends?”
Friends. What a safe, sad and terrible idea. “Absolutely,” I lie, forcing a smile in her direction.
Springing out of the chair, Calli begins her incessant pacing once again. My poor rug doesn’t stand a chance. “Suzanne cornered me into going out with a therapist she knows from work. I don’t know why I agreed.”
“Maybe because you like the guy?”
“I don’t know him, Keegan. I was so mixed up after the other night with you, and how you ran off. I felt certain I must be the worst kisser in the world?—”
“You’re not. Trust me.” Is she kidding? She’s on the opposite side of the damn spectrum.
“Are you saying that to placate me?” Those gray orbs hold me transfixed, the storm brewing in them nothing compared to the tempest inside me.
“I told you the other night. I don’t say things I don’t mean. You’re an amazing kisser. Your mouth—” I rub the back of my neck as my pants tighten from the memory of her lips working me over. Giving as good as they got.
“Yours, too.” Another whispered admission. And now, the air in the room is stifling. Thick with desire.
I want to kiss her again. This time, I won’t stop until I’m buried inside her, branding every inch of her as mine. But we both agreed that despite the obvious attraction, what happened the other night was a mistake.
And one I’m dying to repeat. Ad infinitum.
“You might have fun on the date, right? It’s been known to happen.” It’s the best I can offer. That’s what a friend would say, right? Tell her to go out and have an awesome night, not cancel the stupid date and spend the evening with me.
That is a bad idea on so many levels.
So many delicious, delectable levels .
I shift in my seat, my dick screaming for release and my mind warning me I’ve got about thirty seconds before my last shreds of willpower disappear.
“That’s just it. I’m not going to have fun.” The woman looks like she’s headed to an execution instead of dinner.
Again, an opportunity to kill her plans before they happen. But that would make me a crap friend. An honest friend, but a shitty one, nonetheless.
I hate this role.
I force a smile, returning the computer screen to its original position. “Have a little faith, Calli. He might turn out to be just what you’re looking for.”
Calli: He is absolutely NOT what I’m looking for.
The text arrives at half-past eight, and I can’t hold back the smile. I may be a bastard, but I’m thrilled her date isn’t going well.
Calli: I’m at the Drunken Dog. It’s a terribly scary dive bar. Come join me? I’ll buy you a drink. Hell, I’ll buy you ten.
I should say no, politely decline and then go work out for two hours until exhaustion forces me to sleep. Jerking off in the shower provided a minor reprieve—for about twenty minutes—until my mind started replaying the feel of Calli’s skin and the taste of her lips.
That’s another issue. Every time I see her, the urges grow more primal.
This is why men and women aren’t friends.
My phone flashes, this time with a sad-faced emoji.
Calli: Bollocks, I’m likely interrupting a fun-filled evening for you. You, no doubt, never leave a woman wanting more, and I’m killing the mood. So, so sorry. Bottoms up.
I can leave it like that, let her think I’m balls deep in some gorgeous woman, any memory of what happened between us long forgotten.
That’s the safe route.
Fuck safety.
The idea of her sitting alone in a bar, drowning her sorrows, hurts my heart. The fact that she called me to join her?
Let’s just say I’m not looking a gift horse in the mouth.