Dr Di Angelo's Baby Bombshell (9 page)

With the way Blake had held on to her afterwards, she'd say not bad at all. They'd been good together. She didn't have to have experience to know they'd shared something special.

Was it because she loved everything about him? His eyes, his smile, his spicy scent, his pin-up abs that she'd licked every indention of, his intelligence, his…? Oh, she loved him. Enough said.

Rolling onto her side, she opened her eyes, ready to wake him and tell him every emotion in her heart. Instead she looked into black eyes.

Black eyes that were filled with regret. And guilt. And more regret.

Her elation fizzled like a deflating balloon that lay lifeless on the ground.

“Don't even say it,” she warned, putting up her hand to shield herself from his recriminations. She didn't want to hear about how he regretted what they'd shared, didn't
want him to make the most beautiful night of her life something cheap, shabby, wrong.

“Say what?”

As if he didn't know.

“What I see in your eyes.”

“And that would be…?”

“That you think last night was a mistake.” Maybe it had been a mistake, but, wow, on the scale of one to ten last night had been an eleven. An amazing
hallelujah
eleven.

He lay back on his pillow, stared at the ceiling, and ran his oh-so-talented fingers through his hair. “You were a virgin, weren't you?”

She couldn't tell him. Not with the angst already lacing his voice. Didn't he understand that she'd awakened wanting to love him forever, not face recriminations?

“I'm not a virgin, Blake, but until last night with you Trey was—” She stopped, knowing by the way Blake's head snapped toward her that she'd said the wrong thing.

“Trey?” Sitting straight up, he spat the name at her. “You slept with Nix? Is that what you meant to say? That he was the only man you'd slept with until last night?”

“No.” She hadn't meant to say that. She'd meant to say that there hadn't been anyone she'd ever cared enough to have sex with except Trey, and Trey had been a silly schoolgirl crush.

“Don't lie to me, Darby.”

She might have told him the truth—that, had he wanted her innocence, she'd have given her virginity to Trey on the night of her junior prom. But Trey had left her willing body to go to Mandy. She might have told him that every time she'd gotten sexually close to a man she'd backed away because she'd heard Mandy's voice telling her she'd
die a virgin, and she'd wondered at her reasons for being with whatever man she'd been with since she hadn't loved any of them. The moment she had that thought she'd always stopped, and usually ended the relationship soon thereafter.

Last night she hadn't had any such thoughts. All she'd known, thought,
everything
had centered around the man lying next to her.

She'd been consumed one hundred percent by Blake.

But she bristled at his tone, bristled at the way his nostrils flared and the pulse hammered at his throat.

What right did he have to judge her if she
had
stupidly slept with Trey all those years ago? It wasn't as if Blake hadn't slept his way through enough beauties to fill a little black book—a big black book, for that matter.

“Just because we had sex it does not give you the right to suffocate me.”

“Suffocate you?”

“Like Rodney,” she accused, knowing Blake wasn't the only one who knew how to push buttons.

His nostrils flared. “Well, apparently you didn't sleep with Rodney, or any of the other guys you've dated during the time I've known you.”

“No.” Had the covers just shifted lower on his abdomen? How could she look at those flat planes and long to touch him during the middle of an argument? How could she want him so much after three times during the night?

“Why not?” He moved, and the sheets barely covered vital parts.

“Because I didn't want to.” Please don't let the sheets slip lower. Not if she was to keep her sanity, her cool.

He punched his pillow, bunching the foam underneath him. He regarded her for several long seconds. “Why me?”

“Because…”

He stared at her, his expression as black as his eyes. “Was it was because of him?”

“I have no idea what you're talking about.”

“Because Nix turned you on last night? Is that why you slept with me? Was sleeping with me some type of revenge?”

Was he crazy?

“Our having sex had nothing to do with Trey.” Far, far from it.

“Right.” He sounded angry. “We've known each other for a couple of years and nothing like this has happened. Throw loverboy into the picture and within twenty-four hours we're going at it. You can't tell me that's coincidence.”

She could tell him lots of things. Like how hurt she was that he'd launched into an argument first thing that morning, when she'd been filled with such giddiness at what they'd shared.

“Believe what you want. I don't care.” Okay, so she cared. Too much.

She had to get out of there now. Before she burst into tears. She swung her legs off the bed, hating that she was naked, but having no choice other than to pull the sheet around her toga-style. Somehow the thought of doing that made her feel more vulnerable than her nudity. To hide her body would be admitting she had something to hide.

How could she have thought of Trey when the man next to her consumed her every thought? The usual voices, the usual doubts—they hadn't come. Only she'd come. Time and again, in Blake's strong arms.

Shouldn't she be the one with regrets? Blake should be an old pro at mornings after. This was her first. Surely there was something wrong with his being the one upset?

Of course she knew what the differences were. She'd been making love to him, and he'd been having sex with her.

Big difference.

This morning, first thing, he'd started a fight. Why? To put distance between them? To keep her from getting ideas that last night had meant something to him beyond sex?

Her back to him, she stood from the bed. Before she took a step, he grabbed her arm, pulled her back into the bed. “Where do you think you're going?”

Super-conscious of her nudity, she toppled onto him, her breasts squashing against his bare chest, making her even more aware of her lack of clothing. “Let me go.”

His gaze locked with hers, he wrapped his arms around her, pinning her to him. He shook his head. His nose rubbed against hers more by accident than design. “Not until we finish this conversation.”

“I don't want to talk to you.” She wiggled against him, trying to free herself. After only a few seconds she realized all she was doing was turning them both on. He'd grown amazingly hard against her belly.

She'd grown amazingly hungry to feel him inside her.

Truth was, she'd awakened wanting him.

Had that been why he pulled her into bed? Because, despite whatever recriminations he had, he wanted her too? Had that been why she'd half-heartedly fought for her freedom, moving against his naked body with her own?

“Darby?” Her name came out on a low growl from deep in his throat. Desire shone in his eyes. Desire for her.

Her gaze lowered to his mouth. Soft, and full of the ability to give her pleasure. Maybe he was right. Maybe they did need to talk before this went further.

“Kiss me,” he demanded.

“No.” She wanted to, but somehow she held out. Somehow found the strength to pull away from him again. Probably from the hurt she felt at the regret she'd seen in his eyes. How could he look at her like that and then ask her to kiss him as if nothing had happened? They couldn't have sex again if he was only going to regret it afterwards.

“Yes.” He lifted his head, straining to meet her lips, but Darby held just out of his reach.

In a quick roll, Blake pinned her beneath his long frame. His eyes dark, filled with fire, he lowered his mouth to hers, kissed her deeply. Kissed her until she was breathless and clinging to him, until she burned from the inside out.

“I want you, Darby.”

“You said we needed to finish our conversation,” she stubbornly reminded him, scared of how much she wanted him.

“Maybe we don't need words to communicate,” he murmured against her mouth, his gaze locked with hers, waiting for her acquiescence. Why was she fighting him? Even if she never had anything beyond this day, she'd have this moment in time when Blake had wanted her. He must have seen the capitulation in her eyes, felt the softening of her body, because he claimed her mouth, body, and soul.

For the next half-hour, they didn't need anything but each other. Words would only have gotten in their way.

F
RESHLY
showered, and finished packing the last of her belongings from the hotel closet, Darby frowned at the number on the cellular phone in her hand.

Jim. Was he calling to invite her and Blake to her mother's Sunday lunch? Her mom always cooked big on Sundays, so the entire family could gather after church services. Darby had called and checked on her yesterday, but guilt slammed her. She should have gone by prior to the picnic.

Now, the last thing she wanted was her family witnessing whatever was happening between her and Blake. She hit the answer button on her phone anyway. “Hey, what's up?”

“I know you're probably already headed out of town, but I think you need to check on Mom.”

The hotel room door opened and Blake stepped into the room. He'd carried his bag down to his SUV and come back for hers. His gaze met hers, but quickly glanced away.
No smile. No wink. Just regrets. So far today, in bed, their bodies tangled together, was the only time he'd seemed comfortable with her.

“Why?” she asked her brother, watching Blake move around the room, checking to make sure they hadn't forgotten anything. “Is her shingles bothering her more today?”

“Dad called to say she didn't feel well and could I feed the livestock. I stopped in to check her after finishing.”

A cold chill of premonition ran down Darby's spine. “And?”

“She doesn't look right. Her skin is pale and she keeps clutching at her chest. She says she can't catch her breath, and when she stands she feels like she's going to pass out. She's barely been off the sofa all morning, but she refuses to let me take her to the hospital in Pea Ridge.”

Darby's blood ran cold. “Call the emergency services. Give her an aspirin. I'll be right there.”

 

Blake tossed Darby's bags into the back of the SUV.

“Since I know the way, I'm driving.” She held out her hand. “We'll get there quicker.”

Although he'd have preferred to drive, especially with Darby looking so shaken, he didn't argue, just handed over his keys and got into the passenger seat.

He understood she needed to be doing something. Anything. He'd felt similar emotions when he'd been six and his grandfather had died. Wasn't that when he'd decided to become a doctor? When he'd watched his mother, crying over his grandfather's body, neither of them knowing what to do?

Throughout his aimless, spoilt life that had been the one constant: his desire to become a doctor.

His mother hadn't understood. His grandfather had been a wealthy man, had left that wealth to his daughter and grandson. To his knowledge, his mother had never worked a day in her life, just flitted from city to city, from one social scene to the next.

Blake had hated the constant moving, never having roots. But for the first time in his life he'd awakened this morning understanding his mother's drive to move. He'd wanted to pack his bags and take off and not have to face what he'd done. What he'd ruined with Darby.

A night of sex—damn good sex—would lead them into troubled waters that were sure to prevent them from ever returning to their former relationship.

The fact he'd taken her virginity—and he knew he had, despite what she'd said and his momentary lapse of blinding jealousy over Nix—complicated things even more.

Darby had been a twenty-eight-year old-virgin and he'd taken that from her. What the hell had he been thinking? He should have stopped the moment he'd realized.

He shouldn't have been in a position of realizing.

She was his partner, his friend, his colleague. He'd had sex with her. Now what? What would she expect of him? She'd acted as if sex between them was no big deal, but he'd seen the hurt in her eyes, felt that hurt rip into his gut. What did that mean? What did he want it to mean?

What he wanted to do was go back to the point where she'd asked him to come with her this weekend and take his answer back. Surely he could have come up with a few thousand reasons why he couldn't go to Alabama this weekend?

Darby honked the horn at the car in front of them. Despite the solid yellow line, she swerved into the other lane to pass the car.

He braced himself by holding onto the dashboard. “You're not going to do anyone any good if you run off the road.”

“I'm not going to run off the road.” She didn't bother looking at him, just continued to fly down the highway.

He stared at her pale features, fighting the need to reach out and touch her, to offer comfort. “You're trembling.”

“So?” she asked, leaving part of his tires on the pavement when she rounded the turn to take them up the long drive to her parents' farm.

So he wanted to comfort her. But knew he wouldn't. After last night, this morning, he needed to put distance between them, to steadfastly work on restoring their former relationship.

Maybe if they cooled things down, pretended nothing had happened, eventually they'd get back to where they'd been, back to what Blake knew had been the happiest time of his life. Why had he ruined everything by taking her to bed?

Last night had been amazing, the best sex of his life, but no sex was worth losing Darby. Deep in his gut, he knew he'd lose her before all was said and done, and he wanted to howl in frustration at his stupidity.

The SUV came to a jarring stop as Darby braked hard in front of the house. Without waiting for him, she jumped out of the vehicle and ran up the steps, across the wide porch, and into the house.

Blake got out, opened the rear of the SUV, and pulled a black doctor's bag from beneath the back seat.

What met him when he entered the house had his heart dropping to the soles of his shoes.

Nellie Phillips lay on the living room floor, her family huddled around her. Darby was straddling her, doing CPR on her chest, tears streaming down her ashen cheeks.

Oh, hell.

 

Please don't die, Momma. Please don't die.

Darby begged over and over as she used all her strength to compress her mother's chest, as she blew life-saving breath into her mother's mouth.

Vaguely, she was aware of Blake dropping down next to her, rummaging in his bag, and withdrawing a syringe to inject her mother with adrenaline.

“Let me do the compressions.”

Although her arms had turned to jelly she didn't stop, couldn't break her rhythm.

Don't die, Momma. I'm here.

She couldn't stop for even the briefest of seconds to let him take over. But when she bent to give her mother a breath Blake replaced her hands with his, compressing her mother's chest.

Wanting to collapse from the mental and physical strain, Darby gave her mother a breath every fifth compression Blake made.

As if in a dream, she heard her brothers talking, heard Rosy crying, heard her father's fearful voice. Her gaze went to Blake, watched him compress her mother's chest, his muscles flexing with each attempt to restart her mother's heart.

In a haze, she breathed into her mother's lifeless mouth.
Praying. Wanting to cry. Wanting to be the daughter. Not the doctor trying to save a life.

Breathe, Momma, please breathe.

“See how far away the emergency services are,” Blake ordered. “Tell them we need them here stat. We need a damned defibrillator.”

“They've sent a helicopter,” Jim said, holding a crying Rosy to his side even as he talked into his cellular phone.

But they didn't have a defibrillator.

Her mother's heart wasn't beating and they didn't have a defibrillator.

Darby's own heart hurt, wanted to burst from the pressure inside it.

No, her mother couldn't die.

Please, God, please don't take her. I need my Momma. I didn't know how much, but I need her in my life.

“I have a pulse, Darby. I have a pulse,” Blake practically shouted, sounding almost as relieved as the feeling washing over Darby.

Her mother sputtered, sucked in a ragged breath.

Darby kissed her forehead. “Breathe, Momma, take another breath. I need you to take another breath.”

Darby thanked God when she felt the light breath from her mother's nostril blow against her skin. “She's breathing. Oh, Blake, she's breathing.”

He nodded, easing his compressions. She checked her mother's breathing while he checked her heart-rate.

“Respirations are ten.”

“Pulse is fifty-six,” he said, at almost the same time.

Too low, but a big improvement over not at all.

Please, Momma, hang in there. Just keep breathing.

The whir of a helicopter could be heard in the distance, and Darby's inner sigh of relief shook her entire body.

“Pulse is fifty-two,” Blake said. “Thank God the helicopter is here.”

Her mother's eyes fluttered open; she looked at her. Her lips moved, softly speaking, but Darby couldn't make out what she said.

She leaned forward. “What is it, Momma? I'm here.”

“Home.” Was the only word Darby could make out. “Home.”

The flight paramedic rushed into the house, took a quick history from Blake and Darby, while another paramedic put in an IV and administered medication.

“There's only room for one of you to ride in the copter with us.”

Darby wanted to go with her mother, but glanced toward her father. He looked ill himself, as if little of his lifeblood pulsed through his pale body.

“Go with her,” he said, his voice rumbling with emotion. “Go with her and take care of her for me.”

Darby nodded, wanting to hug him, but knowing the paramedic wouldn't wait for her.

“I'll drive your father to the hospital, Darby,” Blake said.

“Or he can ride with Rosy and I,” Jim spoke up from where he stood next to their father.

Darby didn't wait to see how they worked out the logistics of who was riding with whom. She rushed out of the house, staying next to the stretcher that carried her mother, and with each step she took her prayers grew more and more fervent.

They'd gotten her mother's heart restarted, but had they
been too late? Had she suffered brain damage from lack of oxygen? Would her heart be strong enough to keep beating?

 

Torn in a thousand directions, Blake laced his hands with Darby's, knowing she wouldn't stay seated on the waiting room sofa for long. She'd paced almost non-stop. But he wanted her to know that no matter what had happened between them the night before, this morning he was here for her. He hated what she was going through, and wished he could take away her worries. He gave her a gentle squeeze.

Her gaze dropped to their hands. Surprising him, she scooted closer and laid her head against his shoulder.

Fighting the panic rising in his chest, he wrapped his arm around her, pulling her close and taking her hand back in the opposite hand.

She needed him right now. In ways that had nothing to do with their having had sex. She needed him as her friend and colleague. It was okay if he held her, comforted her. It was no more than he'd have done even if they hadn't spent the night having sex.

“Thank you,” she said softly. “I don't know what I'd have done if you hadn't been with me, Blake.”

He understood. He had felt as if he was six years old again when he'd stepped into the room and seen Darby's mother lying on the floor. Only this time he'd known what to do. Just as Darby had.

“You'd have done everything that needed doing. Just as you always do,” he assured her, knowing it was true. Darby was the most capable woman he'd ever known.

“I felt so helpless, so weak, as if nothing I was doing made any difference,” she whispered, so low he barely heard her.

“You saved her life, Darby.”

“We both did.” She sucked in a deep breath. “I'm glad we were here.”

“Me, too,” he agreed, although the truth was he wished he'd never stepped foot in Armadillo Lake, never crossed lines that shouldn't have been crossed. But now wasn't the time to deal with his recriminations. Not when Darby's mother fought for her life. Right now Darby needed him, and he'd be here for her. Once they were back in Knoxville he'd deal with straightening things out between them. “Armadillo Lake needs a doctor.”

“She can't die, Blake. I couldn't bear it if she died.” Darby's eyes closed, her body tensed, but she didn't say anything else.

He glanced up, his gaze meeting Darby's oldest brother's blue eyes. Jim didn't say anything, just took in how Darby leaned against Blake before nodding his approval.

Would her brother be nodding if he knew Blake had stolen his sister's virginity? That he'd taken something precious from her? Him, a man who used women for pleasure, gave pleasure in return, but never wanted anything more.

His stomach churned with guilt. Darby deserved better than what he offered women. She deserved roses, romance, and happily ever after. Things Blake had no reason to believe in, much less any desire to give.

Her entire family was in the waiting room now. Jim had called his brothers, and most had met them at the hospital. He'd driven his father and Rosy to the hospital. Blake had followed in his SUV.

“She's going to be okay, isn't she?” Darby spoke low,
and Blake understood the reasons why. All day she'd been strong, had been the one fielding her family's questions. Only with him did she feel she could let her guard down enough to show the slightest weakness, the slightest fear.

Her raw pain caught him in the solar plexus.

“Yes,” he answered, hoping he told the truth. Darby's mother had suffered a myocardial infarction and, according to the emergency room physician, was currently being examined by the cardiologist on staff. Blake stroked Darby's hair, kissed the top of her head. “She's going to be fine, sweetheart. You'll see.”

Blake willed that to be the case, trying not to wince at his use of the endearment. In that moment he'd have done anything to keep her from hurting, anything to comfort her and give her happiness, and quite frankly that scared the hell out of him.