The M.D.'s Surprise Family (13 page)

Her smile was bright and warming, instantly reminding him of the night they had just spent. “Hi, I didn't mean to wake you.”

Peter blinked, trying to rouse his mind and get it started. Raven was fully dressed. How much time had passed? How long had he been sleeping?

Adrenaline filled his body as the fight-or-flight syndrome took hold. The cobwebs disappeared from his brain. “What time is it?”

“Six-thirty.” In response, Peter instantly bolted upright like a jack-in-the-box that had been over-
wound. She dropped down by his feet on the bed, concerned. “What's the matter?”

His escape route temporarily blocked, he considered sliding out on the other side. “I should have left hours ago.”

She cocked her head, studying him. Thinking how cute he looked with a stubble on his face. “Why, what happened hours ago?”

About to get up, Peter realized that he was still naked beneath the sheet that was draped haphazardly over him. Holding it to him, he leaned over the side of the bed and picked up the pants that he'd kicked aside last night. Heaven only knew where his underwear was.

In answer to her question, he told her the first thing that popped into his agitated head. “I've got an early surgery scheduled.”

He was avoiding her eyes. “Not before six-thirty,” she was willing to bet.
If then,
she added silently. “Want breakfast?” She rose to her feet, giving him clear access to the floor. “I'm a terrific short-order cook.”

Working beneath the sheet, he slid the pants on, then worked on getting the zipper up. “No, I'll get something at the hospital.”

She placed her hand on his shoulder, momentarily holding him in place. “This isn't the scene of a crime, Peter. You don't have to escape before someone sees you.”

But it was. It
was
the scene of a crime. A crime against her, against the memory of his wife, and the sooner he left, the better it would be all around.

“I didn't mean for—”

Peter stopped abruptly. How the hell was he going to phrase this?

He didn't have to finish. Raven could read between the lines. “That's too bad,” she told him quietly, “because I did. I meant for it all to happen. I never thought I could, but I did.”

On his feet beside the bed, Peter looked at her. For the first time, he examined the situation from her perspective instead of his own.

“Why wouldn't you be able to…?” What words did he use?
Make love with someone? Sleep with someone?
Stumped, he just let the sentence die ignobly between them, hoping she would silently fill in the blanks.

“The words you might not know you're looking for are ‘care about someone else.' Why would I think I wasn't able to care about someone else? The answer's simple. Because I didn't want to get hurt again, didn't want to risk losing again.” And then she paused, once again reading his expression. “Don't look so frightened, Peter, there's no responsibility attached to what happened between you and me last night.”

But he had seized upon what she'd said first. That she hadn't thought she could care about anyone
again. If that was true, then there was only one conclusion to be drawn. “You mean, there's no one in your life?”

She had a feeling he didn't realize he was insulting her. “I wouldn't have slept with you if there was.”

This didn't make any sense to him. She was young, beautiful and, if the magazines were to be believed, one of the richest women in the country. A perfect trifecta from most men's standpoint. “And why isn't there anyone in your life?”

She was surprised that he, of all people, had to ask something like that. “Because, like you, I've been afraid to let myself open up.”

Yes, he knew what she'd said about their being kindred souls, but he hadn't thought she really believed it. “You?” he echoed incredulously.

“Me,” she confirmed. And then she smiled a little wistfully. “We're not that different, you and I. The heart gets hurt, the heart backs off, it's as simple as that.”

Going to the door, she stopped to look at him over her shoulder. “Get dressed. Breakfast will be waiting for you downstairs.”

“Don't bother,” he called after her. He just wanted to leave the premises as soon as possible.

“No bother,” she quipped, closing the door behind her.

 

Despite their last exchange, Peter still tried to make good his getaway. It took him exactly ten minutes to find his underwear—it was under the bed where it had somehow gotten kicked last night—and get properly dressed. The hallway, when he entered it, was empty. He figured he was home free.

But he hadn't counted on the boy.

Blue was waiting for him at the bottom of the stairs when he came down. Sitting on the last step, Blue rose to his feet before he could reach him.

Peter stifled an exasperated sigh. Was he going to be the target of questions? After all, he was wearing the suit he'd had on last night. “Why aren't you asleep?”

Small shoulders rose and fell carelessly in response. “Raven and I always get up early. She told me to bring you to the kitchen when you were dressed.”

The front door was a simple sprint away. He eyed it. “I have to get going.”

“She said you'd say that. She told me not to pay attention.” Blue wrapped his fingers around his hand and tugged. “C'mon, she's made French toast and it's really good.”

Unable to do anything else without causing at least a minor scene, Peter allowed himself to be dragged into the kitchen.

B
lue brought him into the kitchen. “Here he is, Raven.”

Raven looked at both of them over her shoulder. She wore a blue apron over her clothes and was probably the sexiest chef Peter had ever seen.

“Make yourself comfortable,” she told him, then added with a smile as she went back to cooking, “Or, barring that, sit down.”

“I can't,” he protested, although not nearly as adamantly or firmly as he wanted.

“Sure you can.” She reached for the powdered sugar and drizzled it all over her creation. Turning with plate in hand, she walked over to the table.
“Just bend your knees and let yourself collapse into the chair.”

Muttering something under his breath, he did as she instructed.

“See how easy that was?” Her grin went straight into his gut, piercing it. Piercing another organ vital to his survival, as well.

Without meaning to, he absorbed the sounds and smells within the kitchen. And the life that it represented. He could see himself getting too used to this, too comfortable with it. The last hurdle had been cleared last night when they'd made love.

Raven made it much too easy for him to slip into this life that beckoned irresistibly to him. A life that had such strong echoes of the past. This world reminded him of the happiest days of his life. More than being a surgeon, Peter knew in his secret heart of hearts that he was meant to be a husband, a father. Both roles had been cruelly wrenched from him with a finality that had all but shattered him and now, here he was, glimpsing the past, stupidly thinking that maybe, just maybe, it could be his future, too.

He couldn't go that way, he thought fiercely. Couldn't allow himself to think like that. Even if everything went well, taking this path that loomed so temptingly in front of him would leave him open to a world of pain. He just couldn't subject himself
to that again. This time, he wouldn't come out whole.

He knew it as surely as he knew his name. And yet, she was making it so hard to walk away, to even now, reclaim his life. He had to be firm, had to move back from the step he'd taken by coming here last night. Peter looked at the boy on his left.

“How do you like Dr. Rhys?” He meant the question to segue into the topic of Rhys as his doctor and not him. Somehow he wanted to make it clear that this bogus visit was the only one of its kind. He'd been weak, allowed himself to stray from the path he'd prescribed for himself.

Not the man of iron that he saw himself to be, Peter thought.

Blue shifted on his chair, as if uncomfortable. He had been raised to be polite, but he'd also been raised not to lie. “He's not you.”

Peter wasn't comfortable with compliments, even genuine ones coming from a pint-size patient. He approached the comment as if it was intended literally. “No, of course not, but—”

“I think he's trying to tell you that he'd rather be seeing you,” Raven said as she placed a heaping plate of French toast in front of him. She then sat herself and looked directly at Peter. “And so would I.”

The sentence was open-ended, just vague enough for him to wonder if she meant that strictly profes
sionally, or if she was telling him that she wanted to see him again socially.

That was just wishful thinking on his part, Peter upbraided himself. A woman like Raven Songbird didn't need to seek out companionship. It sought her out. She had the world at her feet.

To convince himself that she and he were worlds apart, he'd done a little reading up on her. She wasn't just a beautiful figurehead at her parents' company, she'd become very hands-on within its operation in the last five years. He'd learned that her degree had been in business and she had obviously been a good student. Under her tutelage, the company's profits had more than tripled in the past five years and she had taken them into new markets. Songbird clothes were not only sold in certain department stores, but through its own retail outlets and were also sold on the Internet.

A woman who was savvy, beautiful and rich could have any man she chose. There was no reason for him to believe that she would choose him. Which made leaving easier.

Or should have.

Stalling just a little, he took a bite of the French toast and discovered that she continued to amaze him. Raven was a woman of many talents. His taste buds were smiling even if he wasn't. “I've already told you that—”

Raven sat, her hands wrapped around her over
size coffee cup, watching her brother and her lover eat. Blue did so with unabashed relish. Peter was far more inhibited. She was going to have to work on that.

“Yes, I know,” she said patiently. “You operate, Dr. Rhys holds hands.” Leaning over the blue-pearl granite tabletop, she played her trump card. “I'll build another wing on to the hospital.”

It was one hell of a bribe, he thought, and she made it without blinking an eye. “You really do like to get what you want, don't you?”

Her mouth curved. There was no denying she liked getting her way. But she always made sure no one was hurt in the process. It had been her edict ever since she could remember. “As long as I can do it nicely.”

He knew he should be annoyed about this, that he should rebel against having his arm twisted. But he couldn't seem to work up the energy. “You've probably already called George.”

She had and this was independent of anything he might ultimately say. But it suited her purpose to make him think that this wasn't a done deal yet. “It's on my schedule for things to do today.”

Peter had some more of the French toast, fortifying himself. He looked at Blue, who appeared to be waiting for a decision. “I suppose, seeing as how this is actually for the greater good, I could see you in my office in about two weeks.”

Blue beamed at him. “You could see me sooner than that.”

He
wasn't
going to be told how to practice medicine, even by an overly intelligent child. “I don't really need to.”

The moment he'd said it, he knew it was a lie. At least emotionally. Because he
did
need to see Blue. Needed to see them both, especially her. Which was why he couldn't.

Damn it, why couldn't he stick to his plan?

Blue shook his head, his straight black hair flying back and forth around his face. “No, I mean here.” He met Peter's quizzical look. “I've got a birthday coming up on Saturday. Raven is throwing a big party for me. I'd like you to come.”

The boy extended the invitation as cordially as if he was thirty-five and sitting in some exclusive men's club, talking over brandy. The only thing that gave away his age, other than his size, was the glint in the boy's bright blue eyes.

Looking on silently for once, Raven saw Peter hesitate. Saw an excuse coming. Leaning to the side, she took her brother's face in one hand and turned it so that Peter could get the full benefit of the view.

“How can you possibly say no to this face?” she asked.

She was right. He couldn't. Not to Blue's face and not to hers.

But saying yes didn't mean he had to actually show up, he thought. He needed a safety net to save him from the huge fall he knew was coming. He was a doctor, emergencies were part of the general scenario. There was a last minute way out.

“All right,” he conceded, “what time is it?”

“Saturday,” she repeated in case he forgot. “It starts at four.”

Peter nodded, mentally making plans accordingly.

 

He arrived at five.

He very nearly hadn't come at all. He'd been resisting the idea of showing up for the past three days, resisting it right up until the time that he'd pulled up into her driveway and found himself surrendering his vehicle to a valet who had apparently been on the look-out for him. The moment he had approached the winding driveway, a young man in a navy-blue jacket and black slacks came hurrying over to him.

Leaning into the driver's side, the valet placed his hands on the door. “Ms. Songbird's been expecting you, Doctor.”

The woman was thorough, he'd give her that. If he pulled out of the driveway now, it would be nothing short of a cowardly act. He hated looking like a coward. Whether he was or not didn't matter, it was the appearance that counted. Besides, Raven
had made good on her promise and called George. The upshot was that Songbird, Inc. would be footing the bill for the addition of another wing to the hospital. It was a good thing, seeing as how the children's ward was already vastly overcrowded.

All things considered, Peter knew he was required to make at least a cursory appearance at this party.

Ten minutes, he promised himself as he got out.

Before he could say anything about keeping the vehicle near the front, the valet had taken the keys from him, hopped into his car and driven it out of sight. So much for an easy, unnoticed escape.

Tucking the boy's gift under his arm, Peter braced himself and walked up to the front door.

There was no need to ring the bell.

It seemed as if there was some kind of a relay system that existed between the valet and the maid in charge of admitting guests. The front door swung open the moment he stepped in front of it.

A petite dark-haired woman in an old-fashioned maid's uniform smiled a greeting at him. But Peter wasn't really looking at her. He was looking at everyone else within view. Directly behind the maid was a crowd scene that had been lifted straight out of what appeared to be a rendition of
Saturday Night Fever.

Everyone wore costumes straight out of that era.
Now that he thought of it, the maid's uniform looked as if it could have come from that time, too.

He didn't belong here.

Making a decision, he thrust the gift he was carrying at the woman. “Would you give this to Blue Songbird for me?”

Forced to take the box, the woman stared at it. “But don't you want to—”

He wasn't even going to allow her to finish. He already knew what she was going to ask. “No.”

He didn't want to. Didn't want to be here, didn't want to make a fool of himself because of this woman.

This was a mistake.

God, he wished he had never come here tonight. He knew that Raven was far too decent a person to cancel her pledge just because he hadn't shown up.

Without another word to the maid, Peter turned on his heel, striding away from the house.

His getaway was quite possibly the shortest lived on record.

“Peter, wait!”

He stiffened.

Raven.

He would have recognized her voice anywhere. The house appeared to have more people crammed into it than had been on the set of the movie
The Ten Commandments.
How had she seen him?

Reluctantly he turned around again and saw her
hurrying toward him. It was a crisp November afternoon. The wind fanned her hair out around her and whipped through her wide skirt, making the fabric cling against her body.

Making him remember the other night.

His mouth grew dry.

He nodded toward the house. She hadn't bothered to close the door. “You didn't tell me it was a costume party.”

“I didn't think you'd come if I did.”

His eyes narrowed. “I don't like standing out.”

Wearing a peasant blouse with billowing sleeves, she hooked her arm through his. He didn't know which was more seductive to him, her Navajo side or her Gypsy side. “You'd stand out if they used you for the bed where the guests are tossing their coats,” she informed him.

“I'm supposed to be saying things like that to you,” he pointed out.

She stopped at the front door, turning toward him. Her breast brushed against his arm and desire stirred within him. “No one's stopping you.”

He tried to keep his mind focused. The noise from inside the mansion wafted toward him. “Raven, I can't go in there like this.”

“No problem, I have a costume set aside for you.” As gently as her brother had the other day, she tugged him into the house.

He should have known. Still, he tried to make
her see things his way one last time. “I don't like dressing up.”

She made no effort to hide her grin. It slyly spread across the corners of her mouth. “If you come naked, there might be a problem.”

“Raven—”

Releasing his arm, she threaded her fingers through his. She began to lead him up the stairs. “It'll be fun,” she promised.

He had no choice but to follow in her wake. “Not for me.”

On the stairs, she stopped for a second to look at him over her shoulder. “Then for me.”

 

“It's you,” she declared less than fifteen minutes later when he emerged out of the sumptuous black marble bathroom and into one of the umpteen guest bedrooms wearing the outfit she'd presented to him.

How she'd known his size was beyond him. If it had been too tight or too large, he would have had a way out. But it fit perfectly. All three pieces. He had on bell bottom jeans, a flowered shirt that seemed to be made of the same fabric as her skirt, topped off by a vest with fringes that went from the middle of his rib cage down well past his hips.

“Only if I've become seriously schizophrenic,” he told her grudgingly. The wardrobe doors were mirrored. He glanced at his reflection and was surprised at what he saw. He'd lived in three-piece
suits and surgical scrubs for so long, he'd forgotten that there
was
any other clothing available. “I suppose I should count myself lucky that you didn't make me wear a long-haired wig.”

She grinned, moving next to him. The thought had crossed her mind, but she really did like the look of his own hair. Thick and black. She ran her fingers through it to tease him.

“I pick my battles.”

He looked at the two of them standing together. It was oddly reminiscent of one of the photographs he'd seen of her parents in a magazine article he'd found on the Internet. Raven looked a great deal like her mother, Rowena, he realized.