Flirting with Disaster (29 page)

She helped him back into bed, then gently pulled the covers up to his waist. She sat down beside him, tucking the covers around him. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m fine.”

“Headache?”

“Actually, it’s a little better.”

She took his vital signs and found them to be normal, then checked his pupils. “That was a nasty contusion. There’s still the chance of delayed hematoma. You could have a slow intracranial bleed as we speak.”

“Yes, I could. But we’re going to be out of here tomorrow. I’ll have a CT scan the minute we hit Monterrey.”

“Do you really think Gabrio will listen to Lisa?”

“She’s our best shot,” Adam said. “As long as he lets her in the door.”

“That’s where Lisa’s friend comes in. He’s a cop. She says he’ll find a way into that house.”

“So who is this man she’s bringing with her, anyway?”

“I have no idea. She says he’s just a friend.”

“Must be a good one,” Adam said. “She calls him in the middle of the night, and he drops everything and comes seven hundred miles into Mexico to help her. Is there something she’s not telling us?”

“I guess we’ll find out.” Sera sighed. “Tell me this is going to be over with soon.”

“You sound as if you want to get rid of me. Have I been such a bad houseguest?”

Sera smiled softly. “I’ve wanted you in my bed, Adam. I just wish it were under different circumstances.”

Adam shook his head. Was there anything this woman thought that she didn’t say? “That’s what I like about you, Sera. I never have to wonder what you’re thinking.”

“But I have to wonder constantly what you’re thinking.” She paused. “How do you feel about me?”

Loaded question. And one he didn’t want to answer.

“You know how I feel about you. I think you’re smart, you’re beautiful—”

“You know what I mean.”

He turned away. “This isn’t a good time to talk about this.”

“No, it’s the very best time. You can’t walk away from me.”

“You’re taking advantage of my condition.”

“Yes, I am.”

“Come on, Sera. I’m practically old enough to be your father.”

“So that’s how you think of me? Like a daughter?”

Not a chance. If he thought about a daughter the way he thought about Sera, they’d haul him off to jail.

“I think you know better than that,” he told her.

“Then don’t tell me it’s an age thing between us, because I’ll know you’re lying.”

Adam was silent.

“You never told me why you’re going to Chicago.”

“To take a new job. You know that.”

“No. I mean, why are you taking a new job?”

“It’s a good opportunity.”

“Right. Chief of staff.” She shook her head. “Sorry. I just can’t see it.”

“You don’t think I can handle it?”

“Oh, you can handle it, all right. I just think you’ll be miserable. How many babies do you suppose you’ll be able to deliver while you’re shoveling through a mountain of paperwork?”

None. Thank God.

“It’s a small hospital,” he said, “but it’s growing, so a lot of prestige will eventually be associated with the position. In a few years—”

“You don’t care about prestige.”

He stopped short, letting out a breath of frustration.

“You do, however, care about your patients, your friends, your family.” She paused. “And unless I’m mistaken, you also care about me.”

What could he say to that? The worst thing he could do was try to deny it. She’d see in a heartbeat just how big a liar he really was.

“I know I’m pushing here, Adam. But I don’t have the luxury of mincing words. Time isn’t on my side.”

“Sera—”

“Tell me you don’t love me.”

He looked away.
Stop it, Sera. Please don’t do this to me.
Please don’t make me lie to you.

“Say it, Adam. Say you don’t love me and I’ll never bring it up again.”

He started to say it. The words were on the very tip of his tongue, poised to come out of his mouth. But he was tired of lying. Tired of lying to himself, tired of lying to her. So damned tired of denying what he’d felt for her all this time that he just couldn’t do it anymore. Words tumbled out of his mouth that had been bottled up for two long years.

“Of course I love you,” he said. “How the hell could I not love you? You’re an incredible woman, so much so that sometimes it’s all I can do to keep my hands off you, to keep from telling the whole world that I’m in love with you, to keep from stopping people on the street and telling them—”

“Why didn’t you
say
something?”

“Because you need another man, Sera. One who can give you what I can’t.”

“You have everything I want, Adam. Don’t you know that? You’re the most caring, compassionate man I know. You have a kind word for everyone. You’re lying here, wounded and in pain, refusing to get help for yourself for the sake of somebody else. It’s why I love you.”

He turned away. “You don’t know everything about me.”

“Of course not. That’s what a lifetime together is for.”

A lifetime together. She was killing him. Word by word, she was killing him. If only she knew how desperately he wanted that. And how impossible it was for him even to think about.

“Sera? Do you remember what you said to me the very first time I met you? About the reason you became a midwife?”

“What?”

“You told me that watching a man and his wife holding that new baby, knowing it was something they created together, was the most beautiful thing in the world.”

“It is,” she said. “I meant every word of that.”

“I believe you.” He paused. “Sera, if you knew at this moment that you would go through your entire life and never get pregnant, never have a child of your own, how would you feel?”

“I will have a child of my own.”

“Answer the question.”

“I suppose . . . I suppose I’d be devastated.”

“Yes. Of course you would. Wanting something so close to your heart and knowing you’ll never have it is hell. You want to have children.”

“Yes. Of course I do. Don’t you?”

“Did I ever tell you that?”

She blinked with surprise. “Well, no, but I assumed—”

“You shouldn’t have.”

“Adam, you’re hardly too old to have children.”

“That has nothing to do with it.”

“But you love children. I don’t understand—”

“I know you don’t. And I can’t explain it to you. Just know that I’m way past being able to think about that.”

She stared at him a long time, her eyes narrowing thoughtfully. “There’s something else.”

“Something else?”

“Something you’re not telling me.”

“I don’t know what else there is to say.”

“Plenty,” she said softly. “I can see it in your eyes.”

“It’s getting late. I’m a sick man, remember? I need my rest.”

“You’ve never told me about your wife.”

Adam froze, stabbed by pain that was as raw and real as it had been three years ago. He turned away from Sera’s sharp gaze, wishing she’d stop probing into things that were best left alone.

“You never talk about her,” Sera went on. “Who she was, how she died. I asked Lisa about her once, but she said I should talk to you. I suppose I should have long before now.”

“Sera—”

“You and your wife never had children. Why not?”

Adam’s pulse kicked hard, and in seconds his heart was racing. Looking down, he saw his hands had tightened into fists and he didn’t even realize he’d done it. He consciously relaxed them, only to realize his palms were sweating.

“We almost did,” he said quietly.

“I don’t understand.”

Just tell her, damn it. After all this time can’t you at least
say it without falling apart?

“My wife died when she was seven months pregnant.”

For several seconds, all Sera did was stare at him, her lips parted in a small, silent gasp. Then slowly she slid her hand to her throat, tears welling up in her eyes.

“Oh, Adam,” she whispered. “I’m sorry. So sorry. I had no idea.”

Her compassion only fueled his misery. He couldn’t look at her. He couldn’t stand to see the empathy on her face that reflected the pain in her heart.

“To lose both a wife and a child,” she murmured. “The pain you must have felt . . . I can’t even imagine. . . .”

“Please, Sera,” he said. “Please don’t. I can’t take this.”

He couldn’t. He couldn’t stand the flood of memories that came rushing back to him, the incessant echoing of Ellen’s voice inside his head, the overwhelming helplessness and despair that he knew he might never overcome. And he certainly couldn’t deal with it in front of Sera.

“Please leave,” he implored her, refusing to meet her eyes anymore. “Right now.
Please.
”

But still she sat there. After a moment, he felt her hand against his cheek. “Adam . . .”

He turned back to see a single tear coursing down her face. Her own burning desire to have a child was reflected in the pain she felt for him, and that only tormented him more.

She eased closer to him, so close that her long dark hair fell along his forearm. She rested her other hand against his thigh, but it wasn’t until he felt her breath against his lips that he realized what she intended to do.

“Sera—”

“No,” she whispered. “I have to. . . .”

She pressed her lips to his in a tender kiss, her other hand stroking his thigh in the faintest of caresses, as if she was driven to touch him and afraid of hurting him all at the same time. That gentle touch was enticing beyond measure. He knew he should be pulling away, but he’d wanted to kiss her for such a long time, a thousand times over, and he found himself leaning into her, tilting his head and closing his mouth over hers.

It was wrong. He knew it was wrong, but he hadn’t kissed a woman in three long years, and the feeling overpowered him. But not just because he was kissing a woman. It was because he was kissing Sera, who was more special to him than anything else in his life. Pain still pounded at his head, but he didn’t feel it. Memories circled the periphery of his mind but stayed at bay. His heart was still racing, but his despair had shifted to euphoria, his anxiety to exhilaration. For a few blessed moments, he felt nothing but Sera’s kiss and the love she was pouring into him.

She finally leaned away from him, her beautiful brown eyes still glistening with tears. She backed away slowly and stood up, and he thought she was going to say good night and walk out of the room. Instead, she pulled down the covers on the other side of the bed.

She opened her robe and pushed it off her shoulders, letting it fall to the floor. She wore a long, filmy blue nightgown that seemed to shimmer in the dim lamplight, skimming along her hips and breasts. He’d never seen anything more beautiful in his life, and he couldn’t tear his gaze away.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

She slid into bed beside him. “Sleeping with you.”

“Sera . . .”

“I don’t want to leave you.” She paused, staring at him with a soft, plaintive expression that went straight to his heart. “Please tell me you want me to stay.”

As she waited for his answer, all he could think about was how much he wanted her there, now and forever. He wanted her beside him all the days and nights of his life. That wasn’t possible, could never be possible, but just for tonight he wanted to feel the warmth of her body next to his, smell her soft floral perfume, hear her gentle breathing.

And think about things that could never be.

“Yes,” he whispered. “Stay.”

She settled her head on the pillow beside him with a tender sigh, her hand finding his arm and stroking it softly. He closed his eyes, trying to commit the way he felt right now to memory—a memory he hoped would last a lifetime.

“Do you remember a time,” Sera said softly, “when you first came to Santa Rios, when a woman who was in labor came to my house? She was single. She’d had no prenatal care at all and I thought she might be in premature labor, so I called you and asked you to come over. Do you remember her?”

He thought back. “Yes. I remember.”

“She was so scared. She had no friends or relatives. She was crying. Screaming in pain. I couldn’t calm her down. And then you arrived.”

Sera shifted a little, tucking her arm beneath her pillow.

“You went into the room and sat down on the bed beside her. You took her hand and spoke to her in a voice that was so soft and compelling that she stopped crying. Then you brushed her hair away from her forehead, put your hand against her cheek and told her that you knew she was scared and you knew how much it hurt, but there was nothing to be afraid of because you were going to be there to help her through every minute of it. And then . . .” Sera slid her hand down and closed it over his, squeezing gently. “Then you took a tissue and wiped the tears off her face.” She sighed softly. “That was the moment.”