Two in Winter

Two in Winter

Vanessa North

Published 2012

ISBN 978-1-59578-961-7

Published by Liquid Silver Books, imprint of Atlantic Bridge Publishing, 10509 Sedgegrass Dr, Indianapolis, Indiana 46235. Copyright © 2012, Vanessa North. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the author.

Manufactured in the United States of America

Liquid Silver Books

http://LSbooks.com

This is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents and dialogues in this book are of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is completely coincidental.

Blurb

Getty has her life all planned out—and she’s used to getting everything she wants. She’s nurtured her business to success and now she wants to have a baby all on her own. She won’t let her attraction to a handsome doctor steer her off course.

Eric is still feeling the sting of his recent divorce, so he’s not looking for a relationship, but after sharing a steamy dance with a mysterious woman in a darkened club, he can’t help but want to get to know her. Unfortunately, she took off when she found out he gets women pregnant for a living.

When Eric finds out Getty’s a patient at the fertility clinic where he works, he tries to find a way for them to be together without risking his job. Meanwhile, she keeps him at arm’s length until she discovers even the best-laid plans can go awry. Can she let go of the life she’s planned in order to take a chance on a life with Eric?

Chapter 1

Eric smiled as he walked into the room where his patients were waiting for the results of their second beta blood draw.

“Congratulations, Mr. and Mrs. Thompson, you’re pregnant.”

The look on Mrs. Thompson’s face was one he would remember for the rest of his life. The Thompsons had been his patients for almost a year now, and after several months of progressively more invasive and expensive fertility treatments, he was finally able to tell them the news they most wanted to hear. To say it was his favorite part of his job would be an understatement. Tears filled Mrs. Thompson’s eyes and her husband gripped her tightly in a hug.

Eric looked down at their paperwork again.

“I want you to come in and see Skip for an ultrasound in about two weeks. We should be able to see the heartbeat by then and make sure there are only one or two growing in there. I know your emotions must be running high right now, and I’m sure you want to celebrate as well. Brenda, I want you to be sure to stay well-hydrated, and get at least four hundred mcgs of folic acid in supplement form in addition to any dietary sources. If you start feeling sick and having a hard time with your prenatals, you can take straight folic acid. Any questions?”

She shook her head, wiping at her eyes, her face split into a wide grin before she reached for the doctor. Eric let himself be swept into a fierce hug, and he patted Mrs. Thompson on the back.

“All right then, schedule that ultrasound on the way out. And please, for the love of all that’s holy, stay off the internet, okay?” He winked at them as they laughed.

As he turned to leave the room, he heard Allen Thompson’s voice. “Dr. Freyr?”

“Yeah?”

“Thank you.” The other man’s eyes were filled with tears.

He nodded. “You’re welcome.”

As the door shut behind him, he steeled himself for his next appointment. This one was not going to be a happy news delivery. He headed for the break room, hoping there were still some of the donuts and coffee the drug reps had brought earlier. His buddy Skip, one of the ultrasound techs at the practice, was in there, flirting with one of the nurses.

“Hey, Doc.” Skip grinned as he bit into a jelly donut. “What’s happening?”

“Just fortifying myself with a little sugar before the next appointment.” He smiled back. He and Skip had been buddies since college. He liked having him here at the clinic, though the facetious way Skip called him “Doc” when they were at work drove him nuts. “You?”

“Break. Hey you got plans tonight?”

Eric frowned. “A Dr. Who marathon with Lucky, why?”

“Well, I’m planning on hitting a dance club. Matt was going to come with me, but he’s not feeling well. Wanna be my wingman?”

“Have you seen me dance?”

“So don’t dance. Just hang out at the bar and brood while the women flock around you and I pick off the ones who decide you’re out of their league.”

“Right.” Skip was one of those guys women fell all over themselves for. He had one of those physiques that screamed “too much time in the gym” and dimples for chrissakes. He didn’t need Eric’s help picking up women.

“C’mon, man. You work too hard. Lesley’s been gone for months now. Just come out and have a good time.”

Eric glared over his donut at Skip. His ex-wife’s name was usually verboten in the office. The surest way to spoil a good mood was to bring
her
up.

“Sorry. But really, c’mon, man. I worry about you.”

“Okay. I’ll go. Fuck.”

“If you’re lucky.” Skip grinned, reaching for another donut.

* * * *

Eric groaned as he pulled into the dance club parking lot. He wasn’t really one for dancing and loud music. The place was packed. He steeled himself for the throng of people inside, making his way toward the door.

Once inside, he found Skip easily, leaning against the bar across from the entrance. Skip gave him one of those frat-boy nod-greetings they should have given up back in the nineties, and he found himself returning the gesture, much to his chagrin. He started to skirt around the crowd of people, smiling back apologetically at the women who tried to catch his eye. He ordered a beer and turned his back to the bar so he could survey the train wreck in front of him.

“You look like you’re at your own funeral, man.” Skip leaned in to shout over the pounding bass.

“Sorry, Skip. Not my first choice of Friday night activity.”

“Yeah well, watching old episodes of Dr. Who with the dog isn’t a good way to meet women.”

“I don’t want to meet women.” Eric frowned into his beer. “I was married. I’m done with that.”

“Dude. She left over a year ago. The divorce has been final for six months. She split town. It’s time to move on.”

“I’ll move on when I’m ready.” Truth be told, he liked his routine. As much as he sometimes missed Lesley, he was comfortable in his little house with his oversized dog. Lucky was a mastiff mix he and Lesley had gotten from a rescue a few years before the divorce. At least she had left him the dog. He grunted.

“Hey, redhead alert!” Skip gestured at a trio of women dancing nearby. Skip had a thing for red-haired women. It probably didn’t hurt that this redhead was boasting a killer body and a very short skirt. “C’mon, let’s go, wingman.” Skip grinned as he started moving toward the women.

Following, Eric tried to catch a glimpse of the other women in the group. One was dark-haired and sort of angry looking. The other was blonde. He couldn’t see her face, she was wearing some silly hat that blocked his view, but her hair fell straight halfway down her back like a curtain of gold and it swayed against her movement as she danced.

Skip was already there, leaning in toward the redhead and saying something close to her ear. She laughed and twirled around, putting an arm around his shoulders as he pulled her closer with an arm around her waist. The man was smooth, Eric had to give him that. Angry-dark-haired girl glared at Skip and stalked over to the bar, leaving Eric to approach the blonde in the silly hat.

“Hey there.” He leaned in close enough to let her know he was behind her. Spinning around, she grinned at him, and his heart stopped a bit. To say she was beautiful wouldn’t quite be right—she was too much all at once to be beautiful

What she was? She was stunning, tall and athletic, brown eyes sparkling and a hint of dimples flashing in her cheeks. Well, sometimes being a wingman wasn’t such a raw deal. He grinned. “Wanna dance?”

She nodded enthusiastically, and he pulled her in to settle her hips against his, swaying with her movements from behind. Maybe if he stayed behind her, she wouldn’t notice what a godawful dancer he was.

The beat of the music was sensual, and she rolled her head back to lean on his shoulder, a strand of golden hair stuck to her face where sweat beaded. Her hands found his, slid them down her hips to her thighs as she ground back against him. He felt his body tightening in response as her bottom pressed into the zipper of his jeans. Letting go of a little of his self-control, he loosened his movements and let his body respond to her.

Soon, he was sweating too, and his body was hard in response to the sensual dancing. By the time she spun and wrapped an arm around his shoulders, his whole body was singing with lust. He caught her hips and pulled them tight to his own, chasing them in heated little circles, a profoundly erotic imitation of something he hadn’t done in far too long a time—a fact he suddenly had hope of remedying.

He wasn’t the one-night-stand type, but common sense was quickly losing a battle with a far less sensible part of him that was willing to chase a pretty smile and a cascade of perfect hair all the way to a blistering end game.

They danced for what seemed like an eternity, him watching her grin and pout and swing her hair with the music, her eyes closed, her skin shining with exertion. When she threw her head back and he saw a bead of sweat traveling down the side of her neck to her cleavage, something in him let go, and he found himself pressing his lips to the spot behind her ear where that bead of sweat had come from.

A thick groan vibrated in her throat against his lips and she buried both her hands in his hair. Taking her response as acquiescence, he moved his lips up along her jaw, tasting the salt of her skin before taking her lips with his own. She gave a soft sigh as her lips parted. His hands found the sides of her face, angling her just right. She was tall enough she fit to him perfectly. Heat rolled, careening through him as he tasted the sweetness of berry lip-gloss, felt her hips rocking against his, still moving them to the beat of the music.

The moment stretched out as he learned the contours of her mouth, shaping and reshaping them as they swayed to a new rhythm. A hand gathered his hair, let it go, again. Her body pressed to his: soft to hard, breasts to hard planes of muscle on his chest, feminine heat to his hard erection.

Maybe it had just been that long since he’d kissed a woman, but he couldn’t ever remember a kiss making him this ravenous. The needy little sounds she made as her hands dropped to his shoulders made him wonder what she’d sound like in bed, that hair spilling across his pillow, those round breasts his to touch and taste, all that skin and heat his to explore.

Sliding one hand down her back to cup a buttock, he hauled her as tight as he could against his body as he broke the kiss. Her chocolate-brown eyes drifted open, wide and startled.

“Let’s get some air,” he shouted over the music. She nodded, her full lower lip disappearing between her teeth. She gestured at the door leading out to a patio, and he followed her, watching her hips sway from side to side as she went.

Outside, the wintry air was crisp and cold and it felt wonderful after the hot sweaty mess of the dance floor. There was a small outdoor bar, plenty of people around, but the music was quieter out here. The heaters didn’t really provide enough warmth to encourage lingering, but he welcomed the sharp scent of snow in his nostrils.

“Can I buy you a drink?” He leaned toward his dance partner. She shook her head—of course, she was being cautious. He nodded his understanding as he walked to the bar. He ordered two bottles of water and made his way back to her.

She smiled gratefully as he handed her a bottle, still sealed, fanning herself with that ridiculous straw cowgirl hat. She took a long, deep pull on the bottle and he wondered how she made drinking water look sexy. After she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, his eyes followed, wishing his mouth were pressed to hers again.

“Hi.” She giggled, looking at him. He grinned back.

“Hi. You’re some dancer.”

“I love to dance. I hardly ever do though, so on the odd occasion where I can actually get away and do it? Hell yeah.” She laughed, a surprising amount of glee on her face.

“So this isn’t a regular thing?” He heard the surprise in his own voice. She shook her head.

“Girls’ night out, probably the first one I’ve been on in years. I travel a lot for business, and so does Stacey—the one dancing with your friend?—so the three of us are so rarely in the same city at the same time. Anna wanted to do something quieter, but she was outvoted. She was kind of annoyed when Stace started dancing with your friend practically the second we arrived.”

“So what? Anna seemed pretty enough, she could find her own dance partner.” Eric shrugged. Apparently there was some etiquette thing involved in girls’ night out that he didn’t quite get.