Prognosis Baby Daddy: A hot medical romance

by Amy Andrews

  ‘It’s a beautiful sunny Sunday. Italians always head for the beach,’ he told her as he skilfully worked the gear lever.

  She marvelled at how unruffled he appeared when her pulse was hammering madly in her neck. Mopeds darted around him like schools of fish, vehicles overtook them on blind corners and horns blared constantly. Some drivers even decided to pull up in the middle of the road and chat with pedestrians they apparently knew.

  She had never seen such chaos in all her life. They traversed the narrow streets of villages, stopping for wandering dogs and groups of chatting locals. They passed dozens and dozens of restaurants and hotels lining the route, all decorated with gorgeous splashes of vibrant bougainvillea.

  They passed several roadside vendors selling fruit from small trucks and even passed one with a raised metal frame upon which dozens and dozens of red chillies had been strung up, hanging in colourful plump bunches.

  ‘Ben!’ she yelled, pointing at an oncoming bus directly in their path as she clutched his thigh and shut her eyes.

  Ben laughed and took the necessary evasive action. ‘It’s OK now, you can open your eyes,’ he teased.

  ‘Oh, God, how much longer?’ she asked, still holding his leg, the bulk strangely reassuring. It had taken them an hour to travel a handful of kilometres.

  ‘Not long.’ He grinned down at her.

  Katya found his smile contagious and the confidence in his brown eyes soothing. She had seen that look, the calm, quietly confident look, many times in his operating theatre. And she needed that right now because the terrifying ride had wider implications. There were three people in this car and the thought of having an accident — the baby getting hurt — was too much to bear.

  She smiled back at him, pleased that on a scenic cliff road on the Amalfi coast she was with someone who could handle the perils of the journey. She became aware of her hand resting on his thigh and felt heat creep into her face.

  ‘Sorry,’ she said, withdrawing her hand.

  ‘Don’t be.’ He returned his attention to the road. ‘It felt good.’

  Katya swallowed, her hand still warm from the bulky muscle. Yes, it had. Precisely why she shouldn’t have done it.

  ‘Here it is,’ he said a few minutes later, and turned off the coast road onto the Via Pasitea, the main thoroughfare that meandered down through the maze of cliff-face villas of Positano.

  Katya breathed easier now the crazy pace and chaos had settled. They were still being overtaken by the odd moped but she didn’t feel as if she was about to die. She even got to appreciate the scenery.

  It was late afternoon by now and the fading sunlight reflected off the colourful façades of the buildings that lined the road and the cliff faces in every direction.

  Yellow, pink, white, terracotta.

  Flowering bougainvillea crept over walls and hung off trellises everywhere. Every home, restaurant and hotel was decorated with flower boxes ablaze with beautiful colourful blooms. The Mediterranean sparkled in the distance. Positano dazzled the eye and Katya was instantly charmed.

  Ben waved at people as he passed. They called out to him and he smiled and greeted them by name. He seemed to know everyone.

  ‘A popular man,’ she mused.

  ‘My family has had a home here for many generations.’ He shrugged.

  Katya turned back to the window, keeping her eyes firmly trained on the scenery. How would that be? To have grown up here? For the baby to grow up here? She thought back to her dreary upbringing in Moscow. State housing, sketchy services, going hungry on too many nights, going cold even more and a pervading climate of fear that even as a child she had been aware of.

  No neighbours greeting you as a long-lost friend — just keep your head down and stay the hell out of trouble.

  She wanted more than that for this baby.

  ‘Here we are,’ he said, slowing the vehicle.

  Katya could just make out a whitewashed villa through the mesh wire of a very high fence. Ben removed a remote control from the centre console and a heavy-duty security gate swung open. He drove into the narrow space, just big enough for two small cars, and turned the engine off.

  ‘Welcome to Positano.’

  Katya looked over at the imposing villa. Inside the fence it looked even grander, dominating the cliff face perched over the sea below. Its grandeur scared the hell out of her. She suddenly felt like Cinderella at the ball and hoped she didn’t trip or say something stupid or eat with the wrong utensil.

  She pictured Ben’s mother, a plump old lady with a mole on her chin and a twinkle in her eye, slaving over a hot oven for her.

  For her.

  Cooking a feast, Ben had said. The last thing she wanted to do was show how very little breeding she had. Not because she cared necessarily but, hey, a girl had her pride.

  She climbed out of the car and allowed Ben to get her case for her then lead her to the front door. The side wall that faced them was stark white, two rows of arched windows breaking up the line of the house. Terracotta window boxes overflowed with red geraniums.

  They walked up a short flight of stone steps. Pretty tiles inlaid along the tread of each stair were beautifully decorative. A large wooden door was an impressive barrier to the outside world.

  Ben inserted his key into the lock and pushed the heavy door open, gesturing for Katya to precede him. She stepped in nervously, the white walls, towering ceilings and large blue floor tiles, the exact tone of the sea, dazzling to the eye.

  ‘Mamma,’ he called.

  He strode through the house and Katya followed close behind, awed by the expensive-looking furniture, rugs and artwork that decorated the Medici villa. She had the urge to huddle into the broad strength of his back, feeling a bit like Alice in Wonderland. It was only her pride that kept her frame erect and her hands firmly by her sides.

  They entered the kitchen, which smelt amazing. A blend of garlic, basil and onions tickled Katya’s nose and emphasised how long it had been since she had eaten.

  ‘Benedetto? Benedetto?’

  One of the most elegant-looking women Katya had ever seen entered the room from stairs to their right. She was tall and regal, her silver hair swept back into a glamorous chignon. So much for round and soft with a mole on her chin! She threw her arms in the air and broke into enthusiastic Italian as she embraced her son.

  Katya stood back and watched their easy affection. She felt a pang of envy as his mother grabbed his cheeks and planted an enthusiastic kiss on each. Their closeness was a stark contrast to the strained relationship she shared with her own mother and Katya felt even more out of her depth.

  The similarities between the two were striking. He had his mother’s high cheekbones and her strong patrician nose. And as the older woman opened her eyes and smiled at her, Katya realised that this would be her baby’s grandmother. There was so much love in this room, in this homey Italian kitchen, that Katya felt tears well in her eyes.

  She blinked them away quickly but not before she saw a faint narrowing of the older woman’s eyes. Ben’s mother had seen her tears.

  ‘Mamma, this is Katya Petrova,’ Ben said, pulling out of his mother’s embrace. ‘Katya, this is my mother, Contessa Lucia Medici.’

  Katya held out her hand tentatively, not sure how to greet a Contessa. ‘It’s a pleasure to meet you, Contessa,’ Katya said.

  The Contessa smiled and came forward, her arm outstretched, too, firing rapid Italian.

  ‘English, Mamma,’ Ben broke in, reminding her gently.

  ‘Of course, I’m sorry.’ The Contessa smiled at Katya, slipping easily into near perfect English. ‘Forgive my manners. Please, call me Lucia.’

  The Contessa swept Katya into a hug as enthusiastic as the one she’d given to her own flesh and blood. Katya felt awkward in her embrace, completely unused to displays of motherly affection. But the Lucia’s eyes were kind and again she felt absurdly close to tears.

  ‘Shall we adjourn outdoors?’ she suggested as she pulled a
way. ‘Benedetto.’ She turned to her son. ‘Bring the wine,’ she commanded.

  Katya followed Lucia down the stairs from where she’d entered the kitchen earlier. It led to a magnificent terrace with one-hundred-and-eighty-degree uninterrupted views of the Mediterranean below and the majestic craggy coastline in both directions.

  There was a round outdoor table with a striking ceramic top. It had been hand-painted with a typical Mediterranean lemon-grove scene. A bowl of the bright yellow fruit sat in the middle of the table and Katya could smell their magnificent tartness.

  Ben joined them, glasses clinking. He placed them on the table and poured them each a generous measure. Katya placed a hand over her glass. Ben raised his eyebrows.

  ‘Wine gives me a headache,’ she said, saying the first thing that popped in to her head.

  Ben gave her a disbelieving look. Since when? ‘This from a girl who could drink vodka for Russia.’

  ‘Benedetto,’ his mother scolded, ‘don’t be rude. Run up and get some water.’

  ‘Yes, Benedetto,’ Katya teased, unable to resist. ‘Run along.’

  Too late Katya realised that Lucia might disapprove of her informality. What if she thought that Ben should be addressed as befitting a man of his stature? But the Contessa clapped her hands gleefully and her eyes twinkled with delight.

  Katya breathed a sigh of relief.

  Calling him by his title would be plain weird, given the things they had been through. The times they had stood side by side, their hands inside some stranger’s body, locked in a battle for their life. Or the time they had sought solace in each other’s bodies. Some relationships transcended titles and if their work relationship hadn’t cut it then their intimate joining certainly had.

  Ben chuckled and left to do his mother’s bidding. He returned quickly with a bottle of sparkling water and poured some into Katya’s glass. He sat in the chair beside her and she was instantly conscious of his potent male heat.

  ‘To bossy Russian nurses,’ Ben said, raising his glass.

  ‘Benedetto!’ Lucia gasped.

  Katya saw the twinkle in his eye and the perfect upward curve of his beautiful full lips. ‘To flashy Italian counts,’ she parried.

  Lucia laughed and raised her glass. ‘Touché.’

  They drank their drinks and ate bruschetta as the sun set and the lights of Positano, spread below them, gradually twinkled on one by one. Katya found herself relaxing in the pleasant company, with the stunning scenery a luxurious backdrop. Ben made her laugh and it was the most relaxed she’d been since she’d discovered her indiscretion had had consequences over a month ago.

  Katya slipped easily into the banter she and Ben were known for in MedSurg circles. They entertained the Contessa with stories from their travels and Lucia seemed to enjoy Katya’s irreverent attitude towards her son.

  After it was dark Lucia served up a delicious seafood pasta with a delicate creamy sauce. It was so good Katya even had a second helping. Sitting there, enjoying a balmy evening, under a canopy of stars, perched above the Med, Katya felt a real sense of family. It certainly wasn’t something she was used to and...she liked it.

  Wanted the baby to be surrounded with the same sense of family.

  Thinking about the baby brought her mission squarely back into focus. The evening had been a lovely distraction but she couldn’t afford to lose sight of why she was here.

  Would Ben be a suitable father?

  She watched him regaling his mother with a story and he was the charming playboy from MedSurg. And sitting amongst the trappings of his wealth, she knew that he could give their baby everything. But where was the Ben she’d seen that special night? The real man? The father-material man.

  Did he exist or was he just a figment of her overactive imagination?

  Ben laughed and her skin broke out in goose bumps. It would be so easy to be distracted. Like she had been tonight. Seduced by the warmth and promise of a real family for her baby. She could even fool herself for a fleeting second that she could be part of it also.

  Stop this, Katya!

  She stood abruptly, Ben and his mother looking at her enquiringly. ‘I’m sorry, it’s been a lovely night but would you mind if I went to bed, I’m very tired.’

  ‘Of course,’ Lucia said. ‘Come, I’ll show you to your suite.’

  Katya had to brush past Ben to join Lucia and she was super-aware of his heat and his scent as their bodies made the barest of contact. She bade him a brief goodnight, with a husky voice and trembling legs.

  ‘Goodnight, cara,’ Ben called after her.

  She could see him in her peripheral vision, leaning lazily back against the chair, his long frame stretched out as graceful as a giant slumbering cat. She remembered vividly how great his length had felt pressed against her.

  ‘This way,’ Lucia said.

  Katya didn’t need any further encouragement. His wicked chuckle followed her all the way up the stairs.

  ‘Here you are. Please, let me know if you need anything else,’ Ben’s mother said, opening the door to Katya’s suite.

  ‘Thank you, Lucia. You are most kind.’

  The Contessa shook her head. ‘No. Thank you. I haven’t heard Benedetto laugh that much in many years. He is too serious these days.’

  Katya watched Lucia withdraw and sat on the bed, staring after her. Ben? Serious? She’d only ever known Ben as he had been tonight. The life of the party. Flirty. Teasing. Except for that once when he’d been blindsided by grief and she’d seen an incredibly passionate side to him.

  Yet Lucia had hinted at another very different person again. So who was the real Ben? The playboy? The serious son? Or the lover? That was her puzzle.

  And would any of those Bens also be a good father?

  CHAPTER TWO

  KATYA slept fitfully despite the luxury of her suite. She drew her knees up into her chest and hugged them to her as she waited for the household to wake. She was doing the right thing. She was. If nothing else, spending an evening with Ben and Lucia had proven that. The Contessa was a warm, loving and supportive mother. She was affectionate. And also obviously worried about Ben.

  As far as motherly role models went, Katya figured you couldn’t get any more exemplary. But her? What role model did she have? What examples did she have to draw on, even subconsciously, to raise this baby right?

  None.

  From the age of eight she’d been the mother in their house. Had raised four siblings while her mother went out. She knew enough about psychology to know that such cycles were too often repeated, and she was scared she’d fail. And she couldn’t risk a child’s life on it.

  And, frankly, at twenty-seven, she was all mothered out.

  Finally hearing some movement downstairs. She showered and dressed quickly, zipping up her bag and carrying it with her, leaving it at the front door as she headed towards the kitchen.

  Ben looked up from his coffee as she entered and gave her one of his killer smiles. ‘Buongiorno, Katya.’

  Katya faltered a little. He looked very sexy this morning, sitting at the table like he was king of the castle. His hair was damp and his shirt was open at the throat, giving her a peek of the tanned column of his neck and a hint of chest hair. His brown eyes glowed warm and rich and tempting.

  ‘You don’t look like you slept very well.’

  This man was too damn perceptive by half. ‘Well, that’s because I kept expecting to turn back into a pumpkin.’

  Ben threw his head back and laughed. ‘You think this is a fairytale?’ He pushed a plate of sweet pastries her way and poured her a shot of espresso.

  No. Fairytales had happy endings and Katya knew that for her there would be no happily-ever-after. But if she could secure one for her baby then she could rest easy knowing she had given it the best chance in life.

  ‘I think you live a pretty charmed life,’ said Katya, sitting and biting gratefully into a fruit-filled croissant with a sticky glaze.

  Ben paused, his c
up halfway to his mouth. He bit his lip to prevent a derisive snort from escaping his throat. He’d stopped feeling charmed a long time ago. About the time his older brother had stolen his fiancé. Katya’s assumptions about his life goaded him to respond. If that was the way she still thought of him after their night together then so be it.

  ‘Is there something wrong with that, Katya?’

  His voice was soft and silky, the hint of flint in it scraping seductively over Katya’s skin and she paused mid-chew. Her breath caught in her chest at the intensity of his gaze. He seemed to be searching her soul, looking for the answer he wanted. Her nipples beaded against the lacy fabric of her bra at the frank hunger in his eyes.

  She shrugged. ‘If you consider living in the lap of luxury and pandering to the hedonistic lifestyle of the rich and famous at your clinic a worthwhile way to spend your time then who am I to say?’

  Ben bit back the urge to set her straight. She could judge him at her own peril. ‘Oh, come, now, Katya, don’t tell me you could turn your back on all this? In fact, I could show you a really good time while you’re here. Are you sure you don’t want to pick up where we left off?’

  Katya wasn’t sure where this conversation was heading or even what it was really about any more. There was a dangerous glitter to his eyes. Gone was the teasing, flirty Ben. He looked every inch the aristocrat. A little ruthless and exceedingly virile.

  She didn’t know this man at all.

  Swallowing, Katya ignored both the edge and seduction in his voice. ‘Strictly business, Ben. I meant what I said.’ She forced her voice to be firm despite the quaking inside.

  ‘Are you sure, cara?’ he purred. ‘We were good.’

  Ben’s soft, deep voice held her captivated. It had been good. Very, very good. ‘It was a mistake,’ she said, dismayed to hear the words coming out all husky.

  Despite that, she swore she caught a slight flinch. He covered for it quickly with, ‘It could be fun, Katya Petrova.’

  Her eyes widened at the promise in his words. Now, that would be a first. Since when had life been just pure fun?