“I love you,” she told him, touching the warm key where it lay in the hollow of her collarbone. “I love you.”
His expression brightened, and his mouth twisted, caught between a choked cry and a relieved grin. Emotion won. The last thing she saw before he yanked her over the threshold and into his arms was the glittering sparkle of his tears.
“I love you, too.” His voice was husky. Raw. “I love you, too.”
“I’m sorry.” She clung to his neck, kissing his forehead and cheeks as he hugged her around the waist until only the tips of her toes brushed the floor. He swung her around, to the nearest chair in the foyer. He sat, settling her in his lap, across the unyielding length of his thighs. “I didn’t mean to pick a fight with you the other night. I’m not sure what got into me. I was just so scared and—”
“Shh,” he said, and though tears streaked his cheeks now, his smile was wide, grooved on either side by those boyish dimples she loved so much. “You don’t have to explain anything. I understand.”
“But—”
Too late. Planting his hands on her cheeks, he pulled her face down for the kind of wild, nearly frantic kiss that made words unnecessary. She ran her hands all over his back, arms and shoulders, rediscovering the flex and play of his muscles beneath her fingers. He did the same, gripping her hips with hard fingers that couldn’t seem to anchor her close enough. It had been way too long since they’d touched each other, and her blood went from slow simmer to raging boil in half a second. With desire fogging her vision, she went to work undoing the top button of his starched shirt, and that was when she heard it.
“A-hem.”
“Oh, God.” Breaking away from Thomas, Lia looked around and discovered a woman standing there, watching them with flushed cheeks and a bemused grin. “Who the hell is that?”
Thomas wasn’t quite finished nuzzling yet. Rubbing his lips across her cheek for a last lingering kiss, he sighed and turned toward the woman, still keeping Lia on his lap.
“Caterer,” he said.
“Caterer?” Lia echoed blankly, registering the woman’s regulation white shirt and black slacks. “Why on earth is there a caterer— Oh.”
The house had been transformed, she discovered. Dozens of tall white candles now flickered along the balcony railings, down the edge of the staircase, on the mantel and on the table. Oh, man. And look at all that amazing food! Cheeses and grapes in red and green, salads and pastas, grilled chicken and what looked like sea bass next to a platter of rare tenderloin. There were decorated cookies and fruit tarts, a chocolate fountain with strawberries and pretzels for dipping and a coconut cake with icing that had to be an inch thick. Two bottles of red wine were open and breathing, and there were bowls of salted nuts and powdered truffles, in case either of them had an inch of stomach space left after all the other food had been consumed.
Standing and turning in a slow circle, Lia struggled to take it all in. “Oh. My. God.”
Thomas and the caterer exchanged jubilant grins.
There was more.
Gorgeous blue and purple pom-poms of hydrangeas occupied huge glass bowls on every available flat surface: the coffee table, the end tables, in the corners of the rooms. She’d never seen so many flowers. She’d had no idea there could be so many flowers.
It was breathtaking.
Putting a hand to her chest, she pressed her heart to keep it from bursting out of her chest. “Thomas,” she began, turning back to him. “I can’t believe—”
He wasn’t there. Well, actually, he was there. On his knees now.
“Oh, my God,” she said again, because a man on his knees with another Tiffany box, a tiny one this time, could mean only one thing.
The caterer slipped away, back into the kitchen.
“So,” Thomas said, taking her hands in his free one and staring up at her. “Did I mention I’m a classic over-achiever?”
Laughing and crying, she swiped at her sudden tears. “You did say something about that one time, yeah.”
“I wanted tonight to be special.”
“I’d say you succeeded. Big time.”
“Yeah?”
“Oh, yeah. And, I don’t mean to rush you, but was there something you wanted to ask me?”
“Yeah,” he said, and now it was his turn to swipe at his eyes, even though he was smiling. “So, you know I’m kind of an idiot sometimes—”
“Idiot?”
“You shouldn’t have to wonder how I feel about you. I should have told you I loved you a long time ago.”
“Yeah? When?”
He cocked his head, considering. “Probably when you stormed into my office that first day. Possibly the first time we kissed. Definitely when you were there when I woke up after the surgery. I shouldn’t’ve taken until now to say it.”
“Oh, well,” she said, shrugging. “Book smart but no common sense. What can you do?”
“You could marry me, couldn’t you? Do me the greatest honor of my life?”
“I think that can be managed, yes.”
“Yes?”
“Yes.”
“Good.” Opening the box, he produced a huge diamond ring.
“Oh, my God,” she cried. “Is that—”
“Heart-shaped, yeah.” No longer smiling, he took the ring and slid it onto her finger. It was a perfect fit. “It represents my heart, so you should keep it with you. Because that’s where my heart always is. You know that, don’t you?”
Did she know it? Staring into his shining eyes, there couldn’t be any question. “Yeah.”
Thomas stood, opening his arms to her, and they swayed together for a minute, clinging to each other and their new life together. And then, suddenly, they were kissing and laughing, and it seemed like a good idea to confirm recent events, because she’d hate to wake up in a minute and discover that this had all been a dream.
“So, we’re getting married?”
“We’re getting married,” Thomas said. “And I’ve got a lead on a best man—if we can find him a small enough tuxedo.”
Special thanks and acknowledgment are given to Ann Christopher for her contribution to the Hopewell General miniseries.
ISBN: 978-1-4592-1235-0
THE SURGEON’S SECRET BABY
Copyright © 2011 by Harlequin Books S.A.
All rights reserved. The reproduction, transmission or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without written permission. For permission please contact Kimani Press, 225 Duncan Mill Road, Toronto, Ontario M3B 3K9, Canada.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
® and TM are trademarks. Trademarks indicated with ® are registered in the United States Patent and Trademark Office, the Canadian Trade Marks Office and/or other countries.
www.kimanipress.com
The Surgeon's Secret Baby Page 17
