Seduction on His Terms

by Sarah M. Anderson

  “Crying is a symptom?”

  He gave her a look that was almost kind. But not quite. “Her stomach is upset and she’s not supposed to be that red. Both are signs she’s not tolerating something well. Reginald will bring us several alternatives.”

  “So...there’s nothing wrong with her?”

  “No. Of course it could be colic and something more serious...”

  All the blood drained from Jeannie’s face so fast that she felt ill. More serious?

  Robert cleared his throat. “I’m reasonably confident it’s the formula.”

  “Oh. Okay. That’s...” She managed to make it to the rocker that Nicole’s fellow teachers had all pooled their money to buy. The baby just had a sensitive stomach. It wasn’t anything Jeannie was doing wrong—the hospital had given her the formula, after all. “That’s good.” Her voice cracked on the words.

  Robert stared at her. “Are you all right?”

  Only this man would ask that question. She began to giggle and then she was laughing so hard she was sobbing and the words poured out of her. “Of course I’m not okay. I buried my sister and there was so much we didn’t say and I’m responsible for a newborn but I have no idea what I’m doing and I don’t have the money to do any of it and you’re here, which is good, but why are you here, Robert?”

  He stared at her. It would’ve been intimidating if he hadn’t been rubbing tiny circles on the back of a tiny baby, who was making noises that were definitely quieter than all-out wailing. “You weren’t at the bar.”

  “This,” she said, waving her hand to encompass everything, “qualifies as an emergency.”

  “Yes,” he agreed, still staring at her with those icy eyes. “When will you be back?”

  If it were anyone else in the world, she’d have thrown him out.

  Jeannie had made sure Miranda at work knew exactly how Robert liked his drink. Because Jeannie aged it in a cask, Miranda didn’t even have to mix it. She just had to pour and serve. Even someone with standards as impossibly high as Robert’s could be content with that for a few damn nights while Jeannie tried to keep her life from completely crumbling.

  But for all that, she couldn’t toss him onto the curb. He’d examined Melissa and calmed the baby down. He had a good, nonterrifying reason for why she kept crying and he had sent Reginald to get different formula. For the first time in a week, Jeannie felt like the situation was almost—almost—under control.

  But not quite.

  “Why do I need to go back to work?” she asked carefully because this was Dr. Robert Wyatt, after all—a man of few words and suspiciously deep emotions.

  He looked confused by her question. “Because.”

  A hell of a lousy answer. “Because why?”

  His mouth opened, then shut, then opened again. “Because I... I had a bad day.” He seemed completely befuddled by this.

  “I’m sorry to hear that. I’m currently having a bad life.” He didn’t smile at her joke. “Look, I don’t know what to tell you. I have to put the baby first—you know, the baby you’re currently holding? She’s the most important thing in my life now and I’m all she’s got. So I can’t go back to work until I figure out how to take care of an infant, pay for childcare, possibly sue a hospital for negligence, settle my sister’s outstanding debts and get a grip on my life. You’ll have to find someone else to serve you a Manhattan!”

  If he was insulted by her shouting, he didn’t show it. “All right.”

  “All right?” That was almost too easy. “Good. Miranda at the bar knows how to pour... What are you doing?”

  He had his cell again. “I don’t like Miranda.” Before Jeannie could reply to that out-of-the-blue statement, he went on, “Len? Wyatt. I’ve got a case for you—malpractice. Postpartum mortality. I want your best people on it. Yes. I’ll forward the information to you as I get it.”

  “Robert?” Admittedly, she was having an awful day. But...had he just hired a lawyer for her?

  “One moment.” He punched up another number, all while still holding Melissa, which was more than Jeannie had been able to accomplish in the past two days. “Kelly? I’m going to need a full-time nanny to care for a newborn. Yes. Have a list for me by eleven tomorrow morning. I’ll want to conduct interviews after I’m out of surgery.”

  Jeannie stared at him. “Wait—what are you doing?”

  “My lawyer will handle your lawsuit. It won’t get that far—the hospital will want to settle, but he’ll make sure you get enough to take care of the child.”

  She heard the threat, loud and clear. His tone was the same as one time when he’d threatened a woman who’d groped him once. This was Robert Wyatt, a powerful, important man. He might be Jeannie’s best customer and she might be infatuated with him but he also had the power to bend lawyers and whole hospitals to his will.

  This was what she couldn’t forget.

  If he really wanted to, he’d bend her to his will.

  She had to keep this from spinning out of control. “Melissa.”

  “What?”

  “Her name is Melissa.”

  “Fine.” But even as he dismissed that observation, he leaned his chin against the top of the baby’s head and—there was no mistaking what she was seeing.

  Dr. Robert Wyatt nuzzled Melissa’s downy little head.

  Then it only got worse because he did something she absolutely wasn’t ready for.

  He smiled.

  Not a big smile. No, this was his normal smile, the one so subtle that most everyone else wouldn’t even notice it. But she did. And it simply devastated her.

  She had to be dreaming this whole thing. In no way, shape or form should Dr. Robert Wyatt be standing in what was, essentially, Jeannie’s childhood bedroom, soothing a baby and somehow making everything better. Or at least bearable.

  “Now,” he went on, “I’ll have a nanny over here by two tomorrow.” He made as if he wanted to adjust his cuffs, then appeared to realize that he’d not only rolled his sleeves up to his elbows but was also still holding an infant who wasn’t crying at all. He settled for looking at his watch. “You should be back at work on Wednesday.”

  Her mouth flopped open. “What?”

  “You don’t know how to care for an infant. I need you to be back at work. I’m hiring a nanny to help you.” He glanced around the room. “And a maid.”

  He was already reaching for his phone when she snapped, “I don’t know whether to be offended or grateful.”

  “Grateful.”

  Oh, she’d show him grateful, all right. “I’m not going back to work on Wednesday.”

  He paused with the phone already at his ear. Something hard passed over his eyes, but he said, “I’ll also need a maid. Three days a week. Thanks.” Then he ended the call. “What do you mean, you won’t go back?”

  She pushed herself to her feet. Thankfully, her knees held. “Dr. Wyatt—”

  He made a noise deep in his throat.

  “Robert,” she said, trying to keep her voice calm and level because if she didn’t at least try, she might start throwing things. “I’m sorry you’re having a bad day and I appreciate that you’re willing to throw a bunch of money at my problems, but I’m not going back to work this week. Maybe not next week.”

  “Why not?” His voice was so cold she shivered. “What else could you possibly need?”

  She’d been wrong all these years because it turned out that Dr. Robert Wyatt really didn’t have a heart. “To grieve for my sister!”

  Four

  Jeannie was yelling at him. Well. That was...interesting.

  As was Robert’s response. Very few people shouted at him and from an empirical standpoint, it was curious to note that his body tensed, his spine straightened and his face went completely blank because betraying any response was a provocation.

 
Rationally, he knew Jeannie was upset because of the circumstances. And he also understood that she wasn’t about to attack him.

  But damn, his response was hardwired.

  He forced himself to relax, to exhale the air he was holding in. There was no need to let his fight-or-flight instincts rule him.

  Jeannie was not his father. This was not a dangerous situation.

  He would make this better.

  In his office, when there was bad news, he had a basic script he followed. He offered general condolences, promised to do his best to make things better and focused on quantitative outcomes—heart valves, ccs of blood pumped, reasonable expectations postsurgery. And on those rare occasions when he lost a patient, either on the table or, more frequently, to a post-op infection, he kept things brief. I’m sorry for your loss. No one wanted to talk to him when he’d failed them, anyway.

  Then there was the baby—Melissa, as Jeannie had insisted. Robert didn’t often think of his patients in terms of their names because children were entirely too easy to love, and he couldn’t risk loving someone who might not survive the day or the week or even the year.

  But Melissa wasn’t a patient, was she? Her heart and lung sounds had been clear and strong, with no telltale murmur or stutter to the beat. This was a perfectly healthy infant who simply needed different formula.

  Robert couldn’t remember the last time he’d held a healthy baby. By the time patients were referred to him at the hospital, they’d already undergone a barrage of tests and examinations by other doctors. The closest he got was seeing patients for their annual postoperation checkup. Most of them did well but there was always an undercurrent of fear to those visits, parents praying that everything was still within the bounds of medically normal.

  Aside from general condolences, though, none of his scripts applied here. He’d already done everything obvious to fix the situation and somehow that had upset Jeannie. If he wasn’t so concerned about her reaction, he’d be interested in understanding where the disconnect had happened.

  But he was concerned. Jeannie wasn’t the parent of a patient. She was... Well, he couldn’t say she was a friend, either. She existed outside of work or personal relationships. She was simply...

  The woman he’d almost kissed.

  Because when the car had pulled up in front of her house, it had felt as if she’d been sitting out there, waiting for him.

  Thankfully, he hadn’t kissed her. Because she didn’t look like she’d appreciate any overtures right now. She was a mess, her short hair sticking up in all directions, dark circles under her eyes, her stained, threadbare T-shirt hanging off one shoulder, revealing a blue bra strap.

  He tore his gaze away from that bra strap. He normally didn’t respond to the exposure of skin but knowing what color her bra was made him...uncomfortable.

  Which was not the correct reaction, not when she was sitting there, quietly crying. It hurt him to see her like this, to know that she was in pain and there was a hard limit on what he could do to fix the situation. And, more than anything, he felt like a bastard of the highest order because he wasn’t really doing anything for her. The lawyers, the nanny, the maid—that was all for his benefit. The sooner he took care of Jeannie, the sooner she could be there for him.

  She swiped her hand across her cheeks and looked up at him. The pain in her eyes almost knocked him back a step.

  “I’m sorry,” she mumbled.

  “Excuse me?”

  She sniffed and it hurt Robert worse than a punch to the kidneys. How odd. “I didn’t mean to yell at you. It’s not your fault everything’s gone to hell in a handbasket and you’re just trying to help.” She blinked up at him. “Aren’t you?”

  Wasn’t he?

  Say something. Something kind and thoughtful and appropriate. Something that would make things right. Or at least better.

  The doorbell rang.

  “That’ll be Reginald.” Although it certainly wasn’t the brave thing to do, Robert hurried to the door.

  “They had everything but that one brand—Enfamil,” his driver said, straining under the weight of the bags.

  “Make a note—have some sent over tomorrow.” Robert stepped to the side as Reginald nodded and carried the bags into the house. The smell of something delicious hit Robert’s nose. Chicken, maybe? “What did you get?”

  “I thought the young lady might enjoy dinner,” Reginald said, nodding at Jeannie, who was standing in the hallway, a look of utter confusion on her face. “It’s hard to cook with a newborn.”

  “I... That’s very kind of you. I’m not sure I’ve eaten today,” she said, her voice shaky.

  Robert experienced a flash of irrational jealousy because Reginald was the kind of man who didn’t need a script to recite the appropriate platitudes at the appropriate times. He had a wife of almost forty years, four children and had recently become a grandfather. If anyone could help Robert find the right way to express condolences, it’d be Reginald.

  But then Landon’s voice slithered into Robert’s mind, making him cringe. Wyatts never ask for help.

  Right. Reginald was an employee. Robert paid him well to fill in the gaps, which was all he was doing here. It simply hadn’t occurred to Robert that Jeannie might not have eaten recently.

  Reginald smiled gently at Jeannie. “Where would you like the groceries?”

  “Oh. The kitchen’s right through there.” She stepped past Robert and Melissa, her gaze averted. “Thank you so much for this.”

  Robert glanced down. The baby had fallen asleep, which was a good sign. Robert went to the nursery and laid the child on her back in the crib. She startled and then relaxed back into sleep.

  He frowned. A blanket and two stuffed animals littered the mattress, both suffocation risks. He pulled them out. Jeannie really didn’t know what she was doing, did she?

  If he didn’t want the chance to personally interview prospective nannies, he’d have one over here tonight. Maybe he should stay instead...

  But he shut down that line of thinking. He had surgery tomorrow, which meant he needed to be at the hospital at four in the morning. He’d never needed a lot of sleep but he always made sure to get at least four hours before surgery days. He never took risks when lives were on the line.

  He studied Melissa. The sound of murmuring from the kitchen filled the room with a gentle noise and the baby sighed in her sleep. Robert had handled so many babies and children over the course of his career but this infant girl was...different. He wasn’t sure why.

  “Sleep for her,” he whispered to the baby.

  By the time he made it back to the living room—really, this house was little more than a shoebox—Reginald was at the front door as Jeannie said, “Thank you so much again. How much do I owe you?”

  Reginald shot Robert a slightly alarmed look over Jeannie’s shoulder.

  “That’s all, Reginald.”

  “Miss, it’s been a pleasure.” With a tip of his hat, Reginald was out the door before Jeannie could protest.

  A moment of tense silence settled over the house. No babies crying, no helpful drivers filling the gaps of conversation. Just Robert and Jeannie and the terrible feeling that instead of making everything better for her, he’d made things worse.

  “Robert,” Jeannie began and for some reason, she sounded...sad? Or just tired?

  He couldn’t tell and that bothered him. This was Jeannie. He was able to read her better than he could read anyone. “I’d recommend starting the baby—I mean, Melissa—on this formula,” he said, picking the organic one. “No soy.”

  In response, she dropped her head into her hands.

  “It’ll take a day or two before the other formula is completely out of her system,” he went on in a rush, “but if she gets worse at any time, call me.”

  Her head was still in her hands. “Robert.”
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  “The nanny should be here by two tomorrow at the absolute latest,” he went on, because he was afraid of what she might say—or what she might not say. “She’ll teach you everything you need to know. Don’t put blankets or stuffed animals in the crib.”

  She raised her head and stared at him as if she’d never seen him before. “Robert.”

  Inexplicably, his heart began to race. And was he sweating? He was. How strange. “Do you need any other financial assistance? Until Len is able to negotiate a settlement with the hospital, that is? Just let me know. I can—”

  “Stop.” She didn’t so much as raise her voice—it certainly wasn’t a shout—but he felt her power all the same.

  He swallowed. Unfortunately, he was fairly certain it was a nervous swallow. Which was ridiculous because he was not nervous. He was a Wyatt, dammit. Nerves weren’t allowed. Ever.

  Still, he stopped talking. Which left them standing in another awkward silence.

  Jeannie ran her hands through her hair, making it stand straight up as if she’d touched a live wire. She looked at him, then turned on her heel and walked the three steps into the kitchen.

  What was happening here? He took a step after her but before his foot hit the ground she was back, hands on her hips. He stumbled as she strode to him.

  “Robert,” she said softly.

  “I put Melissa in her crib,” he said as she advanced on him. “She was asleep.”

  Relief fluttered across Jeannie’s face but she didn’t slow down. Unbelievably, Robert backed up. He’d learned the hard way that Wyatts didn’t retreat and never, ever cowered.

  But before her, he retreated. Just a step. Then all his training kicked in and he held his ground. But he felt himself swallow again and damn it all, he knew it was nervously.

  Her mouth opened but then it closed and he saw her chest rise with a deep breath. “Why are you doing this, Robert?”

  Doing what? But he bit down on those words because they were a useless distraction from the issue.

  He knew what this was. So did she.

  How could he put it into words? He wasn’t entirely sure what those words were, other than he needed her. She was having problems that prevented her from being where he needed her to be so he was solving the problems.