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You’re tired, that’s all. Weariness can do funny things to a person.
“Take a seat in the living room.”
He pointed at a small space to her right. White walls and a minimum of furniture offered a slightly neglected appearance—as if Nick spent as little time in his home as she did in her apartment in Chicago. It was a bachelor’s domain, dominated by a huge sound-and-television system, a battered recliner and a table piled high with medical journals. There were no telltale signs of a woman—no bric-a-brac, no photographs, no hint of lace or flowers.
Lucy couldn’t deny that his single status—if she’d guessed correctly—would make matters easier. She was about to infringe on Nick’s time in a completely overbearing way, and she didn’t need a jealous wife impatiently tapping her toe in the background.
Stepping into the sunken living room, Lucy turned to face Nick. Since he’d remained in the entry hall, she was forced to look up, up, before meeting his dark gaze.
“Nice place,” she said, even though the older home wasn’t at all what she’d expected from a successful surgeon. She had been so sure she’d find him living in a mansion above the Avenues, not a cul-de-sac near Westminster College.
“What are you doing here, Lucy?”
So much for chitchat.
She opened her mouth to speak, but before she could utter a sound, he held up one hand.
“No. Wait here. I need to get dressed first.”
Turning on his heel, he’d taken two of the carpeted steps before she asked, “Do you often answer the door in your bathrobe?”
Immediately, she wished she’d kept her mouth shut. As he peered at her over the railing, a tingling awareness shot down her spine. She became uncomfortably conscious of the white terry cloth, which revealed part of his chest and the slick wetness of his skin. Nick’s body was more powerful than she remembered, the muscles sculpted and well defined—yet another reason for her to believe he was unmarried. In her experience, married men usually didn’t have much time to devote to a rigorous training schedule in a gym.
But that didn’t mean he was unattached. There might not be a Mrs. Hammond, but chances were that Nick was involved with someone.
“I was expecting a colleague from the hospital with some urgent reports.”
“I see.” But even though the explanation seemed reasonable, she wondered if he was telling the truth. Maybe Nick was giving her an excuse so that he wouldn’t have to admit he was waiting for someone else. Someone who wouldn’t mind being greeted in such a familiar manner.
She was tempted to blurt out her suspicions, but before she could say a thing, Nick climbed the rest of the stairs and disappeared from view.
“That went well,” she grumbled under her breath.
Removing her hands from her pockets, she wiped them down the legs of her jeans, damning the moisture that revealed her nervousness. Try as she might, she couldn’t push away the image of Nick standing in the stairwell, the overhead light bathing his skin in a layer of gold.
Pull yourself together, Lucy, she inwardly chided. She’d come to Nick to ask him for his help as a surgeon.
He could never be anything more to her than that.
NICK HAMMOND SLAMMED his bedroom door behind him, dropped the robe on the floor and cursed softly under his breath.
When he’d heard the doorbell through the drumming of the shower, Nick hadn’t dreamed that it would be anyone other than Max Garcia. Max was a fellow surgeon who’d wanted a second opinion on the results of some tests for a young patient. If Nick had even thought that Lucy might be waiting on his porch…
She was the last person Nick would’ve expected to see. Five years ago, he’d arrived at the Salt Lake City courthouse intent on marrying her. Lucy’s rejection had been an emotional blow. When he’d watched her disappear, he’d been so sure he’d never see her again.
Since then, he’d done his best to push the unpleasant episode into the vague corners of his memory—a task that had proved more difficult than he’d imagined. Within months of leaving him at the courthouse, Lucy had become one of the prime foreign correspondents with CNC. And for a news junkie like Nick, seeing her face on television had been inevitable.
But he’d never expected to find her here. In his own home.
Realizing that his thoughts were circling like a loop of bad audiotape, Nick dragged on underwear, a faded sweatshirt, jeans, socks and a pair of battered running shoes. Then, after raking his fingers through his short hair, he took a deep, calming breath.
Yes, he’d been stunned to see her, but the surprise was over. So there was no need for his body to maintain the tension it had adopted the moment he’d seen her cool green eyes and angular features. He wasn’t in love with Lucy anymore. In fact, he’d begun to wonder if he’d ever been in love with her. He’d been able to convince himself that his emotional involvement had been like too much wine—a brief, powerful intoxication that had worn off with time. So when his body had immediately slipped into the rush of attraction he’d once experienced in Lucy’s presence, he’d been momentarily taken aback. But he was in control of his thoughts and his emotions now.
Whipping open the door, he hurried down the staircase, only to stop halfway. Lucy stood in his living room, gazing out the window, obviously unaware of his arrival.
For a moment, he was struck by the droop of her shoulders and the protective way she hugged her arms to her chest. In the light streaming from the hall, she seemed pale and much too thin. Her green eyes dominated her face.
“You look like hell, Lucy.”
She started, and he watched as she donned an expression of hauteur.
“It’s nice to see you, too.”
He joined her in the living room. “What have you been doing with yourself?”
She shrugged. “I’m a reporter.”
“I know. I’ve seen you on television. You have a very impressive career.”
“As do you.”
Moving toward her, Nick had the distinct impression that his nearness bothered her. He sensed her tension as the space between them disappeared, but despite her discomfort, she held her ground.
Closer, Nick decided that she looked downright haggard. She was at least ten pounds underweight. Her skin was drawn tightly over her cheekbones, making her features seem that much more angular and exotic.
And vulnerable. Much too vulnerable for a thirty-six-year-old woman who had already been through more in her short career than others would be in a lifetime.
Shaking away the thought, Nick slid his hands into his pockets.
“Why are you here, Lucy?” he asked quietly.
Lucy assumed a look of bravado that she patently didn’t feel.
“I need help, Nick.”
The words were offered so grudgingly that he might have smiled if she’d been anyone else.
“From me?” he blurted in disbelief. A short bark of laughter escaped before he could stop it.
Lucy frowned. “You needn’t sound so shocked.”
She was so obviously wounded by his affront that he laughed again.
“And why not? As I recall, we didn’t exactly part on good terms. Let’s see, you told me you were choosing your job over me, then you ran for the exit.”
A flush spread up her neck and over her cheeks. “What happened in the past is hardly relevant.”
“It seemed damn relevant to me at the time,” he countered.
“A lot of years have passed since then.”
“Five, to be precise.”
She sighed. “I haven’t come here to rehash the past.”
“Then why are you here?”
She hesitated for an awkward beat of silence. Then she lifted her chin and announced, “I need a favor that only you can grant.”
His eyebrows rose. “What’s wrong? Couldn’t find a date for the Emmys so you’re falling back on an old relationship?”
Her cheeks burned even more and she clenched her fists, but her voice remained calm and even. “No. I need your help with a professional matter and you’re the only person I can trust.”
Nick snorted. He should have known. She’d come for a story, nothing more.
“I’m sorry, I don’t give interviews.”
“I haven’t come for an interview.”
He rocked back on his heels, eyeing her suspiciously. “Then what do you want?”
“I need your help with a…medical matter.”
For the first time, Nick was forced to acknowledge that Lucy’s pallor might be a result of something other than mere vanity. Was Lucy ill? The thought was more disturbing that he cared to admit.
Instantly, he was swamped by the urge to protect her, but he pushed the sensation away in self-disgust. He’d experienced those same emotions before, and look where they’d taken him.
“I’m a pediatric surgeon,” he said bluntly. “You’re a little old for my specialty.”
“I know.”
When she continued to watch him with pleading ice-green eyes, the full meaning of her response sank into his brain. “You have…a child with a problem?”
“Yes.”
She was married.
Or not. Women didn’t necessarily marry these days in order to have a baby.
Still, the image of Lucy with a child was unsettling. He’d assumed that she was single and unfettered by family ties. Call it hubris, but he’d believed that if she wouldn’t marry him, she wouldn’t marry anyone.
A baby. His hands curled into fists and he fought the tension gathering in his stomach.
“No.” His response was low and curt.
“No?” she echoed blankly.
“No, I can’t help you. It wouldn’t be a good idea.”
“Can’t or won’t?”
“I won’t help you,” he said firmly. Any prolonged contact he might have would only breed more trouble.
Nick turned, making his way toward the door.
“Wait!” She reached out, stopping him. “You haven’t even heard what I have to say.”
Her touch was like a firebrand and his reaction was visceral and complete. Damn it all, hadn’t he learned anything? The sexual attraction between them had always been intense and instantaneous. But there was no substance to their emotions, nothing other than passion. They’d never had what it took to make a truly lasting relationship. That had been the most painful truth he’d had to acknowledge five years earlier. Eventually he’d seen that it was better the two of them hadn’t married. They’d each been too independent and too self-absorbed to sustain anything but a passionate affair.
“You’ve got to hear me out,” Lucy said urgently, tugging on his arm. “Please.” She reached into her pocket and withdrew a photograph. “This is the reason I’ve come to you for help.”
Chapter Two
It took a moment for Nick to absorb what he was seeing. The photo was of two children placed close enough together that their bodies touched and appeared to be entwined. No, not entwined.
Conjoined.
As Nick peered at the picture, he could see that the tiny, naked bodies were fused from the breast-bone to the abdomen. Otherwise, the little girls, no more than a few weeks old, looked fairly healthy, if a little underweight.
He was so absorbed in studying the twins that he couldn’t even remember how he’d come to be holding the photograph. “Where did you get this?”
“The children—the twins—have been placed in my care.”
His forehead creased. The twins were dark as the finest chocolate. Wisps of black fluff dusted the tops of their heads and eyes bright as new coins stared curiously in the direction of the camera’s lens. Judging by the clarity of the shot and the haunting quality of the image, the photo had probably been taken by Lucy. During her undergraduate studies, she’d made a name for herself with her stark portrait photography—a sideline job that had helped Lucy pay her way through college.
With a wave of shame, Nick realized that Lucy had been honest in insisting that she’d come to him for medical reasons rather than personal ones. He could only imagine how much it had cost her pride to approach him.
Nevertheless, as he traced a thumb over the photograph, a part of Nick urged him to say no once again and send Lucy on her way. He’d be a fool to put himself into a position of working closely with her. But even as he considered refusing, he knew the children’s plight couldn’t be ignored.
“Where were they born?”
“In Zaire, in a village along the Congo River. They were left in an orphanage after their mother died in childbirth.”
“How old are they?”
“Nearly three months.”
“They’re awfully small for three months.”
“They are underweight for their age. When their mother died, the hospital had a hard time obtaining breast milk. The children have had some difficulties adjusting to formula. A good portion of their food has to be administered through a feeding tube.”
Bit by bit, the significance of Lucy’s visit began to sink in. Nick knew instinctively that Lucy hadn’t come to him merely for advice. She wanted more than that. Much more.
“You’re here to see if they can be separated.”
It wasn’t a question, but Lucy nodded.
He took a deep breath. “I don’t know if I can help.”
