The Fertility Factor. Jennifer Mikels

that the upper crust viewed theater people as a step above bohemians. James Braden III had made it clear that grease-paint and blue blood didn’t mix. “I have brothers. Quiet is not in the Mancini vocabulary.”

      Derek flashed a smile. “They play ball?”

      “One of them was always asking me to play catch.”

      “I gather you come from a big family?”

      “Three brothers, two sisters,” she said, feeling more at ease because Joey was near.

      “I never knew that about you.”

      Why would he? She was his nurse, nothing more. He’d have no reason to bother finding out anything about her. But he knew about her love of cooking? Why? Had he asked about her? Probably not, she decided. Someone might have said something, maybe at Christmastime when they’d had a potluck buffet at the center and everyone had brought a homemade dish. “Maybe some other time we can play,” she said, just to please the boy. She knew she’d never be with them again. “If that’s all right with your daddy,” she added.

      Joey sent her a quick grin, obviously taking her words to heart. “Is it, Dad?”

      With a gentle hand, Derek cupped his son’s shoulder. “We’ll see.”

      A nice, noncommittal response, Lara mused.

      “Daddy, can we go now?”

      “I promised we’d watch the ball game until I have to leave,” Derek said to her.

      During the three years since she’d begun working side by side with Derek, Lara had never seen him look so relaxed. It had nothing to do with the clothes. It was the way he looked at his son. No strain tightened his jawline. No annoyance narrowed his eyes. He looked so calm.

      Joey took a step away, then halted, remembering her. “Bye, Lara.”

      “See you, Joey.” She waited until he was out of hearing range. “He’s so adorable, Derek.”

      “I think so. That was nice of you,” he said. “I owe you.”

      She swung away, smiling. With excruciating honesty, she admitted her feelings for this man were like a teenage crush. That sounded incredibly immature for a thirty-eight-year-old woman, but she couldn’t ignore the emotions he stirred.

      “Lara?”

      In midstride, she paused, shot a look over her shoulder at him. She’d thought they were done.

      His long, hard look nearly melted her bones. “You look terrific.”

      Breathe, Lara, breathe. “Thank you.” During sensible moments she told herself that he’d probably drive her crazy with his inflexibility. She was a “wing it” person. Five siblings had forced her to have an easygoing nature. Adaptability was a must with a capital A. Derek definitely was intense, all wrong for her. He was also out of her league. But it didn’t matter a whit that they had nothing in common except a love for kids. She had the hots for him.

      Derek watched her walk away and swore softly. She hadn’t told him what was wrong. He’d seen her sitting on the park bench. Head bent, she’d looked so alone. He’d never seen her alone. People gravitated toward her. At work someone—a patient’s family or a co-worker—was always talking to her.

      “She’s pretty.”

      Derek caught his son’s small hand and grabbed the handlebar of the bicycle. “Yes.”

      More than one nurse had complained that he was aloof, detached, distant. He’d gone through several nurses before Lara had worked for him. He was too much of a perfectionist, people claimed. He expected too much, was tough on the people who worked with him. He didn’t think so. Babies, precious and innocent, were in his care. They deserved the best he and everyone he worked with could give them. He’d found that person when Lara Mancini had come to work with him. He’d be a fool to ruin the working relationship he had with her.

      “She likes you. I can tell.”

      Derek chuckled. “How can you tell?” he asked, interested in hearing his son’s observation.

      “Because she smiled at you a lot. A real lot. Rylyn liked Adam and smiled at him all the time.”

      “Who’s Rylyn?”

      “The one with the pink lunch box at school.”

      “Oh, okay.” Rylyn, a kindergarten classmate, was a dimpled redhead with freckles.

      “When they like you, they smile a lot.”

      Derek grinned. Was he really getting advice from his five-year-old son?

      “And you smiled at her a lot, too.”

      “We work together, Joey. Lara is my nurse.”

      “Couldn’t she be your girlfriend?”

      “I don’t think so.” No, she couldn’t. He knew she couldn’t be. Lara Mancini wanted everything he was rejecting—promises, commitment, love, marriage and children. Derek tightened his hand on his son’s. Joey had gone through everything that Derek had promised himself no child of his ever would. He’d never do that to another child.

      “Daddy, you’re doing it again.”

      “Doing what?”

      “I’m talking to you, and you’re not listening.” Joey frowned. “In school, you get your name on the board if you do that.”

      Derek pulled a silly face and whacked the side of his head. “Me? I did that. Again?” As Joey laughed at him, Derek dropped to his haunches. “Climb aboard.”

      Joey placed one arm around Derek’s neck and gripped his shirt at the shoulder with his other hand. “Couldn’t she be?” he asked, straddling Derek’s back for a piggyback ride.

      Derek paused in walking the bike and unhooked the water bottle from behind the seat to offer Joey a drink.

      “I was thirsty.” He gulped a mouthful of water, then handed Derek the water bottle.

      “Joey, what is this about?” Derek asked and took a hearty swallow of the water.

      “You have to like her to make a baby, don’t you?”

      The water spewed out of his mouth. “What? Who said anything about babies?” He’d have a long talk with his ex-wife if she was putting this stuff in Joey’s head.

      “Rylyn said I need to be a big brother. Everyone in my class is having a baby.”

      Rylyn again. “They are?”

      “Even the turtle. They lay eggs. Mrs. Wolken has a big egg in her.”

      Mrs. Wolken was a kindergarten teacher in her last trimester. “She doesn’t have an egg in her. She has a baby.”

      “Uh-huh. A baby is inside an egg.”

      They’d talk tonight at bedtime. Now wasn’t the time to have a discussion about the birds and bees. “Let’s get home. Dorothy is making your favorite cookies,” he said about Dorothy Donaldson, housekeeper, nanny, good friend. She wore a lot of hats for them. “She’s waiting for you to help.”

      Joey leaned close and whispered in his ear. “Chocolate chip?”

      “Aren’t they your favorite?”

      “Uh-huh.” He hugged Derek’s neck tighter. “I like Lara,” he added.

      So did he. She revved his motor, especially today in that outfit. Possibly he was thinking so much about her because she’d looked different today. Classy. Sexy.

       Chapter Two

       E ven when Lara was in an annoyed mood, Manhattan Multiple’s warm blue interior calmed her. Hot from her walk to the center, she welcomed the coolness in the air-conditioned center’s