The Pregnancy Project. Victoria Pade

was beginning to see why people wouldn’t stick with him if he wasn’t someone’s last resort. But he was her last resort, so she did as she was told, finally settling into one of the visitor’s chairs.

      Even once she was sitting, Jacob Weber went on with whatever it was that had his attention, as if she weren’t there at all.

      It gave her the opportunity to get a good look at him. He was a big man—at least an inch or two over six feet—with long legs and broad shoulders that ably carried off wearing the long white lab coat he wore over khaki slacks, a blue plaid sport shirt and a darker blue tie. Beneath the lab coat was a body that showed no signs of fat or flab, and instead appeared taut and surprisingly muscular for someone who gave every impression of being a workaholic in the extreme.

      Venturing her first real glance at his face, Ella was taken aback to find him so handsome. The only picture of him that had accompanied the “Best of” article had been a profile shot taken from a distance while he’d stood at the nurse’s station of a hospital. The caption had said something about it being the only photograph the fractious Dr. Jacob Weber would cooperate for, and in it he’d been nearly unrecognizable. And nowhere in any of the complaints Ella had heard about him had anyone—including her sister—mentioned that the man was drop-dead gorgeous. She could only conclude that his personality was so rotten it diminished the impact of looks that could stop traffic.

      He had the facial structure of a male model—a strong chin and rugged, angular jaw with pronounced cheekbones and slightly hollowed cheeks. His bottom lip was fuller than his top but still neither could have been more perfectly shaped below a nose that was just long enough and just straight enough.

      He also had great hair—a light chestnut-brown color—that he wore short all over but not too short, giving it an artfully disarrayed look. And when he finally closed the file he’d been engaged in and raised his eyes to Ella, they were so dark a blue they were almost purple and they seemed to pin her to her chair.

      “Files.”

      It took Ella a moment to realize he was asking for—well, demanding, actually—to see her files now that he’d set aside the one he’d come in with. That moment of delay was enough to aggravate him because before she’d grasped what he wanted and was able to comply, he said, “You did bring your files, didn’t you? I’m sure Bev told you to.”

      Bev was the receptionist, and she’d made it very clear that Dr. Weber would not consider taking her case without a full and complete history before him.

      “Yes, she told me. It’s here,” Ella said belatedly, reaching for her own file on the edge of the desk and passing it to him as he finally sat down across from her.

      Those remarkable blue eyes went back to reading then, as if her medical information was more relevant than she was, and Ella worked to rein in her shock over his good looks and regain some control of her wits. Clearly this was a man she had to be on her toes with.

      After a few minutes scanning the file—and still with his gaze trained on the pages and not on her—Jacob Weber said, “You’re thirty-five.”

      “I am.”

      “In good general health.”

      “Yes.”

      “On any medication?”

      “No.”

      “What do you do for a living?”

      “I’m a federal prosecutor.”

      Ordinarily that prompted a response of some kind, but not from Jacob Weber. He merely took the information without comment and continued.

      “After a year of not achieving pregnancy through regular, unprotected intercourse the full gamut of tests were performed and no obstacle to conception was discovered. You had eleven courses of varying drug therapies to stimulate ovulation and—again—no pregnancy,” he said, interpreting what was documented in her file, all without looking at her.

      “Right,” she confirmed.

      “I see that you did have a husband in the picture for that—your physician’s notes indicate that there was normal sperm count and motility in the male. And now you’ve had five months of in vitro—even without a husband?”

      “Yes.”

      “All unsuccessful?”

      “Right.”

      He finally looked up from her file, once again leveling those amazing blue eyes on her as he set the folder on his desk and sat back in his chair. “And you expect me to do what? Perform a miracle?”

      “If you have one of those hidden in your pocket, sure, I’ll take it,” Ella said, trying a little levity.

      He didn’t so much as crack a smile to be polite. He merely stared at her.

      Ella wasn’t sure if he actually expected another answer to his sarcastic question but since she didn’t know what else to do in response to his continuing silence, she said, “I don’t expect anything. I’ve heard that your success rate is better than average, even for people who have failed with every other doctor. I’ve also heard that you sometimes use unconventional methods that can do the trick when nothing else has. That’s why I’m here. I’m willing to do whatever it takes to have a child.”

      “It looks to me like you already have done everything it takes. And it hasn’t mattered.”

      “Which is why I was hoping you had something new or innovative or experimental you might try. That’s also why my regular gynecologist suggested I consult you. Between the cost and the fact that I’ve already failed to conceive after five in vitro attempts, we agreed that it was time to go in a different direction.”

      “How about the direction in which you open your eyes to the fact that not everyone is meant to have kids. That some people should—and have to—just accept that they can’t and get a life.”

      Ella wasn’t unaccustomed to having to take what an abrasive judge dished out, and she called upon the controls she used in court to hold her temper now, too. “I have a life,” she informed him in an even tone. “I have a home of my own, a career, a sister and brother-in-law and niece I’m very close to, friends… That isn’t the point. The point is, I want a child of my own.”

      “To fill the gap because your marriage didn’t work out?”

      It took a little more will to contain herself. “I wanted a child of my own when I was married—as you’ve seen in my records I was married when I first started to try to get pregnant and I didn’t need any gaps filled. Not then and not now. I want kids. I want a family. Most people do. It isn’t a phenomenon.”

      “And you want it so much you’ll even do it without a man?”

      “I’m a very capable, independent person. Sure, it would have been nice to have the whole package, but that isn’t how it worked out. The fact that it didn’t doesn’t change what I want, but the clock is obviously ticking for me. I don’t have time to wait for Mr. Right, the sequel, to come on the scene, court me, marry me and then start all over again. And since I don’t doubt that I can raise and support a child on my own, I really don’t need a man.”

      “Apparently you need me,” he said snidely.

      “Oh, you better be a miracle worker,” Ella muttered, deciding on the spot that either he was going to accept her as a patient or he wasn’t, but that if he thought she was going to beg, he was mistaken.

      After dishing out a little of his own medicine, neither of them said anything for what seemed like an eternity. His almost-purple gaze didn’t waver from his scrutiny of her. She refused to squirm beneath it—if that was what he thought he could make her do.

      And then, finally, he said, “I’m about to begin a new, short-term research project. A few select patients will undergo acupuncture performed by a Chinese practitioner of an ancient discipline called Qigong. She’ll also be giving herbs that she mixes herself,