From Passion To Pregnancy. Tina Beckett

about it, the description might not be so off the mark. It was there in the loose-limbed way she walked. In the slight twang to her words. Maybe she’d felt she had to dress to match the hospital’s fancy decor.

      Sara put her first foot on the bottom step, the narrow skirt tightening and exposing a pale knee. Her skin was fairer than that of most of the women he knew, maybe because Rio Grande do Sul had a large contingent of people with German ancestry. Her hair was dark, though.

      “Okay, so a handrail might be useful for women who come for screening wearing skirts or dresses.” She paused.

      He got the hint, reaching a hand toward her. Her fingers wrapped around his, and she made short work of the other three steps, coming to stand within inches of him. He released his grip in a hurry. “Point taken. I’ll have one installed.”

      Anything to avoid having to touch her each time she went up or down those steps. Something about the way she stood in front of him…

      An image flashed through his head of a woman straddling his hips, laughing down into his face at something he’d said, his words slurring slightly due to the amount of alcohol he’d consumed. The sensation of being squeezed. Soft hands with a firm grip, just like hers had been a second ago.

      His brain went on hyperdrive.

      What was wrong with him?

      Then, almost without volition, the words came out. “Why did you leave that night?”

      Something in her eyes flashed, and she suddenly grabbed for the metal edge of the ambulance’s door opening.

      Afraid she might fall out of the back—or turn and flee—he wrapped an arm around her waist and turned them both ninety degrees, the narrow aisle providing precious little room between their bodies. But it also meant she couldn’t run away.

      “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Her face had gone white.

      Maybe she didn’t even remember the events of that night. Except something about the way those words had shot out of her mouth said she did. Along with her horrified expression. A stab of regret speared through his gut. He remembered most of it. But her leaving without saying goodbye bothered him somehow. Had he done something awful?

      His jaws clamped together for several tense seconds while he tried to figure out what to say to make this right. He came up empty.

      “I think you know exactly what I’m talking about. Are you okay?” Realizing his arm was still around her, he let it drop to his side.

      Right on cue, her chin went up as if daring him to say anything further. “I’m fine. My father doesn’t know, though, so I’d prefer you not to discuss it with him or anyone else. We both agreed it was one night. No strings. No regrets.”

      So why was he feeling a whole lot of that right now?

      That warning about not discussing it was completely unnecessary, though. He wasn’t about to go trumpeting it to her father, or to anyone else for that matter. “I would rather keep it that way as well.”

      His head was reeling, still trying to blot out the more explicit images from that night. As drunk as he’d been, he should remember a whole lot less than he did.

      “You still didn’t answer the question. Why did you leave?”

      “Um—because I wanted to. I would just as soon forget it ever happened.”

      Maybe he really had done something horrible at the end? Passed out on her? Thrown up? Been unable to perform?

      No. He could remember each of those performances in stunning detail. Three encores, to be exact. And nothing horrific in any of those memories.

      And could there be a more self-centered list of things to be worried about? He didn’t think so—except for one glaring issue.

      “We used…” he forced himself to spit the word out, changing the term at the last second “…protection. So we’re covered, right?”

      “You don’t remember?”

      He wasn’t sure what she was asking. Merda! He did not want to be having this conversation.

      “Yes, but we’d both had a lot to drink. I wanted to make sure.” And if that wasn’t the lamest excuse ever.

      “We’re good. There’s nothing to be worried about.”

      But he was, for some unfathomable reason. He tried to find the cause—decided to settle for the truth. “I wasn’t that thrilled that my sister was getting married.” He shrugged. “I never saw it coming, actually, and when she fell in love with my best friend, I was… Well, I acted like a jerk.”

      “Do tell.” The dryness of the words made him laugh.

      “Shocking, I know.”

      Her dimple appeared again. “Not so much.”

      He took a deep breath, the urge to reach up and touch her sliding through him. He forced it back. “I’m sorry I dragged you along on my little joy ride of misery. Believe it or not, I don’t normally drink. Or seduce wedding guests.”

      Mainly because his father had done a lot of that. His parents had battled relentlessly all during his sister’s illness. He’d finally realized they didn’t love each other—his dad’s dalliances proved that beyond a shadow of a doubt. They had simply been staying together for their children—more specifically for Natália, because of her illness. It was one reason Sebastian had basically sworn off marriage and children. What if it didn’t last? Would he follow his parents’ example and stay in a miserable marriage because of any offspring he might have? They’d already been expecting him when they’d got married. He knew that for a fact. Sebastian, like most children, was attuned to whether his parents loved and respected each other—or when they didn’t.

      “You didn’t have to seduce me. I wanted to go. Even though, I’ve never…” her smile faded “…spent the night at a motel with someone I barely know.”

      A few more curse words tumbled around in his head. Had she been a virgin?

      Before he could ask, she shook her head. “No, not because of that. I just don’t normally go to motels. Especially not with a stranger.”

      Neither did he.

      They knew each other in a superficial way because of her father, but for all intents and purposes she was right.

      “Hell, Sara, I’m sorry. I have no idea what—”

      She stopped his words with a raised hand. “Don’t. It’s over and done with. Let’s just do our jobs and keep the past where it belongs—in the past.”

      Much easier said than done. And if the flashes of memory kept replaying in his head every time they worked together?

      Well, he would just do what she’d suggested and put it behind him. Except Sara was standing in front of him looking too beautiful for words. A shaft of sunlight ventured in through the open door and touched the hair over her left shoulder, infusing the strands with gold. The sight tugged at something inside him.

      “You’re right. I’ll try not to mention it again. Or even think about it.” Those last words came out rough-edged, and he knew they were a lie. He’d already been thinking about it. And his body was torturing him with whether or not they might be able to do any of those things again.

      No. They couldn’t.

      “Neither will I.” Her voice was soft. Almost a whisper. As if she sensed the turmoil that was chewing up his gut and was answering it with some of her own.

      Not good. Because his gaze slid to her lips. Came back up to her eyes, where he saw it. The slightest shimmer of heat beneath the cool brown irises.

      “We’ll put it behind us.”

      “Absolutely.”

      “Starting right now.”