Page 21 of Baby Maker

“Pleasure to meet you.” Tearing my gaze from Megan’s personal fun bags, I extend my hand, which she grips with the strength of a toddler. “That’s a beautiful dress.”

“Thank you,” she coos, batting her false lashes in Keegan’s direction. “See? Your friend likes my dress.”

“It is a nice dress. Just a bit… revealing for a medical dinner.”

I fidget, shifting my weight from one foot to the other. He’s right, of course. The dress is far better suited to a nightclub, although it’s fairly apparent Megan is basking in the stares. “I’d better go find Simon. It was nice meeting you.” I turn to Keegan, my breath catching when our eyes meet. “Have a nice evening, Dr. Russo.”

That whole concept of hating crowded affairs? It didn’t bother me until Megan showed up. Keegan provided a buffer from the noise. Now, the room is suffocating, and I need to escape. Reclaim my balance. My sanity.

Ducking into the hallway, I hustle toward a door, finding a small patio with a heater. Bingo.

I huddle close to the heater, thankful that I didn’t wear hairspray or false lashes, for fear of them going up like a blowtorch. My sips of wine are now swallows, as I take a few deep breaths and let my heart rate settle.

It’s silly, really. Letting my emotions get all tangled up in a man. An unavailable man. A gorgeous, sexy, unavailable man. Hey, Simon and Bridget will be thrilled. At least I’m looking. Luckily, Keegan is dating Megan. He’s safe. Someone I can talk to, even flirt with, but with no chance of it going anywhere.

Now, why doesn’t that thought make me feel better?

The door to the patio swings open, and I hear a huff of frustration. “Christ.”

Twirling around, I see Keegan leaning against the wall by the door, the aggravation evident on his face. “Are you following me?”

His eyes fly open, homing in on me. “I suppose I am. Although it’s unintentional.”

“I was joking. Trying to lighten the mood,” I offer, a wave of disappointment showering over me at his response. “Are you okay?”

He closes the distance between us, his lips pursed in a thin line. What the hell did I miss in the last five minutes? Did Megan suffer a wardrobe malfunction in front of the esteemed guests?

“Hey, you can talk to me.” I grip his forearm, trying to coax a smile from the frown Keegan is currently sporting.

But his gaze remains locked on the heater as he rubs his hands together. “I thought I was fine. Life made sense. Now, nothing makes sense.” His tone is harried, erratic, the words spitting from his mouth with the force of bullets.

Holy hell, the man is about to have a nervous breakdown, and I am in no way qualified to handle this situation. Truthfully, I feel only a few steps removed from one most days myself. “Are you and Megan having trouble?”

“My trouble is that I have Megan.” He winces at his words. “That sounds terrible, doesn’t it?”

“She’s beautiful, if that’s any consolation.”

“So you’ve said. A few times.”

I stumble over my thoughts, unsure how to respond. I know, as a woman, I should provide a list of her attributes, coaxing Keegan off his emotional ledge and back into her arms. That’s what I should do. What I want to do is provide a list of all the reasons why they’re a terrible match. All the ways they don’t fit together.

Why? Because, despite every effort to the contrary, I feel something for Keegan Russo. And those feelings are overruling any common sense I still possess. That and the two glasses of wine I’ve consumed.

“I don’t know her, Keegan. I can’t offer a better observation beyond her looks.” I take another sip of wine, chuckling under my breath. “Tremendous tits, though.”

That did it. A laugh bubbles up from Keegan’s chest, his hand running over his glorious beard. “They’re ridiculous. She had them redone—not done—redone last year. They’re obscene. Puts Dolly Parton to shame.”

“Men don’t seem to mind.” I drop my gaze to my breasts. Hell, I always thought they were pretty damn nice. Perky and more than a handful. Now, compared to his “friend,” they’re little more than bee stings.

“I prefer natural. Not that Megan actually cares what I think. Her body, her rules. Those were her exact words before her most recent stint with the plastic surgeon. Hence her duck lips.”

“I didn’t notice them. Too focused on the tits.”

His eyes rake down my frame, and my skin heats from the bold desire burning in their depths. “I like yours better.”

The words hang between us, the air sparking with restrained passion, any cold long forgotten by his statement. My breath catches as my lungs struggle to find air, my mouth searching for a quick-witted retort. “Keegan—”

He releases a frustrated groan, scrubbing his face with his hands. “I shouldn’t have said that. I’m sorry, Calli. That was crass.”

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