Page 32 of Hot Doctor & Secret Baby

She tenses up, obviously wishing I hadn't asked. "I did tell you," she insists.

"No. You didn't," I answer firmly.

"Did I not?"

I shake my head. "Nope."

I wish she'd stop playing this silly game and just come out with it. How bad could it be? It was obviously the right move for her. She's brilliant at this. The best I've ever had the privilege of working with.

"I, uh…I realized I have a harder time treating animals than I do humans," she tells me.

My brow furrows. I wait for more, but she doesn't offer anything else. So I nod, accepting her answer. I don't push her on it. But there is one thing I know for certain.

Vanessa is lying to me.

And one day very soon, I plan on finding out why.

16

Vanessa

Late one night after Addy is asleep, Sam sticks around to keep me company. One of the best parts of having your best friend as your nanny is that it gives ample opportunity for convenient, much-needed girl time.

She catches me up on how Addy has been doing lately when I'm not around. We spend most of our time talking about her over our glasses of wine, but soon the conversation turns to other things.

"So, how has it been? Working with the big bad Dr. Ashford?" she asks with a curious grin.

"There's nothing to report, really…which is a good thing."

"A very good thing," she nods. "Just so long as there really isn't anything to report…and you're not just dodging the question."

I don't know if I should admit how easy it's been…mostly because I have this growing fear that the reasons why it's been so easy are probably all the worst ones.

"We make great lab partners," I offer with a shrug. "He's been different lately. He's stopped trying to push all of my buttons."

What I don't tell her is with all of that bickering and resentment pushed to the back burner, it's left too much room for other things to seep in.

I wake up every morning with butterflies in my stomach - a feeling I haven't known since we were together all those years ago. The only thing that calms them is seeing him in the mornings. The moment our eyes meet, it feels like butter melting into warm toast. A blanket wraps around me, and everything from there just feels…easy.

I don't tell Sam that. It's too dangerous to admit it to myself enough to say it out loud. I definitely don't tell her that those feelings have fostered a new horrible habit. Now every day as I'm driving to and from Bardot, I find myself playing Easy like Sunday Mornings on repeat. I never liked that song before, but now I feel like I relate to it…I understand it. That thought is far too nauseating to explain to her.

"Well...I'm glad it's going so well," she offers. "Now you can just focus on your work like you wanted to all along. Addy sure likes having you home on time every day."

She sips her wine, shooting me a sideways glance. I can tell she probably suspects I'm not telling her the whole truth, but thankfully - she doesn't drill me on it. It's better for everyone if I keep these things to myself, and I'm relieved that she doesn't attempt to make me cave under pressure and spill it all out. Once those words are spoken, they can't be undone. The feelings are real then. This way, a huge part of me can just go on pretending they don't exist.

The next day in the lab, Joshua and I work together in a strange silence. We seem to have such an intuitive working relationship, not many words are usually needed. But in the middle of all that silence, volumes are spoken with stolen glances and the subtle smiles we flash at each other.

I reach for the button to open the centrifuge only to find his skin. We look up as we realize we both reached for it at the same time, but we don't move our hands. The lingering touch is too much.

The truth is…I've regretted walking out of the hotel that night months ago. The space it created for me, both emotionally and physically, was more than mandatory. It felt like my life depended on it. But that did nothing to curb the craving that's stuck with me ever since. I lay in bed at night and long for that second round of sex that's long and deep and slow.

My cheeks turn hot and red as I realize every ounce of that intense longing and craving is probably dancing across my eyes now, and he's relentlessly searching them - likely catching on to every last flaming signal of it.

"I should take a walk," I blurt with a sharp and shaky breath. "I mean…fresh air. I should…I need some fresh air."

I get the words out, but it changes nothing. Our hands still sit there on top of each other, our eyes are locked together. He slowly drifts towards me. They say car accidents can feel like they're happening in slow motion. That's exactly what it feels like as he moves over me with my heart pounding loudly in my ears.

"Yeah," he rasps softly. "Fresh air."

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