Prognosis Baby Daddy - Amy Andrews Page 0,24

leather couches she had now seen three times, shut her eyes and sleep through the trip.

‘Katya?’

She opened an eye to see Ben standing in the doorway. If she’d have been remotely well, Katya would have worried about how bad she must look right now, but frankly she couldn’t care less if she looked like the wreck of the Hesperus.

‘I’m fine.’

Ben looked down at the distinctly un-fine Katya propped against the toilet wall. She looked like hell. Her blonde feathery fringe was plastered to her forehead, slick with sweat. Her normally pale complexion had gone as white as the wall into which she was leaning.

So much for a great day on the water.

Turning to the vanity, Ben removed a facecloth from one of the drawers, wet it under the gold-plated tap and wrung it out. He crouched down beside her and pressed the cloth to her forehead.

Her eyes flicked open briefly. ‘I’m fine,’ she mumbled.

‘You look like hell.’

Ben mopped her sweaty brow with the cool cloth and trailed it over the rest of her face, across her parched lips and down her neck. She murmured something in Russian and he felt as if she’d run her fingers over his stomach muscles.

He’d never seen her helpless like this, so...docile. He’d never seen any sign of weakness from her, apart from yesterday afternoon in the cameo shop. It seemed he was seeing a different side to Katya the more time they spent together.

The urge to sweep her up in his arms and protect her from her demons was overwhelming. Had she eaten something at breakfast that had been off? Was she actually really ill? Or was she truly not a seafarer? He needed to examine her in case she was developing a serious medical condition.

Tossing the facecloth over his shoulder he swept her up into his arms. She barely protested, lying floppy and quiet as he headed to the lounge. Easing her gently down onto the leather couch Ben retraced his steps to the bathroom to remoisten the facecloth before returning to mop her face again, folding the cloth and placing it along her forehead. She felt warm and he was worried now that this was something serious.

‘Katya. Katya?’ He spoke quietly, stroking his fingers gently down her arm.

Her eyes flicked open briefly. ‘Mmm. That’s nice,’ she said on a sigh.

Ben chuckled. She was right about that. ‘I’m going to give you a quick once-over, Katya. Just to check everything’s OK.’

Katya was floating along in a nice hazy world. She could hear his voice and it was as sexy as ever and she wanted to wrap it around her like a feather duvet and go to sleep.

His long, lean surgeon’s fingers wrapped around her wrist clearly feeling for her pulse then his hands slid onto her abdomen. They were deft, methodical, poking and prodding. ‘Mind the baby,’ she said, slipping into her native tongue as her hazy mind transmitted his non-sexual touch into a lover’s caress.

Katya’s eyes flew open. Had she said that in English or Russian? ‘What are you doing?’ she demanded, half sitting, displacing his hands, which were moving slowly and systematically lower.

The baby! She was instantly awake.

‘It’s OK,’ Ben said soothingly. ‘I was just seeing if you had any abdominal tenderness.’

‘I told you, I’m fine,’ she said, removing his hands.

‘You don’t look so fine,’ Ben said impatiently. ‘You were out of it there for a minute. Did you eat something off this morning?’ He placed his hands against her stomach again.

‘Nothing,’ she protested, batting his hands away. ‘We ate the same things. I’m not good on boats, that’s all,’ she protested weakly.

‘Please, don’t insult me. You couldn’t get water any flatter unless you were in the bathtub.’

Katya watched as Ben straightened and started to pace and rattled off a number of things it could be.

‘I don’t think it’s appendicitis,’ he muttered. ‘There’s no rebound tenderness. No...you had the ham on your roll and I didn’t.’ He turned to face her. ‘Maybe it was off and you’ve contracted food poisoning.’

Ben raked his fingers through his hair. ‘Oh, God! How many staff and patients have had that ham today? This sort of thing doesn’t happen at the Lucia Clinic. I’ll have to ring the chef.’

He strode to the old-fashioned marble-handled telephone and started dialing the clinic number.

Katya watched him in dismay. ‘Ben, it’s nothing.’

He held his hand over the receiver. ‘Of course it is,’ he said impatiently. ‘People can’t come to our clinic and get food poisoning. As soon as I’m done