Prognosis Christmas Baby - Amy Andrews Page 0,18

with their passion all burned up and wondered what the hell he’d done.

The condom broke.

She almost vaulted up and danced across the bed but one look at his shattered face told her he might not share her jubilation. Putting herself in his shoes she guessed that as a single footloose-and-fancy-free thirty-year-old man, it was probably the worst possible outcome from a night like this.

But as an infertile forty-year-old woman, it didn’t even rate on her list-of-things-to-worry-about.

Nash took her continuing silence as a bad sign. Damn it! How quickly something good could turn so bad. ‘We should go find a late-night chemist. I think there’s one near the hospital. It’s really best if you take emergency contraception as soon as possible after the incident.’

Maggie laughed. She couldn’t help herself. Even when he looked at her like she’d grown a second head, she laughed.

Nash shut his eyes. Oh, God, she was hysterical. What a disaster. ‘I’m so sorry,’ he murmured.

She sobered at his look of utter misery. ‘Hey.’ Sitting, Maggie tucked her knees under her chin, hugging them close. They were close now and she could see the concern marring the clarity of his blue eyes. ‘It’s okay.’

He raised an eyebrow. ‘Oh. You’re on the Pill?’

She shook her head and watched the glimmer of optimism fade in his eyes. ‘Come here,’ she whispered.

Nash obliged, moving so he was sitting behind her, his legs spread, his back against the headboard.

‘We really should be thinking about going,’ he said as she snuggled her back into his front, her head under his chin, her bottom into his crotch.

Her smell invaded Nash’s senses as he draped an arm across the front of her, pulling her closer and her nipples beaded against his arm. The slope of her shoulder was close and he only had to drop his head to press a kiss there.

Maggie lightly stroked her fingers up and down the bulk of his biceps, thrilling in the way it twitched beneath her touch. ‘Have you got any diseases I should know about, Nash?’

Nash arm’s tightened at her bald question. He forced himself to relax, rubbing his face against her hair. It was a fair enough question. Condoms weren’t just about pregnancy.

‘Nope. I never have unprotected sex. Never. Ever. And I have a regular blood test. I’m clean.’

Maggie smiled, pleased at his vehement response. Nash had started to trail his fingers up and down her shoulder, the movement dragging his arm across her, and her nipples were growing harder beneath the erotic rub of his biceps. She shut her eyes, savouring the sensation.

‘And you?’

Maggie’s eyes fluttered open. ‘Well, it’s been a long time for me so I’m pretty certain there nothing to worry about.’

Nash kissed her head as things in his loins started to heat up. ‘How long is long?’

Maggie almost didn’t answer. Concentrating was difficult with his erection thickening impressively against the small of her back, and she didn’t think a virile young man would possibly understand her abstinence. ‘About three years.’

He opened his eyes, his fingers stilling. Maggie had gone without sex for three years? He recommenced the stroking. ‘Hell, Maggie, no wonder the condom broke. It’s probably past its expiry date.’

Maggie laughed, he was probably right. But underneath his light words she could detect his horror at her non-existent sex life.

Just one of the many differences between them.

‘You don’t sound too upset by the condom thing,’ Nash murmured after her laughter subsided. ‘Aren’t you worried about getting pregnant? Or is this a safe time in your cycle?’

Even as he said it he wished he could take it back. He was sounding like an ignorant teenager. There was never a safe time. He was a doctor, for fucks sake.

Maggie shut her eyes, savouring the closeness of him, his warmth as she reached for the shield she hadn’t needed in a long time. ‘I don’t have to worry about cycles because I’m... infertile.’

Nash’s hand stilled again. Her voice had been casual but he could feel the tension in her frame. ‘Oh?’

‘Two years of trying with my husband. Six years of IVF. Multiple attempts. Pregnancies none. Divorce one.’

Her forced nonchalance made Nash ashamed at the flood of relief sweeping through him. He didn’t need to be a psychologist to know that Maggie had suffered. After a few moments he kissed her head and went back to trailing his fingers along her skin.

‘That must have been hard,’ he said carefully. He didn’t want to betray his giddiness in the face of Maggie’s misfortune.

Maggie shut her eyes. It