His pleasant expression doesn’t change. “Well, that means we will keep a very close eye on you, but that is not a condition with a genetic predisposition. Try to remember that you’ll be receiving the very best medical care, and keep your stress levels low, all right?”
Mala and I look at each other.“Stress levels?”she mouths at me. She squeezes my hands again. “Believe me, she’ll be waited on hand and foot. You remember how Cormac was when I was pregnant?”
He swallows convulsively, “He was very protective.”
“Some might say wildly over-the-top protective,” Mala agrees, laughing. “Unfortunately, I think Cameron’s going to be worse.”
Dr. Greer’s thin smile is not promising.
We’re having a baby. I’m pregnant.
The thoughts cycle around each other in my head, making it impossible to do anything for the rest of the day.
“Madame Morana?”
I blink and realize I’m standing in the middle of the library, holding a book about 18th-century warfare. “Oh, hello,” I say, clearing my throat.
“I thought you might like to have dinner out on the terrace? It’s a warm evening.”
“How long have you worked with the MacTavish family?”
If she finds my sudden change in topic unusual, she gives no sign of it. “Twenty years.”
Frowning, I look more closely. “So, since you were ten?”
She chuckles politely but doesn’t tell me her age. “I started in the Chieftain's household, and Cameron asked me to look after him about eight years ago.”
“Have you always been a butler?”
Her eyes narrow, just slightly. Not threateningly. But the set of her jaw makes me think that no, Miss Kevin might have started in an entirely different line of work.
“How are ye’ my sweet girl?” Cameron looks exhausted and there’s a bandage on his shoulder.
“What happened? You just got over that bullet wound in your thigh!”
“I’m fine,” he says dismissively, rubbing his eyes. “I may look like shite, but everything is going according to plan, better than I expected, in fact.”
“Which means you should assume that something is about to go terribly wrong,” I say.
“You and your bad luck theory,” he groans, “and I’m telling you that we make our own luck, you and me. Look how everything is turnin’ out after an unfortunate beginning involving a kidnapping-”
“And threatening to stick a hypodermic needle in my eye,” I add pointedly.
“Let it go, lass! I’m thinkin’ that now, we’re a fortunate match. We like each other,” he starts ticking off points on his fingers, “we’re dynamite in bed, you’re fit as feck, a bonnie lass, and-”
“Stop!” I’m laughing and he gives me a cheeky grin, looking so much better than he should, shirtless with all those perfectly sculpted muscles, even with that bandage and what looks like the beginning of a black eye. The tattoos on his chest and neck flex and move with him, like animated art. “I’m not sure what any of that last bit meant, but I think it was complementary.” Sobering a bit, I look at his handsome, exhausted face. “Does it always have to be you?”
“What do ya’ mean?”
“It’s always you, first in the line of fire, leading the charge. I know you feel this responsibility, but…” I bite my lip, thinking of what to say that wouldn’t sound needy and desperate. “You have people waiting for you at home, too,” I finally say. “Maybe you don’t always have to throw yourself into the face of the enemy.”
“I canna ask my men to do something I’m not willing to do myself.”
I snort inelegantly. “I’m certain they’ll all quite clear that you’re willing to jump in with both feet.”
Did he pay any attention to what I was trying to say? Because he’s staring at me, a sly grin stretching across his face. “You miss me, lass. Don’t ya’?”
“That’s what you got out of my persuasive argument?”
