#BABYMAKER Page 2

  But the brunette was shy, and completely unlike her mouthy friend. She barely ate her food as I introduced my medical practice, instead listening closely as I spoke. The pen in her hand didn’t move much, but that didn’t worry me. After all, I can spot a fertile female from miles away, and this girl wasn’t going to need much to get pregnant.

  Because I’ve had to talk quite a few women off the ledge when it came to their chances of conceiving. In fact, looking around the waiting room now, I could tell there were some females who were going to leave disappointed. As a responsible professional, I simply can’t take on patients who don’t have realistic expectations, and frankly, if you’re in your sixties, the odds aren’t good.

  So discreetly, I eyed my audience. Yep, there were some women who were way over the hill. They were well-preserved in some cases with botoxed faces and perfectly-dyed hair, but that couldn’t hide the aura of age. There was something seasoned about them that no plastic surgery can completely reverse. Maybe it was the sagginess of their breasts, or the crepey skin of their necks. As a doctor, I’ve learned to spot these signs from miles away.

  But none of that was true when it came to the curvy brunette. Her skin was as fresh as the dew on a rose petal, her lips a natural pout. Plus, gravity definitely hadn’t hit her yet. I’d put her in her early twenties, mid-twenties at the latest.

  Which leads me to the interesting part of my practice. Propaganda these days is so powerful, and women are continually bombarded with messages that they better have their kids earlier rather than later otherwise risk missing the boat. It’s crazy. I’ve had women come in who are as young as eighteen. They’ve never had a boyfriend before, and yet they’re already all worked up about their fertility, and beg me to do something for them just in case they meet the right guy. Completely batshit, off-the-wall behavior, but I usually just put them on pre-natal vitamins to assuage their fears. Vitamins never hurt.

  So casting one last glance at my beautiful patient, I wrapped up my spiel.

  “Thank you for coming,” was my low rumble as I made eye contact with every female there. “I appreciate your time on this rainy Thursday night.”

  The ladies sighed and began to gather their things when my trusty receptionist Kathy stepped forward.

  “Thank you,” she echoed in a professional tone. “Before you leave, ladies, I wanted to present the opportunity to meet with Dr. Roman to discuss your concerns. It’s just a ten minute private one-on-one to talk about some of the issues on your mind. We have sign-ups right here,” she said, waving a clipboard. “If you’ll just give me your names, I can start taking names asap.”

  Of course, the aggressive blonde girl was on it in a moment.

  “Me and my friend,” she said, nodding at the curvy brunette. “Ashley and Connie.”

  “Perfect,” said Kathy, noting their names. “The first appointments are right now, in fact. Would you like to go in?”

  “Oh sure,” jawed Ashley, shooting a meaningful glance at her buddy. “You go first Con. I’ll wait out here, and then after we’re both done, maybe we can get a drink at a bar nearby.”

  The brunette blushed while shooting me a look from the corner of her eye.

  “So soon?” she stammered. “I didn’t have my thoughts ready, this is all so new.”

  “Don’t worry,” said Ash. “Just tell the doc the things you’re concerned about. I’ll be right out here, and then we can leave.”

  Connie’s eyes flickered to me again, trailing over my hard male form before she bit her lip.

  “Okay,” was her low murmur. “It’s nice to meet you Dr. Roman.”

  I smiled, my lips curving even as my eyes flared with heat.

  “It’s nice to meet you too. Connie, was it?” I asked, extending my hand. “I’m Chase Roman.”

  As our palms touched, electricity sparked between us. It was as if all the oxygen in the room suddenly whooshed out, leaving my lungs straining for air. The world narrowed until it was just me and her, our eyes locked in a tell-tale dance.

  But we were interrupted by my receptionist.

  “Dr. Roman, I’ve put bottled water in your office,” said Kathy. “You can take the meeting in there.”

  “Perfect,” I growled, staring at Connie. “After you,” was my smooth invitation as I opened the door to the offices in back. And as the plump girl walked before me, my eyes followed the sway of her hips, that giant ass bobbing up and down with every step. Shit, she’d really make a perfect mother, and my mind churned with the possibilities. Because I’ve wanted to be a dad for a long time now … and maybe this fertile girl was the answer.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Connie

  Oh my god, what was happening? I bit my lip as Dr. Roman led me down the hall to his office.

  “In here please,” the big man said, gesturing to a plushly-appointed space. “Take a seat and make yourself comfortable.”

  I looked around with some hesitation because this was the nicest doctor’s office I’d ever been in. Instead of shabby furniture and bookcases filled with assorted pictures of kids, instead Dr. Roman’s office was gleaming and organized. Large mahogany furniture filled the space, the type of stuff that cost thousands at the store. Beautifully framed diplomas hung on the wall, each one bearing the name of a fancy school or some professional accreditation. He was pretty much the opposite of me.

  Because I didn’t go to anyplace you’ve ever heard of. Sure, I went to college, but it was tough from the very beginning. I’m the first person in my family to attend a four-year, and my parents were so excited when I got my admission letter.

  “Honey!” squealed my mom. “You’ve made us so proud,” she said, giving my shoulders a squeeze.

  I nodded, face flushed with happiness.

  “I know,” I said, staring at the piece of cream paper. “It’s so amazing! I can’t believe they actually admitted me.”

  My dad chuckled, his big belly shaking.

  “Don’t say that, Con,” he said. “You’re smart as a whip and a hard-worker too. Who wouldn’t want you?”

  So I basked in the glow of my parents’ approval, all three of us on Cloud Nine. But unfortunately, a week later, the financial aid letter came and that’s when my bubble was popped.

  “Can this be right?” I whispered to myself, staring at the form. My fingers trembled as I looked over the numbers, tears starting to well in my eyes. “Can’t be. They must have made a mistake.”

  My mom peered over my shoulder, and immediately, she realized what had happened.

  “Don’t worry, we’ll go to the financial aid office in person tomorrow,” she said firmly. “They must have sent this letter to the wrong person. This isn’t yours.”

  But my eyes flickered to the heading and I saw that the letter was indeed addressed to me. It even had my new student ID number as a tracking confirmation. There had been no mistake. Hudson Unviersity was offering me a measly five thousand in scholarships to attend. How could that be possible? Tuition at Hudson was around fifty thousand a year, and there was no way my parents could fill the forty-five thousand dollar gap.

  But my mom is a determined soul, and the next day we drove all the way to the city to meet with a financial aid counselor.

  “You have to give my daughter more,” Elaine demanded, eyes fierce. “Connie’s worked so hard and your school is her first choice. Five thousand isn’t enough.”

  The adviser hemmed and hawed, filling the air with a lot of nothing. But finally after ten minutes of waffling, she excused herself to talk with her manager. And lo and behold, fifteen minutes later she came back with a revised financial aid letter.

  “Hudson is pleased to offer you twenty-five thousand in scholarships,” she announced, placing the document on the table as if it were a cherished scroll. “We’d love to have you join us in the fall Connie.”

  My mouth opened and closed as I turned desperate eyes to my mom because twenty-five wasn’t enough either. That still left a giant gap of twenty-five tho
usand, and there was no way we could make that up with my parents’ working class wages.

  But my mom is a determined lady who grew up in the age of women’s lib, and she nodded stiffly.

  “We’ll find a way,” she said, sweeping out of the office like a queen. “Connie is going to come here even if I have to get a second job to support her.”

  I swallowed hard. I didn’t want my parents to go through this. I didn’t want them to break their backs so that I could go to some fancy private school. Nor did I want them to take out a second mortgage or sell one of the cars to free up cash. So I shook my head.

  “No Ma,” was my soft entreaty. “It’s not necessary. I can take classes at Greenwood Community for two years and then see what happens. It’s no big deal.”

  “No,” said Elaine flatly. “Absolutely not. You worked hard for this and Daddy and I are going to find some way.”

  There was no point in arguing with her, so I let it drop. But Elaine was right. Come fall, I found myself ensconced in a tiny dorm room with a new comforter, a new laptop, and student loans up the wazoo. But Elaine and Henry assured me this was the right choice.

  “You’ll be okay,” ho-hummed my dad. “Once you come out with a degree, the doors will be wide open. You’ll be able to land any job you want and pay back those loans in no time.”

  My mom nodded her head in agreement.

  “A college degree is the new ticket to success,” she said firmly. “And I won’t have my daughter go without.”

  But the thing is that after I graduated, I couldn’t find a good job. Instead, I worked retail at a big department store while sending out hundreds, if not thousands of resumes. Each time I put a stamp on an envelope, my heart would leap with hope. But then each time I got another rejection letter in the mail, my soul plummeted and bitterness set in.

  So now I’m living in a tiny apartment where the tub’s in the kitchen. It’s a fifth floor walk-up, and there’s no super so we have to haul the trash and recycling ourselves. I keep telling myself that it’s only for the time being and that I’ll find something better in the next couple months, but instead, all I’ve been able to land is a secretary job with a small accounting outfit. It doesn’t pay well, and cutting corners is the only way to survive.

  So to be in Dr. Roman’s luxurious office took my breath away. The oiled leather seats beckoned and I sank into one, the air whooshing out of my lungs. The smell of expensive furniture filled my nostrils, and I relaxed a bit, shooting a shy smile his way.

  He smiled back.

  “So what can I help you with, Connie? Can I call you Connie? Or should I call you Constance?”

  I smiled.

  “Connie’s fine,” was my murmur. “No one calls me Constance.”

  He smiled so wide that those perfect white teeth flashed.

  “No problem,” said Dr. Roman. “Now tell me why you’re here.”

  I took a deep breath before replying. Because what could I say? I’m desperately afraid that I can’t get pregnant even though I’m only twenty-five? Two of my exes have suffered from ED, and I’m starting to think it’s me? Your services are probably really expensive, and there’s no way I can afford them? All of these thoughts were so embarrassing and personal, and Dr. Roman was a stranger after all. It seemed wrong to unload on him.

  But one look into those penetrating blue eyes made me catch my breath. Because I can’t lie to a man like this. He’d see right through me. So I decided to stick with the truth.

  “Well, um, I’ve been having some concerns,” my voice trailed off uncertainly.

  His brow quirked but he nodded with understanding.

  “Sure,” he said. “We all have concerns. Go ahead, shoot.”

  I bit my lip again.

  “Well, I’m a little afraid I can’t get pregnant, which is why I came to your info session,” was my embarrassed admission. “I thought maybe you’d have some tips and tricks.”

  He paused for a moment, steepling his fingers under that strong chin.

  “Connie,” he said smoothly. “May I ask how old you are?”

  “Twenty-five,” was my immediate reply. “But everyone says that women are most fertile at seventeen.”

  He nodded, those blue eyes assessing my female form. I blushed hotly. Oh god, my cheeks were probably the color of a tomato, and my nips hardened on their own.

  But Dr. Roman pretended not to notice.

  “Females are fertile at an extremely young age,” he agreed. “At least that’s what the scientific literature shows. But you’re not out of the hot zone,” he added smoothly. “Twenty five isn’t time for concern. You know that, right?”

  I nodded, ducking my head.

  “I know, but it’s that I’ve had such a hard time recently.”

  His brows lowered.

  “Do you have a husband or boyfriend that you’ve been trying to get pregnant with? If so, how long have you been trying?”

  I blush again, the heat rising to my face.

  “Well, not exactly,” is my low murmur. “I don’t have a partner per se at the moment, but there were two men that I dated. Neither of them could get it up, if you know what I mean, and I was wondering if there’s something about me.”

  Dr. Roman’s eyes opened wide for just a moment, but then he nodded professionally.

  “Of course,” were his words. “What do you mean, you’re wondering if there’s something about you?”

  The words almost wouldn’t come out.

  “Well, maybe I’m not fertile,” was my whisper, “and these guys sensed it, so they couldn’t get it up. It was so awful, Dr. Roman,” I said. “We’d be in bed but they never even … you know … got hard.”

  I could barely believe I was revealing all this to a handsome alpha male. What must he think? He probably thought I was the ugliest girl in the world, the one who caused limp dick in guys.

  But instead, the man’s expression was thoughtful as he reached into his drawer.

  “No, I don’t think your fertility was the issue at all. How old were your ex-partners?”

  I bit my lip.

  “One was probably twenty-two at the time, and the other twenty-seven. They’re in the prime of their youth, so they should have been able to perform. But it was terrible,” I said in a rush. “As soon as they saw me naked, their dicks wilted and grew all soft. I almost cried.” But I was here to get answers, and it was important to be straightforward. So I went for it. “Why did that happen, Dr. Roman? What did I do? Is there something wrong with my body?”

  The doctor’s eyes grew so dark that they were almost black instead of blue.

  “No sweetheart, I don’t think there’s anything wrong with you at all,” he rumbled.

  “But why did that happen then?” was my painful mewl. “Twice, too? There has to be something wrong with me.”

  The doctor shook his head, eyes heated and intense.

  “Trust me, sweetheart, there’s nothing wrong with you. You’re twenty-five and from your curvy form, I can tell you’re fertile. It’s their fault, not yours.”

  Tears welled in my eyes as I stared into the depths of his gaze.

  “Then why did this happen?” I asked in a pained voice. “Why didn’t those boys like me? There must be something about my body that gives off signals of infertility.”

  Dr. Roman lifted his hand from the drawer then, and I saw that he had a tube of something between those square fingers.

  “Naw honey, that’s not it at all. Trust me, you look fertile on the outside. Big, lush breasts and wide hips? Those are the first thing a doctor looks for in ovulating women, and you’ve got them.”

  But I couldn’t be calmed down.

  “But why then?” came my plaintive cry. “Why did Mike and Tim have such a hard time? Because Tim’s married now, you know,” I said bitterly. “And they have three kids. Not only that, but his wife’s expecting a fourth. So it must be me.”

  This is where Dr. Travis rose. He was so tall that he cast a shadow, th
at huge form looming in the white jacket.

  “Don’t worry, Connie,” he soothed in a low voice, coming around the desk to stand before me. He leaned back against the oak, limbs relaxed, but there was tension and a certain purpose in that cerulean gaze. “From the outside, you look great, but maybe I should do a quick check of the inside to make sure you’re fertile. Does that sound like a plan?”

  I gasped.

  “Right now? But we’re not in an exam room.”

  “It’s okay,” he said smoothly, not moving a centimeter. Your chair is big and comfy, and you can lean back with no problem. Plus, no one’s going to bother us. I locked the door.”

  My eyes immediately flashed towards the oaken slab.

  “You did?” I whispered.

  “Of course,” he said. “All medical consultations are confidential, and we respect a patient’s privacy. So it’s standard practice,” he said smoothly.

  I nodded hesitantly, my eyes flickering up to his. Immediately, I was seized by the sense of purpose in Dr. Roman’s gaze. He wanted something and resembled a lion lying in the rushes, stalking an unwitting gazelle. I was that gazelle, munching on grass with no idea that danger was near.

  And yet, it was exciting and thrilling because every one of my senses was titillated. Electricity hummed in the air between us like a live wire that was already beginning to crackle. That big body held me in a trance, beckoning to the woman within, and I nodded breathlessly.

  “Okay,” I said on a whisper. “What do I need to do?”

  His smile grew broad, white teeth flashing.

  “Just lean back a little,” he said. “Get yourself comfortable and put your feet up here,” he said, patting the edge of his desk.

  I hesitated for a moment. The desk was made of mahogany, polished to a gleam. It must have cost thousands of dollars, and I felt bad putting my feet up on something so expensive.

  But Dr. Roman read my mind.