“It’s not an X-ray,” he said, nodding toward the envelope. “It’s a family photo, my parents and I, taken when I graduated from medical school, along with baby pictures of the three of us. And also the results of the DNA testing we did last year. I’m mostly Scottish on my father’s side, and Irish on my mother’s.”
Whether that meant anything to her at all, he had no idea. He was winging it here. And feeling the crunch as, for one of the first times he could remember, he felt like he was failing.
“The pictures...a lot of times when a baby is born...you always hear the parents and grandparents saying who the baby looks like. I just thought you might want to know—if your child is born with a thick head of hair and all of the babies in your family have been born bald, you’d have some frame of reference. You know, rather than just wondering about unknown components in your child’s heritage.”
It was why the Parent Portal was so immediately popular. Because it offered alternative parenting opportunities with more comprehensive family information, and an ability to reach out to the donor if necessary or desired. So many clinics just dealt with legalities and basic health information required by law—forgetting about the human element that went into creating a baby. The Parent Portal took into consideration that the child itse
lf might someday want to meet the donor whose genes he or she carried.
Amelia didn’t pick up the envelope. She pursed her bottom lip. Giving him an inescapable urge to kiss it.
He hadn’t spent that much time without being with a woman. Had never had a problem attracting lovely, willing partners.
Putting his completely out of character libido down to the fact that he’d never before met a woman who was carrying his child, he looked around him. Tried again to imagine a child growing up in Amelia’s atmosphere.
While the chairs were a little feminine for his taste, he liked the sense of happiness they seemed to give to the room.
Nothing was out of place, though. Nor had it been in the other two rooms he’d glimpsed. Or the hall, with its ornate mirror and expensive-looking side table with a lap and assorted garnishments—mostly with splashes of color.
Had she cleaned on his behalf?
Did she realize a baby, and all the resulting paraphernalia that seemed to trail into every room, was going to completely disrupt her perfection here? Would she be able to handle that?
Would she welcome it?
“Three of the four of us who hung together through medical school have kids,” he said. “Or, in my case, had,” he said. He’d been about to tell her how homes were transformed with colorful plastic gadgets that all made sounds and had blinking lights taking up space along walls and in the middle of floors. About the miniature motorized four-wheelers for three-year-olds.
And foam floor mats with letters and numbers splashed all over them.
Her expression tensed, almost as though she’d read his mind.
“If you had a choice, would you want the baby I’m carrying?” Accusation seemed to lace through every word.
“Absolutely not! If I had a choice, you wouldn’t be carrying a baby at all.” He heard himself, shuddered inwardly, and added, “You wouldn’t be carrying a child with my genes.”
Chin jutting out, bringing his attention to them again, she looked him in the eye for the first time.
He could swear she’d just shot him full of testosterone.
Sitting there trying to hide the evidence, wishing he hadn’t yet passed over the envelope, wondering what she’d think if he grabbed it back up, Craig tried to find something unattractive about her.
And only got more turned on when he couldn’t find anything.
This meeting wasn’t going at all like it was supposed to. He didn’t even generally go for redheads. Not that her hair was red. More like brown with tinges of sunset in it.
He needed the distractions of a football field, with big guys coming at him. Or at least so he could put that much distance between him and a woman he was having a hard time remembering he’d just met.
A woman who, by her expression, and the lack of ebullience in her voice during their previous conversation, had made it pretty clear she wanted nothing to do with him.
It was time for him to find his peace of mind and get the hell out of there.
Chapter Six
Wow. Her baby had a great chance of being gorgeous.
It was the first time Amelia had actually thought about how the child she was carrying might look. She’d cared about biology. About genetics and health. About creating an emotional environment that would promote happiness. About love and support.
Maybe she’d kind of assumed he or she would have hazel eyes and auburn or red hair, because she and Angie and Mom all had them. Angie’s hair being a deep red, while hers and their mother’s was more brown with natural reddish highlights.