The Proposal (The Proposition #2)(9)
“Yes, he is,” she murmured. She was almost overcome by the sincerity in his expression and voice.
“Dr. Nadeen to examining room five. Dr. Nadeen to examining room five,” came a voice over the loudspeaker.
“I guess you’d better go,” Emma said.
He nodded. “No rest for the weary around here.”
She smiled. “It was very nice meeting you.”
Pesh took her hand in both of his, tenderly stroking her flesh with his fingertips. “The pleasure was all mine.”
As hard as she tried, she couldn’t ignore the longing shiver that ran through her body at the touch of his hand on her skin. “Good-bye,” she mumbled before stumbling into Patrick’s room.
CHAPTER THREE
Aidan reached out his hand to flag down a passing nurse, but the sound of singing stopped him cold in the middle of the hallway. Strains of Danny Boy floated back to him—his father’s favorite song. Only second generation Irish, Patrick had grown up with the songs of the old homeland like Danny Boy and The Fields of Athenry. Aidan couldn’t remember a time in his life when his father wasn’t humming one of them.
But it wasn’t his father singing. The sweet harmony of this voice cut through to Aidan’s soul, causing him to flinch.
It was Emma.
Her voice drew him nearer and nearer like a siren leading a man to his doom. His steps slowed to a crawl as his eyes honed in on the door down the hall from him. The last time he heard her sing was at her grandparent’s Barn Dance. The night before he realized he was truly and completely in love with her—before he had broken her heart.
Pausing in front of the doorway, Aidan tried to still the rapid acceleration of his heartbeat. His father reclined back with Emma perched beside him on the hospital bed. She held his hand that was tethered to an IV pole in both of hers. Although Patrick had oxygen tubes stuck in his nose, he appeared to be feeling fine and was enjoying his impromptu concert.
When the last notes of the song echoed off the drab walls, Patrick applauded. “Beautiful, Emma! Absolutely beautiful!”
Even though she ducked her head, Aidan could see her usual flush of embarrassment that tinged her cheeks. “You’re welcome.”
“Without a doubt, you have the voice of an angel, sweetheart.”
Emma leaned over and kissed his cheek. “You know there isn’t anything I wouldn’t do for you, and that includes singing a song with impossibly high notes in the middle of the ER.” One hand flew to her abdomen while a smile spread across her face. “Noah must be a true Irish Fitzgerald. He’s going crazy dancing right now.” Taking Patrick’s hand, she brought it to her belly. “See?”
Aidan sucked in a breath and staggered back. What the hell? His son had a name, and he hadn’t even had a part in it. How could she do something as monumental as naming his child without asking him? He shouldn’t have cared that Emma had bestowed her late father’s name on their son, but he did. Anger pulsed through him. Stalking through the doorway, he blurted, “Excuse me? Noah?”
Patrick and Emma both turned to stare at him. Emma’s face reddened from her ivory cheeks all the way down to her neck while her frantic gaze darted around the room as if looking for an escape. Scrambling out of the bed, she backed as far away from him as she could.
Although his attention should have been on his ailing father, Aidan couldn’t take his eyes off of Emma. Any anger he felt for her quickly evaporated, and his heart constricted with love for her. God, he had missed her. He didn’t realize just how much until she was standing right in front of him like a vision. She could have been one of Patrick’s roses in bloom. Her br**sts were fuller, her stomach was rounder, and her h*ps wider. He fought to catch his breath.
When Patrick cleared his throat, Aidan quickly gazed over at him. Patrick smiled. “Yes, Noah Patrick, after his grandfathers. Don’t you think that’s a fine name for your son?”
“Yes, it is,” Aidan murmured, glancing back at Emma. When she finally dared to look at him, he bobbed his head. “Noah Patrick Fitzgerald is a very fine name.”
Her eyes widened at the insinuation of his last name. Aidan braced himself for her to protest, but she started inching for the door instead. “Um, I’m going to go get something to drink.”
“I’ll get it for you,” Aidan offered.
“No, no, I’m fine. You need to be with your father.”
When she swept by him, Aidan fought to keep his arms pinned at his side so he wouldn’t reach out and grab her to him. Her perfume filled his nostrils and invaded his senses. He closed his eyes in agony. Once she was safely out the door, his shoulders sagged in defeat. “She really hates me,” he croaked.
“No, son, she doesn’t.” When Aidan snorted with self-contempt, Patrick shook his head. “As much as she would love to hate you, she can’t. She’s just gun-shy about you right now because of the dumbass move you pulled on her.”
“Actually, it’s me who should hate her.” He grimaced. “Acting like I was diseased and naming our son without me!”
Patrick grunted. “Whenever you’re done with your little tirade, might I remind you that I’ve been hospitalized?”
Aidan widened his eyes. “Shit, Pop, I’m so sorry. Seeing Em again knocked me on my ass.” He closed the gap between them. “You look okay, but are you? I mean, was it a heart attack?”