"Spindler, Erica - See Jane Die" - читать интересную книгу автора (Spindler Erica)

She pressed her face to his chest. Her rock, her heart. The man, the love, she had never thought she would be lucky enough to find.

"It's probably the baby," he said softly, after a moment. "That's what's going on. That's why the nightmare's back."

Just yesterday the doctor had confirmed what she'd suspected for weeksЧthat she was pregnant. Eight weeks along. "But I feel great," she protested. "No morning sickness or fatigue. And it's not like we weren't wanting a baby."

"All true, but early pregnancy is tough. Your hormones are going haywire. The HCG level in your blood is doubling every couple of days and will continue to do so for another month. And as thrilled as we both are, a baby means major lifestyle changes."

Everything he said made sense and Jane found a measure of relief in his words. But still she wasn't convinced, though she didn't know why not.

As if he knew what she was thinking, he bent his forehead to hers. "Trust me, Jane. I'm a doctor."

She smiled at that. "A plastic surgeon, not an obstetrician or a shrink."

"You don't need a shrink, sweetheart. But if you don't believe me, call your buddy, Dave Nash. He'll back me up."

Dr. Dave Nash, clinical psychologist, occasional consultant for the Dallas Police Department, and her closest friend. They'd been friends since high schoolЧhe had stood by her when the other teenagers had treated her like a leper, had taken her to the home-coming dances and senior prom when no other guy would come near her. He had counseled her, laughed with her, provided a shoulder when necessary. They had even tried dating during their twenties, only to slide back into a comfortable friendship.

The years between the accident and her eventual recovery would have been much more difficult without Dave Nash.

Maybe she would call him.

Jane laid her cheek on Ian's chest. "What time is it?"

"Just after ten. Past your bedtime, little mama."

She flushed with pleasure at the term of endearment. She had always dreamed of being a mother, now it was happening.

How much luck could one woman have?

"How about a cup of chamomile tea?" Ian asked. "It'll help you sleep."

Jane nodded and stepped out of his arms, though she was loathe to do so. Reaching across the table, she popped the interview out of the player and shut down the machine.

"How's the editing coming?" he asked, flipping off the light as they stepped out of her screening room and into the studio proper.

"Good. Though the show's getting close."

"Excited?"

"Scared."

"No need to be." He led her out of the studio and up the circular staircase to their adjoining loft apartment, again flipping off the lights as they exited. "I predict all the art world will fall at your feet in adoration. And properly so."

"And you're basing this prediction on what?"

"I know the artist. She's a genius."

Jane laughed. He settled her onto the overstuffed couch, bent and dropped a light kiss on her mouth. "Be right back."