The Diplomat's Pregnant Bride. Merline Lovelace

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      He was silent, and Gina gathered her courage.

      “Tell me about your wife. What was she like?”

      He sat back, withdrawing his hand in the process. Withdrawing himself, as well. His glance shifted to the rowboats circling the lake. The ripples from their oars distorted the reflected images of the high-rises peeking above Central Park’s leafy green tree line. The buildings seemed to sway on the lake’s blue-green surface.

      “Catherine was funny and smart and had a killer serve,” he said finally, turning back to Gina. “She cleaned my clock every time we got on a tennis court. She might have turned pro if she hadn’t lived, breathed and slept politics.”

      The waiter appeared at that moment. Gina ordered decaffeinated mango tea, Jack a refill of his coffee. They listened to the specials and let the menus sit on the table after the waiter withdrew. She was afraid the interruption had broken the thread of a conversation she knew had to be painful, but Jack picked it up again.

      “Catherine and another campaign worker were going door-to-door to canvas unregistered voters for the presidential campaign. She suffered a brain aneurysm and collapsed. The docs say she was dead before she hit the sidewalk.”

      “I’m so sorry.”

      “We didn’t learn until after the autopsy that she had Ehlers-Danlos syndrome. It’s a rare, inherited condition that can cause the walls of your blood vessels to rupture. Which,” he said as he eased a leather portfolio out from under his menu, “is why I prepared this.”

      “This” turned out to be a set of stapled papers. For a wild moment Gina thought they might be a prenup. Or a copy of a will, naming the baby as his heir if he should die as unexpectedly as Catherine had. Or…

      “Your obstetrician will want a complete medical history of both parents,” he said calmly. “As far as I know, I haven’t inherited any rare diseases but my father and grandfather both suffer from chronic high blood pressure and my mother is a breast cancer survivor. Who’s your doctor, by the way?”

      “I don’t have one yet.”

      The frown came back. “Why the delay? You should’ve had your first prenatal checkup by now.”

      “It’s on my list, right after getting resettled in New York and finding a job.”

      “Move the obstetrician to the top of the list,” he ordered, switching into his usual take-charge mode. “I’ll cover your medical expenses until you land a job.”

      “No, Mr. Ambassador, you won’t.”

      “Oh, for…!”

      He dropped the papers, closed his eyes for a moment and adopted a calm, soothing tone that made Gina want to hiss.

      “Let’s just talk this through. You’re currently unemployed. I assume you have no health insurance. Few obstetricians will take you on as a patient unless there’s some guarantee you can pay for their services.”

      “I. Will. Find. A. Job.”

      “Okay, okay.” He held up a placating hand. “Even if you do land a job in the next few days or weeks, health benefits probably won’t kick in for at least six months. And then they may not cover preexisting conditions.”

      Well, crap! Gina hadn’t considered that. Her throat closed as her carefully constructed house of cards seemed to teeter and topple right before her eyes.

      No! No, dammit! Hormones or no hormones, she would not break down and bawl in front of Jack.

      He must have sensed her fierce struggle for control. His expression softened, and he dropped the grating, let’s-be-reasonable tone. “This is my baby, too, Gina. Let me help however I can.”

      She could handle autocratic and obnoxious. Nice was harder to manager. Shoving back her chair, she pushed away from the table.

      “I have to go to the bathroom.”

      After some serious soul-searching, she returned from the ladies’ room to find the waiter had delivered their drinks. Gina dumped artificial sweetener in her tea and took a fortifying sip before acknowledging the unpalatable truth.

      “I guess I didn’t think this whole insurance thing through. If it turns out I can’t get medical benefits in time to cover my appointments with an obstetrician, I would appreciate your help.”

      “You’ve got it.” He hesitated a moment before extending another offer. “Finding a good doctor isn’t easy, especially with everything else you have going on right now. Why don’t I call my chief of staff and have him email you a list of the top OB docs in the city? He can also verify that they’re accepting new patients.”

      And coordinate the payment process, Gina guessed. Swallowing her pride, she nodded. “I’d appreciate that.”

      “Just call me when you decide on a doctor. Or call Dale Vickers, my chief of staff. He’ll make sure your appointments get on my schedule.”

      “Your schedule?”

      “I’ll fly up from D.C. to go with you, of course. Assuming I’m in the country.”

      “Oh. Of course.”

      The sense that she could do this on her own was rapidly slipping away. Trying desperately to hang on to her composure, Gina picked up her menu.

      “We’d better order. My appointment at the Tremayne Group is at two-thirty.”

      Jack’s hand hovered over his menu. “This might sound a little crass but between Catherine’s family and mine, we spent an obscene amount of money on our wedding. I could make a call and…”

      “No!”

      Gina gritted her teeth. Was she the only person in the whole friggin’ universe who didn’t have an inside connection at TTG? And the only fool who refused to exploit that connection? Sheer stubbornness had her shaking her head.

      “No calls. No pulling strings. No playing the big ambassadorial cheese. I have to do this myself.”

      He lifted a tawny brow but didn’t press the point. After signaling the waiter over to take their orders, he steered the conversation into more neutral channels.

      The awkwardness of the situation eased, and Gina’s spirits took an upward swing. Jack soon had her laughing at some of his more humorous exploits in the field and realizing once again how charming he could be when he wanted to.

      And sexy. So damned sexy. She savored the lump crab cake she’d ordered for lunch and couldn’t help admiring the way the tanned skin at the corners of his eyes crinkled when he smiled. And how the light reflecting off the lake added glints to the sun-streaked gold of his hair. When he leaned forward, Gina caught the ripple of muscle under his starched shirt. She found herself remembering how she’d run her palms over all that hard muscle. That tight butt. Those iron thighs. The bunched biceps and…

      “Gina?”

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