The Millionaire's Cinderella. Anne Marie Winston

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      “Sure.” Joanna complied, pleased that he thought to involve her at least this much.

      Before handing the baby over to the attending pediatrician, Dr. Madrid held up the infant for the new parents to see and said, “Usted tiene una ninña hermosa.”

      Joanna couldn’t deny that, when she turned from the table to watch the pediatrician examine the child. The baby girl was beautiful with her thick cap of black hair and her round cherub’s face. She looked plump and healthy, her coloring good.

      Children were truly a blessing, and that concept made Joanna think of her own son and how much she missed him, cherished him. How much sadness had been a part of her life over the past few months without him.

      “Ms. Blake, please see Mr. Gonzales to the nursery while I finish up here.”

      The concern in Dr. Madrid’s voice drew Joanna’s attention from the infant. “Okay.”

      As she walked to the head of the table, Joanna noticed the doctor’s dark brows drawn down with concentration, and beads of sweat dampening the front of the blue cap covering his head. She heard him give the order for several meds, and other muttered comments from the staff about too much blood.

      Something was wrong. Terribly wrong.

      Joanna instructed Mr. Gonzales to follow her, trying her best to alleviate his distress with a calm voice. He kissed his wife’s cheek, then stood. Once in the hallway, the pediatrician signaled the new father to come with her and they walked away behind the portable crib, leaving Joanna behind, hoping to find out what had gone wrong with Mrs. Gonzales.

      Joanna removed her gloves and mask and remained outside the O.R. suite, glancing in the door’s window to try to discern the problem. She couldn’t see anything for the flurry of activity surrounding the table.

      After what seemed like an interminable amount of time, Dr. Madrid backed away from the table, looking relieved. He stopped for a moment and spoke to Mrs. Gonzales, then headed for the exit while the staff prepared to move the patient.

      He yanked the gloves off his hands, the mask off his face and raked the cap from his head, tossing them into the refuse container. He then pushed through the double doors to join Joanna outside the room.

      “Is she all right?” Joanna asked.

      “She had a bleeder, but I’ve got it under control.”

      “You didn’t have to do a hysterectomy, did you?”

      “No. I’ve managed to save her uterus. They’ll give her a couple of units of blood. I’m sure she’ll be fine.”

      “I’m glad. I was worried.”

      “So was I.” He leveled his golden gaze on her. “Do you want to grab some coffee after I make sure Mrs. Gonzales is settled?”

      That sounded like a plan, one she didn’t dare consider. “I really need to go. I have to call the center then get home. I’ll check on Mrs. Gonzales before I leave.”

      His sultry smile crept in. “Not even one cup of coffee? Just ten minutes of your time?”

      “Actually, I’m in a hurry.” In a big hurry to get away from those tempting topaz eyes, that drop-dead smile.

      His grin deepened. “Are you always in a hurry?”

      An odd question. “Most of the time I’m running on full speed. Aren’t you?”

      “Yeah, but I’m about to give out.” He surveyed her face, his gaze zeroing in on her lips before he again locked on her eyes. “Are you sure I can’t change your mind?”

      Oh, he could, but she wouldn’t let him. Joanna started backing down the hall while she slipped the robe away from her shoulders. “I really do need to go.”

      He watched her the same way he had at the gala before she’d made her escape. The man must have excessive pheromones, she decided. Right now they were working on her in some not too unpleasant ways. Head to toe chills traveled downward and heat settled low in her belly. It would be all too easy to agree to spend more time with him. And all too risky.

      “I could walk you to your car,” he said through another rogue smile.

      Truth was, her car sat in her apartment lot after she’d scraped together enough money to have it towed. She didn’t have enough funds to have it fixed, though, and the darn thing still refused to run. She wished she could say the same for her sprinting pulse. “Actually, I’m into mass transit these days. I’m taking the bus home.”

      “I could give you a ride.”

      She had no doubt about that. “I’ll manage fine.”

      “Okay, if you’re sure. Guess I’ll just have my coffee alone.”

      She forced herself to turn away from him. Away from all the electricity the man emitted like a live wire. She picked up her pace before she changed her mind and went back to him, probably at her own peril.

      “Have a nice night, Cinderella.”

      Joanna stopped dead in her tracks.

      Slowly she turned only to find an empty space where he had been. Vanished, like some unearthly presence, into a netherworld.

      Joanna laid a hand across her pounding heart and took in several deep breaths. One realization haunted her like a ghost.

      He had recognized her.

      Two

      Rio sat once more in the hospital cafeteria, this time with only a cup of black coffee. He didn’t dare waste another meal in case he was summoned back to the emergency room or to the labor and delivery floor. It was now nearing 8:00 p.m., and he still had three hours left to take calls before a resident relieved him. Regardless, he was determined to get out of there, even if it meant coming back in.

      He should be tired, dead on his feet, but he wasn’t, and he had Joanna Blake to thank for that. He’d almost gone after her, waited outside the dressing room and tried again to convince her to join him.

      He wasn’t sure why he hadn’t. Normally, he didn’t give up easily where women were concerned, but this woman was different. She sure as hell wasn’t his type, surprisingly innocent—except for that mouth of hers. A great mouth, even when she chose to use it as a weapon on him, in every respect. She was also a mom.

      Withdrawing the picture from his scrub shirt pocket, Rio studied the young boy he presumed to be Joanna Blake’s son. He could be wrong, but he doubted it. The kid had the same eyes, the same dark hair, the same smile. He flipped it over again, as he’d done several times over the past few days.

      Joseph Adam, age 3. My heart. Definitely something a mother would write.

      Rio had seen the picture fly onto the floor New Year’s Eve when Joanna had dropped her bag on the run. But before he could shove his way through the crowd and retrieve the photo in order to return it to her, she had already flown away like a dove finally emancipated from a cage.

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