Only Ben was a no-show. He was thirty minutes late, and unless he’d got lost or stuck in traffic, there was no reason he shouldn’t be there. Even if he was running late, he could call her mobile phone and tell her. The temptation to ring him was great, but she resisted it. She would not nag him or guilt him into participation in her pregnancy.

This had been his bloody idea to be involved. His idea to come to the ultrasound. And here she was sitting by herself.

On the verge of wetting her low-rise Old Navy maternity pants.

Not to mention that she was anxious—terrified that the test would show something wrong with the baby.

She grabbed the magazine next to her on the table and flipped through it to distract herself. It was a news magazine and showed graphic images of bodies littering the ground as workers shifted through earthquake rubble. Lovely.

Someone sat down in the chair next to her. Tossing the magazine, Mandy looked up to smile politely.

It was Damien.

Wearing his suit, carrying the jacket, tie perfectly straight, looking gorgeous and masculine and very, very close.

“Hi,” he said, his shoulder brushing hers, and he took her hand, stroked it. “They didn’t call you in yet?”

Mandy shook her head. “What are you doing here?” She needed to tell him to leave. It wasn’t a good idea for him to be here. Anyone could see them together, get the wrong idea. Or worse, she herself might get the wrong idea.

“I just thought you might want some company. In case it’s good news or in case it’s not-so-good news.”

Now damn it, just when she decided she should really send him packing, he had to go and say something lovely. His touch was reassuring, gentle, and she wondered how it was that he could so easily read into her fears and doubts and sympathize with them, ease them. Maybe it was because he had known pain, understood fear.

“It’s going to be good news, right, Damien?”

“Of course it is.” He kissed her forehead, then smiled. “How’s your bladder?”

“At capacity.”

“Mandy Keeling?” A technician stood in the open door with a file folder in her hand.

Thank God. “Yes.” Mandy stood up and walked gingerly toward the door, afraid she might be sloshing.

“Dad can come, too.” The technician smiled at her and gestured Damien forward. “I’m sure he doesn’t want to miss the show.”

Now would be a good time to explain that Damien wasn’t the father, but she really didn’t feel like getting into it with the woman. Besides, she wanted someone with her. She wanted Damien with her.

“Do you want to come?” She turned back to him.