“That guy. Down at the end,” Philomena said, following her words with a whistle, a cat sound and a clawlike swish of her manicured hand. “I bet he could get me to purr all night long.”

Ingrid turned in her seat to see who her friend was referring to, and when her gaze fell on the aforementioned male who made the respectable oncologist Dr. Philomena Reminsky turn feline, Ingrid almost choked on the cherry in her cosmopolitan.

Tall, muscular and clad in army fatigues, the soldier sitting at the far end of the bar seemed to have every hot-blooded female in a twenty-foot radius panting after him. His hair was buzzed short, but she could tell from the slash of his eyebrows that his hair was ebony. He would probably be even dreamier with longer locks. Still, the buzz cut suited him.

There was an aloof, brooding quality to him.

Something that told the outside world not to mess with him, yet called to the female species like a siren call.

There had to be at least ten other soldiers in the bar, but he kept to himself, his eyes fixed on the television in the corner, oblivious to what was going on around him.

Either oblivious or unconcerned.

Ingrid loved the tall, dark and silent types. Something to do with her love of heroes like Mr. Rochester, Mr. Thornton and Mr. Darcy.

As if knowing she was assessing him, he tore his gaze from the television screen and looked at her. Even from just six feet away she could see his eyes were crystal blue. So light and intense they seemed to pull her in.

Heat bloomed in her cheeks and she turned away quickly.

What am I doing?

This wasn’t her style. She didn’t flirt with strangers in a bar. She was too much of an introvert for that. The only people she could open up and talk to really were other surgeons, nurses or her patients.

Career was what Ingrid focused on. Not men.

That’s why I’m still a virgin.

Well, she may still be a virgin, but at least she was finally an attending at Rapid City Health Sciences Center.

One goal accomplished.

It was why she was at this country-and-western bar with her coworkers. To celebrate her promotion. Not to flirt with men.

Why not?

Because she had no interest in a relationship. Marriage and commitment were not things she’d ever get entangled in.

“Well, it seems a lucky lady has caught Beefcake’s attention,” Philomena whispered in her ear.

Ingrid stole a glance out of the corner of her eye and saw that the beefcake in question was staring at her. He smiled, a crooked smile that was so sexy it made her heart skip a beat and her insides turn a bit gushy.

Could be the alcohol.

Ingrid glanced away again; she knew she was blushing.

“What’s wrong?” Philomena asked. “He’s coming over. Talk to him.”

“I can’t,” Ingrid whispered. “What do I say?”

“Finish your drink and say hi. Maybe he’ll buy you another.” Philomena moved to leave, but Ingrid grabbed her arm.

“No, don’t leave me. I’m not good with men.”

Philomena just grinned as she detached Ingrid’s clawlike grip from her forearm. “You’ll be fine. Live a little.”

Right. Live a little.

Except that’s not how she had been raised. Her father, if he was dead, which he wasn’t, would be spinning in his grave to know what she was contemplating.

He’d taught her never to take risks. To play it safe and lead a respectable and worthwhile life. Not that he thought being an orthopedic surgeon was as worthwhile as being a cardiothoracic surgeon or a neurosurgeon, but that was neither here nor there. And one risk she never wanted to take was falling in love.

Who says you have to fall in love?

Which was true.

Love at first sight was a fairy tale. One she didn’t believe in. Love was for fools.

Oh, great. She was dithering. She usually dithered and stammered when she was around СКАЧАТЬ

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Pregnant with the Soldier's Son. Amy Ruttan
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