The Doctor's Pregnant Bride? / The Texas Billionaire's Baby. Susan Crosby

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      He didn’t have to wait at all, a car pulling out just as he got there. He parked but stayed in the car, knowing she would be watching for him, sure of that much about her.

      He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. She was surprisingly stubborn for someone known at the institute as a nurturer. He hadn’t seen evidence of any nurturing toward himself.…

      Which was fine with him. He’d never liked women who hovered. Not only did Sara Beth not hover, she kept a good distance—except for that night at his parents’ house, and technically, he’d closed that gap several times. Having her working in the lab had been fine, unless she came to him with a question, her lemony scent breaking his concentration even before she talked.

      He wasn’t used to having his concentration broken so easily. It should annoy him, he supposed, but instead he was comfortable. He’d felt comfortable with a number of women, but not ones he’d had interest in touching.

      He wanted to touch Sara Beth.

      The front door of her building opened. She came out wearing jeans and a beige jacket that came to midthigh. She was pulling on gloves. Her hair was down and tucked into her jacket. Her warm breath misted around her in the cold morning air. Something caught her attention overhead, and she stopped, shading her eyes, then smiled. A bird, probably.

      He tried to remember the last time he had stopped to watch a bird.

      All work and no play—Was he that dull?

      He climbed out of his car, leaned on the top. “You’re prompt.”

      “So are you.”

      “You say that as if it surprises you.”

      “I had a fleeting thought that you may get involved in something and forget me.”

      “Not a chance.” Not a chance in hell, he thought, as she got into his car.

      He climbed in, too, then held out a cup of coffee with cream, which he’d noticed was how she took it, and a chocolate doughnut with chocolate frosting. “Good morning,” he said.

      She yanked off her gloves, tucked them in her lap, then accepted his offering. She toasted him with the coffee cup. “It is now.”

      Her eyes sparkled above the rim. Something shifted inside him, not uncomfortably, exactly, although not completely identifiable.

      Ted started the engine and pulled away, but caught her eyeing him. “What?”

      “Do you even own a pair of jeans?”

      “Of course I do. Why?”

      “You’re always so dressed up, that’s all. This is Saturday. Play day.”

      “I play fine in these clothes.” But it got him thinking. If clothes made the man, did that mean he never played? This would take some thought, he decided.

      The trip to his loft didn’t take long and was mostly silent as he spent the time wondering if she saw him as being uptight, while she enjoyed the coffee and doughnut during the drive. He ate when he was hungry, didn’t much care what it was. It refueled him, which was the purpose of eating. But watching her savor the chocolate frosting by licking it off the doughnut—

      He looked away and just drove. Hadn’t he been the one to chastise Chance for his dalliances in the past? In the end, it didn’t matter if you were innocent of making unwanted advances. If people perceived otherwise, you were dead in the water.

      He pulled into his underground parking space, almost commenting about how quiet she’d been, then decided not to. She didn’t seem bothered by their lack of conversation. Her smile was as bright as usual. There was no stiffness in her shoulders, if she was holding back anything.

      “Nice to have permanent parking,” she commented as he punched in the security code to his private elevator that would take them to the top floor of the converted warehouse. “My mom does, too. It’s great having a car available at times. Makes it easy to take weekend getaways.”

      “Having lived in San Francisco for so long, easy access to parking was on my list of requirements.”

      “Along with what else?” Sara Beth asked.

      “A view of the Charles. Although I don’t know why, since I’m hardly here to enjoy it. Lots of open space. I don’t like small rooms. They make me feel hemmed in.”

      “Are you claustrophobic?”

      “I just don’t like walls.” The elevator stopped. The door opened to a large, although not massive space, with cherrywood floors, exposed ductwork, brick walls and floor-to-ceiling windows facing an amazing view of the Charles River.

      “This is stunning,” Sara Beth said, slipping off her shoes as he did, moving into the loft, shrugging off her jacket as she went. “I can see your dilemma about decorating it. You need to create rooms without using walls, so everything has to flow from one space to the next.” She eyed him. “Are you sure you don’t want to use a professional? I don’t know that I’m up to the challenge, given that my education in decorating comes from watching the Home and Garden channel.”

      “Let’s give it a shot. If you still feel the same at the end of today, I’ll do something else.” The truth was, he wanted to spend the day with her. He hadn’t spent a day with a woman since he’d moved back, and now he found himself relaxed, work not pounding his brain, a rare occurrence. He needed a little R & R, then could return to work refreshed.

      “Okay,” she said, wandering into the kitchen, a newly renovated contemporary space with dark wood-and-glass cabinets, glass-tile backsplashes, stainless-steel appliances and black, brown and gold granite countertops.

      A folding camp chair sat in eerie loneliness by the front window, an upside down cardboard box placed next to it to use as an end table, along with one floor lamp. A flat-screen television was mounted above the fireplace.

      “Spartan,” she commented, flashing a quick grin.

      “That’s a nice way of putting it.” He gestured toward the rear of the unit. “Bedroom and bath are down this way.”

      The bathroom was large, the shower walk-in, the floor porcelain tile and the counters the same granite as in the kitchen. The bedroom space could be closed off by pulling large planks of polished wood attached to an overhead rail, spanning from wall to wall.

      She glanced into his huge walk-in closet, where long-sleeved dress shirts lined one side, in blue, white and cream. Slacks in black, brown and charcoal took up the rack below the shirts. A few suits. A tuxedo. Quite a few shoes. A couple of polo shirts. And one pair of jeans, never worn, tags attached.

      “How long have you lived here?” Sara Beth asked as they returned to the living room.

      “Don’t start.” After a week of her being mostly businesslike, he was enjoying her playfulness now. “Or no more doughnuts.”

      She laughed, the sound echoing in his almost-empty space. “You get what you pay for.”

      She pulled out a notepad and measuring tape from her purse, and they went to work drawing a floor plan СКАЧАТЬ