That Wild Night: Waking Up Pregnant / The Best Mistake of Her Life
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How often would she see him? What would he do if they disagreed?
What kind of father would he be? She thought about the trophies and ribbons, and how nothing short of first place earned a spot on his wall of fame. Would he be as successful in parenting as he was in what appeared to be every other area of his life? Would he go it alone or hire in help? Marry in help?
Not the woman he’d been dating when she first came to him. Gail had mentioned they’d broken the relationship off already. But a man like Jeff—she closed her eyes trying to stop her train of thought, but already her mind had found the deep rumble of his laugh, the heavy cut of his jaw and the feel of his untamed hair between her fingers.
The weight of his body over hers.
The heat of his kiss.
Her eyes popped open. Because closed, well, obviously that wasn’t helping. And as tempting as it was to recall their night together in exacting, vivid detail—it was a mistake. When she thought about Jeff now, it should be in the context of his role as co-parent to their child. Nothing else.
Which was fine. She was realistic enough to understand the enormity of the gulf between their worlds. She was okay with it.
Like she’d be okay when Jeff found the next woman to get serious about. Mostly. Though even as she thought it, some little piece of her rejected the idea of him with another woman. Not because she wanted him for herself.
No.
Just because…well…well…an irritated growl left her throat. It didn’t matter why and she didn’t need to justify anything.
What was wrong with her today?
Turning to happier thoughts, she tried to imagine Jeff’s youth, wondering whether he would describe himself the same way his mother had? What he thought life would be like for their child—if he’d want to do things the way his parents had done with him, or if he’d like to see things happen differently for his own son or daughter.
She glanced at the phone and, experiencing a pull even greater than the one outside Jeff’s room, wondered if they talked, if he’d make her laugh again, the way no one else seemed capable of doing.
* * *
Jeff met Charlie’s knowing eyes across the table where the two of them had set up for the call in his office. It was time for a break.
“Why don’t we take thirty so everyone can grab a bite,” Jeff suggested, pushing back from the table himself. “And we’ll pick up here when we get back.”
Charlie went to grab a few files from his desk and Jeff was left in the quiet of his office alone. Shoulder propped at his favorite window, he was scrolling through his messages, rereading the one line updates from his mom when the little black-and-white, fifteen-week ultrasound image popped up on his screen signaling a call from the very woman all his extra hours at work were supposed to keep him from thinking about—but weren’t.
“Hi, Jeff. I hope I’m not interrupting.”
“Not at all. What’s going on?” He closed his eyes. “Everything okay with the baby?”
His baby. Their baby.
The little troublemaker wreaking havoc on his mother’s system and scaring the living hell out Jeff with the fragility of his existence alone.
“Oh, yes. Sorry, I should probably text before I call so you know not to worry,” she said, the words sounding almost amused. Playful.
He liked it, and found himself relaxing.
“What’s up?”
“I was just wondering if maybe you had time to talk awhile.”
He scanned the conference table. “I’m heading back into a call here in the next few minutes.”
“Oh, of course, it definitely doesn’t need to be now. You know, just sometime. I could come by your office. Or meet you after work—you’re so busy, the evening would probably be better. But maybe not, because it’s late and you’re still working and I don’t want to—you know what? It doesn’t matter. It’s not hugely important or anything—”
“Darcy,” he cut her off, her fluster in trying not to inconvenience him somehow pushing a smile to his mouth. “Of course I’ll make time. What is it you wanted to talk about?”
A sigh filtered through the line, and the sultry quality of it curled around his senses, rubbing soft against the places he’d been trying to ignore.
“I was just thinking this little guy is going to have a very different experience growing up than I did. And, I don’t know,” she continued softly. “I was hoping maybe you’d tell me more about what it was like for you. What you’d like it to be like for him.”
Right. More information exchange, because that was the only reason she’d be calling. The only reason he wanted her to call. They’d agreed and for good reason. So yeah.
“How about this,” he said, clearing his throat. “I’ll get in touch tomorrow to set up a block of time when we can talk. Also if there’s anything in particular you’ve got questions about or have on your mind, you can email me and I’ll try to get a response back to you by the next morning. Okay?”
“Um. Sure. Sounds great, Jeff,” she answered simply, but something had changed in her tone. There was no emotional inflection evident whatsoever. “Have a good night.”
“You, too.” He stared at the phone, suddenly on alert. Because he’d heard that total absence of anything in her voice before. In Vegas. When her impassive facade was hiding something she didn’t want seen.
Charlie walked back into the office and within a few keystrokes had a modified timeline up on the big screen. He glanced at Jeff. “Want to go over this before we pick up?”
* * *
Yellow. Box mix. Cake.
The mouthwatering revelation had struck Darcy like a lightning bolt shortly after talking to Jeff.
There’d been a heaviness in her chest after their call because, inexplicably, she’d gotten it in her head that talking to him might snap her out of this strange funk. But she didn’t feel any better. If anything she’d hung up feeling more adrift than she had before.
But what did she really expect. While Jeff definitely made her health and well-being a priority, the guy was busy. He had a life. Commitments to his corporation, his friends and whatever it was he did to fill his time when he wasn’t checking in to make sure her blood pressure was where it should be.
So she’d hung up and sat at the side of her bed, wishing she could muster some enthusiasm for anything. Hating the way she’d lost her appetite completely and how nothing sounded good to her. It had been a full-on pity party the likes of which she never indulged. And then, in a flash, inspiration.
Cake.
Followed by something even more shocking still.
Hunger… Craving.
Next thing, she’d been rifling through the pantry, nearly bursting into tears at the discovery of one single cardboard box in the very back, and the tub of fudge frosting beside it.
Some forty minutes later she was staring down two eight-inch rounds, fresh from the oven, mentally calculating how long before they’d be cool enough to frost and eat. Too long.
“God,” she half moaned, recognizing the near breathless desperation in her own voice. “I want you so bad.”
The sound of a throat clearing behind her had her jumping back, one hand moving instinctively toward her belly, the other going to her chest.
“Jeff,” she gasped at seeing him in the doorway, tie askew, suit jacket flipped over one arm, shirt a perfect cut for his broad shoulders, looking rugged and powerful and thoroughly entertained with an amused smile tilting his lips. “I thought you had a call. What are you doing here?”
Rubbing a hand over the back of his neck, he nodded toward the counter. “Looking for some cake?”
CHAPTER TWELVE
SURROUNDED BY THE familiar dark wood cabinetry, heated stone floors and wide granite counters of the kitchen he’d spent a significant part of his youth hanging out in—it was with immense satisfaction that Jeff watched Darcy standing at the counter where she frosted the now-cooled cakes, her head tipped back as warm, full-bodied laughter bubbled past her lips.
“Traitor?” She teased, catching her breath. “She’s your mother. And you were the one who finagled me into staying here and working with her. You had to know we’d find some middle ground.”
“She sold out over a trip to some baby boutique? Come on.”
He was crying foul, but seeing Darcy in person, his anxiety about her overdoing it was alleviated. Mostly anyway. And for all the noise he was making, he knew his mom wouldn’t have skipped out for the night if she’d had even a moment’s doubt about how Darcy was doing.
Darcy slid a fat slice of yellow cake layered with some kind of thick fudgy frosting onto a waiting plate.
Man, his mouth watered and he went to the counter, catching himself an instant before he leaned in to drop a kiss at her neck. Which was crazy, because it wasn’t like this sort of domesticity was a habit. But seeing her there, laughing, chatting with him, looking so comfortable in her bare feet—it was like the scene flipped a switch in him and he’d forgotten exactly what they were doing and how it was between them.
Which was, not like that.
He slanted another look at her neck. Bare and long, and hell, with a tiny speck of cake batter along the side to match the few decorating her thin cotton hoodie.
She looked sweet. Tasty.
Because she was. He remembered running his tongue from her collarbone up behind her ear, and how the silky length of her hair had felt in his fingers as he gathered it out of his way.
“You okay?” Darcy asked, a wary look in her eyes.
Except for the way his entire body had gone online in the span of a few seconds, yeah, perfect. “Hungry. For cake.”
Satisfied, she smiled and served him a slice. “Then here you go.”
A smaller slice. Significantly.
“Really?” he asked with an arched brow.
Darcy flashed him a sassy grin and patted her flat stomach. “Eating for two. And since this is the only thing I’ve actually wanted in as long as I can remember.” She looked down at her slice with a covetous intent and put on a growling brogue as she muttered, “Get in my belly.”
Jeff blinked, not believing he’d just heard her quote an Austin Powers movie. He let out a hard laugh as she enthusiastically swept up her plate and went to the table, his little mama-in-the-making diving in without so much as a look his way.
Her lips closed around the fork and she gave up one of those unabashed moans that had his body reacting in a way where the best course of action seemed turning his back to her as he went to the fridge. “Think your belly’s up for a glass of milk?”
Darcy was still sucking the frosting off her fork when he turned to look at her. Rather than just finish the bite, she continued to savor the cake and frosting, turning her fork upside down to suck the tines as she absently nodded at him.
He swallowed, gave himself a firm mental shake and then poured a couple of glasses.
They were drinking milk. And milk and hard-ons didn’t go.
But even without the dairy, he shouldn’t be thinking about Darcy like that. Because he wasn’t ever going to be with Darcy that way again. Even if his head seemed to be making frequent sojourns to a time when he had, he had enough control to keep his body from following.
The pressure behind his fly told him he was lying to himself, but he threw a mental finger in that southern direction.
There was too much on the line with a child between them to risk emotions gone awry, which meant keeping it platonic.
He couldn’t afford for things to end up the way they had with Margo. After all the years of friendship between them, in the end they could barely stand to be in the same room, let alone carry on a civilized conversation.
So resisting a few wayward urges shouldn’t be too difficult considering it wasn’t love they were fighting. Darcy was just so damned sexy, was all.
Yeah, their initial connection had been beyond the physical. But the part that was physical? He could still feel the embers from that blaze where they sizzled and burned in the back of his mind. Eventually though, he’d get past them.
Pulling it together, he slid into the chair across from hers. “So it’s going well with my mom?”
Seeing Darcy was still working the damned fork, he shifted in his seat, adding tightly, “No rush to answer. Whenever you’re finished molesting that fork with your tongue. By all means, take your time.”
Her eyes widened, a satisfying rush of red tingeing her cheeks. It looked good on her.
Sliding the fork from between her lips in a way that didn’t do him any favors, she set the utensil at the side of her plate and neatly folded her arms in front of her.
“Your mom is wonderful. I think she’s one of the most generous people I’ve ever met.”
Jeff smiled. “Did she try to buy you the house across the street—which incidentally is on the market if you like it. Smaller than this one but for the two of you—”
“No,” she said waving him off with an annoyed glance. “She’s very thoughtful. And observant. When I said generous, I meant with her time and her thoughts and feelings.”
“She is, isn’t she? I hoped she wouldn’t overwhelm you. I know you like to be on your own.”
Darcy shook her head, picking up the fork again and scraping at frosting left on her plate. Accumulating the smallest glob before bringing it to her mouth.
“We’ve struck a pretty good balance. We go for a walk each morning, sometimes just around the yard if my stomach is sketchy. We talk about interests and goals. And if ever I’m feeling embarrassed or something from having to rush away for my stomach, she always has some fantastic story about you to make me feel better.”
Jeff’s brow shot up, his ego taking a stretch and pulling him forward to hear more. “Yeah?”
“Yeah, like the time you got into the caterer’s stash of dessert toppers and then got sick in the pool.”
He slumped back. “No.”
Not exactly the tales of heroism and maternal adoration he’d been banking on.
Darcy pointed the freshly cleaned tines at him. “Yeah. Her thinking is, it’s only fair you share in the humiliation once in a while, too.”
“I’m almost afraid to ask, but how often are you still getting sick?”
There was a wicked glint in Darcy’s eyes as she answered. “Often.”
Jeff reached across the table and took her hand in his. “Then I can say with the utmost sincerity, I hope you get past this soon.”
She looked him up and down and then closed her eyes, laughing. “I’ll bet you do.”
* * *
She was so glad he’d come. Glad to the point where there was no choice but to acknowledge Jeff’s little baby had been working her over good with the hormones.
Twice she’d felt the inexplicable push of tears at the back of her eyes. The first, when she realized halfway through her third slice of cake she was too full to eat any more, and the second when, at her request, Jeff had pulled his favorite trophy down and told her he had absolutely no idea why he favored it, and then after a shrug, stuck it back on the shelf.
Yes, the hormones were having their way with her for sure. Which was reassuring in that it gave her something to blame for other inexplicable reactions. Like every time she got within breathing distance of Jeff. All it took was the barest hint of his clean masculine scent and everything within her started to whir. He smelled better than box mix, but thankfully she’d exercised more restraint with the man than she had with the butter recipe.
As a result they’d been talking comfortably on the back terrace by the pool for more than an hour, Jeff answering whatever questions he could for her. Occasionally asking one himself—though in truth, Darcy didn’t have very much to share about her own youth. If he asked whether she’d participated in some traditional all-American kind of activity, the answer was typically no. The explanation always the same. They hadn’t had the money for team sports, camps or after school programs. Of course there had been more to it, but Jeff didn’t need to know about those details. All that mattered was their child’s life would be more like his than hers. This baby would be happy, loved and wanted.
They’d hit on the topic of school a few moments ago, and now Jeff leaned back in the terrace chair that looked more like it belonged in a showroom than outside by the pool. His long legs were extended out in front of him, his ankles crossed, hands folded behind his head as he stared up into the night sky.
“I don’t know, Darcy. The boarding school thing was something both my parents agreed on. It’s an experience I value. But with you barely halfway through the pregnancy, I don’t really know whether it’s something I’d want for him or her or not. To me this little guy’s personality, drive and temperament will play pretty heavily into my position.” His gaze locked with hers. “But whatever we decide, we’ll decide together.”
It had been the unofficial theme of their discussion for the night. That they were in this together. Not in a relationship way, but as far as working at keeping communication between them strong.
She nodded, letting him see the gratitude and appreciation in her eyes. “I believe you.”
A breeze ruffled the leaves in the trees around the grounds and then caught a few loose strands of Darcy’s hair, blowing them across her face. Tucking them behind her ear, she glanced up to find Jeff watching her with a look she couldn’t read.
Suddenly self-conscious, she asked, “What?”
He waved her off.
“Nothing. It’s late is all.” He braced his hands on the armrests of his chair and pushed to stand. “You ought to get some rest and I’ve got to drive back.”
Taking her hand, he helped her to her feet.
They walked back toward the house and, reaching the door, Jeff stopped. “I’ll say good night here. Sleep in tomorrow, will you?”
At Darcy’s rolled eyes, he flashed her one of those devastating grins that ought to require a special license the way he wielded it. “Come on, so I don’t worry about you.”
No question, this guy knew how to get what he wanted. “I’ll do my best.”
Satisfied, he leaned in—probably to drop a kiss on her cheek—only as he neared, the rich masculine scent that had been playing with her senses and control all night caught her off guard. Her eyes closed and her head turned toward him as she drew a deep breath through her nose.
Whoa—what the heck was she doing?
Her eyes popped wide, and there was Jeff, inches away, a darkening scowl underscoring his confusion.
Immediately, she took a step away to put more distance between them, but caught a heel on the edge of the walk.
Jeff’s hand was there in an instant, guiding her back the way she’d come. Then closer. Until she was looking up into his face, their bodies only a breath away from contact.
This close there was no getting away from how good he smelled. Her heart was pounding, her breath coming too fast.
“Darcy?”
She shook her head. Trying to figure out exactly what to say when the truth—that she’d lost control and he’d, yes, just caught her going in for a whiff of him or whatever the cheap-feel equivalent would be for smelling someone up. This was so low.
“Honey?” His hold tightened as concern put an urgent edge to his voice. “Are you okay?”
She blinked. Okay? And then realization…she had an out here. Only her conscience pricked at the idea of passing off blame on her baby for her moment of weakness.
No, on second thought, she could definitely live with herself.
Raising a hand to her temple, she offered a weak shrug. “I think maybe I’m a little more worn-out than I realized. A little light-headed is all.”
The muscles of Jeff’s throat worked up and down… and then before she realized what was happening, the man had her scooped into his arms.
“Jeff!” she squeaked, gripping his shirt as he shouldered his way in through the terrace door.
“I’ll get you into bed and call Grant to come over.”
“Jeff, no,” she started and he stopped midstride to look down at her.
“Is it bad?” But before she could answer his attention seemed to have shifted inward and then he turned around, ready to carry her back out the door they’d just come through. “We’ll go straight to the hospital.”
Oh, hell.
“Jeff, no. Stop a second. Jeff. Jeff.” She squirmed in his arms, trying to get a leg down, but the man wasn’t having any of it, at least until she grabbed his collar in her fist and gave it a solid shake, demanding, “Set me down this minute, damn it.”
And then her feet were on the ground but he was still holding her far too close for comfort, especially because it had become painfully clear, she was going to have to own up to her crimes, or take a ride to the E.R.
“Darcy, if something’s wrong—”
“Listen.” She squared her shoulders, and dug up a bit of the no-nonsense steel she used to find so readily on hand. “I lied.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
“YOU WHAT?” JEFF’S chin pulled back, his brows crashing down. “Are you telling me—all night? Has this been going on, all night, with the— Damn it, Darcy, this is serious. What the hell am I going to have to do to get you to take it easy, tie you to the bed?”
Her lips parted, but before the words she’d had ready mere seconds before could get out, her mind short-circuited and her eyes locked with his.
He raked a hand through the dark shock of his hair, and took a step back. “The chair.”
Then he took another step back and swore under his breath. “I’m not going to tie you up at all. But—”
This so wasn’t getting any better.
“Jeff. I lied about being worn-out and light-headed. I—I—” She took a deep breath and let the truth spill out in one huge gush. “You were standing so close—and this supersensitive smell thing that’s part of the pregnancy, kind of got the better of me for one minute before I realized what I was doing, and then I tried to back up, but I tripped, and you asked if I was okay, and I thought it would be better to avoid any misunderstandings about me wanting to smell you if I just lied and blamed the baby, which sounds really terrible when I say it, but now that I’m thinking about it, is pretty much the truth. Your baby is making me crazy. There.”
She sucked a great lungful of air and then covered her cheeks with her hands, knowing they had to be burning crimson.
Jeff’s jaw cocked to one side, his eyes focused down around his shoes. “So…you were…smelling me.”
She crossed her arms and stared at the ceiling. “You smell…really good. It was like with the cake.”
His head snapped up. “Like the cake? I mean, what you did to that cake.”
And there were about a million wrong ways he could interpret what she’d just said, and based on the rapidly morphing expressions crossing his face, he was hitting on each one of them.
“I don’t mean you smell like a cake. And I wasn’t saying…you made me—”
Something dark flashed in his eyes as he looked down at her mouth. “Hungry?”
She nodded, thinking the way the night was playing out, they were going to need a couple of neck braces. “Right. No. I mean, no, you didn’t make me hungry. I just don’t want you to think—”
“I don’t. And I’m not thinking about tying you to the bed, either.” Then he ran a wide hand over his mouth, and the eyes that met hers were filled with some twisted combination of apology, amusement and heat.
She gasped.
“Okay, okay,” he answered with a distinctly unapologetic laugh. “I am thinking about it a little. Now. But normally I don’t.” He closed his eyes and held up a hand. “Not the tying up part at least. Sometimes I think about the rest. I mean, we did it. And it was good. But it doesn’t mean I’m interested in an act two. It’s just a guy thing.”
Okay. She’d take him at his word. “So we’ll forget this then,” she offered, not meeting his eyes as she thrust out her hand.