The Bachelor's Little Bonus

What did he just say?

“We can give this child the type of home and family you and I both wanted,” he said. “You’ll get the help you need, and I’ll get to be a dad.”

She always acted on impulse, followed her hunches. Every one of those usual prompts urged her now to accept Cole’s offer.

It wasn’t the hearts-and-flowers-and-violins proposal she’d imagined, but she was a mother now. And if she was honest, Cole ticked every item on the list of attributes she’d want for her child’s father. He was stable, dependable, practical. So…

“Yes.”

He went still. Yes?”

“Yes,” she repeated.

“Great! We’ll make this work, Stevie. I promise.” He turned to go, then stopped.

“That was a lousy way to conclude a proposal, wasn’t it?” he asked. “I can do better.” Then he gathered her into his arms and gave her a kiss.

How could she have known the quiet analyst next door kissed like a dashing pirate?

And that she was nearly leveled by, of all men, her neighbor, friend…and soon-to-be convenient husband?

* * *

PROPOSALS & PROMISES: Putting a ring on it is only the beginning!

The Bachelor’s

Little Bonus

Gina Wilkins

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Author of more than one hundred titles for Mills & Boon, native Arkansan GINA WILKINS was introduced early to romance novels by her avid-reader mother. Gina loves sharing her own stories with readers who enjoy books celebrating families and romance. She is inspired daily by her husband of over thirty years, their two daughters and their son, their librarian son-in-law who fit perfectly into this fiction-loving family, and an adorable grandson who already loves books.

For my family—immediate, extended and family of the heart. You have all enriched my life beyond measure.

Contents

Cover

Introduction

Title Page

About the Author

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Epilogue

Extract

Copyright

Chapter One

Returning home from a mundane business trip, Cole McKellar stepped out of a dreary February evening and into a scene from one of his increasingly recurrent fantasies: A pretty blonde asleep on his oversized brown leather sofa.

The sight aroused and disturbed him—the same reaction he usually had to those unbidden daydreams. He squeezed his eyes shut, but when he opened them the blonde in question was still there. What was wrong with him? He shouldn’t be having these feelings about Stevie, especially when she viewed him merely as a neighbor and a friend. And yet...

Illuminated by the lamp on the table nearest her head, she lay on her left side, her hand beneath her cheek, her jeans-covered legs drawn up in front of her. Her shoes were on the floor, leaving her feet exposed in bright red socks that matched her sweater. Golden curls tumbled around her sleep-flushed face, and her soft, full lips were slightly parted. Long lashes lay against her fair cheeks, hiding eyes he knew to be a vivid blue. Notably colorful and feminine in contrast to his muted bachelor decor, she looked young and vulnerable lying there, though he knew Stevie McLane to be a capable and accomplished thirty-one year old, only two years his junior.

Dusty, his little gray tabby, snuggled into the crook of Stevie’s arm. In response to Cole’s arrival, the cat lifted her head and gave him a look as though warning him not to disturb their sleeping guest. He frowned and studied Stevie more closely. Was there a trace of tears on her face? Had she been crying?

Gripping his overnight bag tightly in one hand, his computer case in the other, he shifted his weight uncomfortably, unsure what to do. Should he wake her? Should he let her sleep? He couldn’t just stand here watching her. It was sort of...creepy.

Dusty stood and stretched. Roused by the movement, Stevie blinked her eyes open. Finding Cole standing there, she gasped.

The last thing he’d wanted to do was frighten her. “I’m sorry, Stevie, I—”

“Cole! I didn’t—”

Both stopped talking to let the other speak, then hurried again to fill the awkward silence.

“I didn’t mean to—”

“I thought you—”

Cole held up a hand with a rueful smile when their words overlapped again. “I’ll start. I’m sorry I startled you. I didn’t know you were here. Now your turn.”

On her feet now, his next-door neighbor pushed back her tumbled hair with both hands and smiled up at him. Though just over average height himself, he still felt as though he towered over Stevie, who topped out at about five-two in her red-stockinged feet. “I thought you weren’t going to be home until tomorrow,” she said.

“I rescheduled my flight because of the weather. I didn’t want to get stuck in Dallas for an extra day or two, especially since I have to be in Chicago a few days next week.”

“And now you must be tired.” She shook her head. “I’m sorry, you weren’t expecting to find uninvited company in your house.”

She had no idea just what a welcome surprise that had been, nor would he fully enlighten her. When it came to Stevie, he’d gotten pretty good at concealing his feelings during the past year. “Usually when I come home, the house is empty except for Dusty, and she likes to play it cool with her royal greetings. It’s a pleasant change to be welcomed with a smile.”

He’d answered lightly while studying her suspiciously puffy eyelids. Would it be intrusive to mention his impression that she’d been crying? He settled for what he hoped was a vaguely concerned tone. “Is everything okay?”

She wiped nonchalantly at her cheeks, as if smoothing away the effects of sleep rather than any hint of tears. “Oh, sure. It was just too quiet at my house tonight, so Dusty and I were keeping each other company. I guess I fell asleep.”

His cat had climbed on the arm of the couch and now demanded a greeting from him. Cole reached down to rub the tabby’s soft, pointed ears. “Did you give Stevie your sad-eyes act to keep her from leaving after she fed you? I bet you added a few of those pitiful meows you’ve perfected.”

Stevie wrinkled her nose with a little laugh. “I’m pretty sure she even threw in a couple of forlorn sniffles.”

He ran a hand absently down Dusty’s back, stopping to scratch at the base of the tail, a spot that always made his pet arch blissfully. “She’s shameless.”

“Yes, she is,” Stevie agreed, giving the tabby a fond smile.

Cole claimed occasionally that he’d bought the cat with the house. He’d lived here only a couple weeks when a pathetic kitten had appeared on his doorstep out of a winter rainstorm, wet and hungry and miserable. Hearing the meows, he’d opened the door to investigate and the little stray had darted past him into the living room. Other than visits to the vet, she hadn’t been outside since.

He’d planned initially to find a good home for the stray, but somehow she’d ended up staying. He and Dusty, who was named for her habit of emerging from under furniture with dust bunnies on her nose, got along like a couple of contented hermits. Still, it was always a treat for them when Stevie dropped by. Sometimes he thought they were both a little too eager for her visits.

Weren’t cats and computer analysts supposed to be contentedly independent and naturally aloof? He’d wondered more than once what sort of special magic Stevie wielded to enchant them so thoroughly, though he hoped he was a bit more discreet about his fascination with her than his pet. He treasured his unconventional friendship with Stevie too much to risk it with the awkwardness of an unrequited infatuation.

A data analyst for a national medical group, Cole worked primarily from home. He made a few business trips a year for planning and progress meetings, but mostly he communicated with the outside world via computer and smartphone.

His late wife had teasingly accused him of taking introversion to the extreme. But it wasn’t that he disliked people. He was just more comfortable with computers, especially since Natasha’s difficult illness.

It was suddenly very quiet in the room. Pushing thoughts of the painful past from his mind, he cleared his throat and glanced toward the window. “Sounds like the sleet has stopped. Maybe it’s finally changing over to snow. I’d rather have snow than ice.”

Stevie nodded with a bit too much enthusiasm for the banal comments. “No kidding. At least this weather hit on a Friday so most people don’t have to get out for work or school tomorrow. Not that local schools would be open, anyway. You know they close at the first sign of a snowflake. But still, I hope we get enough snow for the kids to build snowmen and have snowball fights. That’s not something they get to do very often around here, so they’ll want to make the most of it. I remember how disappointed I always was when we got all psyched up for snow and had to settle for just a dusting. Still, I hope it’s gone by Monday. I have a couple of meetings I’d really hate to have to put off.”

He chuckled, accustomed to her characteristic, stream-of-consciousness prattling. “Let’s hope there’s enough snow for the kids to enjoy over the weekend but that it melts quickly enough not to cause too many issues for the coming week.”

“That would work.” She smiled, but he had the distinct feeling something was wrong. For one thing, she was twisting a curl tightly around her fingertip, a nervous habit he’d noticed several times during the past few months.

Stevie was one of the most naturally effervescent women he’d ever known, outgoing and optimistic and a little quirky. She’d grown up in the comfortable bungalow on the corner lot next door in Little Rock, Arkansas. She’d been the first to welcome him to the street when he’d bought this house in the midtown neighborhood that was currently undergoing a revival after a decade-long slump. He’d made a tidy profit on the condo he’d sold last year, and he thought he’d do the same with this place if his needs changed again. Even better than that, he’d gained Stevie as a neighbor.

He wondered if it was only the bad weather that had left her free on a Friday night to keep his cat company and doze on his couch. As far as he knew, she hadn’t dated anyone since a breakup some three months ago. When they’d first met, he’d had designs on her, and maybe he’d even had a few fantasies about her since, but he’d never acted on any of them. She’d been involved with the hipster musician, which had made her off-limits. Not that he had a chance with her anyway.

Inherently candid, Stevie had once confessed to him during a rambling conversation that she had a lamentable weakness for footloose artists and musicians, a penchant that had left her soft heart bruised more than once. He’d gotten the message, whether intentional or not on her part. Reclusive computer geeks were not her type romantically, though she seemed pleased to have one among her many pals.

Since she’d split with Joe, she’d been slightly more subdued than usual, but tonight she seemed even more dispirited. Had she been crying because she was lonely? Or—he swallowed hard, very much disliking the other possibility—because she missed the guy who’d caused her so much grief before he’d left town to start a new single life in Texas?

He tried to think of something more to say, but small talk wasn’t his forte. Stevie usually carried their conversations, chattering away while he enjoyed listening and responding when prompted. Yet she never seemed bored by him, another trait that made her so special. Stevie would never yawn and check her watch during dinner with him.

He winced as he remembered the recent blind date he’d been stupid enough to consent to after being nagged by a friend’s wife. He’d been just as disinterested during the evening, but he’d at least had the courtesy to not be so obvious about it. When he wanted to spend time with a woman, he had a few numbers he could call, a couple of women friends who wanted nothing more from him than a few hours of mutual pleasure. He didn’t make those calls often—and even less so during the past couple of months, for some reason.

He didn’t know why his mind had drifted in that direction at the moment, though the thought of dinner gave him inspiration. “Have you eaten?” he asked Stevie. “I’ve been on a plane all afternoon and I’m hungry.”

She hesitated, then smiled a bit more naturally. “No, actually, I haven’t had dinner. I might have even skipped lunch. I don’t remember.”

The admission made him even more convinced that something was troubling her, but he figured she’d tell him when and if she was ready. Maybe over a hot meal.

“I froze portions of that big pot of soup you made for me last week. It’ll take just a few minutes to thaw and heat a couple bowlfuls.”

She smoothed her tousled hair with one hand and nodded. “Sounds good. Just let me wash up and I’ll help you.”

“I’ll meet you in the kitchen.”

Hastily stashing his bags to unpack later, he busied himself preparing the impromptu meal. Had he found the empty house he’d expected when he’d returned, he’d have nuked the soup and eaten in front of the TV with a beer straight from the can. But since he had company, he made more effort, setting the table with placemats and flatware, making sure the bowls weren’t scratched or chipped.

For the most part, he’d learned to be content with his quiet life, so why was he so pleased by the prospect of sharing a simple bowl of soup with Stevie on a bleak, winter evening?

* * *

After splashing water on her face in Cole’s guest bathroom, Stevie pressed a hand to her still-flat stomach, drew a deep breath and assured herself she looked reasonably presentable considering she’d just been startled out of a sound sleep. She seemed to be sleepy a lot these days. She hadn’t even heard Cole enter the house.

The thought of him standing there watching her sleep made her pulse flutter. She supposed it was embarrassment at being caught off guard in his living room. He didn’t seem to mind that she’d made herself at home while he was away, but then, she wouldn’t have expected anything different from laid-back Cole.

In the year she’d known him, she’d never seen him rattled. She’d rarely observed any display of strong emotions from him, actually. He was the steadiest, most sensible person she knew, a calming presence in her sometimes hectic life. Maybe that was why she’d instinctively taken refuge in his living room when she’d been sad and stressed, though her cat-sitting duties had made a convenient excuse.

She scrutinized her reflection in the mirror. Had Cole seen the tear stains on her cheeks? She thought maybe he had and felt the heat of embarrassment. Though she wasn’t usually shy about expressing her emotions—even tended to overshare at times—Stephanie “Stevie” McLane liked to think of herself as resilient, feisty and courageous. Not the type to hide in a friend’s house and sniffle into his cat’s soft fur. Still, Cole had merely searched her face with his dark, perceptive eyes, calmly asked if everything was okay, then offered her a hot meal. Somehow he’d seemed to know it was exactly what she’d needed, and not just because she was hungry.

He glanced up with a smile when she joined him in the kitchen. His thick, wavy dark hair was a bit messy, but then it always was. A hint of evening stubble shadowed his firm jaw. His eyes were the color of rich, dark chocolate. She’d always thought those beautiful eyes gleamed with both kindness and intelligence. Broad-shouldered and solidly built, he was not what she would call classically handsome, nor did he have that somewhat ethereal artist quality she’d always been drawn to in the past. He didn’t talk a lot, and he wasn’t prone to sharing his feelings. Still, there was something about Cole that automatically evoked trust and confidence.

She’d liked him from the day he’d moved into this house. There’d been a definite tug of feminine interest, but within her first hour of chatting with him—okay, interrogating him, as he’d humorously referred to that initial conversation—she’d found out he was a computer whiz, a widower and a country music fan who usually listened to news radio in his car. He was practically her total opposite, a stalwart Taurus to her capricious Gemini.

She’d tried to convince herself since then that her latent fascination with him was due more to those intriguing differences than to an underlying attraction she couldn’t entirely deny. Despite being involved in an on-again, off-again relationship with a commitment-phobic musician for most of the time she’d known Cole, she’d have to have been brainless not to notice what a great guy he was. So different from her other male acquaintances, he was an enigma to her in many ways, but still they’d become friends. Maybe they could have become more than friends, had circumstances developed differently. She always enjoyed hanging out with him, and she missed him when he was away.

She had missed his steady, solid presence even more than usual during the past few days.

With old-fashioned courtesy, he held her chair for her as she took her seat at the table. “I don’t have much to offer by way of a beverage,” he said apologetically. “I can make coffee or there’s beer or I can open a bottle of wine...”

“This is fine, thank you,” she said, motioning toward the water glass he’d already filled and set beside her steaming bowl.

To quickly distract herself from her problems, she picked up her spoon and asked, “How was your trip?”

Seated now across the table from her, he grimaced. “Let’s just say it’s a miracle I’m not spending tonight in jail rather than having a nice bowl of soup with you.”

She smiled. “Annoying associates?”

“To quote my late country grandpa, a couple of them were as dumb as a bag of rocks.”

That made her laugh. She always loved it when Cole quoted his “country grandpa,” who had apparently been a treasury of old adages. “Knowing you, I’m sure you were completely polite and patient with them.”

“I don’t know how patient I was, but I tried not to tell them what I really thought. They didn’t even try to pay attention half the time, then complained because they missed a few important points. It gets frustrating. Which is one of the main reasons I prefer telecommuting to pointless meetings and endless deliberations.”

As a busy kitchen designer, Stevie knew all about frustrating collaborations. “Totally understand. There are plenty of times I want to dump a pitcher of ice water over a superpicky client or a lazy subcontractor.”

He chuckled. “I’m sure you’re able to sweet-talk all of them into seeing things your way. That’s a talent I don’t have.”

She had to concede that no one would describe Cole as a “sweet talker.” Or a talker at all, for that matter. Still, when he did speak, he always had something interesting and thoughtful to contribute. She’d consulted him several times about perplexing business issues, and had valued his measured, practical advice.

Biting her lip, she wondered what he would say if she confided her current, very personal predicament. She clenched her fingers in her lap.

Cole cleared his throat. She glanced up to find him studying her face with those too-knowing eyes. “Your food is getting cold,” he said quietly.

Had he sensed somehow that she’d hovered on the verge of another meltdown? Either way, his reminder had been just what she’d needed to bring her back from the edge. Gripping her spoon so tightly her knuckles whitened, she concentrated on the soup and the cheese and crackers he’d served with it. In an attempt to keep him—and maybe herself—diverted, she talked as she ate, babbling away about anything that randomly occurred to her.

Seeming to have little trouble following her rapid changes of topic, Cole finished his meal then pulled a bag of cookies from the pantry for dessert. She declined the offer, finishing her rapidly cooling soup between sentences while he munched a couple of Oreos.

When he finished, he carried his dishes to the sink, sidestepping the cat munching kibble from a bowl on the floor. Stevie helped him clear the table, smiling up at him as they reached at the same time to close the dishwasher door.

“Thank you, Cole.”

“For the soup? Wasn’t any trouble, I just warmed it up. You actually made it.”

She gave him a fondly chiding look. “Not for the soup, though I guess I needed that. Mostly, thanks for the company and conversation. I needed that even more tonight.”

Wiping his hands, he turned to face her with a slight smile on his firm lips. “I didn’t say much.”

“I didn’t give you much chance.”

“Well, no, but I’m used to that.”

She giggled, pleased to feel like laughing now, even at her own expense. She reached up to pat his cheek. “Are you calling me a chatterbox?”

“Just stating facts.” His rare, full grin lit his eyes and carved long dimples around his mouth. Tousled and scruffy after his long day, he looked...well, adorable. His evening beard tickled her palm, and the warmth of his skin tempted her to nestle closer to his solid strength to alleviate her own nervous chill.

A bit unnerved by the impulse, she dropped her hand quickly and laced her fingers together. This was not the time to be distracted by the physical attraction that had always underscored her friendship with Cole, an attraction she’d always assured herself she had very good reasons to keep private.

“You’ve been traveling all day,” she said, rallying her inner defenses and taking a step back. “I’m sure you’re tired. I should go and let you relax.”

“There’s no rush. We could stream a movie or something. I think I have some popcorn.”

Her smile felt a little tremulous. He was being so sweetly concerned about her, even though he hadn’t a clue what was troubling her. He’d probably looked forward to crashing on his couch or bed when he’d returned from his business trip. Instead, he’d found himself preparing dinner for a surprise guest and offering to entertain her even longer in case she was still reluctant to return to her own empty house. Was it any wonder she considered him one of her dearest friends?

“Thanks, Cole, but I think I’ll just turn in early.”

He frowned. “What if your power goes out tonight? With the layer of ice underneath this snow, it’s a definite possibility.”

“I have plenty of blankets to snuggle under, a couple of good flashlights, and a gas stovetop for heating water for tea.”

“Your phone is charged?”

“Almost completely. And I’ll plug it in as soon as I get home.”

He nodded, though he didn’t look entirely reassured.

She slid her hands down her sides in a nervous gesture. “So...”

Just as Cole wasn’t much of a “talker,” he wasn’t much of a “toucher,” either. Casual hugs and pats didn’t come naturally to him, the way they did for her. He never seemed to mind being on the receiving end, though he’d once teased her about patting his cat goodnight, then doing the same to him as she’d prepared to leave.

So, it surprised her a little when he rested a hand on her shoulder as he gazed somberly into her eyes. “You know, Stevie, I’m not much of a conversationalist, but you’ve told me more than once that I’m a very good listener. And I’m your friend. If there’s anything at all I can do for you, I hope you’d feel comfortable telling me.”