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  “And a lot harder on both of us and the baby when we decide it isn’t working, we can’t stand to live together anymore and can’t figure out who’s going to get stuck with the kids,” she argued.

  It was her use of the plural pronoun that made Justin realize she was projecting her own childhood experience onto the current situation and made him want to throttle both of her parents. But at the moment, the best he could do was proceed cautiously.

  “You might want to consider the possibility that we could make a marriage succeed,” he told her.

  “If you’re serious about coparenting, we need to be able to work together for the sake of the baby. Which means we need to keep our focus on the baby and not get distracted by other stuff.”

  “Other stuff?” he echoed, amused despite the guilt and responsibility weighing on him now. “As in the attraction between us? The reason we’re going to be parents?”

  “Maybe we’re not ready to talk about this,” she decided, pointedly ignoring his questions.

  “When do you think we will be ready to talk about it?”

  “I’ve had about—” she glanced at her watch “—four hours to think about this. You’ve had twenty minutes.”

  “To think about the baby,” he agreed. “I’ve been thinking about us for a lot longer.”

  “There is no ‘us,’” she snapped.

  But beneath the frustration, he heard the desperation in her voice. She obviously wanted to believe what she was saying, to establish some control over the situation—because he knew how important it was to Avery to be in control.

  “Maybe we both need some time,” he suggested.

  “That’s probably best,” she agreed, relief evident in her tone.

  “I’ll give you a call in a couple of days.”

  She nodded, apparently willing to be agreeable and reasonable now that he was on his way out the door.

  But if she expected him to back off, she was going to be disappointed. Because their future was too important—to both of them and their baby.

  * * *

  She told Amy about her pregnancy a few days later, in part because she continued to be plagued by fatigue and queasiness and it wouldn’t take her friend long to put the pieces together, but also because she wanted Amy to know that she’d need to reduce her hours later in her pregnancy and after the baby was born.

  Amy was unreservedly thrilled by the news. She knew how much her friend wanted a child and she was convinced that Avery and Justin would be fabulous parents. When Avery pointed out that she and Justin weren’t together, Amy reaffirmed her belief that that would change before their baby was born. Avery didn’t argue with her friend—preferring to save her energy to have that battle with her baby’s father.

  After sharing the news with Amy, she thought about telling her family. And when she thought about family, she thought about Ryder, her brother and—aside from Amy—her best friend. She sent him a text message inviting him to come over for dinner, because she’d never known Ryder to turn down a free meal.

  She decided on pulled pork, because she could put it in the slow cooker before she went to work and also because she knew how much he liked it. When she got home, she made garlic mashed potatoes and corn—more of her brother’s favorites.

  He was appreciative of her efforts and was on his second helping when Avery said, “I haven’t seen much of you over the past few weeks.”

  “Our filming schedule has been pretty chaotic,” Ryder told her. “The director wants to wrap up the season before the beginning of April so that he can take an extended vacation, which means that all of the crews are working around the clock to finish projects before then.”

  “I’ve been busy, too,” she said. “In addition to my usual shifts at the hospital, we’ve extended the hours at the clinic to accommodate our growing list of patients. It’s amazing how many women are having babies and, coincidentally, I’m going to have one, too.”

  She’d hoped that sharing her news as a footnote might diffuse the impact of the words, at least a little. When Ryder paused with his fork halfway to his mouth to stare at her, she realized it had not.

  “You’re pregnant?”

  She forced a smile. “Isn’t that great?”

  “I don’t know.” He continued to hold her gaze. “Is it?”

  “It is,” she assured him. “I’m ready for this, and I really want this baby.”

  “And the father?” he prompted.

  “We’re...figuring things out.”

  “I didn’t know you were dating anyone.”

  “You’ve been busy,” she reminded him.

  “So you have been seeing someone?”

  She nodded.

  “For how long?” Ryder asked.

  “Not very long,” she admitted.

  “Does he have a name?”

  “Of course,” she said, “but I’m not going to give it to you—not until I’m sure that you won’t go all Neanderthal on me and beat him over the head with a club for messing with your sister.”

  “Then you better give me some more information,” he suggested.

  “Such as?” she asked warily.

  “The date of the wedding.”

  She shook her head. “Jesus, Ryder—what century do you live in?”

  “Hopefully a century in which my sister wouldn’t screw around with a guy who doesn’t believe in doing the right thing.”

  She sighed. “Then you’ll be happy to know he did offer to marry me.”

  “And the date of the wedding?” he prompted again.

  “I said no.”

  “Why?”

  “He’s a doctor.”

  Ryder sighed and shook his head. “You don’t learn, do you?”

  “Apparently not.”

  “But you obviously like the guy—at least well enough to get naked with him.”

  “Yeah, I like him,” she admitted.

  “So maybe you could make it work,” he said, though not very convincingly.

  “Liking someone is hardly a foundation for marriage.”

  “Maybe not,” he allowed. “But you need to think about your baby, too.”

  “I am thinking about the baby. And we both know that putting the responsibility of kids on top of a shaky foundation is a blueprint for disaster.”

  Her brother reluctantly nodded. “I just want you to be happy, sis. After what happened with Wyatt—”

  “I’m over Wyatt,” she told him. “My broken heart is mended, fully and completely, and now I’m going to have a baby, and I’m happy about that. I wish you could be, too.”

  “I am happy for you,” he said. “I just wish you were planning to marry the baby’s father.”

  “Because a woman having a baby out of wedlock offends your sense of propriety?”

  “I’m not worried about propriety—I’m worried that you’ve closed off your heart.”

  “My heart’s not closed,” she denied. “It’s just not open to the baby’s father.”

  * * *

  The clinic was decorated for Valentine’s Day with hearts and flowers and adorable little cupids. When Avery finished for the day, her only thoughts were of dinner and bed—and then she got home and found Justin standing outside of her apartment door with several bags at his feet and a bouquet of flowers in his hand, and her traitorous heart swelled up inside her chest.

  “What are you doing here?”

  “I brought dinner and flowers for Mr. Gunnerson across the hall, but he already had a date for Valentine’s Day so he suggested that I bring everything over here to you.”

  “Mr. Gunnerson let you into the building,” she guessed.

  “And Mrs. Gunnerson said you were lucky to have such a handsome and thoughtful beau to share this special day with, because you’re a lovely young woman who works too hard and needs someone to take care of you every once in a while.”

  Avery shook her head as she unlocked the door. “This was a really thoughtful gesture, but I had leftover chicken and
broccoli in the freezer that I was planning to have tonight.”

  “Then you should be doubly grateful the Gunnersons sent me over here,” he said solemnly, handing her the flowers so he could pick up the rest of the bags to carry into her apartment.

  Her heart gave a little jolt inside her chest when she unwrapped the dozen long-stemmed red roses mixed with lush greens and starry gypsophila. “These are...gorgeous,” she told him, tracing the edge of a velvety soft petal with the tip of her finger.

  “I know you want to pretend this is all about the baby,” he told her. “But it’s not. There’s something going on between us that has nothing to do with the child you’re carrying—or maybe it would be more accurate to say it’s the reason for the child you’re carrying.”

  She sighed. “I really just want to focus on what’s best for the baby right now.”

  “You don’t think having two parents who are together would be the best thing for our baby?”

  “I think a lot of things can happen in nine months and we should just take things one day at a time.”

  “Fair enough,” he said, and began to unpack the food.

  “How many people were you planning to feed?” she asked, when she saw the number of containers on the table.

  “I wasn’t sure what you liked, so I got manicotti, lasagna, fettuccine Alfredo, and penne with sausage and peppers. Plus salad, garlic bread and dessert, because you’re eating for two now.”

  “That’s a myth,” she told him, as she snipped the stems of the flowers. “A pregnant woman only needs about three hundred additional calories a day. Too much weight gain during pregnancy can increase her risk of gestational diabetes, high blood pressure and caesarean delivery.”

  “I was teasing, Avery,” he said patiently. “Believe it or not, I did learn some things during my obstetrics rotation in medical school.” He found plates and cutlery and carried them to the table. “How are you feeling?”

  “I’m okay. Tired, but that’s common in the first trimester.”

  “Any morning sickness?”

  She carried the vase to the table and placed it at the center. “Rarely, and not usually in the morning.”

  “Have you been to see a doctor?” He held her chair for her to be seated.

  “I see doctors every day,” she assured him.

  “You know what I mean,” he chided, settling into the chair beside hers.

  She nodded. “Yes, I’ve seen Dr. Herschel.”

  “And she doesn’t have any concerns about anything?”

  “He,” Avery told him, lifting a manicotti onto her plate. “Dr. Richard Herschel.”

  He frowned at that as he reached for the lasagna. “Why did you pick a male doctor?”

  “Because he was highly recommended. In fact, he delivered Amy and Ben’s son, Henry.”

  “Is Dr. Herschel at least old and bald?”

  She tapped her chin with a finger as she considered the question. “I’d guess early forties, curly blond hair, blue eyes, great bedside manner.”

  His scowl deepened.

  She laughed as she added a slice of garlic bread to her plate. “Even if I did date doctors—which I don’t,” she reminded him, “Dr. Herschel is happily married with four kids.”

  “You could have mentioned that at the beginning.”

  “I could have,” she agreed. Then she said, “I had a consult in the ER this morning, and I saw Heather’s name on the schedule.”

  He nodded. “She was there.”

  “She didn’t invite you to celebrate Valentine’s Day with her tonight?”

  “She did,” he admitted. “And I told her I had other plans. I was tempted to tell her that I was going to be with you, but I wasn’t sure how you’d feel about that.”

  “I’d rather not be the hot topic of conversation at the nurses’ station tomorrow.”

  “You do know that people are eventually going to find out that you’re pregnant—and that I’m the father.”

  “Eventually,” she acknowledged. “But I don’t want to tell anyone else about the baby until I’m past the first trimester.”

  He nodded. “Will you come to dinner with me at my parents’ house next Saturday?”

  “Were you listening to anything I just said?”

  “I heard every word,” he assured her. “I’m not suggesting that we tell my parents next weekend—I just want them to meet you, to get to know you before they know that you’re going to be the mother of my child.”

  “You want to pretend we’re in a relationship,” she realized. “You don’t want them to find out about the baby and then have to explain that we had a quickie in a closet.”

  “I don’t want to pretend anything,” he denied. “I want to give us the chance to actually build a relationship.”

  She stood up from the table and began clearing away the dishes. “We had this conversation already,” she reminded him.

  “Actually, we didn’t, because you said we weren’t ready to have the conversation.”

  “And I’m still not ready.”

  “I’m not asking for anything more than one day at a time,” he told her. “And I don’t think wanting you to meet my parents—our baby’s grandparents—is unreasonable.”

  She nodded. “You’re right, it’s not.”

  “Then you’ll come to dinner next Saturday?”

  “Don’t you think you should clear it with your parents first?”

  He waved a hand dismissively. “I’ll let them know, but it won’t be a problem. My mother always cooks more than enough food.”

  “Okay,” she relented. “I’ll go to dinner next Saturday.”

  “Good.” After they finished their dessert, he helped her tidy up the kitchen.

  “Thank you for tonight,” she said, as she walked him to the door. “I was planning on leftovers when I got home—this was better.”

  “I thought so, too.” He settled his hands on her hips and drew her toward him.

  She put her hands on his chest, determined to hold him at a distance. “What are you doing?”

  “I’m going to kiss you goodbye.”

  “No, you’re not,” she said, a slight note of panic in her voice.

  “It’s just a kiss, Avery.” He held her gaze as his hand slid up her back to the nape of her neck. “And hardly our first.”

  Then he lowered his head slowly, the focused intensity of those green eyes holding her captive as his mouth settled on hers. Warm and firm and deliciously intoxicating. Her own eyes drifted shut as a soft sigh whispered between her lips.

  He kept the kiss gentle, patiently coaxing a response. She wanted to resist, but she had no defenses against the masterful seduction of his mouth. She arched against him, opened for him. And the first touch of his tongue to hers was like a lit match to a candlewick—suddenly she was on fire, burning with desire.

  It was like New Year’s Eve all over again, but this time she didn’t even have the excuse of adrenaline pulsing through her system. This time, it was all about Justin.

  Or maybe it was the pregnancy.

  Yes, that made sense. Her system was flooded with hormones as a result of the pregnancy, a common side effect of which was increased arousal. It wasn’t that she was pathetically weak or even that he was so temptingly irresistible. It wasn’t about Justin at all—it was a basic chemical reaction that was overriding her common sense and self-respect. Because even though she knew that he was wrong for her in so many ways, being with him, being in his arms, felt so right.

  She pulled him closer, so that her breasts were crushed against his chest, but still it wasn’t close enough. She wanted to tear away her clothes and his, so that there was nothing between them. She wanted to feel his warm, naked skin against hers; she wanted to feel his hard, sexy body intimately joined with hers.

  It was almost as if he could read her mind, because he slid a hard thigh between hers, the exquisite friction dragging a low, desperate moan from deep in her throat. Her fingers curled in the fabri
c of his shirt, holding on to him, as she rocked her hips against his, silently begging for more. He pressed into her, the hard evidence of his arousal sending happy little sparks dancing through her system.

  “You make me crazy,” he said, muttering the words against her lips.

  “I’m feeling pretty crazy right now, too,” she admitted.

  “Which is precisely why I need to go.”

  “Go?” she echoed, confused—and more than a little hurt—by his sudden withdrawal.

  He nodded.

  “What was this?” She gestured between them. “Just a quick demonstration of how easily you can turn a woman on? How easily you can turn me on?”

  He rubbed his thumb over her bottom lip, swollen from his kiss. “Do you think you’re the only one turned on?” he asked her. “I want you so badly I ache.”

  “Then why did you stop?” she demanded.

  “Not because I don’t want to make love with you,” he assured her. “Because I want you to realize and accept that I want more than a few stolen hours with you. I don’t want you to wake up in the morning and justify your actions on the basis that it was Valentine’s Day and you were feeling lonely, and then push me away again because you’re angry with yourself for giving in to the attraction between us.”

  “I wouldn’t do that,” she denied. Then, in response to his skeptical look she added, “Probably not.”

  “This way we’ll be sure,” he said, and brushed his lips against hers again. “Good night, Avery.”

  Chapter Ten

  Avery didn’t like to call Amy at home because she never knew when Henry might be napping—or when Henry’s parents might be taking advantage of the fact that their little guy was napping. Instead, she sent her friend a brief and concise text message.

  Help.

  Amy immediately called her. “What’s wrong?”

  “I’m sorry—I didn’t mean to make it sound urgent, like I was trapped in the back of a closet with a knife-wielding maniac outside the door.”

  “There’s no knife-wielding maniac?” Amy asked, sounding just a little disappointed.