That Wild Night: Waking Up Pregnant / The Best Mistake of Her Life. Aimee Carson

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.

      “Deal,” he said with a firm shake before turning to go without a backward glance. “Now, lock the door and go to bed.”

      * * *

      So the forgetting thing hadn’t worked out. Which meant Jeff really should have stayed away from her. But that wasn’t happening, either.

      Rolling past security with a wave, Jeff pulled up the winding drive and parked around the side of the house.

      Initially he’d thought he wanted the distance between them. He’d thought keeping Darcy at arm’s length while knowing she was being looked after would be enough for him. More than enough.

      But after the other night…hell. He’d been back three times in the two weeks since.

      The first, because he wanted to make sure everything was still cool between them. The second, because everything was cool. And talking with Darcy was so damned easy. And the third…yeah, that’s where his moral compass began to spin like maybe he’d landed himself in the Bermuda Triangle. The third time, like tonight he’d gone back to have Darcy to himself.

      In a strictly platonic, or at least nonphysical way.

      He might not be able to control his thoughts hopping the express train to Dirty Town when Darcy did certain things. Like laugh or eat cake or succumb to one of those mysterious blushes he figured it was better not to ask about. But physically, well, he’d kept his hands to himself.

      With a child between them, they couldn’t afford to risk souring their relationship because of some affair gone bad. Not when they needed to maintain positive relations…well, for as long as they both shall live. Forget the sanctity of marriage. They had to peaceably share a child. They were in it for the long haul. And really, if he looked past the whole out-of-wedlock, non-girlfriend part of the pregnancy, he was pretty damned lucky to have Darcy be the mother of his child. She made him laugh. Got what he was saying. Connected with him in a way that made him believe they could really make this thing—this parenting thing—work.

       He liked her.

      A lot.

      Which was why he was driving out again tonight after spending the entire day and the majority of last night telling himself he wouldn’t—reminding himself not to think about the way Darcy’s hair sometimes spilled over one shoulder, leaving the bare length of her neck exposed on the other side. Or the soft curve of her mouth when she’d just finished laughing. Yeah, he’d figured some distance wouldn’t be the worst thing. Tried to talk himself into a solid week before he saw her again. But after barely four days he’d gotten in his car and driven out anyway.

      Throwing the car in Park, he checked his phone for whatever messages had come through between leaving his office and pulling in the drive, wanting them out of the way before he was with Darcy.

      Not with with her. Though, sure enough, now that he’d made the mental jump—

      He blew out a harsh breath.

      It would be fine. So long as Darcy did her part to keep it wholesome…well, he’d be good for his.

      * * *

      Half a dozen hangers clattered together as they hit the bed, their high-end couture spilling across the duvet in a spectrum of linens, crisp cottons and stunning raw silks.

      “Gail, please, I can’t borrow your clothes.”

      The older woman turned a cool smile on her. “If you’d let me take you shopping like I wanted, you wouldn’t need to. But now we’re being picked up in less than an hour, and you need a dress for dinner.”

      Dinner with Grant Mitchel. The doctor Jeff had gone to school with and then bullied into checking on her a couple times a week.

      When Gail had sprung the plans on her earlier that afternoon, Darcy had tried to put her off with the usual excuses. Only tonight Gail was having none of it. She’d looked her straight in the eye, smiling a sort of frightening smile and said, “You’re going.”

      She’d seriously considered faking sick again to get out of it, because as nice a guy as Grant was, she knew the score. Gail was doing what she’d basically promised to do from the start— Trying to find her a nice husband. But after the way her last fib had blown up in her face she wasn’t about to lie again.