by Lisa Plumley
Her bare skin.
Nick thought he might pass out.
Then she tugged off her jacket the rest of the way, revealing the skintight, nude-toned top she had on beneath it. His breath left him in a whoosh.
Think science thoughts, he commanded himself. Chloe smiled, just as though she’d guessed what he’d been thinking before…and wanted him to know she approved.
No. That was nuts. She’d probably be appalled, Nick told himself as he watched her slide innocently from the back of his bike and wait for him to get on. He had to quit thinking of her this way.
“Look, you’re being irrational.” He hoped it wasn’t contagious. Trying to look serious, he tucked his chin to his shoulder so he could glimpse her behind him. “What’s the big deal with your loan, all of a sudden? What’s going on?”
Her arms sagged around his middle, then tightened. She sighed. He waited a second, then realized Chloe still wasn’t going to tell him.
Damn. Foiled again.
“Well,” she finally said. “As of this morning, I’m pretty sure I’m pregnant. Do you think that’s it?”
Chapter Four
“Pregnant?”
“You can stop saying that now, Nick.” Chloe whipped off her helmet and shoved it at him. “I’m pretty sure I understood the first twenty-two times you said it on the way home.”
Thankfully, now they were parked on the paved driveway at his house. Free to make her getaway, she jumped off the back of his motorcycle. More than her ankles wobbled when she hit the ground. “Okay?” she asked, her voice breaking on the word.
“Okay.” He hesitated…then swore instead. “Dammit, Chloe. This isn’t the kind of secret I was expecting.”
Ha. He didn’t know the half of it.
“Umm, surprise! I guess,” she said weakly.
He frowned.
Oh, geez—Nick was never going to buy this. She wasn’t prepared at all. She needed a better strategy, one that would keep him off the trail of the truth. It was for his own good, after all. Who was she to wreck his life plans, to sidetrack his dreams, to saddle him with responsibilities he didn’t want?
Nobody, that’s who. Chloe decided to retreat.
It didn’t work. Nick tailed her all the way across the side yard bordering their matching redbrick, white-trimmed houses, mumbling something about secrets and women of mystery.
Clearly, escape was futile.
Sidestepping a patch of blooming prickly pear cactus, Chloe reached her front porch and abandoned her hopes that Nick might actually let her get away without having this discussion. So far, he wasn’t handling the news very well.
She hadn’t even gotten to the good part yet.
All she wanted was to be alone. To postpone all the explanations and have some time to think. Her loan application had tanked, her so-called best friend was having a meltdown, and it wasn’t even happy hour yet.
Not that a cocktail would have helped—or even been advisable, under the circumstances. Maybe a milkshake.
Or maybe a prenatal vitamin. Did those give you extra pep? She hoped so, because she was going to need it to deal with Nick. A trip to the doctor was definitely in order, and soon.
Until then, she had a secret to keep—or at least part of one. With elaborate casualness, Chloe fished her keys from her purse and unlocked her front door. The moment she finished, Nick’s hand clamped on hers and twisted the knob. She could barely breathe as he barreled them both inside.
“Pregnant?” He slammed the door shut behind them. “You’re actually pregnant.”
“No, it’s all a big joke. Get it?”
“What?”
The force of his yell backed her across the living room, stumbling over microscopic bumps in the carpet. Then his arms came up and trapped her between his chest and the living room wall. His body heat washed over her, as searing as his expression.
“Explain,” Nick said, grinding the word through his teeth.
“Sheesh. I’ve never seen you like—”
“Now.”
Great. She’d reduced him to monosyllabic responses. This was serious.
He pressed forward, pinning her beneath a scary glare that did a lot to explain what probably went wrong between him and what’shername.
Chloe pressed her lips together and kept mum.
Nick saw straight through her. But then he’d always been able to before. What made her think she could deceive him now?
Desperation, that’s what.
“Please explain,” he growled.
Civility, however grudgingly given, counted toward progress, Chloe supposed. But something in his voice still made her shiver.
Under different circumstances and minus the Incredible Hulk routine, she might have enjoyed their nearness. As it was, she did her best not to think about wanting his arms holding her close instead of caging her in. She tilted her chin as defiantly as she could.
“The Neanderthal routine doesn’t suit you, Nick.”
He blinked, a perfect picture of disbelief. She’d have preferred a portrait of understanding or even cheer-me-up humor, but she wasn’t going to get it. Not this time.
“Neander—” He stopped on a frown, straightened his specs with one hand, and tried again. “Never mind. You’re not sidetracking me this time.”
He stared straight in her eyes, looking analytical and determined and not half as tender as she’d hoped a prospective father might. Chloe realized she’d set a tough task for herself. How could she keep a secret she didn’t want to keep? Especially from somebody as inquisitive as Nick?
She wasn’t sure, but she had to try.
“Chloe,” he began, sounding suspiciously patient, “exactly how did this happen?”
Good question. She should have been ready for it, but she wasn’t. Behind her, Moe meowed and Larry barked to be let in the back door, but now wasn’t the time to be distracted. The sooner she got this over with, the better.
She ducked beneath his arms to put some distance between them, then threw her suit jacket on the sofa and faced him with her hands on her hips. “Oh, I dunno, Nick. The usual way, I guess. You know.”
His gaze whipped over her, lingered in the neighborhood of her hips—gauging her suitability for childbearing, she supposed—then rose to her face. He swallowed.
She’d stunned him into silence. Maybe the idea of somebody finding his platonic pal Chloe sexy threw him for a loop.
Ouch.
“‘You know’?” Nick mimicked. “‘You know’? What does that mean?”
“You’re turning red in the face, Nick. Do you want some water? I’ll get you some water.” She headed for the kitchen. For sanctuary.
He grabbed her arm and hauled her back. “I want answers.”
“Would you believe…immaculate conception?”
“Answers. Now.”
“I didn’t think so.”
Okay. Be strong, she told herself. Stick as close to the truth as possible.
“The truth is, I met someone.” Chloe kept her gaze trained on his T-shirt’s football helmet logo. “We talked, we laughed, we….” We loved, she wanted to say. But he didn’t want to hear it, and she couldn’t stand lingering over what she couldn’t have. “We’re over.”
“Over.”
“Yeah.” She kicked off her heels and padded to the kitchen, wanting to maximize the distance between her and Nick before she started bawling over lost loves and best friends and second chances that couldn’t be. Behind her, his breath whooshed out as he sank on the sofa and put his feet up.
“These things happen you know,” Chloe called over the opened refrigerator door. “Over. As in you and what’shername.”
“She has a name. I just…dammit, Chloe! You’ve been calling her what’shername for so long, I can’t remember what it is.”
Good. And good—he was sidetracked successfully. Maybe she could handle this secret stuff after all. She grinned despite everything and shoved the fridge shut with her toe, then carried two sli
ppery cold soda cans to the living room with her.
She handed him one. “Serves you right for dating more women than you can count.”
“I can count ‘em. I just can’t keep ‘em.”
“Maybe they can tell you’re already wedded to your work. They know there’s no future with a guy who kisses with one hand on his research notebook.”
“Hmmph.” He turned his gaze on her as she curled up on the other end of her vibrant red plaid sofa, then gave her a bad-boy’s smile. “I use both hands when the situation warrants it.”
I know.
“I’ll bet.” She turned her can of diet cola in her hand as she groped for the tab to crack it open. With one finger hooked beneath it, she conjured up a mock shudder. “But spare me the details, Casanova. I don’t want to know.”
I want to experience it again.
Too bad she never would.
“Then we’re even.” Nick sounded unexpectedly weary. “Because I’m not sure I’m ready for the nitty gritty details of your love life, either.”
Good. Because she wasn’t ready to tell him all the things he didn’t really want to know. And bad—because that had to be the shortest sidetracking on record. He was already back on the case.
But silently. Beside her in his habitual spot, Nick let his head loll back along the sofa’s cushions, eyes closed. Probably still absorbing her pregnancy news.
Well, so was she. Maybe for now it would be best to just leave Nick alone and give them both some breathing room. If she was lucky, maybe he’d take an impromptu nap or something, and grant her a half-hour’s respite.
Fat chance. When Chloe opened her soda, slurping at the fizz that crackled out, Nick’s head turned unerringly toward the sound. His eyes opened.
“You almost had me sidetracked again. You might as well give up, Chloe, because—” His gaze landed on her diet cola can, halfway to her lips, and whatever he’d been about to say sputtered beneath his next words. “Are you insane?” he yelled.
“What?”
He flung himself across the stretch of red plaid separating them and yanked her diet cola out of her hand. “This is bad for you,” he said, plunking it on her scarred square coffee table. “You’ve got to start taking care of yourself better.”
“I’m a grown woman, Nick. I—”
His thumb touched her lips and startled her into silence. “You’re a woman with a…a baby. That means things are going to change for you.”
Change? That sounded promising. Maybe he meant they’d … No. That was only wishful thinking. That was the first thing she’d have to change—by cutting it out of her life. She slumped against the sofa cushions and eyeballed her soda longingly while Nick went on talking.
“You’ll have to watch what you eat, what you drink, what you do,” he said, warming up to his expertise. “Things like that”—his gaze shifted to her banished diet soda can—“are off limits.”
She rolled her eyes. “Who are you, Mister Spock?”
“That’s Doctor Spock. And no, I’m not.”
“Look. This is the twenty-first century. You’re—”
“I’m just a guy who’s been an uncle four times over, Miss Only Child,” Nick interrupted, “and that’s four times more experience with things baby and pregnancy-related than you.”
Chloe saluted. “Yes, sir.” His concern was touching, if a little overbearing. “Maybe you’d like to carry the baby yourself? I’m sure there’ve been supersecret scientific advances by now that would let you do it. You’re connected with the science community, Nick. You should look into it.”
“Fun-ny.” He picked himself up off the sofa with a new aura of purpose, then paused to tousle her hair. “But ridiculous.”
He was right. No man would submit to maternity clothes.
His fingers trailed away as he stepped over her legs and edged between the coffee table and sofa, headed for the kitchen.
Sighing, Chloe watched him leave. His brief caress left her temporarily crazy, wanting to drag his hand back to her head, thrust his fingers back in her hair, even demolish her entire hairstyle…just to feel him touch her again. But that was impossible, so she stuck both palms beneath her thighs and reminded herself that no price was too great to preserve their friendship.
Except maybe whatever…glop in a glass Nick handed her a few minutes later. He emerged from the kitchen carrying it, looking so triumphant that she forgave whatever mess he’d created with all the banging and slamming he’d been doing.
He beamed. “Drink up. It’s my specialty.”
She gazed into the Flintstones glass of foaming…stuff…he’d whipped up, not at all sure she could actually consume it. She sniffed.
“This smells like…I can’t put my finger on it, but I’m thinking…Christmas time, punch bowls, rum.” Chloe snapped her fingers. “Eggnog!”
“Sure. You could call it that.” Nick ran his fingertip around the edge of the blender container. “It’s got eggs in it.”
He licked the tip of his finger, then held up the blender pitcher and lapped up a drip. She’d never envied a hunk of plastic before.
“Eggnog, huh?” she managed to say. “Okay.”
She sipped. It tasted of cold frothy milk, a touch of banana…and the slimy glob of raw egg that slicked down her throat on the first gulp.
“Aaack!” Chloe thrust the glass at Nick and leaned toward the coffee table, shoving aside books and magazines and knocking a rental DVD of The Three Stooges to the floor in her quest for the tissue box. “Why didn’t you tell me the egg was raw?”
She heard the muffled whump of tissues being pulled out of the box, then Nick pressed a wad in her hand. She used it to wipe away the last traces of his pseudo health drink. That horrible stuff had to be revenge for the way she’d sprung her pregnancy surprise on him.
“Of course it was raw,” he said, exactly in the same way he might have said, “Of course I hate shopping.”
“You’ve seen too many Rocky movies.”
“Don’t be a baby.”
“Don’t be a doofus.” She aimed a shuddering glance at the Flintstones cup. “I’m not drinking that stuff. Don’t you know raw eggs can carry salmonella? You’re supposed to be the Science Guy, here.”
“Sorry, Chloe.” He looked disappointed. “I meant well.”
Something told her she hadn’t seen the last of his efforts to make sure was a suitably healthy example of an expectant mother. The idea had a certain irony, but it wasn’t anything Chloe could consider further with egg aftertaste in her mouth and Nick’s steady gaze making her feel warm all over.
“I’ll come up with a better drink next time.”
“Thanks for the warning.” She dreaded it already.
“You’re welcome.” He picked up the Flintstones cup, then peered thoughtfully into it. “Nadine’s got some recipes for smoothies. I’ll make some for you. Otherwise, you’ll be missing out on some good stuff.”
I know, Chloe thought, watching him carry the cup to the kitchen. I’ll be missing you. The sink faucet rumbled, then water splashed. She imagined a future with Nick elbow-deep in soapsuds at her sink every day, a kitchen towel slung over his shoulder and a babbling baby at the table and her whipping up something gourmet at the stove…and knew her fantasy was only that.
She couldn’t even cook.
She followed him to the kitchen anyway and found Nick head-and-shoulders deep inside her refrigerator, mumbling to himself. His backside faced her, every bit as cute as she remembered. His denim shorts stretched tight as he reached for something on the shelf in front of him.
Chloe stifled a sigh and leaned on the counter to watch. Fate was cruel to have delivered her a man like this next door, given her a taste of life in his arms…then dangled him just out of reach with Kahlúa-induced amnesia and the constraints of platonic friendship. It just wasn’t fair.
Nick’s hand emerged holding a box of Twinkies. He slapped it on the countertop beside the six pack of diet cola he’d already remove
d from the refrigerator.
“Hey!” She was beside him in an instant. “Those will get all gooey if you leave them out like that.”
He faced her, eyebrows raised. “They’ll get even gooier in the trash can.” He picked up the box and aimed it toward the plastic bin in the corner like a basketball player making a free throw. He paused. “Want to say goodbye?”
“What? No!” Chloe grabbed one end of the box and pulled. Nick pulled back.
The tug of war that ensued wasn’t pretty.
“You can’t eat this stuff,” Nick said, wrenching his end of the box.
His tug sent her stockinged feet skidding across the linoleum. She added her other hand to the struggle and gained an inch or two. “Let go!”
“You let go.” He tugged back, and she lost the ground she’d gained. His broad chest and grinning face forecast his victory, but she wasn’t ready to call it quits yet.
Chloe Carmichal was no pushover. She never surrendered.
Instead she stuck her foot on top of Nick’s ankle for leverage and tightened her grip on the Twinkie box. “It’s mine. Give it up, you brute, before I have to manhandle you.”
The idea had merit. She couldn’t allow herself to dwell on it—but she couldn’t deny herself a quick roving glance over his…manhandleables, either. The man could entice a nun to sin, and never know he was doing it. That was the trouble with brainiac types like Nick. He lived in a world of the mind, where a buffed-up body was just efficient packaging for the real goods.
She never knew efficiency could be so sexy.
“Grow up, Chloe,” he said, interrupting her in mid-fantasy-flight. “Doing without junk food for a few months won’t kill you.”
“Oh, no?”
“No. Anyway, it’s for your own good.”
He pulled harder. She skidded and tried backpedaling against the slick waxed linoleum. The motion destroyed whatever balance she had left. Chloe tightened her hold on the Twinkies, felt herself falling…then Nick caught her. Cardboard crunched and cellophane crackled between them as their chests came together and squashed the Twinkie box.
“Oh!”
His arms held her close and his hands splayed across her shoulder blades to keep her steady. When she looked up from the flattened remains of her prize—he had let go of it, after all—somehow Nick’s face hovered only inches from her own. Concern turned his eyes mesmerizing and blue. Chloe felt herself melting, easing into the warmth of his arms like Moe easing into a brilliant patch of sunlight. Suddenly she understood exactly what it was about the heat that made the cat purr.
