The Doctor's Pregnant Bride?

by Susan Crosby

  He looked away and just drove. Hadn’t he been the one to chastise Chance for his dalliances in the past? In the end, it didn’t matter if you were innocent of making unwanted advances. If people perceived otherwise, you were dead in the water.

  He pulled into his underground parking space, almost commenting about how quiet she’d been, then decided not to. She didn’t seem bothered by their lack of conversation. Her smile was as bright as usual. There was no stiffness in her shoulders, if she was holding back anything.

  “Nice to have permanent parking,” she commented as he punched in the security code to his private elevator that would take them to the top floor of the converted warehouse. “My mom does, too. It’s great having a car available at times. Makes it easy to take weekend getaways.”

  “Having lived in San Francisco for so long, easy access to parking was on my list of requirements.”

  “Along with what else?” Sara Beth asked.

  “A view of the Charles. Although I don’t know why, since I’m hardly here to enjoy it. Lots of open space. I don’t like small rooms. They make me feel hemmed in.”

  “Are you claustrophobic?”

  “I just don’t like walls.” The elevator stopped. The door opened to a large, although not massive space, with cherry wood floors, exposed ductwork, brick walls and floor-to-ceiling windows facing an amazing view of the Charles River.

  “This is stunning,” Sara Beth said, slipping off her shoes as he did, moving into the loft, shrugging off her jacket as she went. “I can see your dilemma about decorating it. You need to create rooms without using walls, so everything has to flow from one space to the next.” She eyed him. “Are you sure you don’t want to use a professional? I don’t know that I’m up to the challenge, given that my education in decorating comes from watching the Home and Garden channel.”

  “Let’s give it a shot. If you still feel the same at the end of today, I’ll do something else.” The truth was, he wanted to spend the day with her. He hadn’t spent a day with a woman since he’d moved back, and now he found himself relaxed, work not pounding his brain, a rare occurrence. He needed a little R & R, then could return to work refreshed.

  “Okay,” she said, wandering into the kitchen, a newly renovated contemporary space with dark wood-and-glass cabinets, glass-tile backsplashes, stainless-steel appliances and black, brown and gold granite countertops.

  A folding camp chair sat in eerie loneliness by the front window, an upside down cardboard box placed next to it to use as an end table, along with one floor lamp. A flat-screen television was mounted above the fireplace.

  “Spartan,” she commented, flashing a quick grin.

  “That’s a nice way of putting it.” He gestured toward the rear of the unit. “Bedroom and bath are down this way.”

  The bathroom was large, the shower walk-in, the floor porcelain tile and the counters the same granite as in the kitchen. The bedroom space could be closed off by pulling large planks of polished wood attached to an overhead rail, spanning from wall to wall.

  She glanced into his huge walk-in closet, where long-sleeved dress shirts lined one side, in blue, white and cream. Slacks in black, brown and charcoal took up the rack below the shirts. A few suits. A tuxedo. Quite a few shoes. A couple of polo shirts. And one pair of jeans, never worn, tags attached.

  “How long have you lived here?” Sara Beth asked as they returned to the living room.

  “Don’t start.” After a week of her being mostly businesslike, he was enjoying her playfulness now. “Or no more doughnuts.”

  She laughed, the sound echoing in his almost-empty space. “You get what you pay for.”

  She pulled out a notepad and measuring tape from her purse, and they went to work drawing a floor plan to scale. Then he spread out his artwork along the living room wall.

  “Eclectic,” she said, tapping her pencil against her lips as she viewed the minigallery. “No wonder you can’t settle on a style.”

  “If I have a gut reaction to a piece, I buy it, whether it costs fifty dollars or five thousand.”

  From her purse she pulled out a digital camera and took photos of each piece. He could see her mind whirling with possibilities. He wished he had that kind of spatial vision, to see what could be instead of what was. Chance frequently accused him of having tunnel vision. Ted had come to accept that about himself.

  He also knew that same tunnel vision may very well be the reason he would someday find that rare treatment, something reliable, that had eluded researchers forever. A scientist had to be devoted and single-minded. He was both, and unapologetic about it.

  Ted heard his name being called. Sara Beth stood in front of him, waving her hands and smiling.

  “Where’d you go?” she asked.

  “Sorry.” His defenses went up. So many women had become frustrated with how often he ignored them while delving into his own thoughts.

  “Saving the world?” she asked, her smile softening.

  She didn’t seem at all upset that he’d tuned her out. Maybe because they were friends, not dating?

  “You don’t do that when you drive, do you, Ted?”

  “No tickets. No accidents.”

  “But how many did you cause?” She laughed as she scooped up her purse and dropped her camera in it. “I’ll use your bathroom, then we can go, if you’re ready.”

  “Sure.”

  She breezed past him, leaving her fresh scent in her wake. He watched her walk away, her stride purposeful, her shiny hair swinging between her shoulder blades. An image flashed of her naked, straddling him, and bending over, her hair brushing his chest, then his stomach…

  His body clenched. He turned away and moved to the window. She hadn’t had a date on Valentine’s Day, nor tonight. So…maybe she wouldn’t mind spending time with him, helping him take a break now and then from his cause. Someone to share dinner with, have a conversation.

  Of course, in the meantime, he needed to do something about sex. Or the lack thereof, in this case. As in, not since he’d left San Francisco. He figured that was why he’d reacted so strongly to Sara Beth, the only woman he’d touched in months.

  He studied a couple strolling along the river’s edge, hand in hand. Tricia would be a safer bet, he thought. She was home for a month, dedicated to her career, wouldn’t expect the long term from him. They had a history. No complications to speak of. Except…he felt proprietary about Sara Beth. Unreasonably so, probably, but true.

  “Ready?”

  He turned around. Sara Beth returned his look, a small smile stretching her lips, curiosity in her eyes. He wanted to back her up until her legs hit his bed and she tumbled onto it, and follow her down. He wondered what she tasted like. Did her bra and panties match the brightly colored scrubs she always wore, or was she a pristine-white or invisible-beige lingerie kind of woman? No hint of an answer came from her V-neck black sweater that plunged only far enough to have him wishing for more.

  Sara Beth’s smile faltered. “Are you upset about something?”

  “No.” He laid a hand on her shoulder, then let go immediately. “I apologize. I was deep in thought.”

  She cocked her head. “I wonder what it’s like, living in your mind. It must be fascinating.”

  It was the wrong thing for her to say. No one had ever considered his tuning out to be anything but negative. To have her think otherwise made him want to get closer.

  “You’d probably find a lot of twists and turns and dead ends,” he said, encouraging her toward the elevator.

  “Did anything come from the idea that struck you at my house last week?”

  “Yes. Chance and I are working on it.” In fact, he should be in the lab now, but was determined not to feel guilty about taking a day for himself. He wasn’t sure how to find a balance between work and social life.

  “What do you think of Derek Armstrong?” Ted asked when they were in the elevator.

  “Because Lisa is my best friend, I’ve known him all my
life, but we haven’t spent time together in a very long time—he’s so many years older than me. Why?”

  They stepped out of the elevator and headed to the car a few feet away. “I’m just trying to get a handle on him. He drops in now and then, asks a few questions. But I report to Paul as chief of staff.”

  Ted unlocked the passenger door and opened it for her.

  She paused before getting in. “Well, Derek and Paul are twins, but that’s where the resemblance ends. I get the impression you don’t trust Derek.”

  How much could he say? Derek seemed much more interested in how the research for the treatment was going than the investigation of what could cause the institute a lot of damage. It should’ve been the opposite at this point.

  “I don’t know him,” Ted answered carefully.

  “I watched you when Derek stopped by the other day. Your spine stiffened. You never took your eyes off him. And he didn’t ask questions, he interrogated.”

  So, he hadn’t been wrong about that. He wasn’t just being defensive. Sara Beth saw it, too. “You didn’t say anything.”

  “It wasn’t my place.”

  “I value your opinions, Sara Beth.”

  “You and I have an unusual relationship,” she said after he’d started the engine. “You’re my boss for part of the day, my coworker most of the day and I guess we’re also friends.”

  She’d summed it up perfectly. And she was right, it was unusual but also complicated. “You nailed it.”

  “Which means it’s just as confusing to you?”

  “I’m not losing sleep over it.”

  She laughed. “Okay, then.” She pulled a small stack of papers from her seemingly bottomless purse. “I’ve got a list of furniture stores I think might be suitable.”

  “How long did you spend online doing that research?”

  She shrugged. “I had fun. I hope your mother likes the results.”

  “It only matters what I think.”

  “I know, but…”

  “No buts, Sara Beth. It’s a fact.”

  “And facts matter most to you.”

  Yes, most of the time that was true. He liked facts. Good, solid, unchangeable facts made the world go around—his world, anyway.

  But he was coming to like the mystery that was Sara Beth O’Connell, too, the woman he could already call a friend, but who also made him want.

  Friends with benefits, perhaps?

  Now, that was an idea worth getting lost in.

  Chapter Seven

  Sara Beth had occasionally wondered what it would be like to have a lot of money. Not that she felt she lacked anything, but how having a lot of money could affect someone’s life.

  Now she knew. Or to a degree, anyway.

  Having money meant being allowed to buy floor models and have them delivered the same day instead of waiting weeks or months. It meant the owner waited on you personally. It also meant having a credit card with a large enough balance to charge just about anything, including a loft’s worth of furniture.

  Sara Beth had bought a piece at a time for her apartment over a couple of years, not wanting to get into debt, and often picking up secondhand pieces she would refinish or repurpose in labor-intensive, satisfying projects.

  “Have you ever painted a room?” she asked Ted as they waited in the owner’s office at Caro Miro’s Design Studio, a high-end, contemporary furniture store—the sixth store they’d visited, and the most successful shopping they’d done. Caro was off arranging the delivery of a sofa, two side chairs, a dining room table and chairs, a sleek dresser to fit in his walk-in closet and a king-size bed frame and headboard. There was more to buy—tables, lamps, more chairs, a bedspread—but not today.

  Ted stopped thumbing through a furniture catalog to look at Sara Beth, her out-of-the-blue question getting his full attention. “Painted a room? No. Why?”

  “Just curious.”

  “Have you?”

  “Lots. I don’t like to paint walls or ceilings, but I don’t mind doing the trim. You probably wouldn’t even need a ladder.” She sighed. Being tall had its advantages. “I’m thinking you should repaint the bedroom part of your loft a deep, warm brown. Are you up to it?”

  “I believe in letting the experts do the jobs they’ve trained for.”

  She grinned. “I’ll bet your father said that to you while you were growing up.”

  He cocked his head thoughtfully. “It does sound like him.”

  “So, you’ll give it a shot?”

  “Would you ask a painter to dissect a frog?”

  She laughed. “When’s the last time you dissected a frog?”

  “In high school biology class.” His eyes lit with humor. “If you think the walls should be painted, I’ll have it done. As long as you choose the color.”

  “What do I get in return? I mean, I’m suffering for my generosity already.”

  “In what way?”

  “My feet hurt. My back aches. And I’m hungry!” Before he got all serious or feeling guilty on her, she added, “But today was a whole lot of fun. I wouldn’t have missed it for anything.”

  “We didn’t always agree.”

  “Isn’t that great?”

  “You’re strange.” He softened the statement with a crooked smile.

  She felt highly complimented. All her life, she’d been the least strange person ever. People could count on her to be unbiased, easygoing, and noncombative. If Ted saw her as something more lively—like strange—she was glad. She really was having an adventure. “Thank you.”

  He looked doubtful but said nothing because the owner/designer returned to the office.

  “You’re all set,” Caro Miro said. She was a tall woman in her late thirties, wearing a vibrant blue outfit that hugged well-toned curves. Her catlike eyes zeroed in on Ted. “You’ll have delivery by six o’clock.”

  “I appreciate it.”

  Sara Beth watched the interaction between the two. She’d come to realize that Ted had no idea how attractive he was. He never noticed when women stared, or flirted, which this one was doing, and he was missing all the signals.

  “I thought I’d come with the delivery people to see your loft,” Caro said, handing a credit card receipt to him to sign. “Then I would be able to make recommendations for the other pieces you’re looking for.”

  Ted looked at Sara Beth then. “That won’t be necessary. We seem to make a good team. But I do appreciate all the time you gave us today, and the quick delivery.”

  Sara Beth’s heart did a little leap first, then she tried hard not to smirk at the much-sexier woman. Caro might be a few years older than Ted, but Sara Beth didn’t think that would’ve stopped him from responding to her obvious flirtation if he’d been interested.

  Which he wasn’t—because he and Sara Beth made a good team. It wasn’t her imagination or wishful thinking. He’d said so.

  He started to sign, then stopped. “There’s an error.”

  Caro used the opportunity to bend close to him. “Where?”

  “You undercharged me by six dollars.”

  She pressed a hand to her chest and smiled. “Oh, for goodness’ sake. It’s not worth running it again. Consider it a thank-you.”

  Ted signed the slip, pulled out his wallet, drew out six dollars and handed it to her as he stood. “There.”

  Caro looked surprised. Sara Beth wasn’t the least bit.

  “Do you like Thai food?” he asked Sara Beth as they left the shop.

  “Love it.”

  He pushed a speed-dial button on his cell phone and called in an order, requesting several dishes. She wondered how often he ordered in.

  “At least I can take care of your hunger problem,” he said, ending the call.

  “Thanks.” Darn. No back rub or foot massage.

  When they reached the loft, Sara Beth pulled her “Ted” folder from her purse and set it on his breakfast bar as he headed to his bedroom to check his answering machine. She would’ve gladl
y flopped onto a sofa, if he’d had one.

  “If you need to put your feet up,” he called from the bedroom area, “feel free to use my bed.”

  Sara Beth froze in place, tempted. Too tempted. “I’m okay, thanks,” she called back before she changed her mind. “Do you have any soda?”

  “Maybe. Check out the refrigerator. Make yourself at home.”

  His refrigerator held several containers of take-out cartons and boxes, some orange juice, assorted condiments, three Cokes and two dozen eggs. “You’ve got Cokes. Do you want one?” she called.

  “Sure,” he said from right behind her.

  She jumped. He’d come up while she’d been bent over staring at the contents. He set his hands on her waist and held her so that she wouldn’t crash into him, but in doing so, her rear pressed against his pelvis.

  She laughed as she stepped away, the sound shaky, then passed him a can.

  “Let’s sit down,” he said. “The delivery people won’t be here for a while.” He guided her toward the canvas camp chair with built-in cup holders by the front window, made her sit there, then he sat on the floor, setting his can on the upturned cardboard box. He reached for her feet.

  “What are you doing?” she asked, although pretty sure what his answer would be.

  “Taking care of your second problem.”

  She was glad she’d decided to wear cute socks, the ones with the dancing polar bears, but she couldn’t relax. What if he intended to massage her back, too? She would have to turn him down. She didn’t want to, but she definitely had to.

  Oh, but his hands felt good, his fingers strong, his thumbs finding the sore spots and releasing them with pressure. At work she was on her feet all day, but she always wore comfortable, cushioned shoes, instead of hard-soled ankle boots.

  Sara Beth shut her eyes and swallowed the groans that threatened to escape her throat. Pretend he’s a doctor performing a treatment….

  Nope. That didn’t work. He wasn’t her doctor.

  She opened her eyes a tiny bit, saw a peaceful expression on his face, as if he was enjoying himself, too. She wanted to run her hands through his long, wavy, soft-looking hair, then when he looked up at her, kiss him….