It Started With A Pregnancy. Christy Jeffries

holding her giant tote bag between them like a shield, blocking his view of her full, round breasts. As though he hadn’t already committed to memory the sight of the dark bronze skin framing deep-brown nipples.

      She had a death grip on the two white bags in her other hand and blew a curly strand of black hair out of her face. While she didn’t look angry, she also didn’t look very pleased to see him. In fact, the smooth skin at the base of her neck revealed a jumping pulse, making him think the overly controlling office director wasn’t feeling all that in control right this second.

      Grant tried to hide his grin at this sudden revelation. Just because she’d let her guard down around him once didn’t mean she’d be willing to do it again. Rebekah was a tough woman to read, but he remembered her slightly tipsy words that night as she’d finished her third mojito after her friends left the bar. “We can’t let anyone know about us drinking together like this. It would be extremely unprofessional for me to socialize with a member of my bosses’ family.”

      “Then we probably shouldn’t tell anyone that I’m going to come over to your place when we leave the bar,” he’d replied just before signaling for the check. Her thick lashes had lowered seductively and one corner of her full lips had lifted in invitation. It’d been a bold pickup line from a guy who normally didn’t have to resort to lines to get women, and Grant hadn’t expected it to work with someone as reserved as Rebekah. It turned out that his taking charge that night had worked out extremely well for both of them.

      However, something in her hazel eyes—possibly panic—told Grant that he shouldn’t re-create the same take-charge strategy at her workplace. Or in the light of day. He cleared his throat and turned back to the door, jamming the first key he saw into the lock. It only went halfway.

      “It’s the third one,” she said, using her chin to nod toward the key ring that had suddenly become slippery in his damp hands. It took another two tries, and when he finally pulled the glass door open, she rushed by him in a cloud of the plumeria scent she always wore—he’d noticed the bottle of expensive lotion on her bathroom counter that night—and headed straight past the empty reception desk and down the hallway leading toward the business offices.

      Grant stood there for a few seconds, letting the air-conditioning from inside filter past him to the humid summer heat outside. She hadn’t even thanked him for getting the door, let alone said goodbye. It was one thing to want to keep their personal business on the down low, it was another to completely brush him off. Some of the animal handlers were probably on duty in the back, but since the shelter wouldn’t be open to the public until ten o’clock, there wasn’t anyone in the newly refinished reception area to see them. It was almost as though she wanted to pretend he wasn’t even there.

      Grant wasn’t in the habit of having one-night stands with his aunts’ employees—or anyone else, for that matter—so a part of him understood her desire to try to forget the whole thing had ever happened. He’d felt the same way the past few weeks when it had become apparent that she wasn’t going to call him. By avoiding any sort of conversation, Rebekah was actually providing him with the perfect escape, the perfect excuse to avoid any sort of messy emotions or awkward conversations about how things could never work between them.

      But the memory of Rebekah’s curves pressed against him and the sound of her throaty moans were too fresh in his mind.

      Plus, he still had her keys.

      Grant’s flip-flops slapped against the lacquered finish of the concrete floor as he took long strides toward the biggest office. The door was already closed so he gave a brisk knock before twisting the handle and letting himself inside.

      Rebekah stood behind her desk, both hands braced on the tidy surface and her chest puffed out, as though she’d been in the middle of some deep breathing exercise before he’d barged in.

      Grant didn’t do tension or uncomfortable silences. So when his eyes landed on one of the bags in front of her, he shifted gears to a neutral topic.

      “Sutter’s Pharmacy, huh?” He hooked his thumbs into the waistband of his favorite board shorts and tried to appear as casual as possible. “Are you feeling out of sorts?”

      “I’m fine!” Rebekah’s words came out in a squeak and her round eyes grew even larger as they filled with alarm. Whoa. He’d just been trying to lighten the mood. He hadn’t meant to make her uncomfortable.

      “If you say so. Anyway, I came in here because you forgot your keys,” he said, dangling them in front of his chest. His father had raised him to be a gentleman and he knew the proper thing to do would be to place the key ring with the silver softball charm on her desk. But he couldn’t stop himself from testing to see if the sensation he’d felt from their earlier physical contact had just been a fluke.

      Rebekah was a tall woman and easily reached one arm across her desk. When her fingers met his, another flare of heat shot through him. She yanked her hand back so quickly, it knocked one of the white sacks off her tote bag.

      There was a rattling sound as something rolled out of the bag and fell to the floor right by his feet.

      Rebekah must’ve raced around the desk because she was suddenly diving at the container in front of him. But she wasn’t fast enough. The words on the label flashed in his brain as though they were blinking in neon lights, even after she clutched the bottle to her chest.

      Something in his gut twisted, and the air in his lungs suspended. It took him several times to get the words out and his voice sounded far way when he finally asked, “Why are you taking prenatal vitamins?”

       Chapter Two

      Rebekah bit her lip, trying to resist the urge to hide the bottle behind her back. She’d already flung herself on the ground in front of him as though she were a combat soldier jumping onto a live grenade. At this point, there was no way to pretend the emotional explosion hadn’t already detonated around them.

      Still.

      How had he read the label so quickly?

      She didn’t realize she’d spoken the question out loud until Grant replied, “I won the national speed-reading championships for my high school four years in a row.”

      “You’re a speed reader?” she asked as she rose to her feet, seizing on the opportunity to redirect the conversation.

      “I was also the Duval County Spelling Bee champion in eighth grade,” he added. “But I don’t especially feel a need to discuss my academic accomplishments right this second. Is there something you want to tell me, Rebekah?”

      She watched his soft lips move, yet his question sounded so formal, as did the way he said her name. Her parents were the only ones who called her Dimples, and she hated it when people used the common nicknames Becky or Bekah, or even Beck. So it wasn’t as though Grant should be calling her anything other than Rebekah. Still, his question felt like a chastisement all the same.

      Straightening her spine, she forced herself to look him directly in those ocean-blue eyes and said, “I might be pregnant.”

      “Whoa.” He sank into the paisley upholstered chair right in front of her, swiping the sun-bleached blond hair off his forehead. “I mean...whoa.”

      Yep, that was the response she’d been anticipating.

      And now that he was acting as she’d initially expected, Rebekah felt her own role fall back into place as she took charge of the situation. “I took a test this morning, but I’m waiting for the doctor to confirm it.”

      “How...” he started, then scrubbed a hand over the golden stubble on his jaw. “I mean...”

      “How did this happen?” she offered. “I’m sure the usual way.”

      “I was actually going to ask how far along you are.” He used his tan forearms to push himself up a little straighter and Rebekah wondered if he was already