Their Accidental Baby. Hannah Bernard

herself up one more step with a mighty groan. She’d moved to the suburbs to get away from a tiny apartment overlooking two major streets, but what had possessed her to rent an apartment on the third floor, in a building where the elevator was always on the fritz? Right, she’d been young and stupid six months ago. Convinced she could handle anything the world threw at her, even a daily trek up three flights of stairs, now that she had finally landed her dream job.

      She sighed. Dreams weren’t all they were cracked up to be. Eighty-hour weeks and extinct weekends hadn’t figured prominently in her fantasies during those long years in law school.

      Housework probably couldn’t be avoided. But not tonight. And not tomorrow. Maybe Sunday she’d feel up to challenging tasks like loading the washing machine or the dishwasher. Tonight she’d order takeout and camp out in front of the television until reality blurred into a Hollywood fantasy and she forgot all about legal briefs, courtrooms, divorces and custody battles.

      Her stomach growled.

      Food. Oh, yes, that was another plan for this weekend. There had hardly been time to eat at all this week. Or last weekend, or the week before. Fruit or candy bars stuffed in her mouth while running between weekends had been a luxury. Hot meals were just a distant memory. Her mouth watered just at the thought of cooking aromas and the imagined calories gave her enough energy to conquer a few more steps.

      Of course, she passed Justin’s apartment on the way to her door every evening, and her nose told her he did not make do with fruit and candy bars. He seemed fond of spicy chicken and home cooked pizza, the smells making her stomach whine in yearning and her own pinnacle of kitchen achievements—grilled cheese sandwiches—taste like recycled paper.

      Her stomach growled again, and she winced at the hunger pangs, promising to eat properly this weekend. Perhaps she should invite a friend over, and cook something ambitious. Hamburgers, perhaps. Or grilled cheese sandwiches with actual cheese in them.

      Of course that meant she had to go shopping too.

      She groaned, and used the impetus of the unwelcome thought to propel her up another step, which took her up to the first floor. She was one third of the way up. She celebrated by leaning against the wall and closing her eyes for a bit. Tomorrow she’d think about shopping. Tonight she wouldn’t do anything at all. Getting home was challenge enough.

      Two floors to go.

      “Are you sick?”

      The voice was only inches away. She forced her eyes open, and looked into concerned dark eyes. She shook her head slowly in response to his inquiry. Justin, again. She hadn’t even heard him run down the stairs. And there was no question that he had run. He always moved fast.

      The leather jacket gone, he stood there in a crumpled black shirt and black jeans, hands in his pockets as he loomed over her, even though she was wearing those dreadful heels. She tried not to inhale. That one sniff of male pheromones as he’d rushed past her on his way up had been enough of a mocking temptation for one day, and she hadn’t even seen him dismount his bike this time.

      She’d never had much of a thing for motorbikes, but boy, did this one wear them well.

      She stared up into those dark brown eyes and inwardly stomped on that reluctant crush she’d had on him ever since he’d moved in. It was absurd. She was much too old to have crushes.

      Wasn’t she?

      Justin touched her forehead for a second as if to check for fever, then lifted her head to look into her eyes. He grabbed her wrist and put his fingers on her pulse. What was he, a doctor? Someone had told her he was a teacher, but he didn’t look much like any teacher she’d ever had. Perhaps they’d been wrong, and he was really a doctor. Maybe if she stopped breathing, he’d resort to the kiss of life. Not an altogether unpleasant notion.

      Justin frowned. “Laura, your pulse is racing. And unless you’re running up and down the stairs for exercise, you’ve been more than five minutes just getting up to here. What’s wrong?”

      Justin the gallant neighbor, coming to the rescue, completely unaware that her pulse had a crush on him, and had started galloping at his touch. What next? She had visions of him sweeping her up in his arms and carrying her up to her apartment, where he’d carefully lay her down on the couch.

      She closed her eyes to better concentrate on the fantasy. His arms would be strong but gentle, his movements sure and confident, an intimate look in those dark eyes and a sensual smile on his lips as he fulfilled her every desire. A soft sigh escaped her as she thought about the delights he could bring her, the things he could do to make her hum with pleasure.

      Cook, clean, and fetch the remote control.

      Ah, yes. Men could have their uses, if only they’d cooperate.

      “Laura?” She pried her eyes open just in time to see him lean closer, and outrage filled her with some extra energy when she realised he was trying to smell her breath.

      “I’m not drunk!” she protested, pushing herself away from the wall, straight into him. His arm went over her shoulder as if to keep her from falling and her face got squashed against his chest.

      Oh, no. Now would not be a good time to take a breath, she reminded herself, just as her lungs decided the opposite. Too much proximity to Justin was not a good thing. It just made her wonder what it would be like to hitch a ride on his motorcycle—despite her motorcycle phobia.

      She pushed herself away, inhaled, grabbed her briefcase and squirmed past him with determined moves. The next flight of stairs taunted her. They were steep. They were long. But she could conquer them.

      “Don’t worry about me,” she said over her shoulder to Justin, who was standing there with his hands on his hips, hovering over her. “I’m just exhausted. Some of us don’t have the luxury of a forty-hour week, you know!” She didn’t know precisely what Justin did for a living, how true the “teacher” rumor was—but he was always home before she was. He never seemed to work weekends, either.

      Envy was a powerful thing. If she was honest with herself, his lack of overtime was probably the prime reason she resented him. That, and the home-cooked pizzas. She hardly knew him, so there wasn’t any real, logical reason, but she told herself that it was because of his arrogance. Men who rode flashy motorcycles were always too arrogant for their own good.

      Of course, if she dug deeper, which she wasn’t necessarily interested in doing, she might find that the real reason was that he hadn’t shown the slightest bit of interest in her during the six months they’d been living side by side. Some friendly neighborly chat when they met on the stairs, yes, some fascinating ten-second discussions about the weather and the state of the front yard, but that was it.

      She turned her head to look at him, and sent him a glare to match his own stare. Yep, she was definitely peeved. Not that she was actually interested, despite that silly crush. He wasn’t her type, even if she had time for irrelevant things like the mandatory search for a soul mate, true love and happily ever after. It was just a matter of pride. It wouldn’t kill him to send her a flirty smile every now and then.

      “That’s some exhaustion,” Justin remarked, following on her heels as she plodded up a few steps. “You’re dead on your feet. Are you sure you’re not sick?”

      “Yeah, I’m fine. I’m just tired. And hungry. It’s my own fault. I spent my lunch hour—not that it’s actually an hour, more like ten minutes—buying underwear. So I haven’t eaten anything since this morning.” She frowned in thought, and didn’t really care she was rambling. “No wait, I guess I haven’t eaten at all since yesterday. There wasn’t anything edible in the kitchen this morning. I was going to get a sandwich somewhere, but then I was too busy all day.”

      “You bought underwear instead of eating. I see.” He stepped up beside her and looked her over. “You’re scrawny. I could easily carry you upstairs.”

      Carry her upstairs?

      Fantasy was one thing, reality was something else altogether. “I’m