The Beaumont Brothers. Sarah M. Anderson

heads. Most of the men were in tuxes like Chadwick’s, and most of the women were in gowns. So she blended in well enough.

      Chadwick had recovered from the incident with Phillip nicely. She’d like to think that had something to do with their conversation in the gallery. With the way she’d told him to do what he wanted and the way he’d looked at her like the only thing he wanted to do was her.

      She knew there was a list of reasons not to want him back. But she was tired of those reasons, tired of thinking she couldn’t, she shouldn’t.

      So she didn’t. She focused on how painful those beautiful, beautiful shoes were. It kept her in the here and now.

      Shoes aside, the evening had been delightful. Chadwick had introduced her as his assistant, true, but all the while he’d let one of his hands rest lightly on her lower back. She’d gotten a few odd looks, but no one had said anything. That probably had more to do with Chadwick’s reputation than anything else, but she wasn’t about to question it. Even without champagne, she’d been able to fall into small talk without too much panic.

      She’d had a much nicer time than when she used to come with Neil. Then, she’d stood on the edge of the crowd, judiciously sipping her champagne and watching the crowd instead of interacting with it. Neil had always talked to people—always looking for another sponsor for his golf game—but she’d never felt like she was a part of the party.

      Chadwick had made her a part of it this time. She wasn’t sure she’d ever truly feel like she fit in with the high roller crowd, but she hadn’t felt like an interloper. That counted for a great deal.

      The evening was winding down. The crowd was trailing out. She hadn’t seen Phillip leave, but he was nowhere to be seen. Frances had bailed almost an hour before. Matthew was the only other Beaumont still there, and he was deep in discussion with the caterers.

      Chadwick shook hands with the head of the Centura Hospital System and turned to her. “Your feet hurt.”

      She didn’t want to seem ungrateful for the shoes, but she wasn’t sure her toes would ever be the same. “Maybe just a little.”

      He gave her a smile that packed plenty of heat. But it wasn’t indiscriminately flirtatious, like his brother’s. All night long, that goodness had been directed at only one woman.

      Her.

      He slid a hand around her waist and began guiding her toward the door. “I’ll drive you home.”

      She grinned at this statement. “Don’t worry. I didn’t snag a ride with anyone else.”

      “Good.”

      The valet brought up Chadwick’s Porsche, but he insisted on holding the door for her. Then he was in the car and they were driving at a higher-than-average speed, zipping down the highway like he had someplace to be.

      Or like he couldn’t wait to get her home.

      The ride was quick, but silent. What was going to happen next? More importantly, what did she want to happen next? And—most importantly of all—what would she let happen?

      Because she wanted this perfect evening to end perfectly. She wanted to have one night with him, to touch the body she’d only gotten a glimpse of, to feel beautiful and desirable in his arms. She didn’t want to think about pregnancies or exes or jobs. It was Saturday night and she was dressed to the nines. On Monday, maybe they could go back to normal. She’d put on her suit and follow the rules and try not to think about the way Chadwick’s touch made her feel things she’d convinced herself she didn’t need.

      Soon enough, he’d pulled up outside her apartment. His Porsche stuck out like a sore thumb in the parking lot full of minivans and late-model sedans. She started to open her door, but he put a hand on her arm. “Let me.”

      Then he hopped out, opened her door and held his hand out for her. She let him help her out of the deep seats of his car.

      Then they stood there.

      His strong hand held tight to hers as he pulled her against his body. She looked up into his eyes, feeling lightheaded without a drop of champagne. All night long, he’d only had eyes for her—but they’d been surrounded by people.

      Now they were alone in the dark.

      He reached up and traced the tips of his fingers over her cheek. Serena’s eyelids fluttered shut at his touch.

      “I’ll walk you to your door,” he said, his voice thick with strain. He stroked her skin—a small movement, similar to the way he’d touched her on Monday.

      But this was different. Everything was different now.

      This was the moment. This was her decision. She didn’t want sex with Chadwick to be one of those things that “just happened,” like her pregnancy. She was in control of her own life. She made the choices.

      She could thank him for the lovely evening and tell him she’d see him bright and early Monday morning. She could even make a little joke about seeing him in a towel again. Then she could walk into her apartment, close the door and...

      Maybe never have another moment—another chance—to be with Chadwick.

      She made her choice. She would not regret it.

      She opened her eyes. Chadwick’s face was inches from hers, but he wasn’t pressing her to anything. He was waiting for her.

      She wouldn’t make him wait any longer. “Would you like to come in?”

      He tensed against her. “Only if I can stay.”

      She kissed him then. She leaned up in the painful, beautiful shoes and pressed her lips to his. There was no “kissing him back,” no “waiting for him to make the first move.”

      This was going to happen because she wanted it to. She’d wanted it for years and she was darn tired of waiting. That was reason enough.

      “I’d like that.”

      The next thing she knew, Chadwick had physically swept her off her feet and was carrying her up to her door. When she gave him a quizzical look, he grinned sheepishly and said, “I know your feet hurt.”

      “They do.”

      She draped her arms around his neck and held on as he took the stairs, carrying her as if she were one of the skinny women from the party instead of someone whose size-ten body was getting bigger every day. But then, she’d seen all his muscles a few days before. If anyone could carry her, it was him. His chest was warm and hard against her body.

      Things began to tighten. Her nipples tensed underneath the gown, and that heavy weight between her legs seemed to be pulling her down into his body. Oh, yes. She wanted him. But the thing that was different from all her time with Neil was how intense it felt to want Chadwick.

      Obviously, it’d only been a few months since the last time she’d had sex with Neil. Just about three months. That was how far along she was. But she hadn’t felt the physical weight of desire for much, much longer than that. She couldn’t remember the last time just thinking about sex with Neil had turned her on this much. Maybe it was her crazy hormones—or maybe Chadwick did this to her. Maybe he’d always done this to her and she’d forced herself to ignore the attraction because falling for her boss just wasn’t convenient.

      He set her down at the door so she could get her key out of the tiny purse. But he didn’t let her go. He put his hands on her hips and pulled her back into his front. They didn’t talk, but the huge bulge that pressed against her backside said lots of things, loud and clear.

      She got the door open and they walked inside. She kicked off the pretty shoes, which made Chadwick loom an extra four inches over her. He hadn’t let go of her. His hands were still on her hips. He was grabbing her in a way that was quickly going from gentle to possessive. The way he filled his palms with her hips didn’t make her feel fat. It made her feel like he couldn’t get enough of her—he couldn’t help himself.

      Yes.