Wilder Hearts. Karen Rose Smith

      Wilder Hearts

      Once upon a Pregnancy

      Judy Duarte

      Her Mr Right?

      Karen Rose Smith

      A Merger …or Marriage?

      RaeAnne Thayne

       www.millsandboon.co.uk

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Once upon a Pregnancy

      About the Author

      JUDY DUARTE always knew there was a book inside her, but since English was her least favorite subject in school, she never considered herself a writer. An avid reader who enjoys a happy ending, Judy couldn’t shake the dream of creating a book of her own.

      Her dream became a reality in March of 2002, when Mills & Boon^® Cherish^™ released her first book, Cowboy Courage. Since then, she has sold nineteen more novels.

      Her stories have touched the hearts of readers around the world. And in July of 2005, Judy won a prestigious readers’ Choice Award for The Rich Man’s Son.

      Judy makes her home near the beach in Southern California. When she’s not cooped up in her writing cave, she’s spending time with her somewhat enormous, but delightfully close family.

      To the authors who worked with me on this series—Marie Ferrarella, Mary J. Forbes, Teresa Southwick, Karen Rose Smith and RaeAnne Thayne.

      Thank you for making this book fun to write.

       Chapter One

      Simone Garner studied the home pregnancy test kit sitting on the white tile countertop in her bathroom and waited as one long second stretched into another.

      She was thirty-seven years old and a nurse at Walnut River General Hospital, so she certainly should have known better than to let something like this happen.

      But…she had let it happen, and there was no one to blame but herself.

      Two months ago, at a cocktail party Dr. Peter Wilder hosted to celebrate the rechristening of the hospital library in honor of his late father, a waiter holding a tray of champagne approached Simone and offered her a glass.

      A teetotaler by nature, she nearly declined, but the festive mood had been contagious.

      At first, the champagne hadn’t done much for her except to tickle her nose and throat, but she’d soon acquired a taste for it, as well as a mind-numbing buzz.

      So when Mike O’Rourke, an attractive medic she’d known for a while, volunteered to drive her home, she’d agreed. Then, while he opened the door to let her into his Jeep, she’d let him kiss her.

      Or maybe she’d been the instigator.

      Looking back, she wasn’t entirely sure who’d actually made the first move. All she knew was that the starspinning, knee-weakening kiss had happened.

      After they arrived at her place, she should have thanked him for the ride and let it go at that, but for some reason, she felt compelled to invite him in. She’d given him a tour of the house she’d remodeled, then turned on her new stereo system and played a soft, suggestive love song.

      “Do you want to dance?”

      Her boldness had been so out of character that, in retrospect, she’d blamed her newfound self-confidence on the alcohol, as well as the sleek black cocktail dress she’d purchased for the occasion and the cute but impractical heels she’d probably only wear once.

      With her senses still reeling from both the champagne and Mike’s charm, Simone had slipped into his embrace, quickly relishing his musky, mountain-fresh scent and the faint bristle of his cheek against hers.

      They’d swayed to the soul-stirring melody, hearts beating and bodies moving as one—until she’d stumbled.

      She’d grabbed on to Mike for balance, and they’d shared a laugh, followed by a heated look, a lingering touch.

      One thing had led to another, and they’d kissed again.

      Oh, Lordy, how they’d kissed.

      Then, for some crazy reason—the heat of the moment, she supposed—she’d led him to her bedroom.

      Waking up in Mike’s arms and then sending him on his way would have been a lot easier to do if their lovemaking had only been so-so. In that case, he would have understood why she’d ended things.

      But the entire experience had been off the charts.

      And now she feared that if great sex had anything to do with sperm motility or fertility, she’d be having septuplets.

      Oh, God, no. Please, no.

      Just the thought of what a pink dot on the testing apparatus meant made her nauseous, even though she’d already had the dry heaves earlier this morning.

      At first, she’d told herself that stress from work had caused her period to be delayed. After all, there had been some allegations of insurance fraud at Walnut River General, and the timing couldn’t be worse, with the hospital in danger of being taken over by Northeastern HealthCare.

      And to top it off, someone was leaking financial information and other sensitive data to the conglomerate, putting the hospital at a significant disadvantage for negotiations.

      But Simone hadn’t been able to explain away her symptoms any longer. So she got up from her seat on the commode and stood before the test, while her future and the pale yellow walls of the small bathroom seemed to close in on her.

      No pink dot yet, though.

      Maybe it had been stress. Maybe her conscience and her imagination had become a tag team and were really doing a number on her, punishing her for allowing herself one little sexual fantasy.

      After all, she and Mike had used condoms, but, looking back, she had to admit they’d gotten a little careless with their use as the night wore on.

      She blew out a sigh, then glanced at her wristwatch, realizing it was silly to second-guess the test results when she’d know for sure in a few more minutes.

      Nevertheless, she wasn’t the kind of woman she’d pretended to be and couldn’t help feeling foolish for her lack of self-control.

      Over the past five weeks, she’d rationalized about what she’d done at least a hundred times, telling herself she was a healthy woman with sexual needs that hadn’t been satisfied in a long time. And that she couldn’t help having a one-night stand with the dark-haired paramedic who was too sexy for his own good—or rather, for her own good.

      But Mike O’Rourke was five years her junior. And he deserved a girl his own age, a younger