Wilder Hearts. Karen Rose Smith

never let down her defenses like that before. But there were several reasons she had.

      She’d felt unusually pretty the night of Dr. Wilder’s cocktail party.

      Dressed in a sexy dress and heels while holding the flute of bubbly had also made her feel elegant and sophisticated—a nice change for a woman who spent her workday wearing scrubs and her time off in an oversize shirt and a pair of comfy sweats or well-worn jeans.

      As luck would have it, the conscientious waiter kept refilling her glass until she’d had a mind-numbing buzz, which had made the night seem surreal.

      And as enchanting as a fairy tale.

      Just seeing the way Mike had looked at her was enough to make her lose her head and pretend to be someone else.

      And as he’d taken her hand and led her from the party and out of Peter’s house, she’d wondered if the night air would have the same effect on her as the clock striking midnight had on Cinderella.

      But it hadn’t.

      Overhead, the wintry sky was adorned with a million twinkling stars. And all around them, crystal flakes glistened on the banks of fresh-fallen snow.

      When they’d reached Mike’s Jeep, he’d drawn her into his embrace. Then he’d tilted her chin and lowered his mouth to hers. She should have stopped it right there, but her pulse and her hormones had been pumping like a runaway steam engine, and she’d been lost in the magic of the heated moment.

      The first tentative touch of his lips to hers had quickly intensified into a mind-spinning, knee-weakening kiss.

      If she closed her eyes, she could imagine it still, the way his tongue had swept into her mouth, stealing her senses and making her ache for more.

      Her physical reaction, which had bordered on wild and wicked, at least for someone as staid and conservative as she was, had merely been a result of lust and alcohol.

      Still, whether she liked admitting it or not, something deep inside her was moved by Mike’s charm and flattered by his crush on her. So when he’d driven her home, she’d thrown caution to the wind and continued to play the role of a princess at the ball. And for the next few hours, she’d pretended to be a woman who always wore her hair swept up in a classic twist, someone who actually belonged in a sexy dress and spiked heels.

      But it wasn’t a game she would continue to play. Not with a guy like Mike, who wanted so much more than a one-night fling. And not when the kind of commitment he wanted would lead to love and marriage, which was more than Simone could—or would—give to anyone.

      Too bad she hadn’t been able to get Mike to believe that.

      Yet, in part, she could understand why.

      On the night they’d made love, she hadn’t had any of her usual intimacy issues, so the sex had been incredible.

      In fact, they’d made love until they’d run out of condoms, and she’d lost count of the climaxes she’d had.

      But as the morning sun began to peer through the slats of the miniblinds, Simone had awakened, the sheets tangled at their feet and the scent of lovemaking in the air.

      Dawn had brought forth a sobering reality, just as the gong sounding midnight had broken the spell cast on Cinderella.

      Simone could no longer keep up the pretense in the light of day, so she’d slipped out of bed, grabbed a robe and found an excuse to send Mike on his way.

      She just wished she could do the same thing with the memory of their romantic bedroom antics.

      A sharp, whining cry tore through the house, and Simone threw off the covers and jumped out of bed.

      Poor little Wags.

      What in the world had Woofer done to him?

      When she reached the kitchen, Wags had stopped his cries and sat next to Woofer at the gate, their tails swishing across the linoleum floor as though the whining had been a ploy to draw her back to them.

      Nevertheless, she picked up Wags and looked him over carefully.

      There wasn’t any sign of blood.

      “Darn you guys,” she uttered.

      If Mike had been home, she would have called and insisted he come pick up Wags. But he was on duty tonight.

      And she was stuck until his shift ended.

      At seven-fifteen the next morning, Simone finally climbed out of bed and, while exhausted, gave up any hope of getting a solid block of sleep. Thanks to the dogs, who’d whined and begged to be allowed to run free in the house all night, she’d slept fitfully. And since Wags wasn’t housebroken, she’d had to make repeated trips outside.

      The trouble was, she hadn’t made it two feet out of her bedroom when she was laid low by a wave of nausea, followed by an annoying case of the dry heaves.

      Being pregnant wasn’t any fun at all, and she wanted to blame Mike, the stars or just plain bad luck, but the only one responsible was the pale, red-eyed, wild-haired woman staring back at her in the bathroom mirror.

      After washing her face with cool water, she’d taken the dogs out to the backyard. Now she stood in the middle of the dew-drenched lawn in her pale green bathrobe and a pair of fuzzy pink slippers that had seen better days. She watched Woofer, who was—hopefully—teaching Wags what he should be doing outdoors and not inside on the kitchen floor.

      The sky was overcast, and a wintry chill that had been absent yesterday urged her to slide her hands into the pockets of her robe.

      She didn’t want to be outside; she wanted to go back to bed.

      God, what was she going to do?

      She had to go to work this afternoon and had planned to leave Wags and Woofer in the yard alone, but they still needed supervision.

      Mike wouldn’t get off until six this evening, so she was stuck without any chance of taking a nap before her shift started. That is, unless she found someone else to puppy-sit.

      Think, she told herself. There had to be someone she could call.

      Oh, wait.

      Talk about lightbulb moments.

      Maybe Millie would take Wags and keep him at Tails a Waggin’ today. Then Simone could get some sleep before she had to work.

      “Come on, you guys.” She turned and headed up the back steps to the service porch, the dogs on her heels. She was going to call Mike at the station and tell him he could pick up Wags at the pet store when he got off work.

      Once inside the house, she grabbed the phone book and looked for the number, then placed a call to the Walnut River Fire Department.

      Woofer, who couldn’t have gotten much sleep either, curled up at her feet, while Wags took off, exploring the part of the house that had been off limits to him all night.

      Someone grabbed the phone on the second ring. “Fire department.”

      She didn’t recognize the man who’d answered, but supposed it didn’t matter. “This is Simone Garner. Is Mike O’Rourke available?”

      “He sure is. I’ll get him for you.”

      She was placed on hold for a moment or two, until a familiar voice came over the line.

      “Hey, Simone. How’s it going?” His tone was light and upbeat.

      Hers, unfortunately, was not. “This isn’t going to work, Mike.”

      “What’s the matter?”

      “The dogs. I didn’t get any sleep last night. I’m going to have to ask Millie Baxter if she’ll look after Wags so I can get some rest before I have to go to the hospital. And I hope she’ll say yes. If so, can you pick him up at Tails a Waggin’?”

      “Sure.”