The Doctor's Pregnant Bride? / The Texas Billionaire's Baby. Susan Crosby

to Architectural Digest magazines.

      “Does that mean it’s hopeless?” he asked.

      “I don’t know what it means. Maybe I’ll know more when I see the art you want to display.” She was curious about his loft, too, was looking forward to seeing where he lived. “Or maybe what it means is you should take Tricia up on her offer to help. Or hire a real decorator.”

      He didn’t respond immediately. “Let’s see what we can do first. Where are you?”

      “Not far from home. Why?”

      “Can you see your house?”

      “No, but I will in a few seconds. There. It’s in view. Why?”

      “Just trying to get a picture of how far you’d gotten.” His tone was casual, but—

      It hit her then. He was watching over her. He was keeping her on the phone until she was safely home. Maybe he gave his mother credit for drumming etiquette into him, but this wasn’t etiquette. This was a character trait, one she valued, and probably deeply ingrained in him.

      Sara Beth was raised to be independent, like her mother. They’d never had a man around to help. It was always just the two of them, or the handyman they hired occasionally when a job was beyond their skills.

      “I’m turning up my walkway,” she said, letting him know she knew what he was doing. “Climbing the first step. The second. Third. I’ve reached the landing.”

      She heard him laugh softly, so she put a little drama into her voice. “I’m inserting the key in my lock. Oh, look! It’s turning. I’m opening the door. Now I’m shutting it—”

      “And locking it.”

      She put her phone next to the bolt as it fell into place. Locked.

      “Did you hear that?” she asked.

      “You’re making fun of me.”

      “No.” And she wasn’t. Warmth at his concern wove through her. She swallowed, not knowing what to tell him, so she just continued on with her running commentary. “I’m climbing the indoor stairs… unlocking my door … going inside … shutting and locking it. Done. Thank you. I couldn’t have managed it without you.”

      He laughed.

      “No, seriously, Ted, that was very thoughtful of you, walking me home.”

      “That’s what friends are for.”

      Friends. She toed off her shoes and sank onto her sofa. “I was coming back from dinner with my mom. We generally get together on Tuesdays.”

      “That’s … nice?”

      She laughed at how he turned it into a question. “Unlike you, my mom doesn’t pester me—that was the word, right? Pester? Anyway, she’s not after me about getting married.” But Sara Beth felt ready. She didn’t want to wait—had no reason to wait, in fact. She had a good job and money in the bank, had dated enough to know what she was looking for and who not to waste her time on.

      “Which is why you see your mother every week, and I don’t do the same.”

      “For my mom and me, it’s a routine,” she said, considering it. “We started the Tuesday-night dinners when I moved out after graduation six years ago, so it’s not just a routine but an ingrained habit now.”

      “Like me not having furniture. I’m almost used to it.”

      “We’ll figure out something. Maybe you can show me what you don’t like.”

      “I’d be dog-earing almost every page. Well, I just wanted to warn you that the job may be harder than you were planning on. Might take longer than you think. I mean, if you have a date on Saturday night, tell me what time you need to be home.”

      She hated admitting she didn’t have a date. He already knew she hadn’t had a date on Valentine’s Day. “I don’t have plans.”

      “I appreciate your help, Sara Beth. You’ve been a good sport. See you tomorrow.”

      She hung up the phone with a sigh. A good sport. He wasn’t the first man to call her that. Men enjoyed her company, and usually wanted to stay friends so that they could continue to unburden their personal woes on good-sport Sara Beth, who was a good listener, non-judgmental and accommodating. And here she was, repeating the pattern.

      Technically he’s your boss. At least until this project was done. Which was an excellent reason for just being a good sport, she reminded herself, particularly since her body tingled around him.

      She could always step back. If, after Saturday, she felt too drawn to him, too attracted, she could say no if he asked her to do anything outside of the institute.

      But … would she?

      The next morning Sara Beth felt her pulse rev and her face heat as she walked down the hall toward the lab. She bent over at a water fountain outside the room and took a long drink, stalling. The anticipation of seeing Ted had made falling asleep hard, then she’d found herself awake an hour before her alarm went off.

      Straightening, she swallowed the cold water, then caught a glimpse of Ted through the window as she pressed the back of her hand to her mouth. He was wearing his glasses and lab coat, his hair tousled as if he’d plunged his hands into it more than once. From frustration? Impatience?

      Then Derek Armstrong moved into view, coming up beside Ted to look at his computer screen. Sara Beth frowned. Why was he there? As CFO of the institute, Derek wouldn’t normally drop in on the research doctors. There wouldn’t seem to be a reason for him to do so.

      Even though Sara Beth had spent a lot of time in the Armstrong home, Derek and his twin brother, Paul, were eight years older. She’d lost track of them until she’d come to work full-time at the institute. She did know that Derek and Paul were opposites in many ways, ways that made Paul a good chief of staff, respected and liked, and Derek more hard-nosed, since he was the money guy. But he hadn’t endeared himself to the staff.

      Or at least not lately. People hadn’t whispered behind his back until recently. His expression was stern now as he talked with Ted.

      Suddenly Ted looked toward the window. Sara Beth pulled back before he could see her watching. She didn’t know why she was nervous about seeing him this morning, except that as she’d gotten to know him more each day, she’d found more to like each day, too. Her last boyfriend, a six-month relationship that had ended a couple months ago, would never have kept her on the phone until she was safely inside her house. He’d always “respected her independence,” as he’d put it—perhaps because she’d made sure he knew her independence was something she prided herself on.

      But after last night she’d altered her thinking a little. Being independent didn’t mean she couldn’t let a man be considerate.

      Ted had made her feel special. With a simple gesture he made her previous boyfriends seem uncaring. And Ted wasn’t even her boyfriend.

      Derek came out of the lab, smiled slightly at her, then held the door for her to enter.

      “Good morning,” Ted said, his posture a little stiff.

      “Hi,” she said, going straight to her desk, upon which was the shopping bag full of catalogs and magazines she’d brought him the day before.

      “I found a few possibilities online and printed them off,” he said. “Some styles that appealed to me. They’re on top.”

      “That’s great.” She pulled out the papers, glanced at them, then nodded. “It’s you.”

      “I don’t know what’s me, exactly, but I liked it.”

      “Casual elegance, clean lines, masculine, not fussy. That’s you.” She set the bag on the floor. “I’ll come up with a list of stores to check out.”

      “Thanks.