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

“My mom does, too. It’s great having a car available at times. Makes it easy to take weekend getaways.”

      “Having lived in San Francisco for so long, easy access to parking was on my list of requirements.”

      “Along with what else?” Sara Beth asked.

      “A view of the Charles. Although I don’t know why, since I’m hardly here to enjoy it. Lots of open space. I don’t like small rooms. They make me feel hemmed in.”

      “Are you claustrophobic?”

      “I just don’t like walls.” The elevator stopped. The door opened to a large, although not massive space, with cherrywood floors, exposed ductwork, brick walls and floor-to-ceiling windows facing an amazing view of the Charles River.

      “This is stunning,” Sara Beth said, slipping off her shoes as he did, moving into the loft, shrugging off her jacket as she went. “I can see your dilemma about decorating it. You need to create rooms without using walls, so everything has to flow from one space to the next.” She eyed him. “Are you sure you don’t want to use a professional? I don’t know that I’m up to the challenge, given that my education in decorating comes from watching the Home and Garden channel.”

      “Let’s give it a shot. If you still feel the same at the end of today, I’ll do something else.” The truth was, he wanted to spend the day with her. He hadn’t spent a day with a woman since he’d moved back, and now he found himself relaxed, work not pounding his brain, a rare occurrence. He needed a little R & R, then could return to work refreshed.

      “Okay,” she said, wandering into the kitchen, a newly renovated contemporary space with dark wood-and-glass cabinets, glass-tile backsplashes, stainless-steel appliances and black, brown and gold granite countertops.

      A folding camp chair sat in eerie loneliness by the front window, an upside down cardboard box placed next to it to use as an end table, along with one floor lamp. A flat-screen television was mounted above the fireplace.

      “Spartan,” she commented, flashing a quick grin.

      “That’s a nice way of putting it.” He gestured toward the rear of the unit. “Bedroom and bath are down this way.”

      The bathroom was large, the shower walk-in, the floor porcelain tile and the counters the same granite as in the kitchen. The bedroom space could be closed off by pulling large planks of polished wood attached to an overhead rail, spanning from wall to wall.

      She glanced into his huge walk-in closet, where long-sleeved dress shirts lined one side, in blue, white and cream. Slacks in black, brown and charcoal took up the rack below the shirts. A few suits. A tuxedo. Quite a few shoes. A couple of polo shirts. And one pair of jeans, never worn, tags attached.

      “How long have you lived here?” Sara Beth asked as they returned to the living room.

      “Don’t start.” After a week of her being mostly businesslike, he was enjoying her playfulness now. “Or no more doughnuts.”

      She laughed, the sound echoing in his almost-empty space. “You get what you pay for.”

      She pulled out a notepad and measuring tape from her purse, and they went to work drawing a floor plan to scale. Then he spread out his artwork along the living room wall.

      “Eclectic,” she said, tapping her pencil against her lips as she viewed the minigallery. “No wonder you can’t settle on a style.”

      “If I have a gut reaction to a piece, I buy it, whether it costs fifty dollars or five thousand.”

      From her purse she pulled out a digital camera and took photos of each piece. He could see her mind whirling with possibilities. He wished he had that kind of spatial vision, to see what could be instead of what was. Chance frequently accused him of having tunnel vision. Ted had come to accept that about himself.

      He also knew that same tunnel vision may very well be the reason he would someday find that rare treatment, something reliable, that had eluded researchers forever. A scientist had to be devoted and single-minded. He was both, and unapologetic about it.

      Ted heard his name being called. Sara Beth stood in front of him, waving her hands and smiling.

      “Where’d you go?” she asked.

      “Sorry.” His defenses went up. So many women had become frustrated with how often he ignored them while delving into his own thoughts.

      “Saving the world?” she asked, her smile softening.

      She didn’t seem at all upset that he’d tuned her out. Maybe because they were friends, not dating?

      “You don’t do that when you drive, do you, Ted?”

      “No tickets. No accidents.”

      “But how many did you cause?” She laughed as she scooped up her purse and dropped her camera in it. “I’ll use your bathroom, then we can go, if you’re ready.”

      “Sure.”

      She breezed past him, leaving her fresh scent in her wake. He watched her walk away, her stride purposeful, her shiny hair swinging between her shoulder blades. An image flashed of her naked, straddling him, and bending over, her hair brushing his chest, then his stomach …

      His body clenched. He turned away and moved to the window. She hadn’t had a date on Valentine’s Day, nor tonight. So … maybe she wouldn’t mind spending time with him, helping him take a break now and then from his cause. Someone to share dinner with, have a conversation.

      Of course, in the meantime, he needed to do something about sex. Or the lack thereof, in this case. As in, not since he’d left San Francisco. He figured that was why he’d reacted so strongly to Sara Beth, the only woman he’d touched in months.

      He studied a couple strolling along the river’s edge, hand in hand. Tricia would be a safer bet, he thought. She was home for a month, dedicated to her career, wouldn’t expect the long term from him. They had a history. No complications to speak of. Except … he felt proprietary about Sara Beth. Unreasonably so, probably, but true.

      “Ready?”

      He turned around. Sara Beth returned his look, a small smile stretching her lips, curiosity in her eyes. He wanted to back her up until her legs hit his bed and she tumbled onto it, and follow her down. He wondered what she tasted like. Did her bra and panties match the brightly colored scrubs she always wore, or was she a pristine-white or invisible-beige lingerie kind of woman? No hint of an answer came from her V-neck black sweater that plunged only far enough to have him wishing for more.

      Sara Beth’s smile faltered. “Are you upset about something?”

      “No.” He laid a hand on her shoulder, then let go immediately. “I apologize. I was deep in thought.”

      She cocked her head. “I wonder what it’s like, living in your mind. It must be fascinating.”

      It was the wrong thing for her to say. No one had ever considered his tuning out to be anything but negative. To have her think otherwise made him want to get closer.

      “You’d probably find a lot of twists and turns and dead ends,” he said, encouraging her toward the elevator.

      “Did anything come from the idea that struck you at my house last week?”

      “Yes. Chance and I are working on it.” In fact, he should be in the lab now, but was determined not to feel guilty about taking a day for himself. He wasn’t sure how to find a balance between work and social life.

      “What do you think of Derek Armstrong?” Ted asked when they were in the elevator.

      “Because Lisa is my best friend, I’ve known him all my life, but we haven’t spent time together in a very long time—he’s so many years older than me. Why?”

      They stepped out of the elevator and headed to the car a few feet away. “I’m just