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

least I can take care of your hunger problem,” he said, ending the call.

      “Thanks.” Darn. No back rub or foot massage.

      When they reached the loft, Sara Beth pulled her “Ted” folder from her purse and set it on his breakfast bar as he headed to his bedroom to check his answering machine. She would’ve gladly flopped onto a sofa, if he’d had one.

      “If you need to put your feet up,” he called from the bedroom area, “feel free to use my bed.”

      Sara Beth froze in place, tempted. Too tempted. “I’m okay, thanks,” she called back before she changed her mind. “Do you have any soda?”

      “Maybe. Check out the refrigerator. Make yourself at home.”

      His refrigerator held several containers of take-out cartons and boxes, some orange juice, assorted condiments, three Cokes and two dozen eggs. “You’ve got Cokes. Do you want one?” she called.

      “Sure,” he said from right behind her.

      She jumped. He’d come up while she’d been bent over staring at the contents. He set his hands on her waist and held her so that she wouldn’t crash into him, but in doing so, her rear pressed against his pelvis.

      She laughed as she stepped away, the sound shaky, then passed him a can.

      “Let’s sit down,” he said. “The delivery people won’t be here for a while.” He guided her toward the canvas camp chair with built-in cup holders by the front window, made her sit there, then he sat on the floor, setting his can on the upturned cardboard box. He reached for her feet.

      “What are you doing?” she asked, although pretty sure what his answer would be.

      “Taking care of your second problem.”

      She was glad she’d decided to wear cute socks, the ones with the dancing polar bears, but she couldn’t relax. What if he intended to massage her back, too? She would have to turn him down. She didn’t want to, but she definitely had to.

      Oh, but his hands felt good, his fingers strong, his thumbs finding the sore spots and releasing them with pressure. At work she was on her feet all day, but she always wore comfortable, cushioned shoes, instead of hard-soled ankle boots.

      Sara Beth shut her eyes and swallowed the groans that threatened to escape her throat. Pretend he’s a doctor performing a treatment.…

      Nope. That didn’t work. He wasn’t her doctor.

      She opened her eyes a tiny bit, saw a peaceful expression on his face, as if he was enjoying himself, too. She wanted to run her hands through his long, wavy, soft-looking hair, then when he looked up at her, kiss him.…

      Dr. Ted Bonner fascinated her. When he set his mind to do something, he did it all the way, giving his complete attention. In bed, would he—

      A buzzer rang, disrupting her escalating fantasy.

      “Too soon for the food. Must be the furniture delivery. They’re early,” he said, hesitating for a moment, then standing and moving to look at a closed-circuit screen. He stepped into the elevator. “I’m sorry to cut the foot rub short.”

      Me, too. More than you’ll ever know. She grabbed her soda, trying to look casual. Which worked until Caro came out of the elevator with Ted, talking animatedly, flirting outrageously. The woman didn’t even have the sense to dial down the flirt volume when she saw Sara Beth.

      “I was just explaining to Ted,” she said, as he sent the elevator back down, “that he might not be happy with the rug you chose for the living area, so I brought a few more to look at, just in case.”

      “How thoughtful,” Sara Beth said, keeping the sarcasm to a minimum.

      “What a great space,” Caro exclaimed. “You’re going to need a lot more furniture, though, don’t you think?”

      “For now I’m going to live with what I got today,” Ted said, “then decide what else I need.”

      Sara Beth was trying to get a handle on whether Caro was more interested in making sales or making Ted.

      “I think that’s a great idea.” Caro moved to the window. “You have a fabulous view.”

      Ted winked at Sara Beth. She decided he’d figured out Caro just fine, was not as oblivious as he seemed.

      When the elevator door opened, two burly men emerged then unloaded six large area rugs. The next hour was spent laying out each rug, rearranging the furniture each time. Their Thai food was delivered, Sara Beth’s stomach growling as it sat on the counter, calling her name.

      Finally they settled on the rug they’d originally chosen, the furniture was put in place, and his bed set up. Caro lingered, offering advice on what else he should consider. Ted committed to nothing, and finally got her out the door.

      “I don’t suppose you have place mats,” Sara Beth said as she began heating up the food in the microwave.

      He gave her a you’ve-got-to-be-kidding look.

      “Paper towels?”

      “I’ll get them. You must be starving.”

      “I could eat the paper towels, I think.”

      He laughed. “She’s quite a pitch woman, isn’t she?”

      Sara Beth shrugged.

      “I know you have an opinion,” he said.

      “She’s good at her job.”

      “Not really.” He grabbed two plates and some silverware and set everything on the new dining room table.

      “You bought a whole lot of stuff from her.”

      “I would’ve bought more if she hadn’t been so pushy. Which means,” he added, catching Sara Beth’s gaze, “more shopping at different places to finish up.”

      So, he wasn’t a pushover, wasn’t just making choices to get the decorating over with. Good. “I’m available next Saturday.”

      “Thanks.” He laid a hand over hers as she set a carton on the dining room table. “For today. For helping at the institute. For bringing a little fun into my life.”

      She swallowed. “Ditto.”

      “Ditto,” he repeated, grinning, shaking his head. “Okay. You’re welcome.”

      By the time they were done eating, hung a few pieces of art and made a list of everything else they thought he might need to buy, Sara Beth almost fell asleep standing up next to his bed, which they’d just made up. It was finally off the floor.

      “So, you’re not hungry anymore, I imagine,” he said.

      “Definitely not.”

      “And your feet feel okay?”

      She wriggled her toes. “Fine.”

      “Which leaves your aching back.”

      Panic had her pulse thrumming in a hurry. “I’m rested. I feel good.”

      “You just spent a couple of hours climbing up and down ladders, and holding large pieces of art over your head.” His smile was a slow burn, as if he knew how attracted she was—and how scared to give in to it.

      Unless she was truly under the power of wishful thinking, he’d been testing the waters with her all day, making flattering comments, giving her the eye, smiling in that way that showed interest beyond coworker or friend, no matter what they labeled their relationship.

      She waited for him to make it clear what he was after, but he didn’t say or do anything. She decided to retreat, to think the situation over. “I should get home,” she said, sidling around him to return to the living room.

      “So soon?”

      Sara