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

and the red-and-brown area rug.

      She nodded. “I have to admit I was feeling pretty cocky when you decided you liked the rug we picked out at the store best, instead of any of the others that Caro brought.”

      “When I make up my mind, I rarely change it.”

      “Even about decorating your place, apparently, which was way out of your comfort zone.”

      “I had great help.” He tossed his keys lightly. “I may not have vision, but I know what I like.”

      “What do you suppose your parents will think?”

      “It will only matter that it’s done. And that my grandmother Holly’s portrait of my mom as a little girl is up in a prominent place.”

      They took the elevator down and got in the car. “Want to stop someplace for dessert?” he asked, putting the car in gear.

      “I couldn’t eat another bite.”

      They drove in silence. She wished she knew if he was thinking about his new decor, her or his work. Most likely, work.

      “Look at that,” he said as they neared her house. “Parking right out front.” He parallel parked, shut the engine off and opened his door.

      By the time she got out, he was there, extending a hand, which she took reluctantly. “You don’t have to walk me to my door. It’s not like this was a date.”

      “Humor me.” He let go of her hand.

      They moved up the short walkway, climbed the stairs. She put her key in the door then turned to him. “I’ll see you Monday morning.”

      He reached around her, turned the key and opened the door, then gestured for her to precede him up the second set of stairs to her apartment. She wouldn’t invite him in. She absolutely would not, even though she had cookies and cocoa, the perfect ending to the day. She made herself stand in the open doorway.

      “Good night, Ted.”

      She thought he was going to kiss her, but he wrapped his arms around her in an all-encompassing hug. She felt enveloped … and safe. His body felt familiar, when it shouldn’t. She curved her arms up his back, pulling herself closer, feeling him from sturdy chest to hard thighs. He wrapped one arm around her midback, one a little lower, his fingertips resting on the upper curve of her rear. Her nipples hardened, wanting his touch, wishing he would pull her even closer. She barely resisted pressing her lips to his neck.

      She was aware of everything about him—his strength, his heat, the promise of satisfaction for the building need inside her—but also that they worked together. That he was a doctor. That he came from old Boston money, had a place in a level of society she didn’t know.

      That a woman like Tricia Trahearn was much more suitable for him.

      “Your friendship has come to mean a lot to me already,” he said, his breath disturbing her hair. He stepped back, his hands on her shoulders. “Thank you.”

      Friendship. The word righted her world again, put her in her place. She smiled brightly, probably too brightly. “You’re welcome.”

      He went down the stairs and was gone, leaving her body aching and unsatisfied—and grateful. She was ready for marriage, a family.

      She didn’t need the complication of Dr. Ted Bonner.

      Ted spotted Sara Beth standing in front window, watching him. He raised a hand toward her then got into his car without waiting for a return wave. He drove off in a burst of speed.

      Why the hell had he hugged her like that? Let his hand drift down to the tempting curve of her rear? He’d been wanting to touch her since he’d come up to her bending in front of his refrigerator earlier, then later on when she’d helped him make his bed after the furniture men had left. She’d leaned over to smooth his sheets. He’d almost cupped that fine rear, had been stopped by her standing up, banging into him, a habit they’d gotten into, being clumsy around each other.

      Friends with benefits. He’d been thinking about it all day, as she’d frequently gotten into his space, brushing against him to get a better look at something, smiling at him or pursing her lips as she studied a piece. She had a quick, easy laugh, light and joyful, and a slow, smoldering heat that appeared less often, but did appear, although he had to catch her off guard to see it.

      And then there was the hug. He’d taken her into his arms without thinking, prepared to just give her a goodnight hug, a thanks-for-everything short embrace. Then it had become something else. Even she had felt it. She’d moved closer to him instead of away. Her breath turned shaky. She’d gone up on tiptoe, which had aligned their hips. He’d pulled back before she could feel his reaction to her, had seen her nipples pressing against her T-shirt, an invitation he wished he could accept.

      Friends with benefits. He needed to give that more thought. Sure, he wanted marriage—but not yet, not even anything close to it. If he took a break now and then from his work, it needed to be for fun, for pleasure, not with an eye toward the future, no matter how much he wanted otherwise.

      For pleasure. The thought settled, a hazy fantasy that lingered as he parked and went up to his loft. He admired the newly decorated space for a minute, then decided to take a shower. His answering machine caught his eye, and he remembered the message from Tricia earlier, a call he’d ignored while Sara Beth was there.

      Friends with benefits. Tricia would fit the bill, at least the benefits part, and without complications. She’d invited him to dinner next Sunday for his birthday. He had no doubt they’d end up in bed, if that was what he wanted.

      And he wanted. But not Tricia.

      He wanted Sara Beth O’Connell. Exclusively.