Mindy Neff - A Pregnancy And A Proposal

“Shame on you, O’Grady. I wasn’t talking about sex.”

“Yeah? Well, every young boy is thinking it when he looks at Heather.”

“You mean Robbie Sanders?”

“For one. He’s in high school. He’s got no business sniffing around a thirteen-year-old.”

Darcie bit her lips to keep from laughing. He was so endearingly old-fashioned.

“What?” he demanded.

She shook her head and laughed. “Nothing. You’re just so predictable. A typical father who’s resisting his little girl growing up into a woman.”

“Don’t even say that.” He shuddered, and Darcie laughed even harder.

“You need to trust her, Flynn. She’s got a good head on her shoulders. She’s just going through adolescent changes, and she’s confused. But I believe she’ll make the right decision in the end.”

“She’s only thirteen. She’s too young to make decisions—”

She pressed a finger to his lips, raised a brow.

A sensual fire ignited like an inferno in Flynn’s gut. He reached up, cupped her hand and held it in place. Just to see what she would do, he kissed her finger. She drew in a shaky breath.

Their eyes held over their clasped hands. And by damn, he liked that interest he saw in hers, the swift desire.

Flynn wasn’t sure how or when it had happened, but he’d lost any thread of their conversation. His gaze kept straying to her mouth. Those full lips. The freckles surrounding them, fanning out to her cheeks, her nose, her forehead, the golden flecks dusting the backs of her hands, expressive hands that gestured with wild abandon, yet with grace.

A burst of canned laughter sounded from the television in the living room. Mary Beth’s delighted squeal mingled with conversation and a sitcom rerun.

Flynn raised his eyes back to hers.

Her indrawn breath was swift and telling. “What is it with us?” she asked.

He didn’t need clarification of her question. The chemistry between them was palpable. Just like it had been that night at the hotel. “It’s pretty strong.”

She stood, fanned herself. “This is a really bad idea, but let’s go outside.”

He didn’t have to be asked twice. His daughters were well chaperoned and happy. Darcie had said that her family had a knack for soothing the ruffled feathers of hormonal teens. He would continue to give them time to work their magic. And he would take some time for himself, some sorely needed time for himself. Time with a pretty woman on the front porch. A woman he’d been dreaming of for the past five months.

Darcie held the door for Flynn and closed it behind them, inhaling the crisp night air, allowing it to cool her body and her runaway hormones.

Pines and leafy bushes that had survived winter’s frost surrounded the porch. Concrete steps led down to a postage-stamp-size yard that was sliced in two sections by a walkway—a cookie-cutter version of every other yard on the block. Across the street, the neighbors still had their Christmas lights up, though the twinkling strands sagged where wind and snowfall had pulled out the staples.

The snow had stopped but the smell of rain was in the air. Cold bit at her cheeks, but her insides were burning.

She turned and gazed at Flynn’s tie. It wasn’t like her to feel shy, but she suddenly did. “You’re awfully dressed up.”

“I had a meeting with a new client.”

“Not at a job site, I take it?”

“Sort of. It’s a house over in New Brunswick. A remodel of a Victorian built in the early 1900s.”

His breath ballooned in front of him, warming her cheeks. “I thought Ula Mae said you did commercial architecture.” Ula Mae seemed to know everyone and everything going on in the state of New Jersey. And she was more than happy to pass it along. Since Darcie saw a lot of the older woman—mostly when they were discussing investments or insurance over an espresso at Hardware and Muffins —she usually got an earful of tidbits about the people in the community.

“I do both,” Flynn said, his dimples flashing a sexy warning. “What else does Ula Mae say about me?”

For the life of her, Darcie couldn’t come up with a witty quip. His utter charm and good looks snagged her, held her. “Uh, plenty.”

His grin widened. “Shall we see if I measure up?”

“That’s not…” Necessary, she finished silently.

Slowly, purposefully, he pulled her to him. Her heart slammed against her chest as he molded her body to his.

She knew exactly how this man measured up.

Desire raged like a flash point fire. Her belly wasn’t yet so big that she couldn’t feel his erection against the vee of her thighs.

“What have you got under that coat?”

His question brought reality crashing around her, nearly making her faint. She stared at his lips, then his eyes. Why couldn’t he have just kissed her and asked questions later?

Time had just run out.

“Uh, there’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you.”

His lips touched hers, and she groaned. The fire between them was still as strong as ever. And she needed to be strong. She eased back.

“I’m…uh, pregnant.”

For what seemed like endless moments, he simply stared at her, his expression utterly blank. Then his forehead pleated and his body went rigid as he visibly struggled to process what she had said. “You’re…?”

“I’m going to have your baby.”

Flynn leaped back, stunned, needing to sit before he fell. “You’re having my…” My God, he couldn’t even finish the sentence. He’d need those Daddy Club meetings more than ever now, he thought stupidly.

“I didn’t mean to catch you off guard.”

He didn’t know whether to laugh or strangle her. He stared at the front of her coat, realizing now why she’d kept the baggy thing on.

A baby? His? What had he been thinking that night? He was a man who cherished family, had always wanted a big one—despite the ineptness he was currently displaying with the one he had—but he was normally more careful with a woman. Protected her.

“Let me see.”

Darcie suddenly felt embarrassed. With trembling fingers, she slipped the buttons through their loops, spread the panels, felt her heart gallop out of control as he eased away from the porch wall and came toward her, never taking his eyes off her belly.

At only five months along, she wasn’t hugely pregnant, but there was a definite swell beneath her charcoal jersey-knit tunic.

He reached out as though to touch, then pulled back. “Are you sure—”

Her chin jutted out and she didn’t let him finish his sentence. She didn’t need to. “Am I sure it’s yours?” Offended, hurt, she clenched her teeth. That damned class distinction that had made her feel like a waif at thirteen and again at eighteen rose up to haunt her. She thought she’d outgrown the insecurity. She hadn’t.

She stepped back, took a breath, told herself she would not cry. “You know, why don’t we just forget this whole thing, okay? We’ll just deal with getting Heather to go home with you and that will be that.”

“Darcie…” He reached for her.

She slapped his hand away. “I might have given you the wrong impression that night in Philly when I hopped right into bed with you, but I’m not like that. I’m not loose.”

“Ah, damn it.” This time he evaded her swatting hands, and cupped her face. “I know you’re not.”

“How? You don’t know me.”

“Instincts, then.” His thumbs massaged her temples.

She sniffed, mortified that the tears had slipped down her cheeks despite her strict efforts to hold them back. He should be hurling questions at her, yet instead he gave her tenderness.

“Your instincts are awful,” she said, not even knowing why she said it. Nothing made sense right now.