Cindi Myers - The Baby Surprise / The Father for Her Son

“Of course, there was no way I could afford a lawyer to defend against the claim, so I started researching the law myself. In the end, I countersued for breach of contract, pointing out that I couldn’t be expected to live in an apartment that was eighteen inches underwater.”

“And you won,” he guessed.

She nodded. “That’s when I decided to go to law school.”

He shifted so that his knees were almost touching the side of her chair. The denim looked faded and worn and a lot softer than the rock-hard muscle that flexed beneath the fabric. Good Lord, just looking at the man’s quads had her heart pounding inside her chest and her fingers itching to touch. Instead, she curled them tighter around the glass.

She finished off her wine and stood up so that the lounger was between them. “And that’s where I met Olivia,” she reminded him—reminding both of them—of her close friendship with the woman who had been his lover and had likely given birth to his child.

“I cared about Olivia,” Zach told her, standing to block her access to the door. “I wouldn’t have been involved with her otherwise. But I wasn’t in love with her, and she wasn’t in love with me.”

She lifted a shoulder. “Your relationship with Olivia really isn’t any of my business.”

“And yet you keep throwing her name out whenever the topic of conversation touches on anything remotely personal, as if you’re deliberately putting up barriers between us.”

“She was one of my best friends.”

“Are you afraid that she would disapprove of my being here?”

She shook her head. “According to the letter you showed me, she wanted you to have the chance to get to know Emma.”

“I’m talking about my being here with you.”

“You’re not here with me,” she denied.

He smiled at that.

“I mean—you’re here and I’m here,” she explained, conscious of the heat suffusing her cheeks. “But we’re not together.”

“What if I want to change that?”

She shook her head again. “I don’t think that would be a good idea.”

He took a step closer. “Well, apparently, we have a difference of opinion.”

She lifted a hand to ward him off and sucked in a breath when her palm came into contact with his bare flesh. He was every bit as solid and warm as he looked, and she wanted—more than anything—to lean closer, to press herself against him, to feel the hard length of his body against hers.

“Zach.” She’d meant to speak his name as a warning. Instead, it sounded like a plea.

He took the empty wineglass from her hand and reached around her to set it back on the table. Then he lifted his hand to her face and gently cupped her cheek. The gesture was so unexpected, so tender, she nearly sighed.

“I just want to kiss you,” he said and brushed his thumb over the curve of her bottom lip, slowly, sensuously.

“Definitely not a good idea,” she said, all too aware that the breathless tone of her voice contradicted her words.

“Another difference of opinion,” he said easily, and lowered his mouth to hers.

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