Aimee Carson - That Wild Night - Waking Up Pregnant / The Best Mistake of Her Life

A sigh filtered through the line, and the sultry quality of it curled around his senses, rubbing soft against the places he’d been trying to ignore.

“I was just thinking this little guy is going to have a very different experience growing up than I did. And, I don’t know,” she continued softly. “I was hoping maybe you’d tell me more about what it was like for you. What you’d like it to be like for him.”

Right. More information exchange, because that was the only reason she’d be calling. The only reason he wanted her to call. They’d agreed and for good reason. So yeah.

“How about this,” he said, clearing his throat. “I’ll get in touch tomorrow to set up a block of time when we can talk. Also if there’s anything in particular you’ve got questions about or have on your mind, you can email me and I’ll try to get a response back to you by the next morning. Okay?”

“Um. Sure. Sounds great, Jeff,” she answered simply, but something had changed in her tone. There was no emotional inflection evident whatsoever. “Have a good night.”

“You, too.” He stared at the phone, suddenly on alert. Because he’d heard that total absence of anything in her voice before. In Vegas. When her impassive facade was hiding something she didn’t want seen.

Charlie walked back into the office and within a few keystrokes had a modified timeline up on the big screen. He glanced at Jeff. “Want to go over this before we pick up?”

* * *

Yellow. Box mix. Cake.

The mouthwatering revelation had struck Darcy like a lightning bolt shortly after talking to Jeff.

There’d been a heaviness in her chest after their call because, inexplicably, she’d gotten it in her head that talking to him might snap her out of this strange funk. But she didn’t feel any better. If anything she’d hung up feeling more adrift than she had before.

But what did she really expect. While Jeff definitely made her health and well-being a priority, the guy was busy. He had a life. Commitments to his corporation, his friends and whatever it was he did to fill his time when he wasn’t checking in to make sure her blood pressure was where it should be.

So she’d hung up and sat at the side of her bed, wishing she could muster some enthusiasm for anything. Hating the way she’d lost her appetite completely and how nothing sounded good to her. It had been a full-on pity party the likes of which she never indulged. And then, in a flash, inspiration.

Cake.

Followed by something even more shocking still.

Hunger… Craving.

Next thing, she’d been rifling through the pantry, nearly bursting into tears at the discovery of one single cardboard box in the very back, and the tub of fudge frosting beside it.

Some forty minutes later she was staring down two eight-inch rounds, fresh from the oven, mentally calculating how long before they’d be cool enough to frost and eat. Too long.

“God,” she half moaned, recognizing the near breathless desperation in her own voice. “I want you so bad. ”

The sound of a throat clearing behind her had her jumping back, one hand moving instinctively toward her belly, the other going to her chest.

“Jeff,” she gasped at seeing him in the doorway, tie askew, suit jacket flipped over one arm, shirt a perfect cut for his broad shoulders, looking rugged and powerful and thoroughly entertained with an amused smile tilting his lips. “I thought you had a call. What are you doing here?”

Rubbing a hand over the back of his neck, he nodded toward the counter. “Looking for some cake?”

SURROUNDED BY THE familiar dark wood cabinetry, heated stone floors and wide granite counters of the kitchen he’d spent a significant part of his youth hanging out in—it was with immense satisfaction that Jeff watched Darcy standing at the counter where she frosted the now-cooled cakes, her head tipped back as warm, full-bodied laughter bubbled past her lips.

“Traitor?” She teased, catching her breath. “She’s your mother. And you were the one who finagled me into staying here and working with her. You had to know we’d find some middle ground.”

“She sold out over a trip to some baby boutique? Come on.”

He was crying foul, but seeing Darcy in person, his anxiety about her overdoing it was alleviated. Mostly anyway. And for all the noise he was making, he knew his mom wouldn’t have skipped out for the night if she’d had even a moment’s doubt about how Darcy was doing.

Darcy slid a fat slice of yellow cake layered with some kind of thick fudgy frosting onto a waiting plate.

Man, his mouth watered and he went to the counter, catching himself an instant before he leaned in to drop a kiss at her neck. Which was crazy, because it wasn’t like this sort of domesticity was a habit. But seeing her there, laughing, chatting with him, looking so comfortable in her bare feet—it was like the scene flipped a switch in him and he’d forgotten exactly what they were doing and how it was between them.

Which was, not like that.

He slanted another look at her neck. Bare and long, and hell, with a tiny speck of cake batter along the side to match the few decorating her thin cotton hoodie.

She looked sweet. Tasty.

Because she was. He remembered running his tongue from her collarbone up behind her ear, and how the silky length of her hair had felt in his fingers as he gathered it out of his way.

“You okay?” Darcy asked, a wary look in her eyes.

Except for the way his entire body had gone online in the span of a few seconds, yeah, perfect. “Hungry. For cake.”

Satisfied, she smiled and served him a slice. “Then here you go.”

A smaller slice. Significantly.

“Really?” he asked with an arched brow.

Darcy flashed him a sassy grin and patted her flat stomach. “Eating for two. And since this is the only thing I’ve actually wanted in as long as I can remember.” She looked down at her slice with a covetous intent and put on a growling brogue as she muttered, “Get in my belly.”

Jeff blinked, not believing he’d just heard her quote an Austin Powers movie. He let out a hard laugh as she enthusiastically swept up her plate and went to the table, his little mama-in-the-making diving in without so much as a look his way.

Her lips closed around the fork and she gave up one of those unabashed moans that had his body reacting in a way where the best course of action seemed turning his back to her as he went to the fridge. “Think your belly’s up for a glass of milk?”

Darcy was still sucking the frosting off her fork when he turned to look at her. Rather than just finish the bite, she continued to savor the cake and frosting, turning her fork upside down to suck the tines as she absently nodded at him.

He swallowed, gave himself a firm mental shake and then poured a couple of glasses.

They were drinking milk. And milk and hard-ons didn’t go.

But even without the dairy, he shouldn’t be thinking about Darcy like that. Because he wasn’t ever going to be with Darcy that way again. Even if his head seemed to be making frequent sojourns to a time when he had, he had enough control to keep his body from following.

The pressure behind his fly told him he was lying to himself, but he threw a mental finger in that southern direction.

There was too much on the line with a child between them to risk emotions gone awry, which meant keeping it platonic.

He couldn’t afford for things to end up the way they had with Margo. After all the years of friendship between them, in the end they could barely stand to be in the same room, let alone carry on a civilized conversation.