Mira Kelly - Waking Up Pregnant

“Charlie Litsky, this is Darcy—” And there it was, the glaring reminder he didn’t even know her last name. Right. Moving on. “Darcy, Charlie,” he said, leading them back to the private bathroom in the far corner of the office.

“Why don’t I take this?” he said, relieving a sallow-cheeked Darcy of the trash can at the door. “Before you leave today, I’ll give you Charlie’s contact information. If you need to get ahold of me, or anything else, he’ll be able to help you.”

But then Charlie produced a card of his own, already inked in with a private mobile number. The man was worth his weight in gold. Proven even more so, when they excused themselves to leave Darcy at the bathroom and Charlie eyed the trash Jeff was holding at arm’s length.

“Can I take that for you?”

Jeff blew out a humorless laugh. More than anything he wanted to say yes. But whatever the actual protocol for vomit in the office was, Jeff couldn’t stick this with someone else.

Holding out a hand for the liners instead, he shook his head. “This is my mess. Think I’d better be the one to clean it up.”

* * *

Darcy Penn glared into the mirror in front of her, scrubbing the foul taste off her teeth and tongue with a vigor fueled by humiliation and outrage. One that wasn’t going to get her anything but gums that wouldn’t grow back if she didn’t ease up a little.

The nerve.

He’d referred to her as “his mess.” And offered his assistant’s number in case she needed to get ahold of him.

What an ass.

And to think she’d been afraid of seeing him again. Worried she’d find herself susceptible to the same judgment-obliterating spell she’d fallen under that last night in Vegas when she’d found this guy so unbelievably compelling, she’d essentially broken every rule she had, just for a few hours with him. Anxious the man whose easy charm and demanding kisses infiltrated her dreams with nightmarish frequency would be as irresistible as she remembered him. And once again, he’d tempt her toward the kind of destructive fantasies she’d made it her life’s mission to avoid.

Nope. Whatever freaky mojo he’d been working back in Vegas wasn’t in play today.

Not even a little.

Well fine, maybe a little.

There’d been an instant when Jeff opened his office door and she’d seen something hot in his eyes—but that was before she’d lunged past him making a practiced grab for the nearest garbage. Before the horror replaced the heat. And all the walls she’d suspected were there from the start slammed into place.

Now not even a little.

Which was good. Because her plate was more than full enough with this serving-for-two fate had dished her without having to worry about some weird chemistry snaking through the air between them. It distracted her with a momentary feel-good buzz she was too much of a realist to think might actually last, when she needed to focus on working out the details that would impact not just the rest of her life, but her child’s, as well.

Their child’s.

Her frenetic brushing slowed and she spit the paste.

God, what was he going to want? The mess cleaning reference didn’t exactly suggest an instant, joyfully embraced, paternal connection. And how she felt about that...she didn’t know.

On the one hand, her child would be lucky to have the kind of emotional security afforded by two parents who wanted it. But on the other, did either she or her baby really need to be tied to some overgrown kid who, by all appearances, didn’t know the meaning of the word no? The man had made a desk of some repurposed airplane wing and a conference table from a disassembled jukebox topped in glass, for crying out loud. Essentially turning his workspace into a playground filled with the toys of a boy’s heart.

And, yes, that boyish, world-on-a-string mentality packaged within a rugged all-man’s body may have held some appeal when she first encountered it in Vegas. He’d known how to laugh. How to grab life with both hands and live in the moment without overanalyzing every move he made, without weighing every decision. And for a few incredible hours he’d shown her how to do the same.

But now, as that same mentality applied to the father of her child and with her body as exhibit A as one of the consequences to that just for fun mindset?

She let out a slow breath. Reached for the mouthwash, went for a bracing swish and spit.

Not so much.

Darcy placed a hand over her still flat belly, her emotions caught in a tug-of-war between awe over the precious life within her and resentment directed at herself. Disappointment. Frustration.

She’d known better. She’d spent years saying no to every temptation, because she’d had no one to count on but herself. No net to fall back in. No desire to allow herself to be trapped the way her mother had been.

She’d always been so relentlessly careful.

So how was it, this time, this one night, this guy...she’d said yes?

TWO

Three months earlier...

And here he’d thought he might be bored.

Within the swank Vegas lounge, Jeff Norton folded his arms over the tabletop, leaning forward in what had turned out to be a ringside seat for the crash-and-burn All-Stars playing out before him as a table of guys tried to score on the leggy blonde who’d just served him his Scotch.

He couldn’t believe the one kid was throwing her a line after the world-class freeze she’d laid on the last chump. And his friends were encouraging him. Forget that on the hot scale, this woman ranked so far out of the kid’s league, they weren’t even on the same planet, let alone page. But hadn’t they seen her eyes? The flat, wholly uninviting, all-business expression leaving zero wiggle room for misinterpretation: not interested. Period.

Probably not. These guys had a just legal look about them, which, coupled with their collection of empties lined up like trophies on the table, and the frequent “Vegas, baby!” fist pumps suggested they hadn’t made it past the admittedly dynamite body before their brains blew out.

Live and learn, boys.

Thirty seconds later, the kid was taking a round of conciliatory back slaps from his cohorts and Jeff was back to waiting for Connor. His best friend fresh off a broken engagement and the reason behind this “guys’ weekend” in Sin City.

Where the hell was he anyway?

Checking his texts, Jeff cursed seeing it was going to be at least another hour.

Screw it. He wasn’t interested in watching guys, age twenty-one to ninety-three line up to strike out while Connor wrapped his call with Hong Kong. Flagging another server, he handed her his still full drink then pulled out a few bills for the table.

He was halfway to the door when feminine laughter, rich and warm, spilled down the hall beside the bar. The full-bodied sound of it snared his senses and had him cranking his head around to catch a glimpse of the source.

He stopped dead, his eyes locking on the silky blond ponytail streaming over one shoulder. The legs. The hourglass curves, and finally the softest, warmest, twinkling gray eyes he’d ever seen, crinkled at the edges as his cocktail waitress peered up at the ceiling laughing at whatever it was the shorter, redheaded server adjusting her shoe had said.

Gone was that untouchable, unattainable, disinterested, cold set of attractive features. And in their place was this woman.

No way.

And no wonder she’d kept that laugh under wraps. She could barely make it across the lounge as it was without some bozo putting a move on her. If anyone saw her like this...

Well, hell, their thinking would probably follow the same as his.

How do I get her to laugh like that for me?

They’d never leave her alone.