The Pregnancy Surprise

He didn’t want to argue with her, but it seemed less like a date if he let her pay even a small amount. Maybe that was her true purpose. Maybe she wanted to subtly let him know that just because they’d shared dinner, he shouldn’t have any expectations.

Of course he didn’t. Sara was as friendly as a puppy, but that didn’t mean she had any designs on—or interest in—his person.

When they returned to the B and B, they went immediately to the kitchen, where Reece got a taste of just how much work a gourmet breakfast required. Sara had made it look easy—almost effortless—in the past as she’d delivered plate after plate to the dining room. But Reece had never ventured into the kitchen during the preparations.

First Sara made up the dough for two loaves of bread.

“It’s quick bread,” she explained, “so it doesn’t require a lot of rising time.” She popped it into the oven, then went to work making up the batter for blueberry and cranberry muffins.

He remembered when he was a kid his mom had occasionally made muffins from a box, but this was altogether more complex, with lots of chopping and folding.

Sara let Reece chop nuts—for a few minutes, anyway.

“Good Lord, you’re going to lop off a finger using a knife that way!” She took the knife away from him. “Here, why don’t you whip some eggs for the frittata.”

“The fri-what?”

It turned out “frittata” was just a fancy name for eggs and fresh vegetables, bacon, cheese and spices. When the eggs were whipped, Sara put Reece to work grating cheese, a job he couldn’t mess up too badly except when he grated his knuckles.

She sliced fresh strawberries and added sugar. By now she was out of jobs he could do, so he just watched. Her hands were small, quick and clever. The knife moved so fast it was a blur. Most interesting was her face. As she worked, she wore an expression of such contentment and serenity he thought she looked like an angel.

A mischievous angel, maybe, with that halo of brown curls around her face and the smudge of flour on her cheek.

“The fruit is in case anyone wants cereal or oatmeal, which they usually don’t.”

“Oatmeal?”

She laughed. “Oh, now surely you can make oatmeal. You eat it every morning.”

He shook his head. “Honestly, I don’t cook. Nothing.”

She sighed. “Don’t offer oatmeal, then.”

When they were finally finished, it was close to midnight. They tidied up the kitchen and turned out the light.

The bulb popped just as Sara switched it off, and they were plunged into darkness.

“Oh, hang it, that lightbulb burns out all the time,” Sara said, her voice coming to him soft and velvety in the dark, sending a pleasurable chill up his spine.

“I’ll change it tomorrow morning,” Reece said. “Let’s not worry about it now.”

“Yeah, but what happened to the lamp in the living room? It’s on a timer, and it always comes on at night.”

“I’ll check it tomorrow, too.” But for now he would enjoy the darkness. It seemed so…sexy.

“But I can’t see.”

“Hold on to me. I can see well enough.” As his eyes adjusted, he could make out the outlines of furniture and pictures on the wall.

She grabbed on to his arm. “What are you, a bat? It’s pitch-dark in here.”

“Men have better night vision than women. On average,” he added as they made their way slowly through the dining room to the living room. After hours of feeling like an idiot in the kitchen, Reece was pleased to be in charge of something, even if it was only navigating them through a dark house.

“Is that true?” she asked, sounding genuinely curious.

“I read it somewhere. It must be true.”

Halfway up the stairs, light from the upstairs landing illuminated the steps. But Sara didn’t let go of his arm. They’d created a bond, caring for Miss Greer, sharing the adventurous dinner, then working together in the kitchen. He felt close to her in a way he hadn’t felt close to a woman in a long time, and it was nice.

Very, very nice.

They paused in front of Reece’s bedroom door, and she still didn’t let him go. He grabbed the opportunity with both hands.

“Sara, I just want you to know that I admire the way you took care of Miss Greer and volunteered to handle things for her. Not everyone would be that generous.”

She smiled up at him. “Miss Greer has been kind to me. I know she’s a little bit gruff and abrupt, sometimes, but she really does love me like a granddaughter. The B and B is my home, and we take care of each other.”

“What about your family?”

“My parents aren’t exactly the nurturing kind. They’re both military—spit ’n’ polish, no crying allowed, pull yourself up by your bootstraps. I don’t ask them for help and they don’t offer.”

“Where do they live?”

“At MacShane—you know, the army base about fifty miles inland?”

Reece nodded. He’d seen it on a map, but that was about it.

“I’m not a military brat in the usual sense, though,” she said. “They didn’t move around. Both of them spent almost their entire careers at MacShane. Don’t get me wrong, they’re good people and they were good parents. But I’m so different from them. They don’t get me and I don’t get them, but we love each other in our own ways.”

Reece understood growing up with less-than-warm-and-fuzzy parents. His were rigid, also, especially with him. Whatever nurturing instincts they had got used up on his older brother, Bret.

“I don’t exactly get you, either,” he said. “But I think you’re…unique.”

She wrinkled her nose. “Unique? Is that the best you can do, Reece Remington?”

All right, so sweet-talking women had never been his strong suit. He possessed other good qualities. Like kissing. He’d been told he was a very good kisser.

Before he could chicken out, he pulled off his glasses, slipped his arms around her and brought his mouth to hers.

Chapter Three

Sara sank into the kiss, which was like melted butter on a warm biscuit—better than she could have dreamed. His mouth was demanding but somehow gentle as he coaxed her lips open, one hand buried in the hair at the back of her neck, angling her head just how he wanted it.

He teased her upper lip with his tongue, then did the same with her lower lip. She entwined her arms around his neck, at first to draw closer, then to keep from sinking to the floor as her knees turned to jelly and she lost all feeling in her extremities.

The kiss seemed to go on forever as their tongues met and performed a mating dance. It was, hands down, the sexiest, most provocative kiss she’d ever experienced, and she loved it that he didn’t immediately press for more. He didn’t touch her breasts, he didn’t grind his pelvis into hers.

He just kissed her like it was the last kiss either of them would ever have. Oh, God, she hoped not.