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“Then you should be doubly grateful the Gunnersons sent me over here,” he said solemnly, handing her the flowers so he could pick up the rest of the bags to carry into her apartment.

Her heart gave a little jolt inside her chest when she unwrapped the dozen long-stemmed red roses mixed with lush greens and starry gypsophila. “These are...gorgeous,” she told him, tracing the edge of a velvety soft petal with the tip of her finger.

“I know you want to pretend this is all about the baby,” he told her. “But it’s not. There’s something going on between us that has nothing to do with the child you’re carrying—or maybe it would be more accurate to say it’s the reason for the child you’re carrying.”

She sighed. “I really just want to focus on what’s best for the baby right now.”

“You don’t think having two parents who are together would be the best thing for our baby?”

“I think a lot of things can happen in nine months and we should just take things one day at a time.”

“Fair enough,” he said, and began to unpack the food.

“How many people were you planning to feed?” she asked, when she saw the number of containers on the table.

“I wasn’t sure what you liked, so I got manicotti, lasagna, fettuccine Alfredo, and penne with sausage and peppers. Plus salad, garlic bread and dessert, because you’re eating for two now.”

“That’s a myth,” she told him, as she snipped the stems of the flowers. “A pregnant woman only needs about three hundred additional calories a day. Too much weight gain during pregnancy can increase her risk of gestational diabetes, high blood pressure and caesarean delivery.”

“I was teasing, Avery,” he said patiently. “Believe it or not, I did learn some things during my obstetrics rotation in medical school.” He found plates and cutlery and carried them to the table. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m okay. Tired, but that’s common in the first trimester.”

“Any morning sickness?”

She carried the vase to the table and placed it at the center. “Rarely, and not usually in the morning.”

“Have you been to see a doctor?” He held her chair for her to be seated.

“I see doctors every day,” she assured him.

“You know what I mean,” he chided, settling into the chair beside hers.

She nodded. “Yes, I’ve seen Dr. Herschel.”

“And she doesn’t have any concerns about anything?”

“He,” Avery told him, lifting a manicotti onto her plate. “Dr. Richard Herschel.”

He frowned at that as he reached for the lasagna. “Why did you pick a male doctor?”

“Because he was highly recommended. In fact, he delivered Amy and Ben’s son, Henry.”

“Is Dr. Herschel at least old and bald?”

She tapped her chin with a finger as she considered the question. “I’d guess early forties, curly blond hair, blue eyes, great bedside manner.”

His scowl deepened.

She laughed as she added a slice of garlic bread to her plate. “Even if I did date doctors—which I don’t,” she reminded him, “Dr. Herschel is happily married with four kids.”

“You could have mentioned that at the beginning.”

“I could have,” she agreed. Then she said, “I had a consult in the ER this morning, and I saw Heather’s name on the schedule.”

He nodded. “She was there.”

“She didn’t invite you to celebrate Valentine’s Day with her tonight?”

“She did,” he admitted. “And I told her I had other plans. I was tempted to tell her that I was going to be with you, but I wasn’t sure how you’d feel about that.”

“I’d rather not be the hot topic of conversation at the nurses’ station tomorrow.”

“You do know that people are eventually going to find out that you’re pregnant—and that I’m the father.”

“Eventually,” she acknowledged. “But I don’t want to tell anyone else about the baby until I’m past the first trimester.”

He nodded. “Will you come to dinner with me at my parents’ house next Saturday?”

“Were you listening to anything I just said?”

“I heard every word,” he assured her. “I’m not suggesting that we tell my parents next weekend—I just want them to meet you, to get to know you before they know that you’re going to be the mother of my child.”

“You want to pretend we’re in a relationship,” she realized. “You don’t want them to find out about the baby and then have to explain that we had a quickie in a closet.”

“I don’t want to pretend anything,” he denied. “I want to give us the chance to actually build a relationship.”

She stood up from the table and began clearing away the dishes. “We had this conversation already,” she reminded him.

“Actually, we didn’t, because you said we weren’t ready to have the conversation.”

“And I’m still not ready.”

“I’m not asking for anything more than one day at a time,” he told her. “And I don’t think wanting you to meet my parents—our baby’s grandparents—is unreasonable.”

She nodded. “You’re right, it’s not.”

“Then you’ll come to dinner next Saturday?”

“Don’t you think you should clear it with your parents first?”

He waved a hand dismissively. “I’ll let them know, but it won’t be a problem. My mother always cooks more than enough food.”

“Okay,” she relented. “I’ll go to dinner next Saturday.”

“Good.” After they finished their dessert, he helped her tidy up the kitchen.

“Thank you for tonight,” she said, as she walked him to the door. “I was planning on leftovers when I got home—this was better.”

“I thought so, too.” He settled his hands on her hips and drew her toward him.

She put her hands on his chest, determined to hold him at a distance. “What are you doing?”

“I’m going to kiss you goodbye.”

“No, you’re not,” she said, a slight note of panic in her voice.

“It’s just a kiss, Avery.” He held her gaze as his hand slid up her back to the nape of her neck. “And hardly our first.”

Then he lowered his head slowly, the focused intensity of those green eyes holding her captive as his mouth settled on hers. Warm and firm and deliciously intoxicating. Her own eyes drifted shut as a soft sigh whispered between her lips.

He kept the kiss gentle, patiently coaxing a response. She wanted to resist, but she had no defenses against the masterful seduction of his mouth. She arched against him, opened for him. And the first touch of his tongue to hers was like a lit match to a candlewick—suddenly she was on fire, burning with desire.

It was like New Year’s Eve all over again, but this time she didn’t even have the excuse of adrenaline pulsing through her system. This time, it was all about Justin.

Or maybe it was the pregnancy.

Yes, that made sense. Her system was flooded with hormones as a result of the pregnancy, a common side effect of which was increased arousal. It wasn’t that she was pathetically weak or even that he was so temptingly irresistible. It wasn’t about Justin at all—it was a basic chemical reaction that was overriding her common sense and self-respect. Because even though she knew that he was wrong for her in so many ways, being with him, being in his arms, felt so right.

She pulled him closer, so that her breasts were crushed against his chest, but still it wasn’t close enough. She wanted to tear away her clothes and his, so that there was nothing between them. She wanted to feel his warm, naked skin against hers; she wanted to feel his hard, sexy body intimately joined with hers.

It was almost as if he could read her mind, because he slid a hard thigh between hers, the exquisite friction dragging a low, desperate moan from deep in her throat. Her fingers curled in the fabric of his shirt, holding on to him, as she rocked her hips against his, silently begging for more. He pressed into her, the hard evidence of his arousal sending happy little sparks dancing through her system.

“You make me crazy,” he said, muttering the words against her lips.

“I’m feeling pretty crazy right now, too,” she admitted.

“Which is precisely why I need to go.”

“Go?” she echoed, confused—and more than a little hurt—by his sudden withdrawal.

He nodded.

“What was this?” She gestured between them. “Just a quick demonstration of how easily you can turn a woman on? How easily you can turn
me
on?”

He rubbed his thumb over her bottom lip, swollen from his kiss. “Do you think you’re the only one turned on?” he asked her. “I want you so badly I ache.”

“Then why did you stop?” she demanded.

“Not because I don’t want to make love with you,” he assured her. “Because I want you to realize and accept that I want more than a few stolen hours with you. I don’t want you to wake up in the morning and justify your actions on the basis that it was Valentine’s Day and you were feeling lonely, and then push me away again because you’re angry with yourself for giving in to the attraction between us.”

“I wouldn’t do that,” she denied. Then, in response to his skeptical look she added, “Probably not.”

“This way we’ll be sure,” he said, and brushed his lips against hers again. “Good night, Avery.”

Chapter Ten

A
very didn’t like to call Amy at home because she never knew when Henry might be napping—or when Henry’s parents might be taking advantage of the fact that their little guy was napping. Instead, she sent her friend a brief and concise text message.

Help.

Amy immediately called her. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m sorry—I didn’t mean to make it sound urgent, like I was trapped in the back of a closet with a knife-wielding maniac outside the door.”

“There’s no knife-wielding maniac?” Amy asked, sounding just a little disappointed.

“No,” Avery assured her. “Although I do feel like I’m trapped by my closet.”

“Why?”

“Justin’s taking me to meet his parents and I have nothing to wear.”

“You’re going to meet his parents?” Amy sounded intrigued. “That’s an interesting turn of events.”

Avery continued to push hangers on her closet rod, shaking her head. “I don’t know why I agreed to this. I don’t know what I was thinking. And I have no idea what to wear. Are pants too casual? Is a skirt and jacket too businesslike?”

“How about a dress? Something informal but pretty.”

“Informal but pretty?” Avery echoed, shaking her head. “I don’t own anything like that.”

“I’ll be over in fifteen minutes.”

“You don’t have to come over—I just need you to talk me out of my insanity.”

“More easily done in person,” Amy said.

“But it’s Saturday, and I’m sure you’re busy with Ben and Henry.”

“It’s good for Ben to be busy with Henry sometimes,” her friend said. “Besides, they’ll both still be here when I get back.”

True to her word, Amy was there in fifteen minutes—with a garment bag and several shoe boxes in hand.

“Because you knew there was nothing appropriate in my closet,” Avery noted.

“I just wanted you to have a few more options,” Amy said.

“I’m not sure anything from your closet will fit me—I’ve got bigger boobs than you do.”

Amy dumped the shoe boxes on the sofa. “Stop bragging and I won’t hold that fact against you.”

“Merely stating the facts.”

“You’ve got longer legs, too,” Amy admitted, unzipping the bag. “You should show them off more.”

“I don’t—” Whatever Avery had intended to say was forgotten when Amy pulled out a deep blue dress. “Oh.”

“This is my favorite,” Amy told her. “And I think the color will look great on you.”

“You must be my fairy godmother.”

Her friend grinned. “Go try it on.”

She did and was pleasantly surprised to find that the garment looked even better on her than it had on the hanger. The dress had a round neckline, cap sleeves and twisted pleating at the waist that added a nice touch of detail.

Amy nodded approvingly. “It’s feminine and flattering without being too much for a casual dinner—and you really do have bigger boobs.”

“Can we talk about shoes instead of boobs?”

“Okay. What size do you wear?”

“An eight.”

“Then we better look at what’s in your closet because your feet are bigger than mine, too.”

They found appropriate footwear to go with the dress, then Amy looked through Avery’s admittedly limited selection of jewelry to help her accessorize. She found a pair of hammered silver hoop earrings and a couple of silver bangle bracelets.

“You have no idea how much I appreciate this,” Avery said. “Not just letting me borrow your dress but being here to distract me so that I didn’t go crazy watching the clock.”

“Happy to help,” Amy said. “Are you okay now?”

“Actually, I feel like I’m going to throw up.”

“Morning sickness?” Amy asked, immediately concerned.

She shook her head. “It’s the thought of meeting Justin’s parents that’s making me feel nauseated. Tell me again why I agreed to this.”

“Because Justin’s parents are your baby’s grandparents,” Amy reminded her gently. “And they’re lovely people.”

“You know them?”

Her friend nodded. “Ellen Garrett is on the hospital board so they attend a lot of functions. She’s an absolutely wonderful lady, and her husband is incredibly charming—not unlike his son.”

“So they’re lovely people who will probably hate me when they find out I’m pregnant with Justin’s baby.”

“Are you telling them tonight?”

“No. Justin wanted them to meet me before we said anything about the baby.”

Her friend glanced at her watch. “And I should get out of here before your boyfriend shows up.”

She rolled her eyes. “You know he’s not my boyfriend.”

“That’s right—you’re not dating, you’re just having a baby together.”

“Thanks for the dress,” Avery said, pointedly ignoring the teasing comment.

Amy kissed her cheek. “Be home by midnight or you’ll turn into a pumpkin.”

* * *

Dinner at his parents’ house wasn’t a big deal. Taking a woman to dinner at his parents’ house, on the other hand, was.

A very big deal.

Justin had tried to downplay the significance of it to Avery, certain she would have refused his invitation if she suspected what it meant—or what his mother would interpret it to mean. But it was important to him that his parents meet her. He wanted them to know her before they found out about the baby. He wanted them to know not just the mother of their future grandchild but the woman who had captivated him from the day he first met her.