Yes.
No!
Ah, hell.
She gently caressed his shoulders. He knew he should stop her, but instead he sank into it, his body needing her touch. She slid her hands down his arms, past the sleeves of his T-shirt. Goose flesh prickled in the wake of her touch, at the feel of skin on skin—her hands on his bare skin.
As she slid her hands around his waist and pressed her body to his, he closed his eyes and leaned his head back, letting her warmth soothe him, allowing it to melt his better judgment.
He wasn’t drunk, though he might have been lightly lubricated. He knew what he was doing by letting her touch him like this. But did she?
“Lucy—”
“Shhhh.” She leaned in and the heat of her sweet breath on his neck made him forget what he was going to say.
“Zane, we can’t wait for someday. All those things we’ve always wanted to do...” Those lips were kissing his neck now and every inch of his body was responding. “We need to do them. Right now.”
Somehow, she’d smoothly maneuvered so that she was standing in front of him, her back to the window, her arms around his waist. Maybe it was wishful thinking, but her eyes looked as clear and alert as they had when she’d first arrived. She’d had only one shot of bourbon and had spilled most of the second one he’d poured for her.
“Zane, I won’t break if you touch me.”
When he hesitated, she whispered, “I want you to touch me.”
He put his arms around her and she slid her hands down to his butt, pulling him in so that his body aligned with hers. There was no way she wasn’t feeling how much he wanted her.
His lips were a fraction of an inch from hers. He rested his forehead on hers.
“Lucy, I don’t want you to regret this. I don’t want you to think I got you drunk and took advantage of you.”
“You didn’t. I know exactly what I’m doing, exactly what we’re about to do. I’ve wanted this for so long. I think you want me, too, Zane. Don’t you?”
If you only knew.
His mouth found hers and he showed her exactly how much he wanted her.
Six weeks later
Peeing on a stick was not supposed to be this complicated, but Lucy had found nothing easy about the task—especially when it kept giving her the result she did not want to see.
Her hand shook as she tossed aside the seventh stick that showed a positive result.
No! No! No! This was not happening. This couldn’t be right. She could not be pregnant. But a little voice inside her told her that the odds of seven wrong results were slim to none. Her hands shook even more as she pressed the pump on the top of the liquid soap and turned on the warm water to wash up.
She stared at herself in the mirror as she rubbed her hands together under the warm running water.
She was pregnant.
What was she going to do?
She and Zane had spent one night together. One night. Six weeks ago. While she was well aware that it took only one time to get pregnant, they had used a condom.
How could this happen?
What was she going to say to him?
Lucy turned off the tap and dried her hands on the fluffy pink towel hanging on the rack behind her. The color looked astonishingly bright in contrast to the bathroom’s white tile walls. Then again, all of her senses seemed to be amplified right now. She’d finally bitten the bullet and taken a pregnancy test after living in denial, chalking up what she now knew was morning sickness to food poisoning and the flu—a very, very long bout of the flu. Never mind she was usually as regular as the Fourth of July falling on July 4 every year.
She was certain the only reason she was late was because she’d been under a lot of stress lately. The Campbell Wedding Barn had been booked solid since Southern Living had featured the venue as one of “The Most Beautiful Wedding Barns in the South.” She couldn’t have purchased better advertising. So she had to admit her work stress was good stress. Too bad she couldn’t say the same about her relationship with Zane.
While the air between them since that night wasn’t exactly bad—in fact, they were sickeningly polite to each other—they had agreed that it would never happen again. Zane had been racked with guilt. “It’s not you, Luce, it’s me,” he’d said. “It was wonderful, but I care about you too much for it to happen again. I don’t want sex to ruin our friendship.”
Umm...okay.
Not quite the morning-after talk she’d been dreaming of writing in her diary all these years. It was confusing and hurtful. At first, Lucy wasn’t sure if it was his polite way of giving her the brush-off, but then he’d told her he was seriously pursuing job opportunities outside of Celebration. Rumor had it that a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity at a ranch in Ocala, Florida, was about to become available soon—literally, people stayed in those positions for life. So they were rare. He’d already sent in his résumé. There and to several other ranches that weren’t in Florida. Because of that, he’d decided it was in their best interests if they just remained friends.
After she had gotten past the first few stinging moments of him dropping the it’s-not-you-it’s-me bombshell, he had reverted to acting like his old self again. Lucy had too much pride to let him know that their one night together had been simultaneously the best and worst thing that had ever happened to her. Although, for one insane moment, she had seriously considered countering with a friends-with-benefits offer—because even though her sexual experience wasn’t vast—OMG—she knew a good thing when she, umm...experienced it. And that night with Zane had been that good. Out-of-this-world good. Ruin-you-for-others good. Total justification for a friends-with-bennies relationship, because now that she’d had a taste of Zane, she was starving for more.
But then hard, cold reality set in. Lucy knew herself well enough to realize she’d never be content with something so casual when she was in love with him.
Yep. She loved him.
But he didn’t love her.
It was hard to wrap her mind around his saying that he cared about her too much for it to happen again. He promised he had enjoyed it. He’d even gone so far as to say it was his best ever and that was why they needed to keep things platonic.
Umm... It sounded like an oxymoron if she’d ever heard one. It was so good; I never want to sleep with you again.
That did not make one bit of sense.
Of course, she’d been upset and that was when he’d told her that he was one-hundred-percent certain that he was leaving Celebration and he would never ask her to give up her business to follow him and there was something about long-distance relationships not making sense. So they needed to be friends.
Now it had gone from friends-with-benefits to friends-with-a-baby.
How in the world was she going to tell him she was pregnant?
She’d been in love with Zane Phillips for as long as she could remember. And, yes, she might have had a daydream or two about having his babies, but she never would’ve gotten pregnant on purpose.
She covered her face with her hands and hoped that he wouldn’t think she’d tried to trap him. When her hands fell, she stared at her pale face in the mirror.
He was going to think it was history repeating itself. And not in a good way.
It was no secret