Just A Little Bit Pregnant. Eileen Wilks
“We Need To Talk,” Tom Rasmussin Said. Letter to Reader Title Page About the Author Dedication Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six Chapter Seven Chapter Eight Chapter Nine Chapter Ten Chapter Eleven Chapter Twelve Epilogue Teaser chapter Copyright
“We Need To Talk,” Tom Rasmussin Said.
Jacy James walked toward him. His gaze slid to her belly. It looked flat still. He had a sudden, visceral memory of her. Oh, yes, he did want her, wanted to touch her one more time, wanted the thrill and insanity of losing himself in her. He’d never experienced fire like hers before that night, their one night together.
She damned sure didn’t look like a mother-to-be. But she was carrying his baby.
He took a ragged breath, fighting back the welling emotion. “I want to do the right thing, Jacy.”
“Good. That’s good.” She even smiled.
“You want to also, don’t you?”
“Of course.” The smile tilted into a frown.
“All right, then, will you marry me?”
Dear Reader,
Where do you read Silhouette Desire? Sitting in your favorite chair? How about standing in line at the market or swinging in the sunporch hammock? Or do you hold out the entire day, waiting for all your distractions to dissolve around you, only to open a Desire novel once you’re in a relaxing bath or resting against your softest pillow...? Wherever you indulge in Silhouette Desire, we know you do so with anticipation, and that’s why we bring you the absolute best in romance fiction.
This month, look forward to talented Jennifer Greene’s
A Baby in His In-Box, where a sexy tutor gives March’s
MAN OF THE MONTH private lessons on sudden fatherhood. And in the second adorable tale of Elizabeth Bevarly’s BLAME IT ON BOB series, Beauty and the Brain, a lady discovers she’s still starry-eyed over her secret high school crush. Next, Susan Crosby takes readers on The Great Wife Search in Bride Candidate #9.
And don’t miss a single kiss delivered by these delectable men: a roguish rancher in Amy J. Fetzer’s The Unlikely Bodyguard; the strong, silent corporate hunk in the latest book in the RIGHT BRIDE, WRONG GROOM series, Switched at the Altar, by Metsy Hingle; and Eileen Wilks’s mouthwatering honorable Texas hero in Just a Little Bit Pregnant.
So, no matter where you read, I know what you’ll be reading—all six of March’s irresistible Silhouette Desire love stories!
Regards,
Melissa Senate
Senior Editor Silhouette Desire
Please address questions and book requests to:
Silhouette Reader Service
U.S.- 3010 Walden Ave., PO. Box 1325, Buffalo. NY 14269
Canadian: P.O. Box 609. Fort Erie. Ont. L2A 5X3
Just a Little Bit Pregnant
Eileen Wilks
EILEEN WILKS
is a fifth-generation Texan. Her great-great-grandmother came to Texas in a covered wagon shortly after the end of the Civil War—excuse us; the War Between the States. But she’s not a full-blooded Texan. Right after another war, her Texan father fell for a Yankee woman. This obviously mismatched pair proceeded to travel to nine cities in three countries in the first twenty years of their marriage, raising two kids and innumerable dogs and cats along the way. For the next twenty years they stayed put, back home in Texas again—and still together.
Eileen figures her professional career matches her nomadic upbringing, since she tried everything from drafting to a brief stint as a ranch hand—raising two children and any number of cats and dogs along the way. Not until she started writing did she “stay put,” because that’s when she knew she’d come home. Readers can write to Eileen at P.O. Box 4612, Midland, TX 79704-4612.
This book is for my friend Gayle,
whose support has meant so much to me. It’s also for the people of Houston, a wonderful, sprawling megalopolis of a city as vital as it is varied. I hope they will overlook the small liberties I’ve taken with my fictional version of their city.
One
The woman sitting across from Dr. Nordstrom didn’t fit in his pleasant pastel office.
He’d redecorated after buying the practice last winter. Studies had shown that patients found white cold and clinical, so the decorator had used pale peach for the walls, with muted blues and greens for the carpet and accents—colors intended to soothe anxious patients.
Dr. Nordstrom doubted that Jacinta Caitlin James’s presence had ever soothed anyone. Particularly anyone male.
She was too vivid, for one thing, in her crimson top and her gauzy skirt splashed with tropical flowers. She was too exotic, with her Gypsy’s hair, her tip-tilted eyes and full breasts.
She was also suddenly too pale. Much too pale.
“Ms. James?” he said. “Ms. James, are you all right?”
Jacy’s name echoed hollowly in her ears, as if the doctor were calling her from the other end of a long tunnel. “I’m fine,” she said automatically. In defiance of the darkness lapping at the edges of her vision, she pushed to her feet.
“Please sit down, put your head between—”
“I’m