Their Accidental Baby. Hannah Bernard
thin? Slim? Slender? All those were positive, alluring, sexy. Scrawny, on the other hand, was not sexy. It conjured up images of famine victims or stray cats, and she wasn’t quite that far gone. Yet.
So that was it. He liked his women voluptuous. No wonder she hadn’t received any of those sexy smiles. “I can make it,” she grumbled, and conquered another step, just to show him.
“At least let me carry your briefcase for you. It looks heavy.”
“Okay. Thanks,” she added grudgingly, as she handed him her black leather briefcase. It had been brand-new when she started at the firm, but it wasn’t surprising that it was already showing signs of wear. “Be careful, though. The weight of the world is in there.”
It did indeed feel like the weight of the world was in her briefcase. She wasn’t quite sure how a rookie like herself ended up assigned to all the difficult custody cases the firm handled, but they were interfering with her sleep and her peace of mind, and she badly needed both. In many cases, these were no-win situations, with the children as the biggest victims.
Sometimes she really hated her dream job.
Justin took her briefcase, and for a second, she actually felt better. Step by step, she made it to the second floor, with Justin following quietly. Fatigue returned with a vengeance then, and she slid down to sit on the top step, desperate for just a few minutes to gather her strength. She rested her head on her knees and groaned, embarrassed to be showing such weakness in front of Justin. But she really was running on empty. “I’ll just rest for a minute, Justin. If you go on up ahead and leave the briefcase by my front door, that’ll be great.”
A curse exploded out of Justin’s mouth. He leaned over her, dumped the briefcase in her arms and scooped her up. She opened her mouth to protest and stiffened in an effort to get out of his arms, but he had carried her the rest of the way before she could even get a word out. “Yes, definitely scrawny,” he repeated under his breath. “You weigh next to nothing. No wonder you have no energy.”
Laura would have protested, but she couldn’t. Mostly because the body contact jolted all air out of her, and replaced it with liquid fire at being pressed against him. He smelled far, far too good.
Starvation did funny things to your body chemistry.
“Keys,” he barked, as he was standing at her front door, not even breathing hard from the exertion. He wasn’t looking like he would be putting her down any time soon, either. “What are you trying to do to yourself, Laura? You have to know your own limits or you’ll make yourself sick.”
Mr. Protective, wasn’t he? Should she be calling him Mr. Mom? “Let me down,” she mumbled into his neck. Later, she’d be indignant over his interference. Right now, she was too busy being mortified over the surge of lust that had assailed her as soon as he’d taken her into his arms. The things exhaustion and hunger did to your brain. Short-circuited all the sensible centers and made you lust after men you had no business—or time—to lust after.
He was warm. Solid. Still smelled of leather, even though he wasn’t wearing his jacket anymore. What she really wanted to do was to put her arms around his neck and cuddle closer, preferably fall asleep right there, and then, when she woke up, things could get interesting.
There was no denying it. Her latent crush on her neighbor, almost forgotten in the hectic first months of her new job, had resurfaced in full force.
“Well?” Justin asked impatiently.
She surfaced from her rumination to realize he still hadn’t put her down. She squirmed a bit, but stopped since it just reminded her tired body of where it was and with whom. “Justin, let me down. My keys are in the briefcase, I need to get them out.”
A sense of loss ambushed her when he did as she asked, dropped her to her feet and stepped away. She cursed herself as she got her keys from the briefcase. Home, sweet home, just inches away. She should be thinking of the comfort of her home, not the comfort of Justin’s arms. She should be thinking of sliding under the covers of her bed—alone.
As the key finally slid into the lock—it only took four attempts—she looked up at him and tried for a smile. She was too tired for a confrontation over his bossy behavior. And he’d meant well, probably. Actually, she realized, he hadn’t done anything wrong. It wasn’t his fault there was a voice screaming inside her head, telling her to grab the front of his shirt and yank him inside with her. “Thanks for your help, Justin. I would have made it up here by myself eventually, but thanks, anyway.”
He grabbed her arm, preventing her from entering her apartment. “Is there someone you can call? Someone to stay with you? You don’t seem to be in any condition to be alone right now.”
“I’ll be fine. Really, there’s no need to worry about me. Thanks.” She slipped her arm from his grasp and escaped inside, shutting the door behind her. The briefcase fell forgotten to the floor as she leaned against the door, eyes closed. After a moment she heard Justin’s footsteps retreat, and then the sound of his own door closing.
She contemplated just dropping down on the floor for a nap instead of trying anything more ambitious tonight. The instruments of torture known as high-heeled shoes continued to squeeze her feet, and her shirt stuck to her back. She needed a shower, a change of clothes, food and sleep, in that order, but right now, a weekend spent curled up right there on tiles that hadn’t seen soap and water in too many weeks didn’t sound too bad.
Two seconds later adrenaline flooded her system, abolishing the exhaustion as surely as a whole weekend of sleep.
There was someone inside her apartment.
Laura snatched the briefcase up off the floor and held it in front of her as a shiny leather shield, standing immobile in a defensive posture as she stared in the direction of the sound.
The noise had come from her bedroom. Heart racing, she tiptoed closer—no mean feat in those shoes—and stuck her head out into the open space between the living room, the bedroom and the entrance. She couldn’t see anything. The bedroom door was half-closed.
She held herself still, trying to think despite the panic. Had she left that door half-closed this morning? Her head started to hurt as she tried to dig up details of the hectic morning. She couldn’t remember. Barely breathing, she looked in the other direction, toward the living room. Nothing out of the ordinary there. Nothing seemed to have been taken.
But she’d definitely heard something.
She couldn’t hear anything now, but that might be due to the blood pounding in her ears, a combination of fear and rage, bludgeoning its way through the numbing exhaustion. She was a private person; the thought of someone entering her home without permission, rummaging through her belongings, was abhorrent, more horrible than the thought of them actually stealing her few valuables.
Fear and rage battled for a few moments, and fear won. It made no sense to confront the burglars. She should escape while she could, call the police from a neighbor’s apartment, and let them deal with it, even if it meant that the thugs would have time to get away. There was no other choice. Under normal circumstances she wouldn’t stand a chance of overpowering a man on her own, and in her current condition, probably not even if he actively cooperated.
Still clutching her leather shield, Laura had almost backed all the way out the front door, when she heard the low sound coming from her bedroom a second time. She paused, listening hard. The noise was difficult to define. It wasn’t anything breaking, not a grunt from someone trying to lift her computer out of the window, not a voice, not even footsteps. Just a…sound.
She hesitated, remembering the last time she’d thought there was a burglar in the place. She’d shot out of there and attacked Justin’s door screaming until he had opened it, then wrapped herself around him, trembling and stuttering, overcome with terror. At the time he’d just moved in next door, and as first impressions went, this one must have been…unique.
He’d been nice, she grudgingly admitted. Patronizing, yes, but helpful and polite. He’d managed to disentangle