“Almost got it. Just have to stretch farther.”
The syllables also stretched, just as she imagined his fingers were doing. Always dramatic. Which was part of his allure...
A cracking sound popped through the night. Portia looked up into the twisted web of branches, her eyes desperately trying to process the image before her. She watched Easton fall out of the black mangrove in what felt like slow motion. He was a silhouetted rush of leaves and flailing limbs, culminating in an echoing thud as he hit the ground. The chorus of nighttime birds stopped as if they too were interested in the doctor’s fate.
Panic filled her veins. Her feet and hands grew numb but she pushed them into motion. Fast.
He didn’t move, and from her distance, she couldn’t see if his chest rose and fell. “Easton!”
His name was a plea and a command to answer all at once. His limbs were splayed out inches from the tree trunk. He’d barely missed landing on the protruding roots. From the muted light, it looked like he had barely avoided impaling himself on a decaying tree limb.
She closed in on him, crouched down to examine him. Thank the Lord, he was breathing. She felt his pulse. It was strong, but he didn’t respond to her touch.
Laying a hand on his shoulder, she gently shook him. Wanting him to be okay. Needing him to be okay. The thought of him hurt sent her mind tumbling into the land of what-if? She’d become adequate at shoving the big what-ifs aside, but with the father of her future child lying unconscious, worst-case scenarios flooded her mind.
What if she didn’t get to tell him about the baby? What if he was in a coma? What if...
What if his eyes—sharp blue as lapis lazuli—opened and he continued to look at her like that? Her wild thoughts halted as she saw his mischievous gaze trace her outline in the dark.
“I’m alright but don’t let that make you move,” he muttered, the right corner of his lips pulling up with sexy confidence.
His dark hair curled around his neck—twigs and branches adorning his head like the crown of some mythical forest prince. A sexy prince at that. Her hand lingered on his wrist, making her recall the night they’d spent together. The way he’d held her. She had carefully avoided his touch since they’d woken up to safety and a return to their normal working relationship—since finding out she carried his baby. Everything felt complicated.
She wanted to bolt away. Pushing her back into the neighboring Florida buttonwood tree, she swallowed hard. She didn’t know how much longer she could keep her job, living in her cabana on the refuge, and hide the truth. There just wasn’t time to save all the money she would need to be independent before the truth became obvious. The panic nearly made her lose her breath, but she pushed it aside as she’d been doing for weeks.
Yes, she would tell him. He deserved to know. But she wanted to get through that initial doctor’s appointment first, and each day gave her more time to organize her thoughts into the best way to balance this scary turn her life had taken.
A turn of events made all the more difficult by the way her body remembered too well the explosive passion they’d shared. Even thinking about that night, with the feel and scent of him so close now, turned her inside out with want.
He rested on his back, watching her with those clear blue eyes as he stroked a loose strand of her hair. “Damn, you’re a pretty woman.”
“Stop. You don’t mean it.” Why had she said that? It was as good as asking for another compliment and she’d sworn to herself she wouldn’t spend her life wrapped up in appearances as her beauty queen mother had.
His gaze held hers and refused to let go. “Don’t I?”
“Maybe you do in your own way. But you’re a flirt. Get your mind on business. How’s the bird?”
Though the movement made him wince, he straightened, sitting up. He had managed to protect the fragile bird during his fall. Easton held it proudly as it nestled into his hand. “Not a mark on him—not from the fall, anyway. We should get back to the clinic and figure out why he’s unable to fly.”
“I’ll drive. Unless you object, but you really shouldn’t,” she couldn’t stop herself from babbling, “since you did just fall from a tree.”
He shrugged, rising slowly to his feet. “Of course you can drive. Why would I have a problem with your driving?”
“Most men prefer to drive.” Her father always had, declaring her mother too airheaded to be trusted behind the wheel. Scrunching her nose at the memory, Portia stood, dusting off the leaves that clung to her pants.
“I’m not most men. And you’re right. I did just fall out of a tree.” He shed more small twigs as they made their way to the sanctuary’s four-door truck.
“Then it’s settled. I’ll take the wheel.” Driving the massive vehicle would allow her some element of control. And damn, did she need that in spades right now.
“You’re a better driver than I am anyway, even when I haven’t backflipped down a few limbs to land on my ass.”
“Okay, seriously, I can’t think of another man on the planet who would admit that.” As her head moved, a strand of her normally perfectly pulled-back hair caught on her eyelash. On instinct, her hand flew upward, folding it back into her ponytail. Back to order.
He grinned roguishly. “Then they must not have my confidence.”
Her eyebrows lifted. “Or arrogance.”
“True.” He slid into the passenger side. “You asked for an appointment with me earlier and then the emergency call came in about the ivory-billed woodpecker. We’ll have some time to talk on the drive back. What did you wish to speak about?”
Telling him about her pregnancy like this? Not at all what she planned. Not at all what she would do. When she told him, it’d be in a calm setting. One of her choosing. Not in the company of a wild, injured animal. Or a wildly sexy, injured man. “This isn’t the time.”
“Why not? Is it that serious? If so, speak up now,” he said firmly, turning to face her. Those blue eyes demanding something of her.
“Let’s take care of business first.” Her lips thinned into a line. Pushing him away. Her mother had depended on a man for everything and then had nothing when that man died bankrupt in prison. Portia had vowed she wouldn’t let herself commit to anyone until she was certain she could stand on her two feet, debt free and independent. She wouldn’t let herself think about how much harder that would be as a single mother.
His eyes narrowed and she could practically see him running through a catalog of possible topics.
“It’s personal?” he asked.
“That’s not what I said.”
“About the night of the tropical storm six weeks ago—” A hungry smile pushed along his mouth.
Damn him for being so intuitive. He had a knack for that. All the more reason for her to be carefully guarded around him.
“Let’s not speak about that now.”
“You haven’t wanted to speak of it since the storm. When are we ever going to talk about it? You’re a determined woman, that’s for certain.”
She knew she couldn’t delay the conversation forever, but right now her stomach was still in turmoil over his fall. And she wanted to go to her first doctor’s appointment to confirm that the pregnancy was on track before turning her whole world upside down.
And yes, she was trying to think of any reason she could to delay, because once she told Easton about his baby, she would lose control of her life forever.
* * *
Dr. Easton Lourdes leaned his seat halfway back, his head still spinning. Partly from the fall, but mostly from the woman beside him and the memory of those moments he’d kept his eyes closed and just absorbed the feel of her against him. Since she’d come to work with him two years ago, he’d suspected there were fires burning behind her uptight demeanor. But hell, he’d had no idea how hot they’d blaze unti
l that one night with her during the storm.
Portia Soto. The most organized secretary on the planet. The woman who—until recently—had kept his eccentric spirit in line. Until their night of passion during a tropical storm showed him just how wild she could be once she let down that tightly upswept hair.
But the next day, she’d gathered her long caramel-brown hair back as fiercely as ever. Tighter even.
He needed his secretary. The Lourdes Family Wildlife Refuge was fast becoming an internationally renowned animal research and rescue center, and he was the man in charge of the science. To make the impact he wanted to make on the world, he needed his secretary. But he wanted Portia. And he wasn’t sure how to have both.
If only he understood humans as well as he did animals. His childhood spent with rich, globe-trotting parents had exposed him to creatures around the world. He’d paid attention and taken in an understanding of animals’ unspoken language. But even though he’d had the best of everything money could buy, he’d lacked much in the way of learning how to make connections with people other than his parents and his older brother. No sooner than he’d make a friend, his family would pack up and jet off to another exotic locale.
Easton cracked his neck, a crescendo of echoing pops responded in his back, the tension finally unwinding. With his neck less contracted, he positioned himself so he could watch her. Portia’s gel manicured nails were still quite perfect as she gripped the pickup truck’s steering wheel at a “nine and three” position that would make any driver’s ed teacher proud. Her doe-brown eyes were focused, attentive to the road.
Intentional. That was how he’d describe Portia. Intentional and proper.
With all her wildness contained.
Despite her manicured look, she fit in well at the wildlife preserve his family owned and funded. Easton brought his world-renowned skills as a veterinarian/scientist specializing in exotic animals. His brother, Xander, ran the family business and fund-raising.
And there sure as hell was a lot of fund-raising and political maneuvering involved in saving animals. Portia’s calm organizational skills were an immeasurable asset on that front too, according to his brother, Xander. Easton only had to show up in a tux every few months and talk about the research he loved.
For the most part, he spent his time handling the hands-on rescue and research efforts, and Portia’s efficiency helped him make that happen. He was lucky his family’s wealth meant he could leave the fund-raising to his brother and get his hands dirty doing what he enjoyed most.
And he tried his damnedest to entice Portia to play in the dirt with him.
Easton’s eyes slid from her face to the soft, yellow lights on the road back to the clinic. The preserve stretched for a few acres on Key Largo, a small island in the archipelago south of Florida. A necessary answer to urbanization and tourist development, Easton believed, as did his new board of directors, apparently.
He was damn lucky. He lived his dream every day. Sure, some people were able to turn passion into a paycheck, but Easton was a veterinarian at his preserve solely for passion. He recognized that he’d been blessed by his family’s money. It had enabled him to follow his vocation without worrying about compensation. He didn’t advertise his lack of salary because, for Easton, it didn’t matter. He felt honored to work for the sole purpose of helping the animals. To do some good in this world. Money had never been a big concern for him personally, but the reality of a small refuge accountable to a board of directors meant he had to worry about things like that on occasion.
As a secretary, Portia was brilliant—organized, dedicated—exactly what a free-spirited guy like him needed. But he also wanted her, as a man, and that made working with Portia increasingly challenging.
Since he’d hired her, he’d noticed her—and then he’d immediately move his attention back to business. But now, he caught himself distracted by the pinkness of her lips, the way she straightened her ponytail when she was thinking. Over and over, he’d replayed that night in his head. In a perfect world, he could have both. His kick-ass secretary and his sexy lover, too. But Portia had made it damn clear he wasn’t welcome in her bed again. She’d sent him a brief morning-after text and then ignored his messages unless they were work related.
His heart pounded as he thought of the last—and only—time they’d been together. The memory ramped him up—before he deliberately pushed it aside.
Regaining focus on the present, he surveyed her tight smile. Portia hadn’t said much in the past few minutes, but as if she needed to fill the space with words, she sliced through his thoughts. “So do you think the bird broke a wing?”
He blinked, troubled at the formality of her tone. “Perhaps. I’ll have to x-ray it to be certain.”
“Good. I’m glad we were able to help him.” Matter-of-fact as ever. All business. No hint, no trace of anything more.
She pulled the truck into the driveway of the clinic, parking it. As she turned to face him, he saw concern pass through her eyes. Had she been that worried about his fall?
His fingers ached to touch her bare skin, to explore her gentle curves. Although her breasts were more generous than he remembered. What else had he remembered wrong from their dimly lit, rushed lovemaking? The space between them dwindled, electricity sparking in the air there.
Her eyes danced, and he saw that spark take hold in her, too. The same spark from the night of the storm.
He wanted to nurture that spark into a flame.
He kissed her. God, he kissed her. Tried to rein himself in so he could savor the moment rather than risking another fast and furious encounter. He didn’t want to send her running as he had before. But damn, she tasted good. Felt good. He slid his hands up to cup her face.
For an incredible moment, she seemed to kiss him back. Then everything shifted. She pulled away, her skin sickly pale.
And then she opened the door and ran. More than ran. She flat-out bolted before he could even form a syllable.
* * *
This man had a way of flipping her stomach upside down on a regular day, and now that she was pregnant, her stomach didn’t seem to know which way was up.
Her ballet flats slammed, skidded against the ground. Her stomach rumbled a protesting gurgle, bile rising in the back of her throat.
She ran inside the clinic, through the side entrance and toward her office off the main reception space. She sagged back against the wall, sliding down to the floor while trying to decide if she needed to race the rest of the way to the restroom or simply stay put, calm, unmoving.
Yes, staying still was best. She drew in one deep breath after another. With each breath, she tried to focus on her immediate surroundings. At least the normally bustling clinic lacked people at this hour. All the staff and volunteers had gone home after settling the animals in for the night. Good, she’d hate to have an audience for this. Her eyes adjusted to the dim light, and she heard the creak of the door that lead to the supply closet.
Portia swallowed again, feeling unease and nausea reclaim her stomach.
A light flicked on in an adjoining office with the door open. Maureen. Easton’s research assistant and sister-in-law. Like Easton, Maureen put in long hours, sacrificing sleep for the animals’ sake.
She had a clipboard in her hand, and a pen tucked in her hair. Maureen must’ve been doing inventory. While keeping a meticulous inventory made life at the clinic run smoothly during all seasons, hurricane season made this task rise to a new level of importance. If the intensity of the tropical storm a few weeks ago was any indication of the hurricanes to come, Portia knew how vital it would be to the survival of the refuge for them to maintain plans and supplies.
But what of her own plans?
Portia took a steadying breath as Maureen noticed her and came over. Her bright red hair bouncing in curls, Maureen crouched next to Port
ia, green eyes searching.
“Are you okay?” Maureen’s slight Irish brogue lilted.
“I’m fine. I just forgot to eat dinner and I’m lightheaded. Low blood sugar. I’ll be fine.”
Standing, Maureen opened a drawer in the supply room, the one where she’d stashed other sorts of emergency supplies—saltines, PowerBars and gum. “You work too hard.”
Maureen tossed her a packet of crackers. To Portia’s surprise, she actually caught the wrapped package, shaking hands and all. Tearing open the wrapper, Portia stood and took her time nibbling while she searched for the right words to deflect Maureen’s comment.
“I enjoy my work.” Not completely true.
She was grateful for her well-paying job and the adorable one-bedroom cabana that came with it. She had a dream of becoming a teacher one day, but she needed to pay for her brother’s education and save enough to finance her own—
Except that wasn’t going to happen. She was out of time to fulfill her own dreams. She had to think of her brother and this baby. And even if her pay doubled, there wasn’t even enough time to figure all of that out before she had to confess everything to Easton.
She hated thinking about money at all. It made her feel too much like her gold digger mother. But there were practical realities to consider.
Like getting some crackers into her stomach before she hurled.
She nibbled on the edge of a saltine. Each bite settling her stomach. For the moment, anyway.
Maureen glanced around the clinic, leaning around the corner that lead to the examination room. “Where’s the doctor?”
“He’s examining an injured bird we rescued.” Or so she assumed. She’d left him in a bit of a hurry.
What on earth had he been thinking to kiss her like that?
More to the point, what had she been thinking to allow it to happen? To respond? Normally, she prided herself on her control. Her good sense. With Easton, it seemed, she had neither.
Maureen passed over a container of wet wipes, her bright diamond ring glittering. Recently, she’d married Easton’s brother, Xander. “Here.”
One Heir...or Two? Page 18