I’d tried the pill before. It gave me panic attacks, acne. I felt like I was PMSing all the time. So, my doctor prescribed me a diaphragm and voila. Here I am. Pregnant.
And alone. Did I mention that?
Anyway. Like I said, I’m like, home to the estrogen apocalypse. And in walks this guy.
Not just any guy.
Country Rock Heartthrob, Colt Forrester.
I’m more of an alternative rock sort of gal, but oh, Mama. It’s like he’s singing to my vagina. And my vagina wants to sing back.
And then he hits on me. Like seriously, invites me to his room.
Chiseled jaw, a few days’ stubble, messy dirty blond hair peeking out from his baseball cap. He wears it backwards. So cocky. It’s not like I’m unaffected or anything. Because…waving hand in front of my face…I’m affected.
About halfway through our conversation, though, I realize he doesn’t see my little surprise. Yep. Squirt, here, is hiding behind the desk.
When he touched my hand, told me I was beautiful, my heart skipped about five beats. The man’s got game.
Unfortunately, my back is aching, and I can hardly sit another minute. I stand up and watch his face when he realizes he’s just tried to score a pregnant chick.
I can’t help myself. I’m laughing so hard now, I might pee my pants.
Those thunder blue eyes of his widen at my revelation, and he turns red beneath his golden tan. And then…I get his first real smile. At least I think it is. He’s not trying to smolder or get me into his room. He’s simply laughing at himself.
Dangerous. Good God, this man is freaking dangerous.
My bones turn to lava. I try to tamp down my raging libido. Hormones. Gah! “I’m sorry.” I wipe a tear of laughter away. “But oh, my God, that just made my day.”
He’s shaking his head, bent over so I can’t see his face, his elbows resting on his knees. I can see the contours of his muscles through his T-shirt. I want to taste the back of his neck. Salty, I’ll bet. A hint of cedar and some soap.
After a full minute, he pulls himself together enough to stare at me again. The funny thing is, his eyes still flirt with me. He runs his gaze up and down my body like I’m a playboy bunny modeling a bikini.
Outrageous.
I shrug a little. Even though I know he’s a major tease, I’m unnerved. “If you’re ready?”
He pushes himself out of his seat. I can’t help noticing the way his jeans hang low on his hips. He notices me noticing and cocks an eyebrow. He’s even better at that than me…and it’s a particular talent of mine. Not everybody can do it. Raise one brow effortlessly.
His makes my breasts throb.
Seriously, I had no idea pregnancy could do this to me. “Right this way.” I wave my arm and indicate for him to follow me out the door.
A mistake. I’m wearing a jean skirt I’ve owned since before my pregnancy. The waistband fits below my belly but it’s a little tight around my ass. We dress casual. This is a ranch, for Pete’s sake, so I’m wearing my cowboy boots. They’re old and comfy and they make my legs look longer than they are. I feel him watching as the automatic doors slide open, and I step through.
Outside, I take a deep breath. The fragrant scent of pine and sage never fails to calm me. I love living up here. I love working on the ranch. Set off the beaten path, a hundred miles west of Denver, Whiskey Creek is something of a gem.
Modern facilities at the clubhouse and offices, but the lodge, the lotus center, and the cabins have this retro rustic chic thing going on. All the furnishings and accessories are hand-made, custom pieces, built to look about a hundred years old, but tucked behind the mismatched cabinets in the mini kitchens are state of the art appliances.
I’m normally the yoga instructor but due to present circumstances, I’ve been… relocated. I told my bosses I wanted to work until a week before my due date. They’ve been super understanding. As for what I planned to do with my life afterwards… things aren’t as clear.
Sometimes this fear creeps out of the shadows and blindsides me. I’m gonna be a single mom in less than a month. And I want this baby, don’t get me wrong. But I don’t feel ready. I get four weeks’ maternity leave. After that I’ll need to figure out some sort of day care. Which isn’t all that easy, considering I live on site and we’re in the middle of nowhere. If I can’t find daycare I’ll have to leave. The thought steals my breath. The nature, the atmosphere, all of it feeds my sense of tranquility. And I need that. Boy, do I need that.
Fucking Brent.
Not for bailing on me, but for coming here in the first place.
The warmth of a hand settles on the small of my back sending a chill down my spine. It’s Colt Forrester’s hand. I swallow around the lump in my throat.
