“Don’t go,” Kyle murmured

She’d never heard her friend’s voice sound so husky before, not even when he was sick with the flu. It was sexy husky, we-just-made-love-all-night-long husky. It made her shiver.

He pulled on her arm, urging her down. His hand encircling her wrist felt warm. “Stay. Stay here, Mel. Come back.”

“I…” She didn’t want to get into this now. She didn’t want a scene. She’d wanted to disappear quietly.

“Stay,” he repeated.

He pulled harder. She went. It happened so smoothly, so seamlessly. He turned her onto her side, facing outward, and curled his big, warm body around hers, spoon style. He clamped an arm around her waist. He buried his face in the back of her neck, nuzzling her there, kissing her nape.

“Your hair…” Kyle inhaled deeply. “Smells like gardenia. Mmm. Melissa. I just want to hold you,” he said drowsily.

The words undid her. Without her conscious volition, her eyelids fluttered shut. And then contentment seeped through her limbs.

She couldn’t help it. She didn’t want to. It felt too good.

But even as she let herself drift back to sleep, part of her knew this was wrong. Terribly.

Kyle. Oh, Kyle. What have we done?

Dear Reader,

Kyle and Melissa, the hero and heroine of this book, have known each other several years when their relationship changes suddenly and irrevocably. I’ve always had a soft spot for stories like theirs, stories about close friends who fall in love—with a little help from external circumstances.

Maybe the two people have been in love all along but for various reasons haven’t been able to admit it. Or maybe an unexpected situation forces them to see each other in a new light. Regardless, the developing romance between longtime friends can be particularly complex.

True, “love at first sight” is very powerful. But there’s also something powerful about really knowing the other person before you fall in love—knowing his or her strengths and weaknesses and having more access to the inner layers of his or her personality. Within that context, a couple’s interactions take on new—and sometimes richer—meanings.

In Melissa and Kyle’s story I’ve tried to capture some of that emotional depth. This book is very different in tone from anything else I’ve written (including my new Harlequin American Romance novel). I hope you enjoy my efforts!

Anne Haven

Because of the Baby

Anne Haven

www.millsandboon.co.uk

To Ruth—with boundless gratitude for your

hard work and support

CONTENTS

PROLOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

PROLOGUE

Midsummer

MELISSA LOPEZ AWOKE in the unfamiliar bed with the unfamiliar weight of an arm slung over her rib cage. Long white muslin curtains billowed in from an open window nearby. Bright morning sunshine poured into the room, making her squint. She gazed straight above her, blinking as her eyes adjusted.

High ceiling with exposed ductwork and a bumpy, texturized white finish that looked like cottage cheese.

Not her ceiling.

Oh, God. Oh, good God Almighty. Kyle’s ceiling. Kyle’s bed. Kyle’s big, tanned, muscular arm draped over her naked torso.

A crisp white sheet covered them. Melissa felt the warmth from his body all along her right side. His bent knee rested against her leg, the curling hairs tickling her skin. She sensed his head on the pillow beside her, heard the even cadence of his breath and became aware of its caress against her ear and neck.

Slowly she turned her head. Kyle Davenport lay asleep on his side, facing her. His long, dark lashes rested peacefully against his cheeks.

His lips were full and slightly darker than usual and a day’s beard growth shadowed his jaw. He had short hair, a faintly crooked nose, high cheekbones and a strong, attractive chin. He looked like himself—though she wasn’t used to this vantage point.

She swallowed. The vantage point of lying next to him. In bed.

Again she thought, Oh, God.

Images flashed in her mind. His apartment at night. The whisper of clothing as it slid off their skin. Warm, wet, breathless kisses. Hands exploring. His and hers.

She’d never touched him before. Never like last night. She’d only looked—looked and tried not to see his masculine beauty. Tried not to want.

I don’t believe what we did.

She’d needed him last night. After what had happened in the E.R. she’d been desperate. A small child and his mother had come in, fresh from a car accident. The boy had looked so much like Melissa’s brother. Same age. Similar injuries. And this boy had died, too. Melissa hadn’t been able to save him. Informing his mother—

Usually she was able to maintain a doctor’s professional distance. Last night she hadn’t.

So, when her shift at the E.R. had ended, she’d turned to Kyle. She’d needed the solace he could give her and she hadn’t cared about anything else.

But they should not have become lovers. She and Kyle couldn’t be romantically involved. They had a very good, very comfortable friendship—and this was a sure way to mess it up. She valued their relationship too much to let it degenerate into another of Kyle’s light, temporary affairs.

Panic shot through her.

She had to get away.

Her pulse hammering, Melissa raised a hand to his arm. He didn’t stir as she painstakingly eased his arm off her torso and inched away from him, pausing once when the mattress creaked. She lowered a leg over the side of the bed.

Kyle caught her wrist as she started to rise. “Don’t go,” he murmured.

She’d never heard his voice so husky before, not even when he was sick with the flu. It was sexy husky, we-just-made-love-all-night-long husky. It made her shiver.

He pulled on her arm, urging her down. His hand, encircling her wrist, felt warm. “Stay. Stay here, Mel. Come back.”

“I…” She didn’t want to get into this now. She didn’t want a scene. She’d wanted to disappear quietly.

“Stay,” he repeated.

He pulled harder. She went. It happened so smoothly, so seamlessly. He turned her onto her side, facing outward, and curled his big, warm body around hers, spoon style. He clamped an arm around her waist. He buried his face in the back of her neck, nuzzling her there, kissing her nape.

“Your hair…” Kyle inhaled deeply. “Smells like gardenia. Mmm. Melissa. I just want to hold you,” he said drowsily.

The words undid her. Without her conscious volition, her eyelids fluttered shut. And then contentment seeped through her limbs.

She couldn’t help it. She didn’t want to. It felt too good.

But even as she let herself drift back to sleep, part of her knew this was wrong. Terribly.

Kyle. Oh, Kyle. What have we done?

CHAPTER ONE

October

KYLE DAVENPORT STARED at the pasty-faced, middle-aged man in front of him. They sat in the makeshift conference corner of his office, on a pair of scuffed metal folding chairs pulled up to a Formica-topped table salvaged from a diner. Boxes of medical supplies and free samples lined the shelves on the wall beside them.

Kyle clasped his hands on the tabletop. As the clinic’s director he usually spent more time on his administrative duties than he did interacting with patients, but he welcomed the chance to do so. Even when, like today, he had to play the heavy.

“Harry,” he said. “Sounds like we have a problem here. Barbara tells me you haven’t been taking your meds.”

The man gave him a cranky look. He brushed back a chunk of his badly cut gray hair and then inspected the fingerless wool gloves he wore. “Barbara’s a bully.”

“She only wants to help you get better. If you don’t take your meds, Harry, you won’t get better.”

“I hate the meds.”

“I know. I’d hate taking ’em, too. But it’s the only way to make you improve. And if you don’t take ’em you’ll probably get worse. Keep this up and you’ll end up in the hospital.”

They both knew Harry had no health coverage, which was why he came to the free clinic. He couldn’t afford another emergency-room visit like the one last spring. He hadn’t been able to afford that one.

“Harry, help me out here. I know it’s a pain in the ass to take ’em three times a day. But Barbara can’t do anything for you if you ignore everything she says.”

“She says too much. She’s always on my back. I’m going to start calling her Nurse Ratched.”

Kyle tried not to grin, knowing he shouldn’t encourage the guy. But he couldn’t wait to tell Barbara about her new nickname. “I don’t think that’ll increase her level of friendliness, Harry.” He flattened his palms on the table and adopted a serious tone. “Look, buddy, I really need you to take those pills. Why don’t you try it for a week and we’ll take the rest as it comes, okay?”

Harry shot him a defiant glare. “The meds,” he announced, “give me gas.”

Kyle raised his eyebrows. “Oh, do they, now? Well, I can’t say I’d like that, either…It’s bad?”

“You don’t want to know.” And that, apparently, settled the matter. Harry grasped the edge of the table and supported himself as he rose to his feet. He adjusted the ragged old tweed coat he wore 365 days a year, rain or shine, heat or snow. “Well. Guess I’ll be going now.”

Kyle stood, too. “Hey, not so fast. I just had an idea. Hear me out?”

The other man turned back, head tilted, expression doubtful.

“There might be a solution,” Kyle said. “We’d have to talk to Barbara, but it might be possible to change your prescription. We could try to find something that isn’t so hard on your system.”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know. I’m not a nurse or doctor. But sometimes more than one med can treat the same problem.”

Harry had his new bottle of meds by the time Melissa arrived for her weekly shift as a volunteer physician at the clinic. Through the doorway of his office Kyle heard Melissa greet Harry by name and the older man give her a cheerful, flirtatious response before leaving the clinic.

Kyle tried to focus on his paperwork. He had plenty this week, and a long list of phone calls to make for the fall fund-raising drive.

But he couldn’t concentrate. Never could on Wednesday afternoons, not since a certain hot summer night in July. He got that familiar, socked-in-the-gut feeling he had whenever he remembered it. Melissa, he thought, would be in to say hello any second.

Right on cue, she stuck her head through the doorway. “Hey, Kyle. How’s it going today?”

She wore her long white coat and a stethoscope looped around her neck. She always pulled her chocolate-brown hair back in a clasp at her nape; a few strands had escaped to graze her jaw. In one hand she held a clipboard; in the other, a half-eaten apple.

He smiled, knowing his face looked just as friendly and calm and unruffled as hers. “Great. Not too busy with the walk-ins. You’ve got some appointments?”

She glanced down at the clipboard. “That’s right.” She raised an eyebrow. “Mmm. I see Zita is scheduled for a visit. That should be colorful.”

Zita, a.k.a. Susan Smith, was a recovering addict with a variety of physical ailments caused by years of hard living. She had an eccentric personality and a loud voice.

“And a couple of new ones…” Melissa crunched on a bite of apple as she skimmed the notes. “Okay.” She swallowed and looked up at him.

“How’s your week going?” Kyle asked.

“Fine.” Her eyes met his and held them, but not for too long. Just long enough to show them both that everything was normal, routine, mundane, unremarkable. As it had been for the past five years. Just long enough to prove they weren’t avoiding eye contact. “My high-school chem teacher turned up in the E.R. last night.”

“Nothing serious, I hope.”

She shook her head. “Only a sprained ankle. Thought it might have been broken, but he was lucky. It was nice to talk to him—I hadn’t seen the man since graduation fifteen years ago.”

Melissa, an exceptionally bright and hardworking student, had finished high school at sixteen. She’d enrolled at Harvard med school three years later. Kyle had always found her intelligence incredibly sexy.

He took a deep breath. It’s none of your business, he told himself, whether she’s sexy or not. You’re just friends. That’s all you’ve ever been.

Except that crazy night in July.

But that had been a mistake. An aberration. They’d each had reasons for letting it happen—fine. But now they’d moved on. Put things back to normal.

A moment later Melissa tossed her apple core into the trash and went off to see to her patients. Kyle forced his attention back to his paperwork and phone calls.

He’d been running the health clinic, designed to serve the homeless and low-income population of Portland, Oregon, since he’d moved out west six years ago. Needing a change of scene. Needing to get away from all the memories of Felicity.

It had taken awhile to adjust. He’d had experience in nonprofits, but twenty-six had been young for this kind of position. Yet he’d thrown himself into the job, welcoming the challenge and the distraction. He’d barely had a personal life that first year, but he hadn’t wanted one—he’d found it almost intolerable to interact with anyone when it wasn’t part of his job.

Kyle remembered all the nights he’d gone home to his empty apartment, unable even to summon the energy to feed himself dinner before collapsing, still clothed, into bed. Welcoming the blankness of sleep.

But things had gotten better. He’d emerged from that brooding, self-pitying year and started to recapture his old self. Back in Boston, before Felicity’s suicide, he’d always been a social, fun-loving guy. He’d made new friends in Portland and begun to date again. Not seriously, of course—Felicity’s death had cured him of any impulse to get serious—but he’d learned to enjoy himself once more. And then Melissa had become a volunteer at the clinic.

Their friendship had evolved. She’d been wary at first, and had quickly made it clear she wouldn’t be one of his conquests. Relationships that involved sex or romance, he’d noticed, scared the devil out of her. She certainly didn’t want a dalliance—which was all he was prepared to offer.

So their acquaintance had taken a different route. They’d respected each other’s differences and limitations and boundaries, and gradually, without any intent, they’d developed the unlikeliest of friendships.

No, they didn’t tell each other everything. But sometimes they didn’t have to. Sometimes they just understood each other.

And sometimes, he suspected, they just kept secrets—from the world and themselves and each other.

SIX O’CLOCK ARRIVED before he could finish his work. It always did. He needed an assistant, but the clinic couldn’t afford one, so he made do with occasional volunteer help. This month they were short on volunteers.

Barbara Purcell, the large, attractive, forty-five-year-old black woman who served as the clinic’s nurse practitioner, walked into the room and snatched the papers from his hands. “That’s it. It’s closing time, boy. I’m hungry, Melissa’s hungry and that perky little college-girl receptionist is hungry.” She tapped the papers on the desktop to straighten them, then laid them down on a corner of the surface. Just out of his reach.

Kyle didn’t bother to protest. Three hungry women—especially these three hungry women, none of whom deprived themselves of daily nourishment to attain an impossible female ideal—were more than he could go up against. Not to mention he was hungry himself.

“Thi’s Pho Shop?” he said.

Barbara gave him a who-stole-your-brain look. “Where else?”

The four of them collected in the waiting area a couple of minutes later. They locked up and headed down the street, laughing and groaning, complaining and elbow-ribbing, a close-knit, animated group.

The restaurant, which served nothing but beef noodle soup, stood at the corner. It was always packed with Vietnamese Americans during the first half of the day, as traditionally pho was eaten for breakfast and lunch.

This evening the shop hummed with a mixed clientele. The proprietor’s daughter, a teenager in combat boots, jeans and a plaid flannel shirt, led them to a table by the window.

“Nice spot,” Melissa commented, taking the seat beside his. “In fact, it’s the nicest spot in the restaurant.” She winked at him. “I think that girl’s got a crush on you, Kyle.”

Whitney, the college student who worked several afternoons as the clinic’s receptionist, rolled her eyes. “Every straight female he meets gets a crush on him.” She reached for some napkins and spoons and chopsticks from the dispenser on the table.

“Hey, I’m straight,” Barbara said.

“Me, too.” Melissa looked at him, tilting her head in feigned sympathy. She patted his shoulder. “Sorry, Kyle. We can’t all join your mass of admirers.”

Everyone laughed, aware of Kyle’s undeniably sexy good looks.

The waitress brought them ice water and took their orders. After she left, Kyle steered the conversation to a different topic. He told himself it wasn’t because he minded Melissa’s teasing. But he felt edgy and a little raw tonight.

Melissa had spoken about his interactions with women the way she always had. She’d been tolerant, amused, occasionally chiding. Nothing had changed. His love life didn’t affect her. Yet he wondered how she could act that way so easily after what they’d done last July.

Damn it, Kyle. You should be grateful she’s handling it like this and not flipping out. Not getting all needy and emotional. Not trying to rope you into a heavy-duty commitment.

Their bowls of pho arrived.

“Oh, yes.” Barbara closed her eyes and inhaled the ambrosial aroma of beef stock rich with onions and ginger and star anise. “Sometimes I dream about this soup.”

“No kidding.” Melissa added bean sprouts and fresh herbs from the condiment plate, then a drizzle of lime. “Mmm. I might just have to have seconds tonight.”

AFTER THE MEAL Barbara drove home to her daughter and son-in-law. Whitney, like Kyle, had taken the bus to the clinic that day, so Melissa gave her a ride to Reed College before heading for his apartment.

Every Wednesday night after Melissa’s volunteer shift and the group dinner, they went to his apartment and watched X-Files reruns. The pattern hadn’t changed since the summer. It hadn’t changed since they’d made love.

They’d gone to bed together, shared a night of mind-blowing sex and then miraculously gone back to business as usual.

With anyone but Melissa it would have been absurd. Unthinkable. But she had a way of making it seem like the natural thing to do.

Pretend it didn’t happen. Ignore it. It doesn’t really exist, this knowledge of what we did together, of the tastes and textures of each other’s bodies; we don’t really know that.

We’re just friends. Best friends, yes. But nothing more.

Melissa parked her car, a safe, dependable white sedan, outside his apartment building. Two years ago she’d moved with her sister into a little house around the corner; she wouldn’t have to drive again until morning.

They entered the lobby and stopped by the bank of metal mailboxes, discussing some clients at the clinic. Just as they usually did. They took the stairs instead of the elevator to his third-floor, one-bedroom apartment, as usual.

Kyle let her in. He tossed his black leather bag onto the dining-room table, thumbed through his mail and tossed it down, too.

The answering machine said he had two messages. He played them back as he opened the fridge and grabbed a beer for himself and filtered water for Melissa. One of the calls was from a professional contact, the other from his mother in Massachusett.

“Haven’t phoned her in two weeks, hmm? Tsk, tsk.” Melissa pulled out a bag of gingersnaps from a kitchen cabinet. “Better shape up, Kyle.”

“Yeah, I know. I’ll give her a ring tomorrow, promise. I’m sure she’s already in bed by now. It’s after ten out there.”

He also ought to talk with his brother soon, but Craig was a little harder to reach. No doubt they would catch each other over the weekend.

He and Melissa carried their drinks into the living room, a contemporary space with simple yet cozy furniture. Melissa had helped him decorate the room, suggesting rusty browns and muted greens—subtle, earthy colors—to go with the pale walls and carpet. A huge ficus tree, which survived only because she remembered to check it regularly, stood in a corner by one of the large windows.

Kyle set her water on the coffee table and sprawled on the couch with his beer.

She sat a couple feet away from him, opening the bag of gingersnaps as she kicked off her shoes. She gave his knee a nudge with her sock-clad foot. “Don’t take your mother for granted, Kyle. She’s the only one you’ve got.”

“I know.”

Melissa had lost hers years ago. When she’d been eight, her mother and five-year-old brother had died in the emergency room following a car accident. She’d been the only other person in the car with them when they’d collided with a truck. Kyle didn’t think she’d ever gotten over the fact that she’d lived and they hadn’t, though it wasn’t something she talked about.

Her sister, who was one year older than she, had been at a baseball game with their father. They’d lived on, just as Melissa had, but not very well. Her father had become depressed and Anita hadn’t fared so well, either. Melissa had tried to take care of them, even though she was the youngest. She still did.

Kyle doubted they still wanted or needed her to, however.

Last July Anita had decided to get an apartment with her boyfriend. It was a big deal. The sisters had lived together for years, ever since Melissa had returned to Portland after med school. Melissa, he knew, had liked sharing a household. But Anita, at thirty-two, had wanted to live away from family members—something she’d never done before. She’d made her announcement right before that crazy, unexpected night in July…

The X-Files came on. Kyle took a swig from his beer bottle and tried to concentrate on the show. In his peripheral vision he saw Melissa tuck her feet up under her on the couch and nibble on her gingersnaps.

The episode was one of their favorites, but it didn’t hold his attention. Melissa did.

Whitney at the clinic had once told him his relationship with Melissa was like the one between the X-Files’ main characters, FBI agents Mulder and Scully. He’d laughed. But the comparison had some validity, he acknowledged to himself. He and Melissa had the same kind of connection, a quiet respect and unwavering loyalty to each other. They trusted each other with their lives, though they rarely discussed their innermost feelings.

And the sexual tension. It was always there in the background, simmering. Neither of them would admit it, but that was how it was.

After the show ended, Melissa picked up the remote from the coffee table and switched off the television. “You okay, Kyle?”

“Mmm, sure.”

“You seem a little distracted.” Reaching back, she patted her hair and felt that it had gotten mussed. She released the tortoiseshell clasp and ran her fingers through the straight strands.

The movements weren’t intended to be seductive. They were seductive, though, and it didn’t help his distractedness.

I did that, he thought. I ran my fingers through that hair, felt its silken texture. I know it smells like gardenia.

He’d caught himself leaning too close to her recently, trying to get a whiff.

It made it worse, he thought, to know what she smelled like, felt like, tasted like. Now that he’d seen her naked body, caressed her curves, it had become almost torturous to be near her.

Especially to be near her and not be able to do it all again.

He swallowed. “Guess I’m a little preoccupied with the fall fund drive,” he said. A fib. He hated to lie to her and he didn’t have much practice. The need had never arisen in the past. But she wouldn’t want to hear about him lusting after her. “Sorry.”

“Anything I can do to help?”

“Nah. You’re already volunteering plenty.” Kyle finished off his beer, which was flat and warm. He decided he’d better attempt some kind of conversation. Assure them both everything was okay. “So…any luck finding a roommate this week?”

Anita had moved out of their little house around the corner on September 1st. More than a month had passed and somehow none of Melissa’s roommate applicants had worked out yet.

She shook her head. “Actually, I’ve been thinking of calling off the search. Living by myself for a while.”

He gave her a look. “Because you think she’ll come running back,” he said, and they both knew he meant Anita.

“Honestly? Yes.”

“What if she doesn’t?”

“Then I’ll live alone.” She gave a half smile, just a slight quirk of the lips. “Maybe it’ll be good for me.”

“You know how I feel about that.” It would be great for her. He’d been telling her so for years. She needed to live for herself awhile, instead of for others.

“Then why are you eyeing me as if I’ve done something wrong?” she said.

Okay, they weren’t going to have a lighthearted conversation tonight. This would be one of their serious ones, instead. That was fine, he told himself. As long as it didn’t pertain to the two of them. “You’re not planning to live alone. You’re planning for your poor, weak, flighty sister to have a dramatic breakup with her boyfriend, just like she always does, and then come running back to you. You’re counting on it. She probably knows it.”

“Am I supposed to expect their relationship to last? Expect her and Ty—”

“Troy,” he corrected.

“Troy.” She paused. “I’m supposed to expect them to live happily ever after? That’s never happened before.”

“How many times has your sister moved in with a guy?” He knew the answer, but he wanted her to say it.

“Never. But she’s talked this way about plenty of guys. I can always recognize it. She gets the same tone in her voice, the same look in her eyes. You want to know what it says? ‘It’s real this time. He’s my knight in shining armor. He’s the one who’s going to sweep me off my feet and make everything all right.’ But it never lasts.”

“Maybe this time is different.”

“It’s not.” She spoke with absolute certainty.

Kyle considered her. “Okay. Say it isn’t. Say the relationship goes up in smoke. You really think it’s good for her to come running back to you?”

“Who else can she turn to?”

She didn’t say, Not my father. I’m the only strong one in the family. She didn’t have to. He’d heard her say it in so many ways a hundred times before.

“Mel, what about her standing on her own two feet? Not needing to depend on anyone?”

“You sound like such a guy, Kyle. All that independent, rugged-individualist stuff.” She stood up. Grabbed his beer bottle and her water glass and the gingersnaps. “In my family,” she said, “we support one another when times are tough.”

Melissa carried her load to the kitchen. She returned with a cloth and wiped up the three microscopic cookie crumbs she’d gotten on the coffee table. Her hair clasp, which she’d set on the arm of the couch, went neatly into her pocket.

He knew she didn’t realize how revealing her actions were. She’d spoken so calmly, but that obviously wasn’t how she felt.

She always cleaned things when she was agitated. Tidied a pile of papers. Dusted a picture frame. Suddenly remembered a load of laundry that needed to be folded.

She bunched up the cloth in her hand, spotted a coffee mug he’d left on the end table yesterday and walked over to get it. When she turned around, the most direct route to the kitchen was between the couch and the coffee table. She took a few steps forward.

He didn’t think. He just raised a leg, resting his foot on the side of the coffee table, barring her path.

“Kyle—”

She faced him. Their gazes locked. Something hot and electric and impossible passed between them.

“Kyle, move.” She didn’t step over his leg. His bent knee reached the level of her thighs; she would have had to straddle him. But she didn’t pivot and go the other way, either.

He ached to tumble her onto the couch, on top of him. To kiss her again. He ignored the urge. He looked up at her and said, “What about you, Melissa? Who do you lean on when times are tough?”

Her gaze wavered, sliding sideways. She towered over him, spine straight, the cloth in one hand and the mug in the other, and didn’t give him an answer.

“Come on, tell me. I want to know. Who takes care of you? Who do you turn to?”

She shook her head. “Stop it.”

He couldn’t. Suddenly he couldn’t stop himself. It had been building in him for two and a half months, he finally acknowledged. This restless, edgy energy. This urge to push against her emotionally, to shake things up and break things down, even though he knew he shouldn’t. Even though it could screw up their friendship.

“Or is that just for other people?” he demanded. “For the weak ones?”

“Don’t.”

“I need to know the answer.”

“You already know it.”

“I do? Because it doesn’t seem that way to me.”

“Damn it, Kyle.” She glared down at him.

He blinked. Hell, it looked as if she had tears in her eyes. Oh, God. He’d made her cry. He was being a jerk and he wasn’t even sure what he was saying.

Remorse and shame flooded through him. He dropped his foot to the floor. He raised his hands and pressed them to his forehead, a weary gesture.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to be such an ass. I’m not myself right now.”

He heard Melissa sit down next to him and sensed the couch shifting beneath her weight.

For a moment she was silent. Then, “Me, neither.” The words came out as a whisper.

Kyle wanted to take her in his arms right then. He wanted to comfort her, even though he didn’t know all the reasons she might need comforting.

But he held himself back. She had her boundaries. He had to respect them. And she did accept his support in other ways. She did turn to him when times were tough.

He wasn’t prepared when she spoke again. He hadn’t expected anymore from her. But she gave it to him, and it was more than he’d ever imagined.

“I’m pregnant,” she said.

CHAPTER TWO

MELISSA HAD NEVER felt an earthquake before. Now she knew what it would be like.

It would begin as a distant rumble; you couldn’t be sure it was real. Just a slight, subtle hum. But then you would start to feel the vibrations. You would realize the floor was shaking beneath your feet, the walls were shaking, the furniture was shaking.

And the noise—that unearthly rumble growing louder and louder, gaining textures, piling up on itself, creaking, shifting, shuddering and shattering. A cacophony of sound.

The books in the shelf near the TV, she thought, would tumble to the floor. The framed paintings on the walls would rattle and hang askew. Or slide down the wall, hit the floor with a bang. Plaster and paint would flake from the ceiling.

Then suddenly the earthquake would be over, gone more quickly than it had come. Leaving behind a deafening silence.

She looked at Kyle, sitting quietly beside her on the couch, his forehead buried in his hands. He hadn’t moved. An emotional earthquake had passed through his living room and he hadn’t moved.

He didn’t even glance up. Rubble lay all around them—the rubble of their lives as they’d known them, their lives before this moment.

Before they’d made love.

Before she’d told him the truth. Before he’d known they’d made a baby together.

Melissa set the mug and washcloth down on the coffee table. “Kyle, please. Say something.”

He dropped his hands from his forehead and looked over at her. For a long moment he didn’t speak. They just stared at each other, trying to read thoughts through eyes. To understand emotions without words.

“You’re pregnant,” he finally said.

“Yes.”

“From that night in July.”

He didn’t need her confirmation. Of course he knew it couldn’t be otherwise. She didn’t exactly have a highly active sex life. At thirty-one, she’d had fewer partners than most eighteen-year-olds.

Kyle massaged his temples. “I can’t believe this. We used protection. We were careful.”

“No, we weren’t,” she said.

If they’d been careful they never would have made love at all. She saw by his expression he knew what she meant.

But they hadn’t been their normal selves that night. They’d each been running from something, each seeking a way to forget. And their solution had worked—temporarily.

Now they had to face the consequences of their foolishness.

“Condoms aren’t one hundred percent effective,” she reminded him.

“I know. But I never thought—” He stopped, shaking his head. “How long have you known?”

This was the part she’d dreaded. She didn’t want to tell him. She couldn’t explain or justify her behavior. “About—about six weeks.”

“Jesus, Mel. That long?”

“I wanted to tell you sooner. I just—couldn’t.” She felt overwhelmed. Overstimulated. As if she were having one of her sister’s anxiety attacks. She took a deep, calming breath and forced tense muscles to release and relax. “I’m sorry.”

She stared straight ahead at the blank television. Kyle had a twenty-five-inch screen—almost double the size of hers—which was why they always watched The X-Files at his place.

“It was right after my birthday,” she said. “I’m not…very regular, so it took me a while to figure it out.”

“You haven’t been getting sick or anything. I would have noticed if you’d started throwing up every day.”

“Of course. But not all pregnant women experience morning sickness.”

“Oh.”

She could feel his gaze on her.

We’re going to have a baby.

It was a thought she’d had many times recently. She would look over at him as they were working, or driving somewhere, or sharing a meal, and she would know she had to tell him. But the words had always refused to come. Her tongue had felt heavy and thick and incapable of forming the right sounds. She’d let the moments pass.

Until tonight.

“I don’t understand this,” Kyle said. “I don’t understand how you could—” He waved a hand in the air, momentarily speechless. His gaze pinned hers. “How could you act so normal? All this time. Six weeks, for God’s sake, you’ve known you’re carrying our baby.”

Melissa abruptly grabbed the items she’d set on the coffee table. She stood and headed for the kitchen.

Kyle followed her.

She wiped down the counters, loaded a few more items into the dishwasher. A butter knife. The bowl and spoon Kyle had used for his cereal that morning.

He stood and watched her, leaning a hip against the edge of the counter, arms crossed. “You asked me to say something back there. Now it’s your turn. Talk to me, Mel.”

She stopped and closed her eyes, flattening both hands on the countertop. “I don’t know if I’m ready,” she admitted.

“It’s been six weeks since you found out. How much more time do you need?”

More than I’ve gotten. A lifetime, maybe. I’m simply not prepared for this.

“You weren’t even going to tell me tonight, were you?”

She shook her head. “It was just because you…said what you did,” she admitted.

She stared down at the backs of her hands. Doctor’s hands. Well trained, sensitive yet strong. A narrow scar ran from her left wrist toward her thumb, a memento from that day over twenty years ago. And she had other scars, too—the invisible kind. The kind that wrenched you from sleep in the middle of the night, soaked with the sweat from another bad dream.

“How long were you going to wait, then?” Kyle asked. “Until you started to show? Were you going to make me work it out on my own when I saw your belly get big?”

She turned toward him, chin raised. “Kyle, I can’t do this right now. I need some space.”

He ran a hand through his short, dark hair, tousling it.

The man was gorgeous, she thought—an irrelevant, inappropriate fact to focus on. But she didn’t stop herself. She let herself stare at the father of her baby.

The firm, lean muscles of his tall physique attested to the hours he spent on the basketball court at the park down the street; to the long runs and summer hikes and that intense kind of yoga he did.

He held himself and moved with graceful, careless elegance; easy charm. And unutterably sexy masculinity. Two and a half months ago Melissa had lost her ability to ignore it.

She remembered what it had been like to make love with him. He’d been very, very good in bed, drawing out her arousal until she’d lost control. Until she’d whimpered and moaned in a way that embarrassed and appalled her now.

She turned away so he wouldn’t see the flush spreading over her ears and face.

He sighed. “I’ll walk you home.”

“Thank you.”

He always walked her around the corner after dark. Their urban neighborhood wasn’t a bad one, but Kyle said he saw no point in taking chances. He liked to make sure she got home safely.

Kyle had an intensely protective side, and because she knew him, she didn’t think it was sexist. Just caring. In his own way—despite his fear of commitment, his inability to sustain a long-term romantic relationship—Kyle was very caring.

He did good work at the clinic, touching hundreds of lives.

He loved his mother and his younger brother and had looked after them when his father had decided to drop out of the family, leaving only a mildly apologetic note and a pile of overdue bills.

And he’d loved Felicity. The woman who, despite her name, had been hopelessly, hopelessly sad. Too sad to stay in the world, even with Kyle right beside her. Even when their wedding date had been only three weeks away.

In silence she and Kyle walked downstairs and left the apartment building. The night air had a hint of fall crispness and she was glad for the light sweater she wore. Beside her Kyle shoved his hands in his pockets and strolled along, looking almost like his usual, easygoing self.

How many people, she wondered, would guess what kind of conversation they’d just had? Who would think, seeing their composed expressions and unexceptional behavior, that they’d discussed, for the very first time, the new life they’d created together?

Briefly she stared upward at a dark, cloudless sky dotted with thousands of glittering pinpricks of light. So many, many stars. And they were so far away her mind couldn’t even begin to grasp the distance. She marveled at the vastness of the universe the way a child would.

In such a big space as the universe, she was small, and insignificant in the grand scheme of things, but she existed.

I’m right here with Kyle. Kyle Davenport, my best friend.

And by midspring our baby will be with us, too.

Our baby. The phrase still had the power to shock her. Even after six weeks she couldn’t quite believe she was pregnant.

Barely aware of her actions, she cupped the faint curve of her abdomen.

“No one else knows?” Kyle asked as they turned the corner onto her street.

“No.”

“You could have told your sister.”

Melissa grasped his meaning. She could have told Anita and gotten her to move back in. It would have been the perfect way. Her sister would have come back to help her throughout the pregnancy. But then, Anita would have been the one taking care of her. And it was supposed to be the other way around, wasn’t it?

Maybe Kyle was right. Maybe that was why she hadn’t told her sister yet. She couldn’t stand to be the one in trouble, the one who might need support.

“There’s a lot we’ll have to discuss,” Kyle said.

“I know.”

“You should let me know when you’re ready to tell other people. I won’t do it until you’re ready, but we should both tell our families soon. You are going to keep the baby, I assume.”

“Yes. Yes, of course.”

They both understood she could never have an abortion, even though she believed in a woman’s right to choose.

“How much time do you think you’ll need?” he asked. “Before you’re ready to talk again.”

“I don’t know.” She fished her keys out of her handbag as they climbed her front steps. The two-bedroom bungalow, painted light blue, seemed lonely and dark.

“I need some kind of timeline, Melissa. Come on. This isn’t fair.”

She acknowledged that he was right. Opening the door, she reached inside to flip on the porch light. It bathed them in a pale-yellow glow. She turned around in the doorway to face him. “How about a week.”

“So we’ll talk next Wednesday?”

“Yes.”

“And this weekend? We’re still on for Sunday dinner with your dad and Anita? We’re still going to Whitney’s dance performance on Friday?”

The possibility of canceling their plans surprised her. She’d been behaving as if everything were perfectly ordinary for so long now. Going through the motions. She’d gotten used to it.

“You don’t want to?” she asked.

“It’ll be awkward, that’s all. Especially around your family.”

But we’re so good at pretending nothing’s wrong, she thought. We’ve had plenty of practice since July. How many times have we seen Dad and Anita and acted as though we were still the same platonic pair as always?

He shook his head. “Never mind. I’ll deal with it. We’ll touch base tomorrow night, okay?”

She nodded.

“Melissa?”

“Yes?”

He raised a hand to her hair. She tried to hide a shiver as he stroked his fingers through the strands, rustling them and making her scalp tingle.

Why are you touching me like this? It isn’t allowed. It’s against the rules. I can’t let you do this.

But it felt so good.

Kyle stopped and cupped the side of her face. “Don’t worry. We’ll work this out.”

He turned around and left.

CHAPTER THREE

ONLY MELISSA.

Only Melissa, Kyle thought, could have kept her pregnancy secret for so damn long. Only she could have maintained the fiction that nothing had changed, could have managed not to reveal anything through words or expressions or actions. It was simply a logical extension of her business-as-usual performance after they’d made love.

Oh, Mel.

The woman was purely herself. She didn’t try to act like anyone else.

He knew some people considered her inhuman, even cold. She wasn’t. She might be more subtle, less immediately accessible. But the depth and the feelings were there. Only people who had no patience for subtlety had a hard time with her. People who needed everything to be simple and easy and obvious.

Kyle changed into sweats and shoved on his court shoes. It was Thursday afternoon and he’d made plans to meet his friend Jerome down at the park for some hoops. He needed the physical activity and the diversion of athletic competition. Badly.

His keys sat on his dresser, next to a framed photo of Felicity and him. He grabbed the keys and stuffed them into the zippered pocket of his sweat-pants, then jogged down the stairs and left the building at an easy run, warming up his body slowly. The October air felt cool and refreshing against his skin. The change to standard time hadn’t occurred yet, so a few more hours of daylight remained this afternoon.

He tilted up his face to the sun, briefly closing his eyes as he ran along the sidewalk, and thought, How could this have happened? This impossible, incomprehensible situation. How can Melissa and I be having a baby together?

Neither of them had expected to have children—let alone with each other.

How strange and terrifying…

Not that either of them had something against kids. No, they both liked them. They’d enjoyed the times when Kyle’s brother and his wife—now his ex-wife—had come to visit, bringing little Danny and Mira. They often volunteered to baby-sit for friends.

But to take on parenthood themselves?

Kyle reached the park, saw Jerome and waved as he jogged toward him.

“Hey,” the other man said, clasping his hand in a quick man-to-man shake when he reached the court. “How’s it going, Kyle?”

He shrugged. “You know.”

I’m going to be a father.

The thought resounded in his head like the echoing announcements in a sports arena. He tried to ignore it and said, “Ready to be the old farts who kick some seventeen-year-old butts?”

Jerome laughed. “You bet, man.”

Within a couple minutes they’d found more players and started a game. Kyle worked up a sweat. As the only white guy this afternoon—and one who was only five-eleven at that—he had to work extra hard to prove himself. And then there was the age thing. He and Jerome were thirty-two and thirty-six respectively. The teenagers here really did see them as old farts.

I’m going to be a father.

He jumped up and aimed for the hoop. The ball made a satisfying whoosh as it slid cleanly through; unlike some public courts, this one had nets hanging.

Jerome tagged him on the arm as they moved back out. “Good shot, buddy.”

“Thanks.”

I’m going to be a father. They played another thirty minutes before taking a break. Kyle walked over to the water fountain, breathing hard. He wiped the sweat from his forehead with the back of his forearm.

A few yards away children laughed and shouted as they pumped back and forth on the swings and climbed all over the brightly painted jungle gym.

Hell.

I’m going to be a father.

Jerome caught up with him as he leaned down for a drink. “Hey, old man,” he teased. “Too much for you?”

Kyle swallowed a mouthful of water. “I’m not the one who was gasping and wheezing on the court back there,” he said, and took another long gulp.

His friend laughed.

Kyle felt dizzy and weak. And it wasn’t because of the basketball game.

ANITA LOPEZ did not look forward to seeing her sister. She loved Melissa and usually enjoyed spending time together—but sometimes the tensions in their relationship were more than she wanted to deal with.

And sometimes her perfect, overachieving sister could be a royal pain.

This Friday morning, Anita feared, was going to be one of those times. Especially after she told her the news. Without a doubt Melissa would flip.

Oh, she wouldn’t shout and wave her arms in the air, or swear, or do any of the things most people did when they flew off the handle. No, Melissa would stay completely calm. Her very noticeable lack of a strong response would signal her flipped-outedness.

Through the kitchen window of her ground-floor apartment Anita saw her sister’s white Honda pull up in the parking lot.

She’d been washing dishes from breakfast. She rinsed the last plate and wiped off her hands.

Melissa had almost reached the front stoop when Anita opened the door. They greeted each other with the genuine affection they shared—despite the issues between them—and Anita ushered her inside.

“I made some herbal tea to take with us,” Anita said, “since I noticed you stopped drinking coffee last month.”

“Thanks, that sounds great.”

“Just let me get a wool sweater. It’s a bit nippy out today, isn’t it?”

When she returned from the bedroom, Melissa had retrieved the two insulated travel mugs from the kitchen counter. She handed one to Anita. “What’s Troy up to this morning?”

“Working for his brother at the hardware store. Didn’t I tell you?” She grabbed her backpack and keys from the dining-room table and they headed outside. “He started working there to pick up some extra cash.”

“Mmm. I don’t remember hearing about it.”

They passed Melissa’s car. They were going to shop at a little commercial area a mile or so away, and Melissa had suggested walking in order to get some exercise.

Anita shrugged as they reached the street and started off down the sidewalk. “I probably forgot to mention it. I’ve been…distracted lately.”

“Painting a lot?”

“No, it’s just…” She swallowed. How did you tell your younger sister, who’d never made a mistake in her life, that you’d gotten yourself knocked up? “Anyway, um, Troy had to leave before you got here. He said to say hello and he’ll see you on Sunday at Dad’s.”

Melissa glanced at her. “He’s going to be there?”

So far Troy hadn’t made a lot of appearances at the Lopez family dinners. Their old-fashioned father hadn’t quite accepted the man who was living in sin with her. She and Troy had decided to take it slowly instead of forcing the matter.

But now everything had changed.

“Melissa,” she began, “Troy and I have some news…” Damn it. Her voice sounded high-pitched and shaky, but she had to go on. “That’s why he’s coming to dinner on Sunday—so we can tell Dad together.”

“What kind of news? Do you mind telling me now or did you want to wait?”

“No, I don’t want to wait.”

Melissa watched her for a moment as they walked along the busy street. “So…?”

“So, it’s just that—well—I know you’re not going to like this,” she blurted, “but I’m—I’m going to have a baby.”

Silence met her announcement. She was afraid to meet her sister’s gaze, which was silly.

Anita flipped up the spout on her travel mug and took a long gulp of tea. She kept waiting for Melissa to say something in that composed, even voice of hers but the silence continued, stretching out between them. They crossed an intersection and walked half a block.

Finally she risked a glance.

Good Lord, she thought. Her sister’s face had gone pale. All the blood had drained out, giving her a deathly look. She was really upset. It was even worse than Anita had expected.

“Mel?” Anita asked.

Her sister cleared her throat. “Um, this is a surprise,” she said. Her voice sounded funny.

“I know, but it just happened.”

“It…wasn’t a planned pregnancy, you mean?”

“No, it wasn’t.” Anita heard the defensive edge in her voice, but she couldn’t help it. Cripes. She wished this didn’t have to be such a huge, awful, upsetting thing. She wanted it to be no big deal—if not a wonderful, joyous, exciting thing…

“And Troy is the father?” Melissa asked.

She crossed her arms. “Of course he is. I’m only a few weeks pregnant.”

“I’m sorry,” Melissa said. “I didn’t mean to insult you. I just wanted to be sure I understood.”

“Well, you can be sure.” She sounded petulant. Stupid to let herself get like this, she thought. Hadn’t she wanted to convince Melissa she could be a mature adult? “Look,” she said, sighing, “I didn’t mean to say it like that. But I’m positive Troy’s the father. I haven’t been with anyone else since early spring.”

“I see.” Melissa stared down at her insulated mug, still sealed shut. “How does he feel about it?”

“Very good, actually. He’s happy. So am I, for that matter.” And I wish you were, too, she thought. Jeez, Melissa, why can’t you just be happy for me?

“What are your plans?” Melissa asked.

“Well, I’m not having an abortion, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Are the two of you going to get married?”

“I don’t know. Maybe, but later. I don’t want to have a hasty wedding just because I’m pregnant.”

Melissa didn’t reply. She took a sip of tea, her movements a bit too precise as she opened the spout and raised it to her lips. “Mmm,” she said. “This is good.”

“Thanks. It’s my own recipe. Helps with the morning sickness.”

“You—have morning sickness?”

“Yes. Doesn’t everyone? At least the first trimester, I mean?”

Melissa paused, her expression unreadable. “Actually, no.”

“Oh.” Anita shrugged. “Well, I’m one of the lucky ones, I guess.”

“They say it helps to eat several small meals. And to take your time getting out of bed in the morning.”

“Okay, I’ll try that. Someone also suggested those wrist bands for motion sickness.”

“I’ve heard that, too.”

Why on earth, Anita thought, were they talking about something as unimportant as morning sickness right now? Especially when Melissa still looked as if she’d been attacked by a bloodsucking vampire.

How inane.

“You know,” Melissa said, “if you and Troy got married, that might be the best thing for the baby.”

And it would certainly be easier on Dad.

Of course she didn’t say it, but Anita heard the unspoken message. Though he didn’t attend church every Sunday, their father was still very Catholic. His beliefs remained traditional. It had been bad enough when Anita announced she was moving in with her boyfriend. For her to have a baby out of wedlock…

She inhaled deeply. “Look, I know it’s going to be hard for everyone to adjust to this. But I’m not ready to get married. In the long run I think it will be better for everyone, including the baby, if its parents don’t rush into a premature commitment.”

She braced herself to hear Melissa’s excruciatingly logical, well-measured, intelligent concerns. To hear her point out how poorly timed—how very premature—this pregnancy was. And, after all, if she and Troy were going to keep the child, to accept this sudden change in their lives and raise their son or daughter together, then why not go ahead and marry?

Anita knew she couldn’t explain why she felt the way she did. She wasn’t even sure she wouldn’t be ready to marry Troy before the baby came. She just knew she didn’t want to do it right now.

And she wasn’t going to do it just because society said she should.

Surprisingly, though, Melissa didn’t say a thing. Her face was still bloodless and pinched—attesting to her ongoing freak-out—but she made no attempts to reason with her.

Anita frowned. She’d also expected Melissa to ask how she’d gotten pregnant in the first place.

She’d dreaded that moment, dreaded the censure she would see in her sister’s eyes, because she and Troy hadn’t used contraception that night.

They’d been careless. They’d run out of condoms and forgotten to buy a new box, and they’d foolishly decided to take the risk.

But Melissa didn’t ask about that, either. She seemed, in fact, to have shifted to a different plane of reality. Her eyes had a glazed quality Anita had never seen before and she walked like an automaton.

“Jeez,” Anita said. “Are you okay?”

Melissa blinked and slowly focused on her.

“Hello? Is my sister in there?”

“I’m fine. Sorry, Anita. I’m just…I’m just…”

“You don’t seem fine.”

“No, probably not,” Melissa murmured. “All right, it isn’t true. I’m not fine. It’s just so complicated.”

“I know it is. But you have to trust me to work it all out—on my own. I can handle it, Sis. Please believe me.”

“You don’t understand.” Melissa shook her head. She stared straight ahead and when they reached another intersection she groped for the crosswalk button without looking at it.

“What is it that I don’t understand?”

“It’s not just because you’re pregnant. It’s more than that. Oh, Anita. I’m pregnant, too.”

CHAPTER FOUR

KYLE WALKED OVER to Melissa’s house shortly after six. They were supposed to go out for dinner before heading to Whitney’s dance performance.

Friday night and it looked like a date—why hadn’t he and Melissa ever acknowledged how much they acted like a couple?

Because we had such a platonic friendship, he thought.

The boundaries had seemed so clear. But now everything had gotten blurry. Like when he took out his contacts and he couldn’t find the edges of things.

Melissa wasn’t just his best friend anymore. She was the woman with whom he was having a baby. For the rest of their lives they would have that between them. They would always be the parents of the son or daughter they’d created together.

Their child.

Kyle hadn’t seen Melissa since Wednesday. He didn’t know what to expect tonight. More business as usual? Or had they finally crossed the line?

Kyle climbed her front steps and knocked on the door. His pulse, he realized, had accelerated sharply. Damn. He was nervous. Like a teenager.

Melissa didn’t open the door. Nothing happened at all, in fact. Belatedly he noticed the house was dark, no lights shining out into the deepening dusk.

He stood on the porch about twenty seconds, oddly inert, not knowing what to do. Where the heck was she? He couldn’t believe she would blow him off.

Finally he tried the door handle. It turned. He pushed the door inward, calling out as he stepped inside. No answer.

He switched on the light in the entryway. Melissa’s handbag lay on the sideboard where she always tossed it when she got home. He stared at it. If she’d gone out she would have taken her handbag.

Fear unfurled inside him. “Melissa? You home?” Snapping to life, he rounded the corner to the living room with urgent steps. Someone could have broken in. Attacked her—

He lurched to a sudden halt. She sat on the couch in the darkened room, her spine straight, her hands folded neatly on her lap. “Melissa? Oh, God. Are you okay?”

In the light from the entryway he saw her blink. Her eyes seemed focused on the opposite wall. She didn’t make a sound, but a moment later she gave a small nod.

Once again Kyle couldn’t move. Relief hit his system like a chemical substance, overwhelming and intense.

He found his voice. “Jesus, Melissa, you scared the shit out of me. I thought you’d—I thought someone had—”

She still didn’t look at him. He took a few steps toward her. Silence filled the room and in that silence he became aware of the fast, shallow sound of her breath.

A moment later her body crumpled on the couch.

MELISSA WAS DIMLY AWARE of Kyle pulling her onto his lap. When had he sat down next to her? He stroked her hair back from her face and held her torso against his chest, rocking her.

Her fingers tingled. Some of them had gone numb. She tried to slow her breathing. She took deep, shuddering gulps of air.

“That’s right,” he soothed. “It’s okay.”

God, this was the kind of thing Anita would do. Or a patient. Not her. She was the doctor, who treated others. She wasn’t supposed to be the one with a problem.

Melissa gasped again, and suddenly she was crying. She sobbed against Kyle’s neck, her tears running down to dampen his collar. Her body shook violently, unattractively, and he hugged her close.

“It’s okay, Mel. I’m here for you.”

All the stress of the past few months worked its way to the surface. She couldn’t hide it anymore, couldn’t keep pushing it down.

Gradually her breathing evened out as she gave in to it. She hadn’t cried like this in a very long time. Even on the gut-wrenching night when they’d ended up making love…

“Oh, God,” she mumbled.

He pulled a tissue from the box on the end table and handed it to her.

She paused long enough to blow her nose, then more sobs overtook her.

Finally, a few minutes later, her body slowly stilled. She felt a sense of calm seep into her limbs. She accepted another tissue and blotted her face, her swollen eyes. “I’m sorry,” she said.

“Don’t be.” He held her against him, against his broad, solid chest.

Melissa realized she still sat on his lap. Curled up like a child. She shifted self-consciously, unused to being in such a vulnerable position. Not even as a child had she been held like this—at least, not since the accident. Her father had been too overcome with grief and despair, too busy resisting the urge to die, to have the energy. And Anita had been too distraught, as well. She’d needed Melissa to provide the comforting gestures their father couldn’t.

“What a mess I am,” she said.

Kyle didn’t release her. “Shhh. It doesn’t matter.” He kissed her forehead. “Tell me what happened.”

She swallowed. “I’m pregnant,” she said with a feeble little laugh.

“What else?”

“Maybe it’s hormonal.”

“Maybe,” he said. “What else happened?”

She inhaled deeply, let the air out in a sigh. Had she ever appreciated the simple ability to breathe before? Not like this. “Oh, Kyle. It’s my sister.”

“You told her about the baby?”

She nodded. “It’s crazy. She…I’m not the only one who’s pregnant.”

A few seconds passed. Kyle reached over and switched on a reading lamp. He cradled her against his other shoulder and they blinked at each other as their eyes adjusted.

He frowned in disbelief. “Are you serious? You mean—?”

“She’s due in June. I wasn’t going to tell her about my pregnancy, but then she told me about hers.”

“It knocked you off balance.” He traced the curve of her face.

“Way off. I couldn’t believe it.” Melissa closed her eyes. “Why now?”

“You’re worried about your father.”

“Of course. He’ll probably have a heart attack. The worst thing is, Anita doesn’t want to get married. She and Troy are staying together, but she says she’s not ready for anything more. That means he’ll have two unmarried, pregnant daughters at the same time.”

“You really think it’ll be too much for him?”

Melissa met his gaze again. “I love my dad, Kyle. But he’s fragile. When my mom and brother died…he fell apart.”

“Well, who wouldn’t? This isn’t quite the same thing, though.”

“I know, but it will still be a shock. He’s so old-fashioned.” She scooted off Kyle’s lap and stood. “I need to wash my face, okay?”

He followed her to the bathroom and leaned a shoulder against the door frame while she splashed water on her face. Her features were puffy, but the cold water helped. She patted her face with a soft white hand towel.

“I feel better,” she told him, straightening the towel on the rack. “Thank you for taking care of me. For being there.”

“Of course, Mel, we’re friends.” He took a step into the room and pulled her into his arms before she even had a thought of stopping him. He kissed her forehead again and moved his lips to her temple, inhaling. “Mmm.”

It happened so quickly. One moment she was recovering from an emotional episode, the next moment an acute physical awareness filled her whole body. Melissa started to pull away, but when she did his lips traced a path from her temple to her mouth. And they were kissing.

They hadn’t kissed since July. Now that seemed like only yesterday. This felt so natural, so easy.

So automatic.

The kiss wasn’t outrageous. No tongues, no frantic moans or angling of heads. Just a simple, hot meeting of lips. Spellbinding. Gentle and soft and sexy. Like a kiss between a longtime couple, familiar and intimate.

And then Kyle ended it and rested his forehead against hers. They both breathed more quickly now, but this time it was arousal.

“That didn’t feel like friends,” she managed to say.

“I know. I’m sorry.” He didn’t sound particularly regretful. His voice had a ragged quality. “Want to pretend it didn’t happen?”

“Oh, yes. Definitely.”

She stepped out of his arms. They walked to the kitchen and it was as if the interlude had never happened.

Her body still humming, she opened the refrigerator door. “Let’s skip the restaurant tonight, okay? I have some leftovers we can graze on.”

He nodded and they pulled out some food. They were acting like an old married couple in the kitchen.

Kyle poured them glasses of water and sat down at the kitchen table. “You still up for Whitney’s dance thing?”

She joined him with a collection of utensils and a couple more containers of food. “Actually, yes. I think it will be good for me. Would you mind driving, though?”

“Not at all.”

They ate in silence for a minute.

She said, “I know I told you I didn’t want to talk until Wednesday.” About their situation. The baby they had conceived. “But Anita’s pregnancy changes things. She and Troy plan to tell Dad at dinner on Sunday. I think we should, too. It wouldn’t be right to listen to their announcement and not make our own.”

“Are you sure?”

She shrugged and took a bite of pasta salad.

“Don’t you think they’ll have a lot of questions?” Kyle said. “About you and me, that is.”

“I already told Anita.” She watched his expression change. He looked almost tense. Normally he was so easygoing, she thought, so unconcerned. She was supposed to be the uptight one.

“Told her what exactly?”

“I told her we’d gotten together one night.”

He swallowed a bite of rotisserie chicken. “Oh? What did she say?”

“She was shocked. She asked if we were getting married. I said no, of course.”

“Mmm. So, what do you want to tell your dad?”

“That’s the thing. I don’t know. Maybe I should say I don’t know who the father is.”

“Right.” He shook his head. “I don’t think so.”

“I could say it’s someone I met at a medical conference. Someone from, say, Cleveland.”

“Any particular reason?”

She shrugged again.

“Melissa, it’s not going to work. We have to tell him I’m the father.”

“He’ll be mad at you. Madder than he’ll be at Troy, I’m sure.” At least Troy and Anita shared a household; at least they were a real couple.

“Fine. I’ll take the heat. I’d rather do that than hide behind an imaginary guy from Cleveland.”

“God…maybe we should get married. It would make this so much easier.”

“I’m sorry?”

She shook her head. “I don’t know. It was just an idea.”

“A crazy one,” he said.

“Can you come up with something better?”

Kyle thought for a moment. “Maybe not. You’re sure we should tell him on Sunday?”

“Yes. I’ve already told Anita. She doesn’t want to have to keep the secret. Anyway, she’s afraid she’d accidentally spill the beans.”

“But finding out about you and Anita at once—”

“Will be even harder on Dad. A double whammy. Yes, I know.” She paused. Reached across the table for a gingersnap. “If we could tell him we were getting married, though…”

Kyle set down his silverware. He leaned forward and captured her gaze. “You keep saying that and I don’t know why. You’re not serious.”

He was right, Melissa thought. She couldn’t be serious. It was too outrageous. Too extreme.

And she didn’t miss the flicker of panic in his eyes. Marriage and Kyle? No, not since Felicity had that been a possibility, and it wouldn’t be for years to come.

Not too difficult to figure out that the suicide of a loved one was even harder to get over than a regular death. Not too difficult to figure out why Kyle kept his love life shallow and uncommitted.

And her own feelings about marriage? The subject was an uncomfortable one. She didn’t like to go there. She hadn’t expected it to be an issue. The two proposals she’d received in her life had not even remotely tempted her. She found it impossible to imagine herself as a wife, as part of a happy little picket-fence family.

But this wasn’t a normal situation, she thought. It felt unreal, as if they’d slipped into an alternative universe.

One in which marriage might be a strangely appropriate solution.

“Mel,” he persisted, “tell me you’re not serious.”

“I don’t know, Kyle. What if I were? What if we could have an old-fashioned marriage of convenience?”

“What in God’s name is that?”

“One that’s not based on romance. One based on other things. Like—”

“Convenience. Come on, Mel. That’s crazy.”

“Is it, though?” She frowned, trying to think it through. “We get along well. We want the same things in life. Oh, Kyle. Marriage could be the smartest way to handle our circumstances.”

“What you’re talking about is a shotgun wedding. The thing your sister refuses to have.”

“Fine,” Melissa said. “I’m not my sister, though.”

THEY DISCUSSED IT on the way to the dance performance. Kyle thought she’d lost her mind. And maybe she had. Maybe she’d damaged her brain cells when she’d hyperventilated. A week ago she would never have considered such a radical solution.

But she felt very calm. And very sane. And the more they talked about it the surer she became. Why not get married? Neither of them had looked forward to a regular marriage someday; this wouldn’t get in the way of a future relationship.

She realized, too, that matrimony seemed so much safer without the complication of romantic love. So much less disturbing.

The idea of having a child already disturbed her enough—more than she could ever acknowledge out loud. It scared her. The fear wasn’t rational. It was deep and instinctual. Sometimes she thought she’d simply seen too much at work and in her own family not to be aware of the risks of losing people. Of the potential for devastating pain. Despair that took away your ability to get through the day. Your will to live.

How many times had she had to tell people their child or spouse had died? Enough to know she didn’t want to be on the other end of that conversation.

And it never got any easier. Sometimes it even got harder—when one of her patients somehow got under her skin. Like last July.

And now, because of that day, she would be a parent after all. She would accept the risks because abortion and adoption were even less acceptable to her. And she might marry Kyle, too—if she could talk him into it.

“All right,” Kyle finally said. “Let’s sleep on it. Maybe you’ll come to your senses by morning.”

“Maybe not,” she said.

A minute later he pulled up outside their destination, a small, avant-garde theater in southeast Portland, and cut the engine. “This place is creepy looking,” he said, grinning. “Like it might not be good for a pregnant lady.”

“Oh, please. Don’t start coddling me.” She didn’t want him to treat her any differently because of her breakdown tonight. It had only been temporary. She was still a strong person. She didn’t need to be sheltered from every little thing.

“Right,” he said, and exited his blue Toyota.

But he circled the vehicle and helped her out. And all the way into the theater his hand rested between her shoulder blades. It could have been a simple, friendly, gentlemanly gesture. But it felt like more. It felt both protective and possessive.

They ran into Barbara Purcell in the lobby.

She stared at them for a long moment. “You two okay?”

“Sure,” Kyle said. “Why wouldn’t we be?”

“Something’s going on. Want to let me in on it?”

Melissa forced a smile. Oh, Barbara. You’d be stunned if we did. I’m still stunned. “It’s no big deal. We’ll tell you about it later, okay?”

As soon as we figure out what to do. What to say. Whether we’re going to be husband and wife.

And we’ve got to make the decision soon. Before we talk to my father on Sunday.

Kyle placed that possessive hand on her back again as the three of them went to find their seats. She was pretty sure Barbara noticed, though the other woman made no comment.

WHAT WAS WRONG WITH HIM? He couldn’t keep his hands off her, Kyle reflected as he pulled out of the theater parking lot after the performance. He told himself to cool it. He didn’t want them to do anything physical again. Yet tonight his body had ignored his brain’s commands. He’d even kissed her.

Beside him Melissa stared thoughtfully out the window.

“What are you thinking about?” he asked, wanting distraction from his own ruminations.

“Barbara. I didn’t realize we were so obvious. No one noticed anything before.”

“Last summer, you mean.” No one had noticed anything different between them after they’d made love.

She nodded.

So now they were no longer able to act normal together—the way they had for months.

They were having a baby. Unlike the single night they’d shared, this wasn’t a discrete event that could ever be finished, ever be ignored. The shape of Melissa’s body would soon reveal what was going on inside her. In the spring she would give birth. And their child would remain in their lives.

The knowledge had to affect their behavior. If Barbara had perceived a change, others might, too.

“Maybe my eyes were red,” she said. “Maybe that’s what caught Barbara’s attention. She could tell I’d been crying.”

“I don’t think so,” Kyle said. “Your eyes looked fine…You still think we should get hitched?”

She nodded. “You?”

“Nothing’s changed in the past hour or two. I still can’t see it.”

“Not to mention you’re a confirmed bachelor.”

“Not to mention that.”

He couldn’t believe Melissa had come up with the idea. She’d always been even more terrified of marriage and having a family than he was.

Even more self-protective.

And he didn’t blame her. Who wouldn’t be after what she’d gone through? The accident, losing her mother and brother, surviving when they hadn’t. And afterward her father’s grief, his longing to kill himself. Kyle didn’t know how Melissa had found out about it—he hadn’t had the heart to ask—but he’d often thought about what that knowledge would do to a kid.

His own experience with suicide made it easy for him to imagine.

And now Melissa worked in an E.R. Not a place to let her forget about human tragedy—or make her give up her emotional defenses.

Kyle frowned as he stared at the road in front of them. Perhaps her idea wasn’t so surprising after all, he told himself.

A marriage of convenience, she’d called it. Not a regular one. A much less messy kind of partnership. No unruly emotions, no romantic love to complicate the arrangement.

Oh, Mel. Only you.

CHAPTER FIVE

ON SATURDAYS Kyle usually spent a couple of hours at the clinic. He arrived a bit later than planned, having overslept and then losing a good thirty minutes at the breakfast table, staring off into space. Barely touching his food. Thinking about marriage.

If nothing else it would please his mother. Like many parents she wanted her children to settle down—something neither of her sons had done with much success.

And six years had passed since Felicity. He knew his mother thought it was time to try again.

She adored Melissa, whom she’d met on her yearly trips to Portland, though she’d long since stopped dropping hints about their relationship. If Kyle and Melissa got married his mother would be overjoyed. Not a reason to do it, of course, but it was another factor to consider. He wouldn’t mind giving his mother something to be happy about. She’d suffered enough in her life.

Kyle parked his car around the corner and walked to the clinic, greeting a few of the people he met on the sidewalk. This area of Portland, called Old Town, had a lot of residents—both the indoor and outdoor variety. After working here six years Kyle recognized most of them, and was friendly with many of them.

He wanted to do his part to help make the community a safer, healthier, more hopeful place. Slowly that seemed to be happening, but a lot of work remained to be done. And Old Town would never be the kind of carefree, complacent neighborhood like the ones in the west hills. Too much poverty here, for one thing.

But you couldn’t let it get to you. Not too much. That was a sure way to burn out. Then you were no good to anyone.

Reaching the clinic, he pushed the door and stepped inside. Barbara had arrived a couple of hours earlier and opened up shop with the blond lawyer who volunteered most weekends. Kyle nodded at her and glanced around the waiting area, where a few people already sat.

His gaze landed on Zita, who’d already had an appointment a few days ago. He raised an eyebrow. “How’s it going?”

She gave him a sour look. “Yeah, whatever. Trouble with my foot.”

Her high-top sneakers had several large holes in them, affording him a glimpse of a dirty bandage on one heel.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” he said. “I’m sure Barbara will help you take care of that.”

“Where’s Doc Lopez?”

For some reason she’d taken a shine to Melissa, even though she ended up yelling at her more often than not during her regular checkups for hypertension and a few other conditions.

“Sorry. She only works Wednesdays.”

“Damn it! Oh, well, Barbara’s cool, too. It’s that other one—” She snapped her fingers in front of her forehead a couple of times.

“Dr. Griffin?”

“Yeah, him. He’s a pig.”

Ross Griffin was a very nice young resident who worked with Melissa up at Northwest Hospital and volunteered whenever his schedule allowed. He was hardly “a pig,” but Kyle refrained from pointing that out. He wouldn’t be able to change her mind.

“Lucky for you he’s not in today,” he said, turning to go to his office. “See you around, Zita. I hope your foot gets better.”

“Sure, fine. Whatever.”

He smiled as he let himself into his office. Coming from Zita that was pretty polite.

He made slow but steady progress on his paperwork, despite his preoccupied state. At one point Barbara dropped in and shared a cup of coffee. She watched him a little more closely than usual, he thought, but she didn’t refer to the previous night.

A little before noon he glanced up from his desk to see a boy, maybe sixteen, standing in the doorway to his office. His light-brown hair hung in greasy tangles around his face and his clothes looked as if they hadn’t seen a washing machine in months. His left wrist was in a splint. He carried an army-surplus duffel bag over his shoulder.

Street kid. He didn’t appear drugged out, Kyle noted—good sign for his future health and safety.

“That black lady said you had some stuff you could give me.” His voice was only slightly sullen.

Kyle stood. “Okay. Personal supplies, that kind of thing?” he asked, walking to the wall shelves.

The boy shrugged, staring down at the peeling linoleum floor. “Yeah, I guess so,” he muttered.

Kyle pulled out a couple of cardboard boxes. “Why don’t you come see what you can use.”

The kid hesitated.

“My name’s Kyle. What’s yours?”

More hesitation. Then, “Blue.”

A street name. Not surprising that he wouldn’t trust Kyle, a stranger, with his real name.

“Nice to meet you, Blue.” He held up a packet with a toothbrush, toothpaste, deodorant and soap. “This look like stuff you need?”

Blue took a few steps into the room. “It’s free, right?”

Kyle nodded.

“Yeah, okay. I guess I could use that.” He walked over and accepted the packet.

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