I was freezing. My stomach felt as though it had gone five rounds with the Tilt-A-Whirl.

With a groan, I peeled back my eyelids and winced against the bright lights.

Where the hell was I?

Last I remembered, I’d been puking into another trash can. In front of—and thank you, universe, for that one—Jordan. For the second time.

Awesome. Lovely. The perfect ending to what had amounted to a hellish last two months for me.

“You’re awake.”

I carefully turned my head to the side and, of course, Jordan was there, looking gorgeous in his suit. It fit his body like a second skin, and my body remembered the feel of all that glorious hardness in minute, extremely descriptive detail.

The heat of him. The prickle of stubble against my throat. The way his abs had felt like granite. The press of his hipbones to mine. Hard to soft. Hot to warm. Spicy. Masculine—

Not. Mine.

“I’m awake,” I agreed and closed my eyes, shifting my head back to the center of my pillow.

“You passed out,” he said.

The lights were uncomfortably bright through my lids, so I tilted my head again. Away from Jordan.

“Yeah,” I said. “I’m getting that.”

“You scared me.”

The words made me jump, not only because they surprised the hell out of me, but also because they came from approximately eight inches away from my face.

I hadn’t heard him move, but he was there. Crouched next to the bed and right in my face.

“I’m sorry.” And I was. “Thanks for not leaving me.”

Jordan’s brows pulled down. “Why would I have left you?”

“Um, because I was mean to you and puking uncontrollably.”

He snorted. “Fair point. But I don’t think you were feeling like yourself.”

Now wasn’t that the truth? I’d been feeling off for a couple of weeks but had chalked it up to my hypoglycemia. Which basically meant that my body didn’t process insulin correctly and my blood sugar dropped unpredictably. But other than small, frequent meals and sometimes getting a little dizzy, it hadn’t affected my life all that much.

Trust it to make me pass out for the first time in my life in front of a god.

Now that fit in with how things had been going as of late.

“My assistant couldn’t find your insurance card.”

I blinked, eyes flying to his. There was something in his expression . . . calculating? Careful?

Whatever it was, I didn’t like it.

“It’s in my apartment.” I sighed. “I was using it to apply for new insurance. I was laid off this week.”

He grimaced. “I’m sorry.”

“Yeah. Me too.” My job gone in the span of fifteen minutes. And I couldn’t even say it was because I’d screwed up or the owners had been unfair.

Frank and Susan deserved their retirement. Except, I’d all but run their graphic design business for the last few years. It had become my baby, and now it was gone.

“My bosses decided they needed to simplify their life, sold the business, and bought a giant RV.” I shrugged. “At least they left me a nice severance package. I’m good for a bit.”

Not that I knew what I wanted to do with my life. Did I want to spend the rest of it designing websites and logos?

No, I didn’t think so.

But I also didn’t have a reasonable source of income.

And a girl needed money to survive.

“That’s good,” Jordan said.

I pushed all thoughts of my former job out of my head and focused on my immediate surroundings. Which I probably should have done the moment I woke, but there you go. My brain didn’t always work in a straightforward, A to B, important to least important way.

Sometimes I got stuck on insignificant details and veered off course.

Sometimes I fussed with the placement of one letter for hours, so focused on that one small point that I forgot about the big picture.

“How’d I get here?”

“An ambulance.”

“What?” I guess I figured he’d driven me, because damn, being transported to the hospital in an ambulance for my hypoglycemia was going to be expensive.

Shit.

Jordan’s lips pressed together. “You wouldn’t wake up, and I couldn’t get into your apartment. I was worried.”

“I’m sorry. I’m just—” I shook my head. “Nothing like this has ever happened to me before. Aside from a lot of tests when I was younger”—I explained my hypoglycemia and what it meant—“I’ve never even been in the hospital.”

He nodded, looking thoughtful. “The doctor said something about your blood sugar being off.”

“Dang,” I said. “I—”

A warm hand laced with mine. “Hey, it’s okay. The doctors will get you sorted out and you’ll be on your way.”

My nose wrinkled as the smell of Jordan—was it his deodorant? It almost had a spicy scent, like men’s grooming products—hit my nose again. In a second, I went from feeling a little weak but mostly fine, to my stomach tying itself in knots.

“Let go.” I pulled my hand free, scooted back on the bed. “Stay there,” I said when he leaned in, face concerned.

“What is it?”

I put a palm up. “That smell. You.” I tried to breathe through my mouth as saliva pooled around my tongue. “Your . . . deodorant.”

Don’t puke. No puking allowed—

I gagged.

Jordan backed up.

“I can’t with the smell. It’s horrible. It’s going to make me pu—”

He snagged a trash can from near the door and extended it toward me. “I don’t understand why the smell of my deodorant is making you sick—”

The door opened and a doctor filled the threshold, taking in the garbage bin on the bed, my hand over my mouth, and Jordan pressed into the corner.

“Stomach still touchy, huh?” The doctor, a middle-aged man in blue scrubs and a white coat, with gray-blond hair neatly combed, pushed through the door. He used his palm to press some sanitizer from the container mounted on the wall and rubbed it between his hands.

I nodded. “Yes, unfortunately.” Though the roiling was subsiding with Jordan out of nose-reach.

“I’m Dr. Williams.” He crossed to the computer and typed a few keys before scrolling through several screens. “I think I have the answer to that.”

“My hypoglycemia?”

Dr. Williams turned and came close to the bed. “Your hypoglycemia was almost certainly the reason for the fainting. Your stomach upset is for a completely different reason, I suspect.”

I frowned.

“When was the date of your last period?”

I pressed back into the bed. “I’ve had an IUD for years. I hardly ever get periods anymore. It’s been months.”

Dr. Williams sighed. “Well, here’s the thing. We drew your blood”—he nodded at the bandage at my elbow—“and that sample says you’re pregnant.”

My entire body went numb. That couldn’t be right. I hadn’t—

I couldn’t—

“In fact, your HCG levels say you’re about eight weeks pregnant.”

I felt Jordan move in the corner, but I couldn’t tear my eyes away from the doctor.

“But I have an IUD.”

“Unfortunately, no method of birth control is one hundred percent effective.” He gave me a sympathetic look. “In fact, my youngest daughter is the byproduct of a failed IUD.”

This couldn’t actually be happening.

Not now. Not with my job imploding. Not with my dad deciding—

A hand touched mine and I opened my eyes to find Dr. Williams staring down at me, dark eyes kind. “You’ll be okay. The OB will be down in a few minutes to check on you and then you can get out of here. You’ll need to make some follow up appointments to ensure you and the baby stay healthy, all right?”

“All right.” I gripped the sheets tightly as he logged out of the computer and left the room. The cotton was cool against my clammy hands, but it was more than that. Something concrete to hold on to when the rest of the world was falling apart.

I was ignoring the fact that I was going to have to let go at some point.

Pregnant.

How in the hell was I pregnant?

“Goodbye, Abigail. Take care.” And with a small smile, Dr. Williams was gone.

I stared at the ceiling for a few minutes before I frowned and glanced around the room.

Jordan was gone.

How typical.