“Priscilla,” barked her father from his office, “if I wanted my coffee cold, I would’ve asked for it iced, gal. Go get me a hot cup.”

Pursing her lips together, Priscilla, dressed in a simple black maxi dress and seafoam-green cardigan sweater, stood up from her cubicle and trudged to her father’s doorway.

“Did I hear the dulcet tones of another sweet request, Daddy?”

“Don’t be fresh,” he said without looking up. “Just get me a hot cup.”

Shane, who was sitting in one of the two guest chairs in front of her father’s desk reviewing contracts, looked at her over his shoulder, giving her a small, secret grin before rolling his eyes in solidarity. Priscilla stuck her tongue out of the side of her mouth and crossed her eyes, which made him flinch with laughter. Her good mood restored, she turned to get her father a fresh cup of coffee.

Her father had seemed grudgingly pleased Sunday evening at supper when she asked if he needed any help at the office. Not one for effusion, he’d looked at her in surprise, then nodded, saying she could take over for Margaret as his assistant until a suitable replacement could be found. But she could tell that he was glad to have her there.

Monday had been a veritable comedy of errors with Priscilla trying to figure out Margaret’s filing system and phone console, but by Wednesday morning, things were humming along pretty smoothly. And the best part of all? Being around Shane every day.

After they’d woken up on Sunday morning, he’d left for his apartment to shower and change, promising to come back and take her out for lunch. They’d brunched at one of her favorite spots: the White Dog Café in Haverford, complete with its eclectic dog-centric paintings and aqua velvet wingback chairs.

She’d wolfed down as many muffins as she wanted—without a sideways glance from Shane, who knew she was eating for two—and they talked about his childhood growing up on a dairy farm. While Priscilla had been reared in luxury, Shane had lived such a different life—expected to be up early every morning to work for several hours before school. He shared how he’d tried hard to find ways to “break away” from his parents’ lifestyle—by raising a calf and winning first place at a 4-H competition or distinguishing himself in his studies. But he came to realize that nothing would free him from Manitowoc Creek except leaving, and so he’d set into motion the decision that would shape the rest of his life: applying for and winning a scholarship at a posh boarding school in Virginia.

“Do you miss them?” Priscilla had asked. “Your parents and brothers?”

“I go see them every couple of years. The thing is, I never really fit in there,” he’d said. “But then…I’m not sure I fit in here either.”

“You do,” she insisted. You fit in right here. With me.

“Did you fit in? Growing up here?”

She’d sighed, thinking about his question for a moment before answering. “My family name means there will always be a place for me here. I could apply for membership at any of the clubs or join any of the ladies’ organizations, and yes, I believe they would welcome me. But the reality is that they’d only be accepting me for my last name…not for me.” She smiled at him. “I guess, to some extent, we’re both on the outside looking in.”

“I guess we are,” he’d agreed, grinning at her.

“I’d rather be us than them,” she said wickedly. “Fuck ’em all anyway!”

She watched with delight as he threw his head back and chuckled at her audacity, giggling along with him, loving the ease at which they now spoke, their camaraderie, and the wonderful feeling that she was no longer alone.

After brunch, he’d insisted on stopping in at a posh little boutique called the Mother Hen, where, for the first time, Priscilla had looked at baby clothes, bibs, and tiny socks. She’d gingerly fingered soft little stuffed animals piled in a wicker basket, her gaze lingering on a snow-white bunny with a pink nose and fluffy ears.

“Let me get it for you,” said Shane, coming up behind her and speaking close to her ear.

“No. You can’t. You’ve already—”

Reaching around her, his arm brushing her waist, he plucked the bunny from its friends, and she watched as he walked over to the store clerk at the cashier. She was young and pretty and leaned across the counter, admiring the bunny and smiling up at him with come-hither eyes. Without actually thinking through her next move, Priscilla joined him at the counter, taking his arm and resting her head possessively on his shoulder. When the salesgirl turned around from wrapping the bunny, her smile slipped a little before she restored it.

“Is this the mommy-to-be?” she asked.

“It is,” said Priscilla with a cool smile. “And the wife.”

The girl’s eyes dropped to Shane’s ringless hand, then slid back up to Priscilla sheepishly as she held out the powder-pink and robin’s-egg-blue gift bag. “Congratulations.”

“Thanks.”

As they walked out of the store together, Shane’s voice was thick with amusement. “Is that your pee I feel running down my leg?”

“Yes. Yes, it is.”

“Not necessary to stake your claim. I’m already yours,” he said, then added softly, “for a year.”

The words made her want to celebrate and flinch at the same time. That he was hers at all, for any length of time, felt right. That he was constantly reminding her that their arrangement had an expiration date at all was starting to bother her.

She tilted her head to the side, shielding her eyes from the bright sun with her hand. “You’re handsome. She noticed. I didn’t like it.”

“You’re beautiful. And you’re wearing my ring.”

“I’m also pregnant with another man’s baby.”

“A man who isn’t in the picture.”

“It doesn’t bother you?”

“Do I love it that you were with him? Not especially. But, P,” he said gently, urgently, his eyes slipping to her waist and lingering for a moment, “this baby will never know Pernaud. At least for a little while, however, he or she will know me. That means something to me.”

His face had blurred from her tears, but she’d reached for his hand, placing his palm over the swell of her stomach beneath a billowy top, then covering it with her own. Staring down at their hands, it was the first moment—the first real moment—that she’d felt like a mother, that the little being growing inside of her had felt like a person to be loved and not a problem to be solved. And she was grateful for that gift. So very grateful to him.

The swell in her throat was too thick for her to speak, but she hoped he could see it in her eyes—her gratitude, and yes, something deeper that was growing inside of her heart just as certainly as her child was growing inside her belly.

Distracted by such lovely thoughts from the weekend as she brewed a fresh pot of coffee for her father in the office kitchenette, she didn’t hear Shane slip into the small room, but she looked up as the door clicked shut.

“Hey,” he said, grinning at her from across the small room.

“Hi.” She jutted out her hip and gave him a saucy smile. “You want some hot coffee too?”

“Nah,” he said. “But I won’t tell if you spit in it.”

“Shane Olson! The very thought!” she cried, pretending to be outraged.

He shrugged, hands in his pockets, looking happy. “I just wanted to be sure we’re on for dinner?”

She nodded. They had made a date for tonight after he drove her home on Sunday afternoon.

“But…any chance we could do takeout at my place instead?” she asked. “I’m sure it’s the baby and hormones, but I’m so tired by the end of the day. Staying in sounds divine.”

“Of course,” he said. “Fatigue is common throughout a pregnancy. But by the end of month four, you’ll have a lot more energy.”

“Thank God that’s just around the corner.” She chuckled as she poured her father’s coffee. “Yet again…you know more than I do.”

“I’m here for you.”

“I know you are,” she said, reaching for his cheek with her free hand and palming it tenderly. “I’m grateful.”

“What should I bring tonight?” he asked. “Chinese? Pizza?”

“I’m dying for Indian.”

“Done.”

“Anything else?”

“You,” she said softly. “I’m dying a little for you.”

His eyes darkened, and he took a step toward her, moving slowly, careful not to spill the coffee in her other hand. “That’s, um, common during pregnancy too.”

She blinked at him. “What?”

“In—um—” He cleared his throat. “Increased libido.”

Her lips parted as she stared at him. “It’s not just…biological, Shane.” He didn’t say anything; he just held her eyes, as though waiting for her to continue. “On Saturday night…you said that you think about me all the time.”

“It’s true. I do.”

“I do too,” she said, licking her lips, feeling nervous for no good reason at all. “I think about you all the time too.”

His eyes had dropped to her lips the moment she wet them, and now he closed the distance between them, reaching for her waist to pull her close, to hold her, to kiss her—

The door opened.

They sprang back from each other, panting and wide-eyed, as Brandi from accounting walked into the kitchenette, adjusting her Coke-bottle glasses and beelining for the coffeepot.

“Is this fresh?” she asked Priscilla and Shane, who stood side by side, completely frozen.

Priscilla’s shoulders started shaking, a fit of giggles not far behind, leaving Shane to explain that yes, the coffee was fresh and hot.

Very hot.

***

Uncertain of exactly what to get at Tandoori Oven, Shane ended up ordering way too much Indian food for two people to share, but from the look on Priscilla’s face as he placed seven covered tins of Indian food on the table, he’d done a pretty good job choosing. She ooohed and aaahed over every dish, and he found himself pulling the tins out of the bag slower and slower to build the anticipation, enjoying her reaction.

She had the table set and ready for them, and Shane took a seat, slinging off his sports coat and hanging it on the back of his chair.

“What are you drinking?” she asked.

“What have you got?”

“Wine…beer…iced tea…”

“Beer. Thanks.”

She turned into the small kitchen and returned a moment later with two green bottles hanging from her fingers. As she handed one to him, he read “Heineken” on the side of the bottle and felt a moment of despair. He looked up and stared at her gravely.

“What?” she asked, raising her own bottle to her lips.

“It’s none of my business, but…are you—Priscilla, are you drinking?”

Slowly she lowered the bottle from her lips, turning it so he could read the label: “O’Doul’s Non-Alcoholic Brew.”

Breathing a sigh of relief, he raised his eyes to her face but found her gaze stormy. She put a hand on her hip, staring at him, her lips tight with hurt and anger. “Do you really think I’m that irresponsible?”

He hated—absolutely despised—the way she was looking at him. But if old habits died hard, preconceived notions about someone died even harder, it appeared, no matter how much one tried to see them through new eyes.

“I was worried…I—I’m still learning who you are, and I’m falling for who you are, and I’m sorry I thought—damn it, I’m lousing this up, but I would have just been really disappointed in you…because the person you’re turning out to be wouldn’t—”

“Shane,” she said.

“P,” he answered.

“Back it up a little. What was that part after learning about who I am?”

Quickly, he reviewed what he’d just said to her, his eyes widening in realization when he got to the part she was referring to.

All hardness was slipping from her face as she watched him, her lips turning up, her eyes brightening. “Mm-hm. That part.”

“I’m falling for you,” he said simply, the words easier to repeat than he would have guessed.

Priscilla sat down in her seat, picking up a plastic container of jasmine rice and putting a big scoop on her plate.

“You’re forgiven,” she said softly, smiling at the feast before them.

Half an hour later, she sat back in her chair, patting her tummy and sighing.

“I’ve probably gained ten pounds,” she said, surveying the wreckage.

They’d finished several plates each of chicken korma, shrimp tikka masala, samosas, onion naan, biryani, and prawn malai curry and a hefty helping of kheer, and though it was only the second or third time Shane had eaten Indian food, he had to admit it was delicious. No wonder she was craving it. He might start craving it too.

“You’re eating for two,” he said, standing from his chair and stretching. “Mind if I get another beer?”

“Help yourself.”

“You want another?” he asked.

“No, thanks,” she said. “But would you fill the kettle and turn on the stove? I’d kill for a cup of tea.”

Flicking on the stove as he replaced the kettle, it occurred to him how domestic this evening was turning out to be…and how much he liked it. Dinner at her place. Cold beer. Good takeout. Tea after dinner. Not once during the months he’d dated Margaret had he felt even a fraction of the ease he felt moving around Priscilla’s space. And not just ease, but excitement. Whenever he was around Priscilla, there was this palatable buzz of anticipation, a charge, a thrill, an unspoken promise of something new or thrilling about to happen. He’d never experienced anything quite like it, and the longer he was around her, the more he wanted it.

“My sixteen-week appointment is next week,” she called from the table. “I’m having my first ultrasound.”

He was glad when she’d finally gone on his insurance this week; he didn’t want to worry about her not receiving proper medical care, and their HR rep, Heather, had promised discretion about their secret nuptials.

“Oh?”

“Mm-hm,” she hummed, like she was swallowing something. “Would you—I mean, no pressure, but would you like to come with me?”

His breath caught despite the clumsiness of her invitation. He felt honored to be asked, to be included in such a momentous activity, and something irreversible happened inside of his heart in that moment. Biologically, of course, Priscilla’s baby would never be his. But he would be the first man to see that baby’s fingers and toes on an ultrasound screen. He would be holding Priscilla’s hand as they listened for the whoosh of a beating heart. And maybe—just maybe—they would find out if she was expecting a boy or girl.

His heart burst with the goodness of it, and he took a deep breath as he returned to the table. “I’d love to come.”

“Really?” she asked, her eyes bright as she pulled an empty spoon from her mouth. “I’d be so grateful for the moral support.”

“I’ll be there. No problem.”

Sitting back down at the table with his beer, he watched her take another bite of kheer directly from the tin, savoring it distractedly before dipping back in for more. But before she could take the last scoop, he grabbed his own spoon, pushed hers aside with a clank, and scraped up the rest.

Her head snapped up, and she blinked at him, holding up her empty spoon. “Oh, hell no! You’re going to steal rice pudding from a pregnant lady?”

“Pretty much.”

“Not gonna happen,” she said, standing and leaning her elbows on the table so her face was closer to his and her loose-fitting blouse gaped open.

He took a long moment to stare at her exposed cleavage, then raised his head to look into her eyes. As slowly as possible, he raised the full spoon to his lips. “What’re you prepared to do about it?”

Staring back at him, she reached for the bodice of the blouse with both hands and fisted the hem. “If you don’t drop your eyes to my tits, you can have the pudding.”

“Deal,” he said, spoon frozen in front of his mouth, eyes locked with hers.

She breathed deeply, inflating her lungs, then tugged on the bodice until he could see the satiny top of her bra. Her breasts, which had been relatively small before her pregnancy, were much fuller now, and her flesh spilled over the top just a little.

“More?” she asked.

Of course he wanted more. Damn it, he wanted all…but they were playing a game, and he was determined to win. Still staring directly into her eyes, his tongue darted out to lick the spoon. “Why not?”

Hooking her fingers into the top of the bra, she pulled on it a little more, exposing a crescent of dark-pink areola that he could barely make out in his peripheral vision. He flinched, his breathing stuttering as he fought not to drop his eyes. He felt his heart thunder as he slowly took a lick of pudding.

Priscilla exhaled the breath she’d been holding and grinned at him, a deep, breathy chuckle escaping from her throat. “You look a little…needy.”

“Just hungry,” he replied.

“Mm-hm,” she said, another laugh warming her already husky voice.

And damn it, but the combination of her exposed breasts, bright eyes, and throaty laugh just about unmanned him. His erection strained uncomfortably, and he shifted in his seat.

“Everything okay down there?” she asked, her voice low and seductive, her eyes dark and deep.

Before he could answer, she tugged down the bra a little more, and though he couldn’t see clearly, he knew that the satin edging was caught on the points of her distended nipples. Her breathing was shallow and choppy, which made the flesh of her breasts heave against her knuckles, and his penis throbbed along with his pulse, finally overruling his self-control.

“I’m only mortal,” he ground out, offering her the spoon as his eyes dropped greedily to her breasts, the battle lost.

Everything he’d seen in a blur was now crystal clear as he stared at her across the black lacquer table: the creamy skin of her breasts, dotted with the same light-brown freckles that peppered her nose; the dark-pink crescent of her areola; the outline of her large, pebbled nipples clearly visible under thin pieces of fabric.

“P…” he groaned, looking up at her, a sharp desperation making him hurt inside.

He wanted her.

Dear Lord, he’d never wanted anything more.

With her palms cupping her breasts, she stood up and walked slowly around the table toward him, and Shane shifted in his chair, anticipating her. When she reached him, she straddled his lap without permission, holding onto the back of the chair and trapping him between her arms. His erection pulsed against her bottom, the pressure of her weight both a relief and torture as she slid her core flush with his. Arching her back a little, her blouse drooped, and her chest heaved with every breath she took, the tips of her almost-naked breasts grazing his shirt.

“Touch me,” she whispered, her voice holding the same ache of longing that he felt everywhere in his body. When he didn’t move, she added, “Please.”

Sliding his eyes from her face to her breasts, he reached up, hooking his fingers into the satin edge of her bra and pulling the cups over her flesh until her nipples were fully exposed and her breasts were free.

He jerked his head up to look into her eyes. “I need you to know…I care about you.”

“I know,” she said. “It’s okay.”

Wetting his lips, he leaned back down, taking one hard nipple into his mouth and sucking.

“Ahhh!” she cried, the sound primal and exciting, and Shane reached for her other breast, massaging it with his palm, rolling the nipple between his fingers as he sucked harder at the throbbing nub in his mouth.

Her skin was warm and soft and smelled enticingly like Priscilla—exotic and spicy. He wrapped one arm around her back as he laved his tongue around her distended flesh, licking and sucking at turns. When she mewled loudly, one of her hands plunging into his hair and pulling sharply, he skimmed his mouth across her chest and sucked the other bud between his lips, making her pant with clipped breaths of “ah” and “oh” and “God.” And he felt like a god, wrapping both arms around her, all those teasing moments from last summer colliding with what was happening now, the culmination of so many fantasies he’d had about this intoxicating, infuriating, darling woman.

“Shane,” she panted, pulling back on his hair, “no more. They’re too…too sensitive for any more.”

But he wanted more. Looking into her dark eyes, he leaned forward, tilting his head at the last moment to capture her lips with his. She groped for him frantically, and suddenly the stiff chair where they were sitting was all wrong for how he wanted to feel her and touch her. Cupping her bottom, he stood up, reveling in the sound of her moan as she wrapped her legs around his waist, locking her ankles against his back and sliding her tongue against his.

He beelined for the bedroom, kissing her madly, months of pent-up lust and curiosity and a lifetime’s worth of longing opening a floodgates of demand.

When he reached her bed, he lowered her onto the comforter, settling on top of her but bracing his weight on his elbows. Breaking off a passionate kiss, he looked down at her face, barely able to make out her expression in the dim light provided by whatever light filtered in from the living room.

“I’ve never…I’ve never wanted anyone the way I want you.”

She looked up at him, reaching for his cheek. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Will you?” he asked, nuzzling her cheek, gliding his lips along the warm column of her throat.

“I don’t know,” she said. “Long-term commitment isn’t my forte.”

“I’ve never been in a long-term relationship,” he admitted softly, looking up at her.

A pained look crossed her face, the kind of look you get when you’ve thought something over enough and finally decided it was time to say something out loud.

“Can I ask you something?”

He tensed a little. “Okay.”

“Have you been with many women?”

He tensed a little more. “Does it matter?”

“Not really. But I…” She licked her lips. “I don’t get the feeling that you’re very…experienced.”

It was a little like having an ice cube put down your warm back, and he flinched. “Why? Am I doing something wrong?”

“No! Oh, my God, no, no, no! You’re doing everything right. So right. Amazingly right.”

Somewhat reassured, he relaxed a little, though he still felt his eyes narrow as he stared down into her face. “So?”

“It’s just that no matter when you, um…I mean, it’s a big deal to lose your—” She cleared her throat. “The first time you—fuck, I’m just going to ask,” she muttered, taking a deep breath and blurting out, “Shane, are you a virgin?”

Shit.

He stared at her in shock, frozen with embarrassment.

She grimaced, reaching up to palm his cheek, searching his eyes for answers. “It’s okay…but are you?”

Rolling off her and onto his back, he stared up at the ceiling, running a hand through his already messy hair.

Part of him had always wondered if this day would come. You don’t get to be a twenty-six-year-old virgin without worrying that someday you’ll find yourself in bed with a woman you want more than your next breath…and she figures it out. It was possibly his greatest latent fear but not one that got much attention, since Shane hadn’t made a whole lot of space in his life for a meaningful relationship.

After what had happened with Vicky, he’d gotten a quick reputation for being a “fast finisher” and became the subject of mean giggles and low-toned comments for the remainder of college. It was so embarrassing, so humiliating, he hadn’t pursued another romantic relationship during the remainder of his time in school.

The scars of Vicky’s blows had never healed completely either. At school and even after graduation, Shane had funneled his instinctual, animalistic “stalk and snare” urges into business. When that wasn’t enough, he worked out for long hours at the gym to stave off whatever sexual hunger he was subjugating by steering clear of romantic entanglements. And when focus and physical exertion wasn’t enough? Well, there was always soft-core porn. At least when he “finished fast” there, no one laughed at him.

 That said, he certainly hadn’t planned on remaining a virgin this long. What man did?

He wasn’t completely inexperienced. He’d fooled around with several women and gotten even more intimate with a few. He wasn’t clueless either. Though he’d never actually experienced sexual intercourse, he knew his body very well, and he knew exactly what to do with it.

He was well acquainted with desire. In fact, he felt an intense, almost blinding lust for the woman lying beside him right now. And beyond base, innate hunger, he felt love—true, growing, deepening love.

Priscilla had somehow tiptoed through his defenses, no doubt camouflaged by her tattoos and wild hair, by her free spirit and innate charm, by how much she needed him and how little she distinguished herself from him. His aloofness had only served as bait for her teasing. His disapproval of her had only made her try harder to win his approbation. His direct judgment of her only made her more thoughtful of his criticism. He’d never really seen her coming…and then, one day, he woke up and she was his everything.

But what woman—especially a woman as worldly and experienced as Priscilla—wanted the burden of breaking in a twenty-six-year-old virgin? And what if he should encounter the same “fast finish” problem he had with Vicky? It was too humiliating to even contemplate. And this time, it wouldn’t only be his pride that suffered; his heart would break.

He sighed wearily, sitting up and putting his back to Priscilla. “I should probably go.”

“No,” she said quickly.

“Yeah.”

“Stop. You don’t have to answer,” she said gently. “I shouldn’t have asked. It’s none of my business.” The covers rustled, and her arms encircled him as she pressed her chest against his back, her cheek flush against his shirt, and the bone of her jaw flexed against his spine as she spoke. “Talk to me. Don’t go, Shane. Please.”

He remained still in her arms. “I should.”

“You shouldn’t,” she murmured. “You should stay here with me.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m falling in love with you too,” she answered, clasping her hands over his heart. “And sooner or later, we would have had to talk about this.”

He took a deep breath and considered her words, then looked at her over his shoulder. “I’m a twenty-six-year-old man. I’ve been with women, but I’ve never…” He paused, shifting his body so he could look into her eyes. He exhaled. “No. To answer your question, no. I’ve never had sex. Not yet.”