"That's another three hundred calendars sold," Tiffany said, practically skipping up to the corner table where Maia and Jenna were huddled behind Jenna's laptop. "One of the stores on South Congress said they want to carry them. They're getting them wholesale, but—"

"But nothing," Jenna said. "That's great. Thanks, Tiff."

"Are you kidding? You don't have to thank me. This is so awesome. Anything I can do to keep this place open. Not to mention my job," she added before bouncing back to the bar to pick up a tray that was ready. It was ten on a Wednesday night, and the bar was hopping at about ninety percent capacity with a local singer performing on stage, just him and his guitar.

"Pretty soon this place will be at a hundred and twenty percent," Maia said. "You've been kicking butt and taking names getting ready for this thing."

"I can't believe how fast the time has flown by. And how much we've gotten accomplished. Thanks for all your help. Seriously." Jenna raised her wine glass in a toast, which Maia returned enthusiastically.

"My pleasure," Maia said. "I wish I could do more. You feeling pretty confident?"

"I am. I mean, I think the calendar orders are a good sign that the contest will be popular. And we've almost sold out the door for the Mr. January contest. It should be a good event, too. We've had a lot of guys sign up for the contest, and the ones selected to compete are pretty hot."

"You're using local celebrities to pre-select from all the candidates, right?” Maia asked. “I mean, they anoint the ones who'll parade across the stage?"

"Exactly. And then the actual winner is chosen by customer ballots the night of. That way we vet the entrants, but the public feels involved, too.”

“And our guys? Tyree and Brent and Reece?"

"They all said no. Bastards." Jenna rolled her eyes. "They claim they have a conflict of interest. I think they're grasping at excuses."

Maia laughed. "Probably. Too bad, though. I'd love to see Tyree parade across the stage without a shirt. That man is completely lickable." She tilted her head to the side, her lips slightly pursed. "I take it back. They're all three totally lickable."

Jenna laughed. "Don't worry. The guys competing are, too."

"And you're doing the rolling thing you told me about? So if a guy doesn't win, he gets to compete for the next month if he wants to?"

"Yup. Which is good, because we have a few local celebrities signed up for January. So if they don't win, they'll still be pushing the contest on their social media accounts come time for the Mr. February contest."

"What other publicity's in the pipe?"

"We've got television coming for Mr. January," Jenna said, completely giddy over that recent coup. "Honestly, I've been working almost nonstop since we started this project. At least it's paying off. I just hope it pays off enough to keep the bar open next year."

"Positive attitude."

"I know. And I am. I mean, I do. It's just a little frustrating. I mean, I barely see Reece, and I'm living with him now. Well," she added with a devious grin, "I do see a lot of him at night. But the days are just a blur and a wave." She shifted on her chair, enjoying the way her muscles ached from last night. They'd been sharing his apartment for almost two weeks now, and the transition had been almost seamless. In fact, the only time it had been awkward at all was when he found her vibrator in her bedside table when he was looking for the television remote.

But the moment had shifted from uncomfortable to deliciously inventive when Reece assured her that she didn't need to be embarrassed...so long as she demonstrated for him exactly how she used it.

"I guess it must be going well," Maia commented, her voice tinged with laughter. "Honey, redheads shouldn't even try to keep a secret. Your cheeks show way too much."

The blush burned deeper, and Jenna focused on the table top as she ran Maia through the rest of the plans that were in place.

"Amanda set me up with a woman who does small business renovations. There's no way it'll get done by the first contest—we're less than a week away—but I'm hoping that if they can work during the night and in the morning, they can get the renovations done by the Mr. February contest."

"That would be great. When are you meeting her?"

Jenna glanced at her watch. "Any minute. She asked to meet me at night because her schedule is crazy. In fact, I bet that's her..." She trailed off, glancing at the door where a tall, curvy blonde had just entered.

"And that's my cue," Maia said, standing up. "Good luck," she added, then disappeared toward the back of the bar as Jenna waved to Brooke and hurried to her side. "I'm Jenna," she said. "Thanks so much for agreeing to talk with me. Amanda says your work is amazing."

"I love what I do," Brooke said with a wide, easy smile that revealed perfect teeth. Beside her, Jenna felt positively drab in her simple business suit, her red hair pulled back from her face with a single clip.

"Well, we're excited about the possibility of you working with us." She indicated the table, and they both sat down, with Brooke occupying the chair that Maia had just abandoned. "I'm not sure how much Amanda told you, but we're basically doing a facelift on The Fix. We're stepping up an already awesome menu, and we're getting the word out to draw in new customers. And then, in about a week, we're launching what is going to be a truly amazing contest for twelve hot men to be calendar models, and we're organizing an entire ladies' night theme around all twelve contests."

"And as part of that, you want to give the building a bit of a facelift, too."

"You got it. Not too much, but enough that folks notice the improvements. Plus, we want to make the stage a little bigger. Possibly shift the angle so we can get more tables in. More capacity means more income."

"Well, I'd love to work with you."

"It's your rates that I'm concerned about," Jenna admitted. "To be brutally honest, we're trying to do all of this on as limited budget as possible. You see, this whole calendar contest is part of a fundraiser. The bar's mortgage comes due at the end of the year, and..."

She trailed off with a shrug, hoping Brooke would get it. Apparently, she did, because she nodded sagely.

"Normally, I'm a little pricey, I'll admit. But I have a proposal for you. If you agree, it could work out great for both of us."

Jenna leaned back. "Amanda mentioned you were looking for a high profile project.”

“I was. I am. And to tell you the truth, The Fix is exactly what I’m looking for.”

“Okay. I'm intrigued. Shoot."

"The downside is that I can't get started on the work until after your launch, but we should be underway by the second contest, with renovations on the stage completed by the time you're holding the contest for Mr. June, and full renovations on the interior by the time the contest wraps.”

"Oh." Jenna tried not to show her disappointment. "We were hoping for a faster schedule than that, honestly. Maybe if you have a crew willing to work during the night at overtime pay, you could finish before the second contest?"

"I'm afraid not. But," she added quickly, "if you agree to that schedule, then all the work—materials and labor—would be free."

Jenna blinked. "Come again?"

"I'm negotiating with one of the cable networks for a property renovation show. Only instead of houses we'd be doing commercial real estate. And if the project goes, this would be the first property.”

“Oh. Wow. But how do you the show would use The Fix? I mean, maybe the producers would rather do a different kind of business.”

“To be honest, I already made the pitch. And they think it’s perfect. The location. The look. Even the fact that you’ll be doing the calendar contest in the background. All that makes for good television.”

Jenna had worked in marketing long enough to know that was true.

“And since it's kind of a test run, you'd get the benefit."

"And the downside?" Jenna asked, since that sounded too good to be true.

"Well, it'll probably be a little crazy for at least a couple of episodes, until we find our groove. So you'd have to put up with that. But The Fix would be the center of the show, so the upside is the free advertising."

Jenna gaped at her. "And all I have to do is say yes?"

"Pretty much. To be brutally honest, the network big wigs have to formally say yes, too. But the producers and executives are pushing it, and it's close to getting a green light."

"Close," Jenna repeated. “You mean they’re waiting for a thumbs-up from us? From The Fix, I mean.”

"Yup," Brooke said, but then her perky smile faded a little. "Well, actually, Spencer has to sign, too. The network is insisting that it be a couples show, so he’d be my on-camera cohort. But it’s a no-brainer. This is exactly the kind of project he's been looking for."

"Spencer?"

"Spencer Dean," Brooke said, in a voice that suggested the name explained everything. "He used to have a similar show," she added, seeing Jenna's blank look. "But he quit about a year ago."

"Now he wants to come back?"

"Oh, yeah. In a big way," Brooke said, her blue eyes wide and innocent. After a moment, she cleared her throat. "So there you go. That's it." Her teeth grazed her lower lip. "What do you think? I realize it's not what you were expecting, but—"

"But it's better," Jenna said firmly. "So long as we'll know within the week, The Fix is totally in."

* * *

"I should have talked with you and Brent and Tyree first." Jenna paced the small living room as Reece watched, amused. "Do you think they're going to mind?" she asked. "Do you mind?"

"Why would I mind?"

"A film crew inside The Fix. A reality show. That's just the height of tacky. Have you seen some of the catfights that happen on those shows? And they get into everyone's business. It's personally invasive."

He chuckled, then drew her close. "I promise not to slide into a catfight with you or anybody else. And as for invasive, I think that's more Real Housewives than Austin renovations."

"Maybe." She stopped pacing. "You think?" She sat down on the couch. "I don't know."

He sat on the coffee table across from her, then took her hands. "Is there something else bothering you? Because from where I'm sitting, the possibility of being the featured attraction on a nationwide show about property renovations—especially when those shows are so damn popular—seems like a pretty sweet deal."

"No—yes. I'm tired. Everything just seems so fuzzy today. I think I'm just tired."

He moved beside her, then felt her forehead.

She smiled, just a little. "I'm not sick."

"You don't feel warm," he confirmed, but he couldn't shake the fingers of worry creeping up his spine. Jenna so rarely got sick, but when she did, it was usually something that put her out of commission for weeks. Mono in high school. Pneumonia in college.

"I'm fine," she repeated, and he realized he was still pressing against her forehead. "Just doing too much."

"And you'll make yourself sick if you keep it up."

"Things to do," she said. "And I'll be over the hump soon."

He made a rough noise in the back of his throat, not sure if he was acknowledging the truth of what she said, or dreading that final push. All he knew was that she was fading, and he needed to take care of her. And at the same time, how?

If a guy was being a dick to her in a bar, he could—and had—told the guy to get lost or lose a tooth.

If her car broke down, he could—and had—rescued her.

If she was hungry, he could feed her. If she was sad, he could cheer her up.

But what could he do if she was sick? Nothing except force-feed her vitamins and make her get some sleep. And with Jenna that was always harder than it should be. Unless...

He got up.

"Where are you going?"

"I'll be right back," he said, then returned with a small glass of water and some pills. "Vitamin C, zinc, and a couple of Ibuprofen, just in case I'm wrong about the fever."

"Reece, please. I don't—"

"Can't hurt. Might help. Swallow them."

She looked at his face, and he knew what she saw there. A message that she denied him at her own peril. "Fine," she said, then took the pills as he went back to the kitchen. Then he went up to the loft-style bedroom before returning to her.

"What was that about?"

He tilted his head up, but was pleased to see that nothing in the bedroom was visible other than the light cast by the ceiling fan's fixture. "Nothing much," he said. "Just putting you to bed. You're tired, you need sleep. Relaxation."

"I need to get my second wind, check my emails, make sure the contestants have signed model releases, make sure we have—"

"And it'll all be there in the morning. Upstairs. Now. Either you walk, or I carry you, but either way, you're getting in bed."

He could see that she was tempted to make him carry her, and he would have been happy to. But then she glanced toward the spiral staircase, seemed to think better of it, and preceded him up the stairs. When she reached the landing, she stopped with a gasp, then turned around to face him.

He'd turned the fan's light off using the remote halfway up, leaving the only illumination from the candles he'd lit when he'd made his quick trip only moments ago. Now, the room was lit by the glow of four candles on a table that also held a bottle of Cabernet and two wine glasses. It also held four black silk ties and a padded blindfold.

"Oh," she said, her tone rising with a question. But at the same time, her voice held so much heat that he knew he'd made the right decision.

"All for you," he said. "You need to relax. And I'm going to make sure you do."

"Reece..."

"Shhh." He nodded to the bed. "Sit."

She did, and he handed her one of the glasses of wine. "To you," he said. "And also to laying down, closing your eyes, and forgetting everything except the way I'm going to make you feel."

"Reece, I—" His finger on her lips stopped her words.

"Yes, Reece," he said, grinning.

A smile touched her lips, and she tilted her head in acquiescence. "Yes, sir," she said, with a quirk of a brow.

"Finish your wine," he ordered, then laughed when she swallowed the half-full glass in two quick gulps. He took the glass from her, then knelt in front of her, sipping his own wine as he undressed her. Shoes first, then her jeans, brushing her skin softly as he unfastened the button, enjoying the way she squirmed as he tugged her jeans and panties all the way down before tossing them on a straight back chair. He pulled her The Fix on Sixth T-shirt off next, and tossed it aside as well. Then he reached behind her, unfastened her bra, and very deliberately, stroked the sides of her breasts as he pulled it off.

In front of him, her eyes were closed, and her teeth grazed her lower lip. She was seated on the edge of the bed, and her thighs were tight together. He wondered if she was wet, and smiled at the knowledge that if she weren't, she would be soon enough. Because this was about Jenna. About her pleasure.

And he was about to make her melt.

* * *

Jenna's head spun—and not just from the effects of the wine. She was drunk on Reece. On the intoxicating sensations that ricocheted through her body as she stretched out spread-eagled on the bed, tied down by the silk cords that attached her wrists and ankles to the head and footboard.

She'd protested when he'd told her what to do, and then a bit more when he'd come at her with the blindfold. But in truth, it was only for form. She wanted the escape he offered. The promise of sensual delights and exquisite sensations. He told her he was going to make her explode, and then he was going to untie her, cover her, and watch her drift off to sleep.

"For you," he murmured, his lips brushing her ear, and she smiled in delight at the idea of being so very thoroughly taken care of.

He kissed her thoroughly. His mouth teasing all over her body. His beard tickling her skin as his lips found her inner thighs, her waist, the swell of her breasts.

He wasn't anywhere near her core, and yet she felt the throbbing need. She tried to squeeze her thighs together to dull the demanding ache, but it was impossible. She was too tightly bound.

"Just let go," he murmured, as his lips brushed her own. "Just let it take you."

Then he was moving down, lower and lower. His hands on her breasts, his fingers rolling her nipples. His mouth moving inexorably toward her core until, finally, she felt his tongue on her clit, and her hips bucked with a silent demand for more.

And Reece, thank goodness, obeyed.

His tongue. His lips. The scruff of his beard. Suddenly, they were all concentrated between her legs. All driving her crazy.

Expertly, he used his hands to cup her rear, angling her toward him, letting his tongue slide into her folds, then tease her clit. Everything he did was driving her crazy, but it was a slow build. A slow burning fire. But the more he continued, the more she wanted the explosion.

She was horny as hell, there was no other way to describe it. Her entire body seemed to crave him, and she was wetter than she could ever remember. Her breasts ached, and every inch of her skin was an erogenous zone.

She wanted to move. To touch herself. To alleviate some of the achy, burning need. But she could only endure and enjoy, losing herself in a pleasure so intense it bordered on torture.

His mouth closed over her clit, and he sucked and teased as she moaned with increasing passion, her hips bucking as much as the restraints would allow. He was right. She needed this. Needed to be teased and played and taken. Touched and stroked and used.

Again, she fought against the bindings, but to no avail. She couldn't move. She had no choice but to succumb to the building sensation. Rising and rising until he pushed her all the way—and when the climax broke over her, she knew that he'd been right.

He'd very thoroughly relaxed her.

She was exhausted now. Spent. Reece. She tried to whisper his name, but sleep was pulling her under, and she wasn't sure if she'd spoken his name out loud.

It didn't matter. He'd just given her the best present ever. He'd sent her to oblivion on orgasmic wings. And when she woke the next morning, his name was still on her lips.

She was untied, and considering how much she had to pee she appreciated that little fact.

She was alone in bed, though, and she didn't appreciate that.

She rolled over to touch his pillow and found it warm. She also found a note. Full shift at The Fix today. Left you breakfast tacos in the fridge to microwave. Go to a clinic if you still feel bad. Home after closing. Call if you need anything. Love you, R

She smiled, loving that he'd thought to get her breakfast. But then the idea of food set in, and her smile faded, replaced by a horrible twisting in her gut.

What the—?

But there was no time for the thought. She raced to the bathroom, collapsed onto her knees in front of the toilet, and barfed her guts up.

Was she sick? Except for her stomach, she felt fine. Great even. So maybe she'd eaten something bad? But what?

She considered the question as she washed up, trying to remember everything she'd eaten last night. Then she headed to the kitchen to make coffee, only to be caught short when the smell of the coffee grinds made her want to bolt back to the bathroom.

Oh, no.

Surely not. But her phone was out and she was dialing Amanda before she could talk herself out of it.

"Not all of us rise with the sun," Amanda said without preamble.

"I think I'm pregnant." There was no trace of sleep in her voice. Now, she was wide awake.

"What? Oh! Okay, we've got this. Just don't panic."

"I'm not. I'm okay." That was true enough. Now that her stomach had calmed down, she felt completely centered. Hell, she felt wonderful.

"Did you take a pregnancy test?" Amanda asked.

"No. It would be too early for one of the drugstore kind to work, anyway, I think. But I feel off. And I've been sick all morning."

"Hmm. Well, that's hardly conclusive. And it could be a stomach bug. I mean, you're on the pill, right?"

"True." Reece had used a condom the first time they slept together, but they'd stopped once she told him about the pill. But the truth was that before Reece, she'd sometimes miss a day. And she never worried too much because she wasn't having sex. The worst that would happen was that her hormones got out of whack.

Had she skipped any the month before she started sleeping with Reece?

She couldn't remember.

"What are you going to do?" Amanda asked when Jenna had relayed that little tidbit.

"Be a mommy." She thought of Faith, and the thought made her smile. A child. Their child.

Then she thought of the insanity that was Brent's life as a parent, and the smile faded. "It's not convenient timing, but things work out, right?"

"I still say you're jumping the gun."

"Maybe. And you're right. I mean, it's probably the flu," Jenna said, certainty rising as she mentally reviewed her calendar. "We've only been sleeping together a few weeks. I wouldn't have morning sickness yet."

"My mom said she was sick with me from about a week after conception. So who knows?"

"Great. Thanks."

"When's your period due?" Amanda asked.

Jenna did some quick math. "Right about now," she admitted as the evidence in the Baby column grew and grew.

"Right. Well." Amanda cleared her throat. "Oh, we're being ridiculous. Go to one of those walk-in clinics and find out for certain one way or the other."

"I will. I'll do that right now." She drew in a breath, dispelling a wave of joy mixed with panic. "This isn't a big deal. My immune system is worn down from too much work and lack of sleep. That's all."

"Of course it is," Amanda said. "You don't have anything to worry about at all."