Dr Di Angelo's Baby Bombshell

Pretending to be in love with her, so she wouldn’t lose face with people from her past who didn’t matter anymore. Why had she thought they had? Why had she given them such power over her life? Why had she let Trey’s rejection impact her so much?

But somewhere along the way her reasons for keeping the opposite sex at bay had shifted from fear of rejection to waiting for Blake to notice that she was a woman, that they made a great team.

Only he never had, and she’d tired of waiting.

The kiss they’d shared flashed through her mind, lighting fires just at the memory of Blake’s intensity. When she’d joined him in the waiting room his gaze had dropped to her lips. Had he been remembering their kiss? Or had he been pretending for Mandy and Trey’s sakes?

“Oh, what a tangled web we weave when first we practice to deceive.”

Biting into her lower lip, she sighed. She’d asked for this. Asked for him to pretend. What was that old saying about being careful what you asked for?

“I would have come anyway, Darby, if you needed me.” His gaze searched hers. “Do you regret my being here?”

He’d seen more of her than any other man, had seen the real her, and he’d stood back and let her handle Bobby’s injury this afternoon, knowing she’d needed to handle Bobby’s care, to prove something to herself and to her hometown.

Inherently, Blake knew her. Sometimes he knew her more than she knew herself. He helped her see things more clearly. Helped her to feel more confident about herself, about the woman she was, and about who she wanted to be.

He helped her to trust the opposite sex, because Blake was the only man she trusted who wasn’t blood kin.

“No, I don’t regret you being here. Far from it,” she admitted honestly. She trusted Blake more than any person she knew. With her business, her reputation, and with her past. “You’re a nice man, Blake Di Angelo.”

“Nice?” He coughed, sputtered, and snorted amidst laughter. “Don’t you believe it, Dilly.”

She rolled her eyes at the nickname he’d likely never let her live down. But, despite his antics and intentional teasing, she’d spoken the truth.

Nice? Darby thought he was nice?

Blake shook his head, picking up the remote to flip through the television stations, pausing to watch the world news, expecting any moment to see headlines flash: “Dr. Blake Di Angelo accused of being a nice guy. Truth soon to be revealed and partner to dump his sorry butt.”

Because the last thing he was feeling in regard to Darby was nice.

He’d established that first thing that morning, and nothing had happened during the day to persuade him otherwise.

Darby was a wonderful woman, the best he knew, but their relationship was a strictly no-sex one. Not that they’d ever discussed sex—they hadn’t. Not in regard to them having sex. There hadn’t been a need.

He’d done his thing, she’d done hers, and the twain had never met.

But all his thoughts currently featured Darby, and no matter how many times he told himself to quit thinking of her in sexual terms his libido refused to cooperate.

Nice? She thought he was nice?

Surely after that scorching kiss they’d shared he rated more than “nice”? That kiss had practically had smoke curling from his

fingers and toes and she called him a nice guy? What the—?

When the bathroom door opened, Blake was still fuming. He wasn’t a nice guy—didn’t want Darby to think of him in that light. Which begged the question, how did he want her to think of him? Had he wanted that kiss to start fires inside Darby? Had he wanted her to see him as more than her business partner?

Glancing toward the door, he felt his body answer his question for him. He wanted Darby to want him, hoped his kiss had curled her toes and put stars in her eyes.

He wolf-whistled. Her hair was swept up in a fancy do, exposing the graceful lines of her neck. The blue dress clung in all the right places and sent his libido into hyper-drive.

And her shoes. Had he ever seen her in heels like those? Sexy black stilettos with a wide ankle strap that begged for a man’s touch. He visually traced his way over her legs. His tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. She was so tiny, but her legs went on and on. The heels pumped out the firm muscles of her calves, tightened the sliver of her quads that showed beneath the hem of her dress.

“You look amazing.”

First turning, to give him the full effect of her outfit, unknowingly hardening him to mammoth proportions, she rewarded him with a smile. One that lit her eyes to sparkling blue gems and softened the fullness of her all too kissable pink lips.

“Thank you.” Her gaze skimmed over his black pants, matching jacket, the blue shirt she’d suggested, and silver diamond-patterned tie. “You don’t look too shabby yourself, City Boy.”