His Secretary's Little Secret

But what of her own plans?

Portia took a steadying breath as Maureen noticed her and came over. Her bright red hair bouncing in curls, Maureen crouched next to Portia, green eyes searching.

“Are you okay?” Maureen’s slight Irish brogue lilted.

“I’m fine. I just forgot to eat dinner and I’m lightheaded. Low blood sugar. I’ll be fine.”

Standing, Maureen opened a drawer in the supply room, the one where she’d stashed other sorts of emergency supplies—saltines, PowerBars and gum. “You work too hard.”

Maureen tossed her a packet of crackers. To Portia’s surprise, she actually caught the wrapped package, shaking hands and all. Tearing open the wrapper, Portia stood and took her time nibbling while she searched for the right words to deflect Maureen’s comment.

“I enjoy my work.” Not completely true.

She was grateful for her well-paying job and the adorable one-bedroom cabana that came with it. She had a dream of becoming a teacher one day, but she needed to pay for her brother’s education and save enough to finance her own—

Except that wasn’t going to happen. She was out of time to fulfill her own dreams. She had to think of her brother and this baby. And even if her pay doubled, there wasn’t even enough time to figure all of that out before she had to confess everything to Easton.

She hated thinking about money at all. It made her feel too much like her gold digger mother. But there were practical realities to consider.

Like getting some crackers into her stomach before she hurled.

She nibbled on the edge of a saltine. Each bite settling her stomach. For the moment, anyway.

Maureen glanced around the clinic, leaning around the corner that lead to the examination room. “Where’s the doctor?”

“He’s examining an injured bird we rescued.” Or so she assumed. She’d left him in a bit of a hurry.

What on earth had he been thinking to kiss her like that?

More to the point, what had she been thinking to allow it to happen? To respond? Normally, she prided herself on her control. Her good sense. With Easton, it seemed, she had neither.

Maureen passed over a container of wet wipes, her bright diamond ring glittering. Recently, she’d married Easton’s brother, Xander. “Here.”

“What?” Portia took them, confused.

“You’ve got dust on your knees and on your elbows.”

She looked down to check, heat flaming her cheeks as she remembered being close to Easton. Of their bodies pressed against each other on the hard ground. Not that she intended to share those details with anyone. “It’s messy work out there.”

As if on cue to make her cheeks flame hotter, the side door opened and she heard the long stride that was distinctly Easton’s. From a distance, he glanced at her, the bird cradled against his chest in a careful but firm hold.

Maureen stepped forward. “Do you need help?”

He shook his head. “I’ve got this. You two carry on.”

Easton headed toward the back where they did X-rays, away from other animals. His footsteps grew softer until the sound faded altogether.

Maureen turned back to her. “You seem more of the office job type. I’ve often wondered what made you take on this position.” Blunt and honest conversation with Maureen. While normally Portia appreciated Maureen’s directness, Portia didn’t know if she had the stamina for this sort of exchange right now.

“The pay is more than generous and the locale is enticing.”

Did that sound as lame out loud as she thought? Didn’t matter. It was true. She’d needed the better-than-average pay, with housing included, to save the money she needed to pay for her brother. Her stomach did another flip and she reached for a cracker. The scents of the clinic were bothering her in a way they normally didn’t—the stringent smell of antiseptic cleaner used religiously on every surface, the wood shavings lining crates, the air of live plants.

“And the pay is such because the other secretaries before you couldn’t handle an eccentric boss and his unconventional hours, helping him with X-rays, the animals and fieldwork, cleaning his messy office...or they tried to put the moves on him. And yet you’ve put up with him even though he’s clearly not your type.”

Portia stiffened, biting down hard on the edge of the cracker. She chewed and swallowed before speaking. “What would my type be?”

“Did I sound presumptuous? I’m sorry if that came out wrong.”

“Not at all. I’m truly curious because... Oh, never mind.” The question had sounded innocent, but in a strange way, Portia began to wonder if Maureen knew, or at the very least suspected something had happened between Portia and Easton.

“I just meant I can see you with a suave, well-traveled businessman or a brilliant professor. But of course you’re clearly more than capable of taking care of your own love life. Tell me about your type? Or maybe there’s already a gentleman in your life?”

A gentleman in her life? Time for a stellar deflection.

Portia arched her brow and rolled her eyes. She did everything she could to visually signify that she had no connection to anyone at all. One of Portia’s greatest strengths had always been hiding behind conversation.

“Tell me about your honeymoon plans.” That topic ought to do it. Maureen and Xander had delayed their honeymoon trip because, after they were married, they’d realized just how deeply they cared for each other. Originally their marriage had been for convenience—he’d needed a wife to keep custody of his daughter and she’d needed citizenship—but it had since deepened into true love.

“I cannot wait, Portia. It will be hard to be away from Rose for two weeks, but she’ll be staying with her grandparents.”

Rose, Xander’s sweet, blonde baby girl. Portia’s unborn baby’s cousin.

The weight of that sentiment slammed into her every fiber.

Her baby and Rose would be family. Portia’s hand settled on her stomach. She was connected to this place and this family now, no matter what.

Portia’s brother was connected too, through her, even though he lived in the panhandle—in Pensacola, Florida—getting ready to enter his last year of college. He had emotional support from their aunt nearby, but the older woman barely made ends meet. She had gone above and beyond by taking the two of them in after their mother drank herself into liver failure when Portia was thirteen and her brother, Marshall, was only seven.

It was up to Portia to support her family—including this unexpected baby.

Her head started spinning with how tangled everything had become.

Maureen stepped forward, concern creasing her brow. “Are you sure you’re feeling alright?”

“It was a long work day. I’m hungry and exhausted. That’s all.”

She needed to get herself together. Wear looser clothes if need be. Give herself a chance to verify everything was alright with the pregnancy and if it was, take the time she needed to come up with a plan for her future.

She’d worked too hard for her independence to give it up now, no matter how tempting Easton might be.

Two

What the hell was up with Portia?

When he’d stepped into the wildlife preserve’s main building, he had taken note of her pale face and standoffish demeanor. Leaving her alone to talk with Maureen seemed the best option. He’d heard the two women leave a half hour later, each sending a quick farewell shout before heading out.

Easton understood that Portia regretted their impulsive encounter during the tropical storm. He’d almost started to accept that it wouldn’t be leading anywhere. It was one night and no more.

But then he’d seen that look in her eyes today.

Shaking his head in bemusement, he closed the clinic door and punched in the security code before turning away into the inky dark. Night creatures spoke to him through the cover of darkness, a cooing mix of coastal birds and tropical bugs. He could identify each sound as readily as he could identify different human voices. As a young boy, Easton digested each sound the way some men committed the sounds of roaring engines to memory. He knew each voice and wanted to help ensure they all continued to speak.

He’d had offers to work at other, larger clinics in more exotic locales, but the newly named Lourdes Family Wildlife Refuge was a personal quest for him and his brother. And he liked this place he called home.

As much as he’d enjoyed his eccentric life growing up, always on the move with his globe-trotting parents, he also enjoyed waking up in the same place each morning. The Key Largo–based animal preserve blended the best of both worlds for him—the wilds and home.

Even the main house reflected that balance of barely domesticated wildness. A sprawling mansion, it stood two stories tall, complete with open balconies and an extravagant, oasis-inspired pool.

Which was where Easton was headed now. His brother, Xander, sat alone on one of the lounge chairs, a glass of bourbon neat in his hand.

Easton and his brother had always been different but close. Since their parents traveled the world with little thought of creating a home or helping their kids build friendships, he and his brother relied on each other. Even more so after their father died and their mother continued her world-traveling ways, always looking for the next adventure in each new country rather than staying in one place to connect with her children.

This house represented more than Easton’s commitment to preserving animals in Key Largo. This shared space with his brother represented an attempt at familial cohesion. An attempt at proving they could grow something stable, something to be proud of. The moonlight filtered through stray clouds, peppering his walk in a play of shadow and light on the well-maintained lawn.

He didn’t want to blame his parents. They deserved to live their lives as they wanted, to be themselves. And even if they hadn’t been conventional parents, they had more than lived up to their commitment to feed, house and educate their children.

But as much as he didn’t want to blame them, he’d found his rocky relationship with them had influenced him. He found it difficult to sustain lasting relationships with women. He’d had a series of short romances. And the only time he’d even considered the altar, she—Dana—had split up with him right before he could propose. She’d said he was too eccentric, too much of a kid at heart, for a committed relationship.

Which was ironic as hell since he’d already been looking at engagement rings.

He hadn’t told her that. Dana probably would have said he wouldn’t have been much of a husband, or that he wouldn’t have actually bought a ring. And she probably would have been right. He knew he was eccentric, and he’d worked to find the right career to blend his passion and personality with work he cared about. He got to climb trees and play in the woods for a living. Not too shabby as a way of channeling his strengths. He’d taken what he’d inherited of his parents’ quirky ways and toned them down, figuring out how to stay in one place.

None of that seemed to matter, though, when it came to figuring out how to settle down, based on his history with Dana, Laura, Naomi... Damn, he was depressing the hell out of himself.

So where did that leave him with Portia?

Once on the stone ground that surrounded the pool, he grabbed a plush lounge chair and pulled it beside Xander. Easton sat in the middle of the lounger, facing his brother. Xander’s ocean-colored eyes flicked to him.

Xander had taken on the wildlife preserve in memory of his wife’s passing. Reviving the then struggling refuge had been her passion.

This place meant the world to both brothers.

“What’s the deal with you and Portia?” Xander’s tone was blunt and businesslike—the commanding voice that won him boardroom battles left and right.

“What do you mean?” The answer came too quickly out of Easton’s mouth.

“Don’t play dumb with me. I was out for a walk with Rose and I saw the way you looked at Portia when you both got into the truck earlier.” He sipped his bourbon, fixing Easton with the stare of an older brother.

“Why didn’t you say hello or offer to help out?”

“You’re trying to distract me. Not going to work. So what gives between you two?”

Easton chose his words carefully, needing to regain control of the conversation before his brother went on some matchmaking kick that would only backfire by making Portia retreat. She was prickly.

And sexy.

And not going to give him the brush-off another time. She’d been avoiding him more than ever recently and he was determined to find out the reason.

“Easton?” Xander pushed.

“She’s an attractive woman.” Not a lie.

“A cool woman, classic. And she’s been here awhile. She’s also not your type. So what changed?”

She absolutely wasn’t the sort to go out with a guy like him. And yet there was chemistry between them. Crackling so tangibly he could swear he was standing in the middle of a storm with the heavens sending lightning bolts through him. She clearly felt the same way, except the next morning, once the storm had passed, she’d insisted it couldn’t happen again. He’d thought if he waited patiently she would wear down.

She hadn’t.

Until today. “And what would my type be?”

“You really want me to spell that out?” Xander’s crooked glance almost riled Easton.

Almost. Then he reminded himself he was the chill brother normally. He was letting this business with Portia mess with his head.

“No need to spell it out. I’ll get defensive and have to kick your ass.”

“You can try.”

Easton smiled tightly. As kids, he used to lie in wait for Xander, always trying to best him in an impromptu wrestling match. He won about half of the time, which wasn’t too bad considering his older brother had shot up with height faster and Easton hadn’t caught up—and passed him—until they were in high school. Now, they had exchanged the good-natured physical wrestling for well-placed banter.

Silence between the brothers lingered, allowing the chorus of nocturnal creatures to swell. Not that he minded. Easton and Xander could both get lost in their own thoughts, with neither of them rambling on with nonsensical chatter. He’d always appreciated the ability to hang out with his brother without feeling the need to fill every moment with speech.

Easton had to admit Xander was right. Easton had always dated women who were more like him, free-spirited, unconventional types.

Date?

That didn’t come close to describing what had happened between him and Portia.

And maybe that was the problem. What had stopped him from asking her out on a date? Before that night, he’d wanted to keep their relationship professional. But after they’d crossed that line... He’d been trying to talk to her about that night. But he’d never done the obvious. Ask her out to dinner...and see where things progressed from there.

He’d always been a man of action and speed. But why not take things slowly with her? He had all the time in the world.

Easton didn’t know where things were heading with Portia, but he wasn’t giving up. He hoped that dating was the right plan and considered asking Xander for input. Usually he and his brother told each other everything, relied on each other for support—hell, they’d been each other’s only friend when they’d been traveling with their parents. Easton needed a plan. And his brother was good at plans, and Xander had far more success in the romance department.

Except right now Easton wanted to hold on to the shift in his relationship with Portia. Keep that private between the two of them. He didn’t want to risk word getting out and spooking her.

Because, yes, something had changed between Easton and his brother too since Xander had married Maureen, and Easton couldn’t figure out what that was. His brother had been married before and had loved his wife, mourned her deeply when she’d died. Still, Easton hadn’t felt he’d lost a part of his brother then, not like now.

So yeah, he wasn’t ready to share yet.

Or maybe it had nothing to do with his brother.

And everything to do with Portia.

* * *

Up until realizing she was pregnant, the most anxiety-inducing moments in Portia’s life had been when she’d fretted about taking care of her brother and paying bills.

This morning had combined all of her anxieties. Her secret pregnancy coupled with arriving to work a half hour late. She’d been sick for what felt like hours and it had thrown her off schedule. Portia was never, ever late. Tardiness drove her insane. Since the morning sickness seemed to be getting significantly worse, she might have to move up her appointment with the doctor to next week. That made her stomach flip all the more since it would mean facing the uncomfortable reality of having to tell Easton.

Dr. Lourdes.

Her boss.

Damn.

Refocus. She pushed those thoughts out of her mind. Easton’s schedule needed to be organized for the day. That wouldn’t happen if she didn’t collect herself right now. Tugging on the sleeves of her light pink cardigan, she stepped into the office, ready to do prep work for Easton’s arrival.

Blinking in the harsh white light, her tumultuous stomach sank. Easton sat behind his desk, already at work.

His collar-length dark hair was slicked back, blue eyes alert and focused on a stack of papers in front of him, full lips tightly pressed as he thought.

She drew in a sharp breath, another wave of nausea and dizziness pressing at her. He looked up from his desk, his clean-shaven face crinkled in a mixture of concern and...surprise? She realized he was the one all put together this morning and she was the one feeling scattered and disorganized.

This sudden reversal robbed her of her focus. His eyes traced over her, his head falling to the side in concern.

“Are you okay? It’s just—you are never late. In fact, you arrive to everything at least fifteen minutes early.” He set his pen down, eyes peering into hers.

She swallowed, her throat pressing against the top button of her off-white button-up shirt and her strand of faux pearls. Part of her wanted to lean on him, confide in him and get his support. But how? She didn’t have much practice in asking for help.

“Uh.” Stammering, her mind blanked. “Yeah. I just... I think I may have the stomach flu. I haven’t felt this bad in ages.”

She put a hand to her stomach as if to emphasize her symptoms. But really, her palm on her stomach just reminded her of the life growing inside her and how difficult telling Easton was going to be.

“I think that is going around. Maureen called out with the same symptoms. Should you go rest?”

“I’ll be fine. I’ve got crackers and ginger ale on hand. Anyway, how’s our little patient doing this morning, Doctor?” She added the last part to keep a professional distance between them.

“Walking around, even attempting to take flight. X-rays show no breaks in the wings and there are no missing feathers, so I’m guessing it’s a strained muscle that will benefit from rest. Then back into the wild.” He ran his hands through his hair, his athletic build accented with the movement.

“That’s good to know. Your risky climb saved his—or her—life.”

“His,” he answered simply.

Oppressive silence settled between them. She hated this. There had been a time, not even that long ago, where conversation had felt easy and natural between them. But since the tropical storm, she’d looked for every reason to put distance between them. This morning was no different. “If you’re busy with patients, then I’ll get to some transcriptions.”

“Actually, I’m not busy with patients. Let the transcriptions wait.” His voice dropped any pretense of nonchalance. Determination entered his tone.

“Okay. But why?”

“Let’s talk.”

Every atom in her being revolted. Talk? How could she begin to talk to him? She wasn’t ready. She needed more time.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea. We don’t talk. We work.” She fished the planner out of her oversize bag and waved it in the air.

“I think talking is an excellent idea.” A small, hungry smile passed over his lips, blue eyes shining with familiar mischief.

Why did he have to be so damn sexy?

“Please, don’t make things more awkward than—”

“Go out with me on a date.”

A date? With Dr. Easton Lourdes? The world slammed still. “A what?”

“A date, where two people spend time together at some entertaining venue. Tomorrow’s not a workday, so it can be afternoon or evening. I don’t want to presume what you would enjoy because honestly, you’re right, we haven’t spoken very much. So for our date, what do you think about a wine-tasting cruise?”

She couldn’t drink, not while pregnant. She winced.

“Okay,” Easton said, moving from behind his desk, “from the look on your face I’ll take that as a no. Concert in the park with a picnic? Go snorkeling? Or take a drive down to the tip of the Keys and hang out at Hemingway’s old house or climb to the top of the Key West Lighthouse?”

“You’re serious about wanting to go on a date?” What would she have thought if he’d made that request months ago? Or if she weren’t pregnant now? What if he’d made that request when she had the luxury of time to explore the possibility of feelings between them?

Except she didn’t have time.

He sat on the edge of his desk, a devilish look in his eyes. “Serious as a heart attack.”

She could see by his face he meant it. Totally. He wanted to go on a date with her. She’d spent two years attracted to him while never acting on it in order to maintain her independence and now—when the last thing she should be doing was starting an affair with him—he was asking her out.

Her emotions were clouding her judgment. Their impulsive night of sex had flipped her mind upside down. Their attraction was every bit as combustible as she’d expected. It had stolen her breath, her sanity. She’d even entertained pursuing something with him. For a moment, she’d not cared one whit about her independence. But fears had assailed her the next morning. Heaven knew if he’d suggested a date then, she would have run screaming into the Everglades, never to be seen again.

Okay, maybe that was overstating things. Or maybe not.

But it did bring up the point that now, things were different. She really did need to talk to him soon and come up with a plan for their baby. Meanwhile, though, maybe she could use this time to get to know him better on a friendship level and find the best way to tell him about their “love child.”

She just had to ignore the electricity that sizzled between them every time he looked at her.

“Key West,” she said. “Let’s take the drive to see Hemingway’s house.”

* * *

The romantic ride he’d planned just yesterday to Hemingway’s house had somehow gone awry.

What should have been a leisurely scenic drive down the heart of the Florida Keys was getting him nowhere with Portia. He wanted her to open up to him, to reveal something about herself. But she was totally clammed up and he was on fire to know more about her. To find a way past her defenses and back into her bed. To pull her clothes off, slowly, one piece at a time and make love to her in a bed, at a leisurely pace rather than a frenzied coupling in a bathroom during a storm.

And she’d gone into her Ice Queen mode again.

Which had never overly bothered him before but was, for some reason, making him crazy now. Yes, he burned to know more about her than what she took in her coffee—although these days she seemed to enjoy water with fruit slices more than her standard brew. He needed to get her talking.

And he also needed to power his way past this slower moving traffic into a clearer stretch of road.

Checking the rearview mirror, he slid his vintage Corvette into the fast lane, getting out from behind a brake-happy minivan. As they passed the van, he noted the map sprawled out on the dash. That explained everything about the somewhat erratic driving behavior.