How much could he say? Derek seemed much more interested in how the research for the treatment was going than the investigation of what could cause the institute a lot of damage. It should’ve been the opposite at this point.

“I don’t know him,” Ted answered carefully.

“I watched you when Derek stopped by the other day. Your spine stiffened. You never took your eyes off him. And he didn’t ask questions, he interrogated.”

So, he hadn’t been wrong about that. He wasn’t just being defensive. Sara Beth saw it, too. “You didn’t say anything.”

“It wasn’t my place.”

“I value your opinions, Sara Beth.”

“You and I have an unusual relationship,” she said after he’d started the engine. “You’re my boss for part of the day, my coworker most of the day and I guess we’re also friends.”

She’d summed it up perfectly. And she was right, it was unusual but also complicated. “You nailed it.”

“Which means it’s just as confusing to you?”

“I’m not losing sleep over it.”

She laughed. “Okay, then.” She pulled a small stack of papers from her seemingly bottomless purse. “I’ve got a list of furniture stores I think might be suitable.”

“How long did you spend online doing that research?”

She shrugged. “I had fun. I hope your mother likes the results.”

“It only matters what I think.”

“I know, but …”

“No buts, Sara Beth. It’s a fact.”

“And facts matter most to you.”

Yes, most of the time that was true. He liked facts. Good, solid, unchangeable facts made the world go around—his world, anyway.

But he was coming to like the mystery that was Sara Beth O’Connell, too, the woman he could already call a friend, but who also made him want.

Friends with benefits, perhaps?

Now, that was an idea worth getting lost in.

Chapter Seven

Sara Beth had occasionally wondered what it would be like to have a lot of money. Not that she felt she lacked anything, but how having a lot of money could affect someone’s life.

Now she knew. Or to a degree, anyway.

Having money meant being allowed to buy floor models and have them delivered the same day instead of waiting weeks or months. It meant the owner waited on you personally. It also meant having a credit card with a large enough balance to charge just about anything, including a loft’s worth of furniture.

Sara Beth had bought a piece at a time for her apartment over a couple of years, not wanting to get into debt, and often picking up secondhand pieces she would refinish or repurpose in labor-intensive, satisfying projects.

“Have you ever painted a room?” she asked Ted as they waited in the owner’s office at Caro Miro’s Design Studio, a high-end, contemporary furniture store—the sixth store they’d visited, and the most successful shopping they’d done. Caro was off arranging the delivery of a sofa, two side chairs, a dining room table and chairs, a sleek dresser to fit in his walk-in closet and a king-size bed frame and headboard. There was more to buy—tables, lamps, more chairs, a bedspread—but not today.

Ted stopped thumbing through a furniture catalog to look at Sara Beth, her out-of-the-blue question getting his full attention. “Painted a room? No. Why?”

“Just curious.”

“Have you?”

“Lots. I don’t like to paint walls or ceilings, but I don’t mind doing the trim. You probably wouldn’t even need a ladder.” She sighed. Being tall had its advantages. “I’m thinking you should repaint the bedroom part of your loft a deep, warm brown. Are you up to it?”

“I believe in letting the experts do the jobs they’ve trained for.”

She grinned. “I’ll bet your father said that to you while you were growing up.”

He cocked his head thoughtfully. “It does sound like him.”

“So, you’ll give it a shot?”

“Would you ask a painter to dissect a frog?”

She laughed. “When’s the last time you dissected a frog?”

“In high school biology class.” His eyes lit with humor. “If you think the walls should be painted, I’ll have it done. As long as you choose the color.”

“What do I get in return? I mean, I’m suffering for my generosity already.”

“In what way?”

“My feet hurt. My back aches. And I’m hungry!” Before he got all serious or feeling guilty on her, she added, “But today was a whole lot of fun. I wouldn’t have missed it for anything.”

“We didn’t always agree.”

“Isn’t that great?”

“You’re strange.” He softened the statement with a crooked smile.

She felt highly complimented. All her life, she’d been the least strange person ever. People could count on her to be unbiased, easygoing, and noncombative. If Ted saw her as something more lively—like strange—she was glad. She really was having an adventure. “Thank you.”

He looked doubtful but said nothing because the owner/designer returned to the office.

“You’re all set,” Caro Miro said. She was a tall woman in her late thirties, wearing a vibrant blue outfit that hugged well-toned curves. Her catlike eyes zeroed in on Ted. “You’ll have delivery by six o’clock.”

“I appreciate it.”

Sara Beth watched the interaction between the two. She’d come to realize that Ted had no idea how attractive he was. He never noticed when women stared, or flirted, which this one was doing, and he was missing all the signals.

“I thought I’d come with the delivery people to see your loft,” Caro said, handing a credit card receipt to him to sign. “Then I would be able to make recommendations for the other pieces you’re looking for.”

Ted looked at Sara Beth then. “That won’t be necessary. We seem to make a good team. But I do appreciate all the time you gave us today, and the quick delivery.”

Sara Beth’s heart did a little leap first, then she tried hard not to smirk at the much-sexier woman. Caro might be a few years older than Ted, but Sara Beth didn’t think that would’ve stopped him from responding to her obvious flirtation if he’d been interested.

Which he wasn’t—because he and Sara Beth made a good team. It wasn’t her imagination or wishful thinking. He’d said so.

He started to sign, then stopped. “There’s an error.”

Caro used the opportunity to bend close to him. “Where?”

“You undercharged me by six dollars.”

She pressed a hand to her chest and smiled. “Oh, for goodness’ sake. It’s not worth running it again. Consider it a thank-you.”

Ted signed the slip, pulled out his wallet, drew out six dollars and handed it to her as he stood. “There.”

Caro looked surprised. Sara Beth wasn’t the least bit.

“Do you like Thai food?” he asked Sara Beth as they left the shop.

“Love it.”

He pushed a speed-dial button on his cell phone and called in an order, requesting several dishes. She wondered how often he ordered in.

“At least I can take care of your hunger problem,” he said, ending the call.

“Thanks.” Darn. No back rub or foot massage.

When they reached the loft, Sara Beth pulled her “Ted” folder from her purse and set it on his breakfast bar as he headed to his bedroom to check his answering machine. She would’ve gladly flopped onto a sofa, if he’d had one.

“If you need to put your feet up,” he called from the bedroom area, “feel free to use my bed.”

Sara Beth froze in place, tempted. Too tempted. “I’m okay, thanks,” she called back before she changed her mind. “Do you have any soda?”

“Maybe. Check out the refrigerator. Make yourself at home.”

His refrigerator held several containers of take-out cartons and boxes, some orange juice, assorted condiments, three Cokes and two dozen eggs. “You’ve got Cokes. Do you want one?” she called.

“Sure,” he said from right behind her.

She jumped. He’d come up while she’d been bent over staring at the contents. He set his hands on her waist and held her so that she wouldn’t crash into him, but in doing so, her rear pressed against his pelvis.

She laughed as she stepped away, the sound shaky, then passed him a can.

“Let’s sit down,” he said. “The delivery people won’t be here for a while.” He guided her toward the canvas camp chair with built-in cup holders by the front window, made her sit there, then he sat on the floor, setting his can on the upturned cardboard box. He reached for her feet.

“What are you doing?” she asked, although pretty sure what his answer would be.

“Taking care of your second problem.”

She was glad she’d decided to wear cute socks, the ones with the dancing polar bears, but she couldn’t relax. What if he intended to massage her back, too? She would have to turn him down. She didn’t want to, but she definitely had to.

Oh, but his hands felt good, his fingers strong, his thumbs finding the sore spots and releasing them with pressure. At work she was on her feet all day, but she always wore comfortable, cushioned shoes, instead of hard-soled ankle boots.

Sara Beth shut her eyes and swallowed the groans that threatened to escape her throat. Pretend he’s a doctor performing a treatment.…

Nope. That didn’t work. He wasn’t her doctor.

She opened her eyes a tiny bit, saw a peaceful expression on his face, as if he was enjoying himself, too. She wanted to run her hands through his long, wavy, soft-looking hair, then when he looked up at her, kiss him.…

Dr. Ted Bonner fascinated her. When he set his mind to do something, he did it all the way, giving his complete attention. In bed, would he—

A buzzer rang, disrupting her escalating fantasy.

“Too soon for the food. Must be the furniture delivery. They’re early,” he said, hesitating for a moment, then standing and moving to look at a closed-circuit screen. He stepped into the elevator. “I’m sorry to cut the foot rub short.”

Me, too. More than you’ll ever know. She grabbed her soda, trying to look casual. Which worked until Caro came out of the elevator with Ted, talking animatedly, flirting outrageously. The woman didn’t even have the sense to dial down the flirt volume when she saw Sara Beth.

“I was just explaining to Ted,” she said, as he sent the elevator back down, “that he might not be happy with the rug you chose for the living area, so I brought a few more to look at, just in case.”

“How thoughtful,” Sara Beth said, keeping the sarcasm to a minimum.

“What a great space,” Caro exclaimed. “You’re going to need a lot more furniture, though, don’t you think?”

“For now I’m going to live with what I got today,” Ted said, “then decide what else I need.”

Sara Beth was trying to get a handle on whether Caro was more interested in making sales or making Ted.

“I think that’s a great idea.” Caro moved to the window. “You have a fabulous view.”

Ted winked at Sara Beth. She decided he’d figured out Caro just fine, was not as oblivious as he seemed.

When the elevator door opened, two burly men emerged then unloaded six large area rugs. The next hour was spent laying out each rug, rearranging the furniture each time. Their Thai food was delivered, Sara Beth’s stomach growling as it sat on the counter, calling her name.

Finally they settled on the rug they’d originally chosen, the furniture was put in place, and his bed set up. Caro lingered, offering advice on what else he should consider. Ted committed to nothing, and finally got her out the door.

“I don’t suppose you have place mats,” Sara Beth said as she began heating up the food in the microwave.

He gave her a you’ve-got-to-be-kidding look.

“Paper towels?”

“I’ll get them. You must be starving.”

“I could eat the paper towels, I think.”

He laughed. “She’s quite a pitch woman, isn’t she?”

Sara Beth shrugged.

“I know you have an opinion,” he said.

“She’s good at her job.”

“Not really.” He grabbed two plates and some silverware and set everything on the new dining room table.

“You bought a whole lot of stuff from her.”

“I would’ve bought more if she hadn’t been so pushy. Which means,” he added, catching Sara Beth’s gaze, “more shopping at different places to finish up.”

So, he wasn’t a pushover, wasn’t just making choices to get the decorating over with. Good. “I’m available next Saturday.”

“Thanks.” He laid a hand over hers as she set a carton on the dining room table. “For today. For helping at the institute. For bringing a little fun into my life.”

She swallowed. “Ditto.”

“Ditto,” he repeated, grinning, shaking his head. “Okay. You’re welcome.”

By the time they were done eating, hung a few pieces of art and made a list of everything else they thought he might need to buy, Sara Beth almost fell asleep standing up next to his bed, which they’d just made up. It was finally off the floor.

“So, you’re not hungry anymore, I imagine,” he said.

“Definitely not.”

“And your feet feel okay?”

She wriggled her toes. “Fine.”

“Which leaves your aching back.”

Panic had her pulse thrumming in a hurry. “I’m rested. I feel good.”

“You just spent a couple of hours climbing up and down ladders, and holding large pieces of art over your head.” His smile was a slow burn, as if he knew how attracted she was—and how scared to give in to it.

Unless she was truly under the power of wishful thinking, he’d been testing the waters with her all day, making flattering comments, giving her the eye, smiling in that way that showed interest beyond coworker or friend, no matter what they labeled their relationship.

She waited for him to make it clear what he was after, but he didn’t say or do anything. She decided to retreat, to think the situation over. “I should get home,” she said, sidling around him to return to the living room.

“So soon?”

Sara Beth laughed. They’d spent twelve hours together.

She stuffed her notebook in her purse. He swiped his keys from the counter, then stopped and looked around at the partially furnished living/dining room. “Already a big improvement,” he said, eyeing the dark brown leather sofa and side chairs, the modern dining table and sleek nickel-and-leather chairs, and the red-and-brown area rug.

She nodded. “I have to admit I was feeling pretty cocky when you decided you liked the rug we picked out at the store best, instead of any of the others that Caro brought.”

“When I make up my mind, I rarely change it.”

“Even about decorating your place, apparently, which was way out of your comfort zone.”

“I had great help.” He tossed his keys lightly. “I may not have vision, but I know what I like.”

“What do you suppose your parents will think?”

“It will only matter that it’s done. And that my grandmother Holly’s portrait of my mom as a little girl is up in a prominent place.”

They took the elevator down and got in the car. “Want to stop someplace for dessert?” he asked, putting the car in gear.

“I couldn’t eat another bite.”

They drove in silence. She wished she knew if he was thinking about his new decor, her or his work. Most likely, work.

“Look at that,” he said as they neared her house. “Parking right out front.” He parallel parked, shut the engine off and opened his door.

By the time she got out, he was there, extending a hand, which she took reluctantly. “You don’t have to walk me to my door. It’s not like this was a date.”

“Humor me.” He let go of her hand.

They moved up the short walkway, climbed the stairs. She put her key in the door then turned to him. “I’ll see you Monday morning.”

He reached around her, turned the key and opened the door, then gestured for her to precede him up the second set of stairs to her apartment. She wouldn’t invite him in. She absolutely would not, even though she had cookies and cocoa, the perfect ending to the day. She made herself stand in the open doorway.

“Good night, Ted.”

She thought he was going to kiss her, but he wrapped his arms around her in an all-encompassing hug. She felt enveloped … and safe. His body felt familiar, when it shouldn’t. She curved her arms up his back, pulling herself closer, feeling him from sturdy chest to hard thighs. He wrapped one arm around her midback, one a little lower, his fingertips resting on the upper curve of her rear. Her nipples hardened, wanting his touch, wishing he would pull her even closer. She barely resisted pressing her lips to his neck.

She was aware of everything about him—his strength, his heat, the promise of satisfaction for the building need inside her—but also that they worked together. That he was a doctor. That he came from old Boston money, had a place in a level of society she didn’t know.

That a woman like Tricia Trahearn was much more suitable for him.

“Your friendship has come to mean a lot to me already,” he said, his breath disturbing her hair. He stepped back, his hands on her shoulders. “Thank you.”

Friendship. The word righted her world again, put her in her place. She smiled brightly, probably too brightly. “You’re welcome.”

He went down the stairs and was gone, leaving her body aching and unsatisfied—and grateful. She was ready for marriage, a family.

She didn’t need the complication of Dr. Ted Bonner.

Ted spotted Sara Beth standing in front window, watching him. He raised a hand toward her then got into his car without waiting for a return wave. He drove off in a burst of speed.

Why the hell had he hugged her like that? Let his hand drift down to the tempting curve of her rear? He’d been wanting to touch her since he’d come up to her bending in front of his refrigerator earlier, then later on when she’d helped him make his bed after the furniture men had left. She’d leaned over to smooth his sheets. He’d almost cupped that fine rear, had been stopped by her standing up, banging into him, a habit they’d gotten into, being clumsy around each other.

Friends with benefits. He’d been thinking about it all day, as she’d frequently gotten into his space, brushing against him to get a better look at something, smiling at him or pursing her lips as she studied a piece. She had a quick, easy laugh, light and joyful, and a slow, smoldering heat that appeared less often, but did appear, although he had to catch her off guard to see it.

And then there was the hug. He’d taken her into his arms without thinking, prepared to just give her a goodnight hug, a thanks-for-everything short embrace. Then it had become something else. Even she had felt it. She’d moved closer to him instead of away. Her breath turned shaky. She’d gone up on tiptoe, which had aligned their hips. He’d pulled back before she could feel his reaction to her, had seen her nipples pressing against her T-shirt, an invitation he wished he could accept.

Friends with benefits. He needed to give that more thought. Sure, he wanted marriage—but not yet, not even anything close to it. If he took a break now and then from his work, it needed to be for fun, for pleasure, not with an eye toward the future, no matter how much he wanted otherwise.

For pleasure. The thought settled, a hazy fantasy that lingered as he parked and went up to his loft. He admired the newly decorated space for a minute, then decided to take a shower. His answering machine caught his eye, and he remembered the message from Tricia earlier, a call he’d ignored while Sara Beth was there.

Friends with benefits. Tricia would fit the bill, at least the benefits part, and without complications. She’d invited him to dinner next Sunday for his birthday. He had no doubt they’d end up in bed, if that was what he wanted.

And he wanted. But not Tricia.

He wanted Sara Beth O’Connell. Exclusively.

Chapter Eight

A few days later Sara Beth peered into Lisa’s office. “You texted?”

Lisa gestured her in. “Shut the door, please.”

She was looking more stressed each day, her mouth set, a furrow between her brows. It was hard for Sara Beth to see her this way.

“How about we go out tonight?” Sara Beth asked, sitting. “It’s hump day. Half-price drinks at Shots. Free fries with the burgers.” The always-crowded pub and grill was nestled in the center of the Cambridge medical community.

“I can’t. I really wish I could.” Wisps of Lisa’s long hair had fallen around her face, a slight messiness that was rare for her, and it was only eight o’clock in the morning.

Sara Beth leaned toward her. “I miss you. And I’m worried about you. You’ve lost weight. You can’t afford to lose weight.”

“I’ll be fine.” She sat back, all business. “I need an update on your investigation, please.”

Sara Beth frowned at the change of subject. “It’s moving along. We’ve gone back five years so far. The statistics haven’t been analyzed yet, and I think Ted wants to take it back further before we do. To uncover patterns, if there are any, before he comes to any conclusions. He wants a once-and-for-all conclusion. Don’t you?”

“Of course. So, let’s do this. I want you to free up more time, as much as you can manage. We need to get to the bottom of this now.” Her hands were clenched, her knuckles white.

Sara Beth studied her, the way she wouldn’t make eye contact, the lack of a smile. “What’s going on? There’s more than just what Ted and I are trying to learn, which is bad, but not enough to stress you out to this degree.”

“There are some money issues.…” Lisa put her hands over her eyes and groaned. “Oh, God. I didn’t mean to say that. Sara Beth, you can’t say a word to anyone. No one.”

“I won’t. You know I won’t.” Fear whipped through her—about the institute, her job, her future. Everyone’s future. They’d helped so many people to have babies. That couldn’t end.

And then there was Ted, so close to making that dream a reality for even more people.

“Do you need me to tell Ted that I’m increasing your hours?” Lisa asked.

“I will. He’ll be glad.” She wished she could confide in her best friend, tell her about last Saturday and get her opinion. Tell her that Ted was on her mind all the time. All the time. Maybe the distraction would be good for Lisa, too. “Please come to Shots with me, Lisa. You need a break.”

“Not tonight.” Her phone rang, and Lisa picked it up, signaling the end of their conversation.

Sara Beth headed to the lab, urgency in her step, worried for Lisa, fearful for the institute … and anxious for the opportunity to get into the vault much sooner than she’d anticipated. Through the lab window she saw Ted and Chance in an intense discussion, not arguing, just extraordinarily serious. Chance didn’t smile once.

She hesitated, then finally opened the door and stuck her head in. “Is this a bad time? Should I come back later?”

“That’d be good. Give us ten minutes, please,” Chance said.

Ted turned and looked at her but didn’t seem to register her.

She backed out, letting the door shut on its own, and leaned against the wall beside it. It seemed everyone was having some kind of crisis. And secrets.

Annoyed at being left out of the loop, she wandered away, deciding to get a cup of coffee from the break room. As soon as she’d poured a cup, she got a text message from her mother:

Hvng wndrful tme. Styng xtra wk. Love.

Which reminded Sara Beth that her mother had never sent an itinerary. She’d said that she wouldn’t be out of cell-phone communication range, so what more did they need?

Which possibly meant her mother wasn’t where she’d said she was going. Maybe she was with a man. More secrets.

She typed Have fun in the text box and sent it to her mother, not asking the questions she wanted to, not calling her, either, figuring it would go to voice mail.

Sara Beth sipped her coffee. Her life had gone from routine to unpredictable. She’d wanted to recapture some adventure, but the fun-and-games kind, not all this serious stuff.

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