in the E.R. and later at her apartment, he’d proven his compassion and generosity by insisting that she stay at his place while the furnace in her building was being repaired.
Elena looked around at his condo, at the expensive furniture and original paintings. What self-respecting playboy rescued stray dogs then good-naturedly allowed them to destroy his things as if it were nothing more than a minor annoyance? Or promised to help a pregnant cop with no one to turn to and nowhere else to go?
When Babe jumped onto the middle of his stomach and started doing a tap dance, Brett opened one eye. “Don’t tell me you have to go out now,” he muttered. “It’s barely daylight.”
In answer, the little dog yipped, scampered up his chest and licked his cheek.
He scratched behind her ears. “Oh, so with one doggy kiss I’m supposed to forgive and forget the way you treated me last night?”
Babe curled up on his bare chest, rested her head on her front paws and stared at him with two guileless black eyes as she whined an apology.
He groaned. “Okay, you’re forgiven. I’ll take you for a walk. Just don’t start with the sad puppy eyes.”
Brett plucked the little dog from his chest, rolled to the side of the bed and placed her on the floor. As he pulled on his sweat suit, Babe danced impatiently at his feet. He just hoped she didn’t start barking to hurry him along. Elena was in the bedroom just across the hall, and he didn’t want to wake her. She needed rest.
He quickly tied his running shoes, picked up Babe and walked out into the hall. The door to the guest room was still closed, and he didn’t hear sounds of Elena moving around. Good. They hadn’t disturbed her.
Last evening, when he and Babe had returned from their walk, he’d found Elena curled up in the chair where he’d left her. He smiled, remembering the scene.
She’d looked so relaxed, sleeping like a baby, that he hadn’t had the heart to wake her. She probably wouldn’t be happy with him, but after he’d moved her overnight case to the guest room, he’d picked her up and carried her to bed. So sound asleep, she’d barely stirred when he’d removed her shoes and pulled the comforter over her.
But he’d been left with two very distinct impressions from having her small body pressed to his chest. The first was how soft and feminine she’d felt, and the second was how shocked he’d been by the degree of heat that had coursed through him. His body stirred at the memory, and his pithy curse made Babe turn around to give him a curious look.
Forcing himself to focus on his other impression of Elena’s body, he frowned. He didn’t have any experience with pregnant women, but he was pretty sure they were supposed to be a little sturdier than Elena. He’d been disturbed by how light she was and how fragile she’d felt in his arms. She couldn’t weigh much more than a hundred pounds.
The doctor’s orders had been for her to start eating more regular meals, and it bothered him that she’d missed dinner last night. But he would see that she made up for it this morning. As soon as he returned to the condo, he would prepare a big breakfast and make sure she ate every bite.
Half an hour later Brett opened the door of his condo to the scrumptious smell of bacon frying. “Elena?”
“In here,” she called.
He quickly shed his coat and unsnapped the leash from Babe’s collar. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” he demanded, walking into the kitchen. “You’re supposed to be taking it easy.”
“Good morning to you, too,” she said, removing several strips of crisp bacon from the skillet. She looked around his feet. “Where’s Babe?”
Brett jerked his thumb in the direction of the living room. “Burrowed under what’s left of the pillows on the couch.” He noticed that Elena had showered and changed into jeans and a gray sweatshirt with Chicago Police Academy silk-screened across the front.
“Why did she do that?” she asked, removing a carton of eggs from the refrigerator.
“She always does that to warm up after she’s been out.” He took the carton from Elena and placed it on the counter.
“I don’t blame her,” she said, smiling. “February in Chicago can be miserably cold.” She reached for an egg. “How do you like your eggs? Sunny-side up, over easy or scrambled?”
“Over easy.” He took the spatula from her hand and guided her to the table in the breakfast nook. “But I’ll take care of it. You sit down.”
“I’m perfectly capable of cooking.” Her eyes narrowed. “Just as I would have been capable of putting myself to bed last night if someone had bothered to wake me.”
He’d figured on her having something to say about that. “You were tired.”
“That’s beside the point,” she said stubbornly.
“No, Elena. That is the point.”
He watched the color heighten on her cheeks as the sparkle of anger grew in her beautiful brown eyes. Propping his fists on his hips, Brett glared down at her from his much taller height. He hated using intimidation with anyone, and especially with a woman. But if it kept her from overdoing things, he’d do whatever it took.
“You’re supposed to take it easy, and I’m going to make sure you do,” he said sternly. “Besides, you’re my guest. So sit down.”
She glared at him as if she intended to argue further, then finally relented and seated herself at the table. “Brett, I…”
To his horror her eyes filled with tears and her perfect lips trembled. His gut twisted into a tight knot. He hadn’t thought her feelings would be hurt over something as trivial as his insistence that she relax, while he finished cooking breakfast.
“Elena, honey, I’m sorry,” he said, kneeling in front of her. He took her hands in his. “Please don’t cry.”
“I hate this,” she said, pulling away. She covered her face and cried harder.
He felt like a world-class jerk as he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her to him. “I don’t blame you for hating me, honey. I was out of line. I shouldn’t have spoken so harshly.”
She shook her head and sobbed into his shoulder. “It’s not you. It’s me.”
“You?”
She nodded and Brett had no idea what she meant. But at the moment he didn’t care. Her small body pressed to his, the feel of her arms wrapped around him and her warm breath teasing the sensitive skin of his neck were wreaking havoc with his good intentions.
“It’s…hormonal,” she sobbed. “I can’t…control it.”
So that was it. Her uncontrollable crying was due to her pregnancy.
Thinking back several years, Brett remembered his twin brother, Drew, mentioning that his wife had experienced all kinds of emotions while she was pregnant with their daughter, Amanda. In fact, he and Drew had jokingly referred to Talia’s sudden mood swings as the Nine-Month Nutsies.
Of course, they hadn’t
