rescue and research efforts, and Portia’s efficiency helped him make that happen. He was lucky his family’s wealth meant he could leave the fund-raising to his brother and get his hands dirty doing what he enjoyed most.
And he tried his damnedest to entice Portia to play in the dirt with him.
Easton’s eyes slid from her face to the soft, yellow lights on the road back to the clinic. The preserve stretched for a few acres on Key Largo, a small island in the archipelago south of Florida. A necessary answer to urbanization and tourist development, Easton believed, as did his new board of directors, apparently.
He was damn lucky. He lived his dream every day. Sure, some people were able to turn passion into a paycheck, but Easton was a veterinarian at his preserve solely for passion. He recognized that he’d been blessed by his family’s money. It had enabled him to follow his vocation without worrying about compensation. He didn’t advertise his lack of salary because, for Easton, it didn’t matter. He felt honored to work for the sole purpose of helping the animals. To do some good in this world. Money had never been a big concern for him personally, but the reality of a small refuge accountable to a board of directors meant he had to worry about things like that on occasion.
As a secretary, Portia was brilliant—organized, dedicated—exactly what a free-spirited guy like him needed. But he also wanted her, as a man, and that made working with Portia increasingly challenging.
Since he’d hired her, he’d noticed her—and then he’d immediately move his attention back to business. But now, he caught himself distracted by the pinkness of her lips, the way she straightened her ponytail when she was thinking. Over and over, he’d replayed that night in his head. In a perfect world, he could have both. His kick-ass secretary and his sexy lover, too. But Portia had made it damn clear he wasn’t welcome in her bed again. She’d sent him a brief morning-after text and then ignored his messages unless they were work related.
His heart pounded as he thought of the last—and only—time they’d been together. The memory ramped him up—before he deliberately pushed it aside.
Regaining focus on the present, he surveyed her tight smile. Portia hadn’t said much in the past few minutes, but as if she needed to fill the space with words, she sliced through his thoughts. “So do you think the bird broke a wing?”
He blinked, troubled at the formality of her tone. “Perhaps. I’ll have to x-ray it to be certain.”
“Good. I’m glad we were able to help him.” Matter-of-fact as ever. All business. No hint, no trace of anything more.
She pulled the truck into the driveway of the clinic, parking it. As she turned to face him, he saw concern pass through her eyes. Had she been that worried about his fall?
His fingers ached to touch her bare skin, to explore her gentle curves. Although her breasts were more generous than he remembered. What else had he remembered wrong from their dimly lit, rushed lovemaking? The space between them dwindled, electricity sparking in the air there.
Her eyes danced, and he saw that spark take hold in her, too. The same spark from the night of the storm.
He wanted to nurture that spark into a flame.
He kissed her. God, he kissed her. Tried to rein himself in so he could savor the moment rather than risking another fast and furious encounter. He didn’t want to send her running as he had before. But damn, she tasted good. Felt good. He slid his hands up to cup her face.
For an incredible moment, she seemed to kiss him back. Then everything shifted. She pulled away, her skin sickly pale.
And then she opened the door and ran. More than ran. She flat-out bolted before he could even form a syllable.
* * *
This man had a way of flipping her stomach upside down on a regular day, and now that she was pregnant, her stomach didn’t seem to know which way was up.
Her ballet flats slammed, skidded against the ground. Her stomach rumbled a protesting gurgle, bile rising in the back of her throat.
She ran inside the clinic, through the side entrance and toward her office off the main reception space. She sagged back against the wall, sliding down to the floor while trying to decide if she needed to race the rest of the way to the restroom or simply stay put, calm, unmoving.
Yes, staying still was best. She drew in one deep breath after another. With each breath, she tried to focus on her immediate surroundings. At least the normally bustling clinic lacked people at this hour. All the staff and volunteers had gone home after settling the animals in for the night. Good, she’d hate to have an audience for this. Her eyes adjusted to the dim light, and she heard the creak of the door that lead to the supply closet.
Portia swallowed again, feeling unease and nausea reclaim her stomach.
A light flicked on in an adjoining office with the door open. Maureen. Easton’s research assistant and sister-in-law. Like Easton, Maureen put in long hours, sacrificing sleep for the animals’ sake.
She had a clipboard in her hand, and a pen tucked in her hair. Maureen must’ve been doing inventory. While keeping a meticulous inventory made life at the clinic run smoothly during all seasons, hurricane season made this task rise to a new level of importance. If the intensity of the tropical storm a few weeks ago was any indication of the hurricanes to come, Portia knew how vital it would be to the survival of the refuge for them to maintain plans and supplies.
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
