She set the baby pig back in its pen, treating me to a glimpse of her firm ass as she bent over.
“Trust me, when it comes to women like you, all men are like that.”
She raised her eyebrows. “Oh, yeah? Even you?”
“Especially me.”
A sizzle of tension rolled down my spine. Damn it all if I could figure out how she even made her lime-green zoo polo look like the sexiest thing in the world. Her pretty golden hair was pulled back in a ponytail, emphasizing the crystal clearness of those bright eyes, but when I spoke, she looked away from me, focusing instead on the baby in her arms.
Which, of course, made her look all the more irresistible.
As she stared down at the little lump in the pen, she practically glowed, and when she smiled, it seemed like she was grinning with all of her body. Like she was truly, blissfully happy. Like she loved her job more than life itself.
And that was a feeling I knew all too well. But even more than that, I couldn’t escape the very real feeling that she would be just as enamored of our own baby…if we were having one, that was.
Bren cleared her throat, pulling us both from the tense moment my reply had created. “Tell me, Mr. Baby Expert, have you ever fed a baby pig?”
I cocked an eyebrow. “Can’t say that I have.”
“Then I think it’s time you learned.” She motioned for me to join her and I followed her instructions, standing so close that our skin brushed as I reached for one of the pig’s siblings. “This little guys is special.”
“I thought you weren’t supposed to have favorites.”
“Oh, I have favorites in every enclosure. Like the new koala baby’s mom, Sheila. I love her.”
“And what makes a koala so special?”
She shrugged a single shoulder. “She just is. She has the most personality of any of the other koalas, which is why all the males try to imprint on her.”
“Imprint?”
She laughed. “You really don’t know much about animals, huh?”
“Clearly.”
“When a koala wants to mate with another koala, he excretes a certain pheromone from his chest and rubs it on his intended.”
“And they say romance is dead?” I murmured, a grin hitching my lips. I always enjoyed my work, but I couldn’t deny, being here with her had been the highlight of my day so far.
Bren rolled her eyes. “Sheila is the belle of the ball in the koala habitat.”
I nodded. “So, what’s your favorite animal?”
“Type or in particular?”
I laughed. “How about both?”
“Personally, I’m a big fan of Nibs, the cheetah. But I also like caring for the babies…”
“Why can’t the piglets mother feed them?”
Her gaze turned soft and her thoughts looked faraway. “She got an infection in her milk ducts shortly after delivering. Poor thing is on some strong antibiotics and needs her rest so she can recover.”
“I can see why you like them so much,” I said, still marveling at how cute the damn things were routing around in the hay, and mewling softly as they got cozy.
Bren nodded. “They’re sweet.”
“Like you,” I said, and a slow pink flush took over her cheeks.
When it’s bottle was done, she took the pig from my arms, settled the animal back in its pen, and then locked up the gate before leading me down the pathway.
“So, look, I don’t know if you had plans tonight, but I’ve got a ton of food in my fridge and nobody to share it with. Interested in coming over tonight and letting me cook for you?” I asked, trying to keep it nonchalant even though my blood pulsed through my body in hot rushes.
She studied my face for a long moment, apparently considering her options.
“I won’t try anything funny,” I said, then added, “unless, of course, you want me to.”
“Let’s see how it goes.”
“Is that a yes?” I asked.
“Yeah, why not. Let’s have dinner.” She turned and led me out of the enclosure, careful to make sure I sanitized my hands again on the way out, but I was only half listening to her instructions.
I’d reverted back into my head, busy planning what I would cook for her—what I would say next.
What I was going to do to replay that incredible night we’d shared so many weeks before.
Because today had only sealed the deal for me.
If I had any say in the matter, Bren Matthews was going to end this night screaming my name and begging me for more.
Chapter Thirteen
Bren
“This is it. Which I guess you know.”
Mason opened the door to his apartment, and again I was greeted by the cool, modern lines of his penthouse suite that I was sure I’d never see again. The glass wall along the back of the room framed the fading sunset and the outline of the city, and as he flicked on the lights, I was blown away by the crisp, sharp lines of his cream-and-slate-gray furniture.
After we’d left the zoo, I’d gone home after work for a quick shower and changed into a gauzy sundress in pale peach. Based on Mason’s lingering perusal, he approved of my wardrobe change.
I slipped off my sandals and then padded toward the kitchen, trying to beat back the memory of the last time I’d been here, half-naked and searching for my clothes, but I couldn’t help it. Internally I cringed at my former self, the guilt of having slunk out like a coward sinking in the more I got to know him.
“The place is beautiful,” I said, though inside I began to wonder where—in all the glass coffee tables and chrome fixtures—a baby might fit in. Maybe a stainless-steel crib to match the decor?
But we weren’t thinking about babies. We were thinking about…what?
Ever since I’d thought there was a possibility of this baby, I’d hardly been able to think of anything else. And now, faced with the prospect of having to talk, I wasn’t sure I had a word left to say that wasn’t about custody or how I wanted our potential child to be raised.
“Thanks,” he said, and for a moment I’d forgotten what he was thanking me for. The apartment, right. I’d said he had a nice apartment.
He followed me into the kitchen after slipping off his own shoes, then opened the fridge door and pulled out a bottle of water. “Thirsty?”
I shook my head.
He closed the door and leaned back against it. “Is everything okay? You’re quiet.”
“Yeah.” I swallowed. “Just not sure what to say.”
“Then let me guide you.” He smiled warmly, sending a shiver of awareness through me. “First, tell me what you want to eat that isn’t soft cheese, sushi, or alcohol-related?”
I laughed despite myself. “Well, uh, I don’t know what you have.”
He shrugged. “I can make you anything. There’s steak and the makings of tortillas. Quesadillas? Fajitas? Pasta? Or there’s chicken if you’re less into red meat.”
“Steak sounds good.” I gave him another nervous nod and he pulled the package from the fridge—a rectangular container with two massive porterhouse steaks inside.
“You were going to make fajitas with a porterhouse?” I asked.
He grabbed a frying pan hanging from the rack over the island and shrugged. “I was going to make you whatever you wanted. Now tell me, what do you like with your steak?”