Like being caught in an electrical field. Jolts ran through her body, stiffened her, pushed her pulse rate up, quickened her breathing. Her body reacted to him immediately, her lips parting, her breasts swelling, her stomach tightening at just the sight of him. He was wearing gray slacks with a muted gray-and-beige-plaid jacket, matching gray boots and Stetson, and he looked like an ad for a Western cologne. Her heart fed on him, dark-faced, somber, his powerful body unconsciously sensuous as he moved toward her, closing the door quietly behind him. “It’s been six weeks,” he said without giving her a chance to say anything. His eyes ran over her gray pantsuit with the tiny white camisole top under it, the upswept elegance of her honey-brown hair in its coiffure, the white flower tucked in over her ear. She looked lovely. Radiant. “Are you pregnant?” he asked bluntly. Her breath was stuck in her throat, along with any words she might have found to answer him.
