“You’re amazing,” Jennifer said, smiling. “The tea is cinnamon. Caffeine-free. How did you know all that, Evan?”

“I’m not sure. I’m just picturing you in my mind and what I said fits. I guess I know you better than either of us realized. Where did you think I was when you asked me?”

“At the office.”

“Bingo. I rest my case. It’s rather interesting.”

“Disconcerting is closer to the mark. We really don’t know each other very well, but we just somehow knew… Definitely disconcerting.”

“Oh, I don’t know. I think it’s kind of…nice. Very nice, in fact.” Evan paused. “Well, I guess I’ll call it day, or a night as the case may be, and head on home. It was nice…there’s that word again…chatting with you, sweet Jenny. Sleep well and I’ll meet up with you in the morning. Good night.”

“Good night, Evan,” Jennifer said softly.

She replaced the receiver, then smiled. “Very, very nice.”

Evan continued to hold the receiver until a shrill buzzing noise emanated from it, announcing it had been off the hook too long. He slid it onto the base, then leaned back in his chair, laced his fingers behind his head and stared up at the ceiling.

Sweet, sweet Jenny, he thought. All he had intended to do when he telephoned her was set up the meeting in the morning at the apartment building where Gardner had been killed.

But once he’d started talking to Jennifer he hadn’t wished to stop. The “what are you wearing” bit must have sounded corny as hell, but he’d sincerely wanted to know so he could complete the image of her in his mind’s eye. At least he hadn’t gone so far as to ask what she had on beneath the soft, old robe. That would have been really pushing it.

Evan glanced around, unable to see anything in the darkness beyond the circle of light cast by the lamp on his desk.

And there he sat, he mused, in a chilly office. He was attempting to begin the first draft of his opening statement to the jury for the Gardner trial.

He preferred to write his opening and closing arguments in longhand rather than on the computer, and his trash can was filled to overflowing with wadded-up sheets of paper, each holding a handful of words that he’d rejected the minute he’d written them.

“I’ve had it for today,” he said aloud, getting to his feet. “Drag it on home, Stone.”

Home, he thought, as he flicked off the lamp, then made his way cautiously toward the door in the inky darkness. Yeah, his expensive apartment was his home, he supposed, but it wasn’t homey the way Jennifer’s was. His was just there, a place to sleep, eat once in a while, shower, shave, change clothes. It wasn’t warm and inviting, didn’t wrap itself around him with comfort to ease his stress. It was just some walls, floors, ceilings that meant he didn’t have to sleep in his vehicle.

Maybe it took a woman to add that homey touch, he thought as he locked his office door. Maybe the average man wasn’t capable of doing such a thing. Or maybe it was just him who lacked that ability.

No, it was the fact that there weren’t enough hours in the day to accomplish everything he might wish to do.

First priority was his role of district attorney and the responsibilities that title produced. He was determined to be the very best D.A. he was capable of being, even if it meant he had little else in his life, such as turning his apartment into a homey haven, or being in a relationship with a special woman.

But what would it be like, he wondered, as he rode down in the elevator, to know that someone like Jennifer… No, if Jennifer herself was waiting for him to come through the door? Fresh from her shower, clad in her funky robe, a smile would light up her face, she’d rush into his arms which would make him forget instantly that he was weary to the bone. He’d kiss her for a long, heart-stopping time, then…

“Shut up, Stone,” he admonished himself, as he got into his vehicle in the parking garage. “Sleep, I need lots of sleep.”

But first thing tomorrow morning, he mused, as he merged into the traffic, he’d meet up with sweet Jenny Anderson. And that was very…well…nice.

Hours later Jennifer tossed back the blankets on the bed and reached for her robe.

She couldn’t stay in that bed a second longer, she thought, starting toward the bedroom door. She was doing nothing more than tossing and turning, and definitely not getting the sleep she needed. Hopefully a mug of hot milk would relax her and allow her to drift off into blissful slumber.

A short time later Jennifer was once again curled up in the corner of the sofa, her legs tucked next to her, the mug of steaming milk cradled in both hands. She blew on the hot liquid and took a sip.

Her insomnia was Evan Stone’s fault, she decided. He had telephoned her just before she went to bed and, therefore, she’d taken the image of him and the sound of his voice right along with her as she’d snuggled under the blankets. Definitely his fault. And she sounded like a grumpy three-year-old in need of a nap.

Her whatever-it-was with Evan was so complicated and confusing. She was attracted to him, which was putting it mildly, melted like soupy ice cream on a summer day when he took her into his arms and kissed her. He was inching his way into her heart, staking a claim that he wasn’t even interested in possessing.

Evan had referred to what they had shared three months ago on that fateful night as making love. Did he really feel that way about it, or was he just being polite and refraining from referring to it as one-night-stand sex, plain old tacky sex in its purest form?

No, it had been more than that. Their joining had been wondrous, exquisitely beautiful, so intense and meaningful and…and nothing could erase the fact that they’d gone to bed together after knowing each other for a few hours, the majority of which had been spent arguing like cats and dogs about the filming of the documentary.

She’d do well to just forget about that night as Evan apparently intended to do. Chalk it up as poor judgment, and a rather immature lack of control. Her behavior that night had been very, very out of character. That theory was just dandy, but there were extenuating circumstances that made it impossible to ever forget what she had shared with Evan Stone.

That night had changed her life for all time.

Because she was pregnant with Evan’s baby.

Jennifer set the mug on the end table then put her hands on her stomach.

Oh, my, she thought, a baby. She was carrying Evan Stone’s baby. She’d repeated that message so many times in her mind in the past few weeks until she really believed at last that it was true.

She was thrilled, so happy that she wept at the drop of a hat, which was partly due to wacky hormones at this point, she supposed.

But the daddy in this scenario? Oh, heavens, she didn’t even want to think about what Evan’s reaction to her baby bulletin would be. He was dedicated to his career, totally focused on his role of district attorney. No, Evan was not going to beam with delight when she told him she was pregnant.

Which was why, Jennifer thought, staring into space, she was going to keep this pregnancy a secret for as long as possible. Yes, a man had the right to know that he had a child on the way, but she wasn’t prepared, not yet, to tarnish the pure joy she was feeling with what could be a very nasty and angry response on the part of Evan Stone.

She worked continually with men who put their careers first, was aware of the long hours they were away from home with little, or no, thought given to their wife and children waiting for them. Their families seemed very low on the list of what was important to them. No, Evan would not be happy when he heard her news.

“It takes two to get into this situation, buster,” Jennifer said, narrowing her eyes.