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no more curled around the plate when his other hand found my waist as he leaned in, his head lowering to my neck. Slowly, he breathed me in. When he exhaled, the warm fog of breath that broke across my neck made me lose my mind.
    My motor functions went right along with it.
    The plate clattered to the floor, scattering pie across the floor. Well, the floor and my ankles. And probably his pants, which I was not thinking about taking off of him. At all.
    “Shoot,” I said, scrambling to the floor to clean it up.
    As I picked up chunks of pie, I paused. He was watching me, towering above me with a look in his eyes that made my throat dry.
    I didn’t miss my head’s location on his body. He certainly didn’t miss it either.
    A tortured look played across his face before he gave his head a shake and reached for the roll of paper towels. “Here. Let me get that cleaned up.” He lowered to the floor beside me, wiping up the sticky red filling I’d managed to scatter up the walls and my knees.
    “Thanks,” I said, tearing a few paper towels off. Watching Abel Lockwood clean a sticky floor on his hands and knees was almost as much of a turn-on as watching him outside doing whatever it was he’d been doing.
    Which reminded me.
    “Outside just now . . .” I focused on the floor instead of his forearm. “What was that you were doing?”
    “Tai Chi,” he answered, his eyes grinning when he glanced at me. “Did you like it?”
    I bit my lip, kind of hating that he knew I’d been watching him. “It was interesting,” I said, figuring that was a safe answer. “How long have you been practicing it?”
    “Since I was six. I even competed when I was younger, but now I do it as more of an outlet that focuses my energy and centers me at the same time.” When I went to wipe up another streak of cherry mess, he beat me to it. “I didn’t wake you, did I?”
    “No. I just couldn’t sleep.”
    His hand stopped moving, his brow furrowing. “Neither could I.” Just as I was about to ask him what his sleeping problem was, he shifted so he was crouching in front of me. “Can I ask you a personal question, Miss Matthews?”
    “Our lives are about to get very, very personal. So please, ask away.” I scrubbed at an invisible stain, distracting myself from the realization that tomorrow night, this man would be sharing his body with me. That image of Abel braced above me flashed through my mind again.
    Great. Because my inner thighs needed to be a little damper.
    “Earlier today in the meeting. You agreed so quickly.” His head tipped. “Why?”
    There were four ways a person could answer any question, my daddy had taught me. With the truth, a figment of the truth, a lie, or silence. He’d also taught me that there was only one way a Matthews could answer a question.
    With the truth.
    “I came into that meeting ninety-nine percent sure you were the one I was going to pick. I agreed to the other meetings out of respect to the candidates, but I knew it would be you I’d pick in the end.”
    Abel reached for my hand. Even though it was sticky with cherry filling, I let him take it. “I guessed you were the one too. Before I’d even met you.”
    My stomach fluttered. “And now?”
    His thumb caressed the underside of my wrist. “And now I know you’re the one.”
    Good lord. The things I felt for this man were not the things I should have been feeling for him. He didn’t want me ; he wanted our baby. That’s what I reminded myself when I found his smile drawing me closer.
    “Why did you decide to do this?” he asked.
    My gaze lowered. I wished I didn’t have to be so honest all of the time. “Because I didn’t want to bring a child into a home with a father who had a tough time staying committed to a cell phone plan. And, at least in my experience, that was the only type of guy who crossed my path. I didn’t want to sentence a child to a split household. Custody battles. I don’t want that life for my child, even