“Oh no.” Her breath rushes out as her brow furrows sadly. “We’re really stopping? I don’t want to stop.”
“Me, either.” I swallow hard, fighting to keep my eyes from drifting below her neck. “But I can’t do what you want. It would be too hard to live next door to my kid and not be a part of his or her life. I’m not ready to be a father, but if the baby’s right here, under my nose, I don’t think—”
“Then I can move. After. If it works.” The words bursting from her kiss-swollen mouth are so close to what I need to hear that my resolve wavers.
Still, I do my best to be the voice of reason. “You just got settled. You don’t want to pull up stakes and start over again. Think of how much money that will cost, let alone the time and frustration involved in—”
“I don’t care about the money.” She stands up straighter, her chin lifting. “If money were my top priority, I would never have left Silicon Valley and the job that was killing me. I want to do something I love, and share my life with someone I love. I can make wine in lots of places. This might be my only shot at a baby.”
My teeth dig into my bottom lip as I fight for control. “I’ve never gotten a woman pregnant before, Emma. Yes, the men in my family have a reputation, but that doesn’t mean—”
“A well-earned reputation,” she cuts in. “I’m willing to take a chance on that. My ex and I tried for eight months without any luck, Dylan. Clearly I need super sperm to break through the fertility barrier.”
“Maybe it was him.” If I’m even going to consider changing my mind, I need to make damned sure she understands what she’s getting in exchange for uprooting her entire life. “Did you get tested to see which of you might have a problem?”
Emma’s features go still as her gaze shifts to the thick flowered rug beneath our feet. “No, but I know it’s me.”
“Without a test, I don’t see how you—”
“Jeremy’s new fiancée is pregnant,” she says. “Eight months along.”
I wince. “And you two broke up…”
“Seven months ago,” she says, lips curving in a humorless smile. “Right after he told me he’d been cheating and Veronica was having his baby.”
“Bastard,” I murmur softly, wanting to pull her in for a hug but knowing better. I can’t trust myself to touch her. Not yet. Not while I’m still so hard it feels like my cock has caught some exotic fever that isn’t going to end well for either of us.
So I settle for a firm, “He didn’t deserve you.”
Emma glances up, big blue eyes creasing at the edges. “Thanks. But honestly, I’m not upset about it anymore. If he hadn’t betrayed me, I don’t know if I would have had the courage to stop betraying myself. This new life and everything I love about it is because of what he did.”
“No, it’s because of you,” I say, hating to see her ex getting credit for her bravery. “You’ve got giant balls, Blondie.”
Her nose wrinkles. “Thank you, I guess. Though I would rather have giant ovaries. Or at least ovaries that work better than mine. I have endometriosis, so that’s part of the fertility issue.” She shrugs, the motion causing her breasts to bounce lightly, making my mouth go dry all over again. “Chances are we could have three months of fun together and there would be no baby.”
“And what’s your plan if that happens?” I ask, tone cautious, though temptation is hitting me hard.
“I don’t know. Most likely fertility treatments and a sperm donor…” She pushes her glasses higher on her nose with a sniff. “But I’m not thinking that far ahead just yet. I’ve learned you can only look so far into the future before it becomes a waste of energy and resources. Nine times out of ten, it’s better to live in the now.”
In the now…
Right now, all I want to do is kiss her. Touch her. Slide inside her without a barrier between my cock and a woman for the first time and see if it’s as good as it’s rumored to be.
And why shouldn’t I if she’s really willing to leave town if I manage to get her knocked up? I won’t miss a kid I’ve never met, she’ll have the baby she wants more than anything, Stroker’s land will be mine, and all will be right with the world.
There’s only one thing standing in my way, “If we do this…”
Emma’s eyes light up like it’s Christmas and she just spotted everything she ever wanted—and a baby unicorn—under the tree.
“If we do this,” I repeat, holding up a warning finger, “you have to make me a promise.”
Her head bobs fast. “Yes. Of course. Name it.”
“If anything ever happens to the kid and you need a blood donation or a kidney or something only a biological father can give, you reach out. Let me know.”
Confusion dulls the joy illuminating her features. “Really? You would do that? For a child you’ve never even met?”
“There are some responsibilities you can’t abdicate, even if you might want to.”
“I’m sure most sperm donors feel differently,” she says, head cocking thoughtfully. “But I can see where you’re coming from. And it makes me even more certain that I picked the right person. Your heart’s in a good place, Dylan.”
My breath rushes out in a strained laugh. “You wouldn’t say that if you knew all the dirty things I’ve been imagining since you answered the door in that outfit.”
Her eyes narrow as her lips curve. “Oh yeah? Things like what?”
“Things like you bent over your desk,” I say, voice low. “While I lift that skirt up over your hips and see what you’re wearing underneath.”
“Or what I’m not wearing.” The words are enough to make my head spin as every ounce of blood in my body surges to my cock.
I’m seconds from turning her around, jerking up that skirt, and calling her bluff, when a knock on the doorframe behind me makes us both jump.
“Sorry to bother you, Em.” It’s Bart, Emma’s vineyard manager. “But the couple who bought the winemaker tour at the charity auction is here.”
Emma makes a distressed sound as she turns to glance at a clock on one of the bookshelves. “But they’re not supposed to arrive until four.”
Bart shakes his head. “I know, but they’re here now, and they apparently drove all the way from the city. I didn’t want to tell them to head into town to kill two hours without consulting you first.”
Emma sighs. “No, of course. Thank you, Bart. I don’t want them to have to wait. Tell them I’ll be out in ten minutes, as soon as I change.” She sounds about as thrilled as I feel. “And ask Neil to get them started with a glass of Sauvignon Blanc, please? Something to take the edge off after their drive?”
“Will do,” Bart says, lifting a hand to me as he turns to go. “Thanks again for the help last night, Dylan. You saved our asses.”
“My pleasure,” I say, but the truth is my pleasure has just been cut off at the pass.
Or at least postponed for far longer than I would like, considering I’m dying to take Emma right here, right now, hot and fast up against the wall.
But that’s not how this is playing out, and it’s probably for the best. No matter how unconventional our arrangement is going to be, we should probably get to know each other a little better before we get naked and horizontal.
Or vertical, or any other positions my naughty librarian has in mind…
“I’m so sorry,” Emma says as soon as we’re alone. “Can we meet up later? Same place, same librarian outfit, maybe around five o’clock?”
“Why don’t we meet for dinner in town, instead?” I hate to pass up the librarian play, but we’re more likely to have a rational conversation if we meet in a place where we won’t be alone. “Domenica’s? Six o’clock? That’ll give us both time to wrap up work, and then we can grab food and get to know each other better before picking up where we left off.”
A smile lights her face. “Sounds perfect. See you at six.”
“At six,” I echo, already knowing that the next four hours will drag by at a sna
il’s pace. But soon, oh-so-soon, I’m going to know what’s it like to have Emma every dirty way we want each other.
And no matter how crazy this is…
I can’t fucking wait.
Chapter 8
Emma
I can’t remember the last time I was this excited for a date.
Even though this isn’t a date, I keep reminding myself. It’s just food before sex.
Before wild, hot, no-holds-barred, baby-making sex.
Dylan and I are really going to do it! We’re going biking without a helmet, sky-diving without a parachute. Except that instead of having a horrible accident or plummeting to our deaths, there might be a baby at the end of our time together.
Maybe even by the end of tonight…
Just the thought of it is enough to make my heart race and my entire body flush with anticipation. Who knew trying to conceive could be so sexy? Back when Jeremy and I were trying, the sex was good, but I never felt anything like this giddy, spastic, about-to-burst-with-excitement feeling that’s had my head spinning all day long.
Even while giving the early-bird Parsons—lovely couple, terrible timing—their tour, I had to fight the urge to burst out into a spontaneous dance party or shout something highly inappropriate like, “Get out of my way, bitches, mama’s going to get some tonight!”
Yes, it’s been seven months since I got laid, so I’m sure that’s part of what has me feeling floatier than a bottle of pinot for dinner, but most of it is just…Dylan.
Dylan, who kisses with a single-minded intensity that leaves no doubt he’s going to be the best lover I’ve ever had. Dylan, who looks at me like he wants to devour me whole, in one ravenous gulp, making me feel so sexy and desired that I don’t stress about what I should wear to dinner. No matter what it is, Dylan is going to want to rip it off of me and make love all night long.
No, not make love. Make a baby, make whoopee, make a trip to Intercourse, Pennsylvania. Love has nothing to do with what you and Dylan are going to get up to in your bed tonight.
“And that’s just fine,” I tell my reflection as I smooth on a coat of lipstick and head out the door to grab my bike.
I have nothing to be ashamed of. I’m a grown woman, making a grown woman’s decision. I’m not a hussy or a harlot or an unlovable loser because I’m treating sex like a business arrangement for once in my life. Besides, it’s not like either Dylan or I are doing something we don’t want to do, just for the sake of babies or land. It’s clear every time we touch that we’re going to enjoy getting naked together very much.
Hell, even the eye contact is combustible.
I’m getting off my bike in the back parking lot at Domenica’s Italian Roadhouse when Dylan pulls in. I look up, and our gazes collide with enough heat to grill half a dozen artichoke and feta cheese pizzas, and I smile, fighting a laugh as he swings out of his truck and heads my way.
“What’s funny, Blondie?” he asks, the sizzle still in his eyes.
“Nothing,” I say, then confess in a giddy whisper, “I’m just excited about getting naked with you.”
He laughs even as his expression goes from sizzling to smoldering. “Me, too. You always say what’s on your mind?”
“Usually,” I confess. “My sister says I have poor social skills from spending a decade glued to a computer screen.”
“I like your social skills. Pretty excited about getting naked with you, too.” He wraps his arm around my waist, leaning down to kiss my cheek before he whispers into my ear, “You look amazing in these jeans, but you’re going to look even better out of them. Want to get dinner to go, throw your bike in the back of my truck, and head back to your place? If we talk while we wait for food, that’s enough getting to know each other, right?”
I nod, my breath rushing out as my fingers dig lightly into his biceps, those thick, powerful muscles I can’t wait to have bared to my touch. “Yes. Food to go is an excellent idea. You’re brilliant.”
He laugh-growls again as he hugs me closer. “Not brilliant; suffering. I’ve been hard for you all day. You’re all I could think about.”
“Me, too.” I take a steadying breath as I pull back to look into his eyes. “It’s kind of nice knowing how the night’s going to end, isn’t it?”
“Very,” he agrees. “No games.”
“Or stress. Or wondering whether your lace thong is going to be appreciated or you’re enduring fabric in uncomfortable places all night long for nothing.”
“Lace thong.” He curses softly, his jaw muscle clenching tight. “Pizza. To go. Now. Before I toss your fine ass in my truck and take off without provisions.”
Fighting another giddy grin—I can’t wait to be tossed anywhere he wants to toss me, but I’ve also barely eaten all day—I start up the paving stone path. Out front, the porch is already filling with people waiting for tables, playing checkers or chess on boards painted on old wine barrels while they wait. We step up to the hostess stand and place our takeout order before staking out a bench to wait by the antique tractor that decorates the front lawn. The hour is early, but the air is already thick with the smell of smoked mozzarella, basil, and Domenica’s unique creamy tomato sauce.
Soon, my stomach starts to rumble. Loudly.
Dylan nudges my shoulder with his. “You going to make it fifteen minutes?”
“Maybe.” I roll my eyes as my stomach lets out another mournful howl. “Maybe not. If I die from hunger before we get back to my place, I’m going to come back from the dead just to slap myself for forgetting to eat regularly.”
Dylan squeezes my hand. “I’ll keep you distracted until the pizza gets here. Want to hear a story about that tractor?”
“I would love to hear a story about that tractor. My sister makes fun of me for being a farm nerd, but I enjoyed my tractor class at the junior college. Gave me a new appreciation for farm machinery.”
He arches a brow. “Is that right? You can drive a tractor? A city slicker like you?”
“I can drive three different kinds of tractors and dig a ditch with a backhoe.” I meet his gaze, narrowing my eyes as I nod. “Yeah, it’s okay. You can be impressed. I’m pretty impressive.”
“You are,” he says with a tip of his head. “I’ve clearly been underestimating your skills.”
“It’s okay. I forgive you. Considering you saved my harvest last night and apologized so sweetly for being a jerk and all.”
His lips curve into a crooked line. “Yeah, well, I really am sorry about that. It’s been a rough couple of years, but that’s no excuse for forgetting my manners.”
I drop the teasing tone. “I heard about your dad. But the cancer is in remission now? He’s doing okay?”
“He’s great. Physically.” Dylan stretches his arms out along the back of the bench. “But he still hasn’t forgiven me for ripping out our vines and planting hops instead. We were grape farmers for over a hundred years. He feels like I betrayed the Hunter family legacy, spit on my ancestors’ graves, et cetera.”
“But you were just doing what you thought was best, right?”
He sighs. “I was doing what I had to do to keep paying the bills. Our entire vineyard was infected with Pierce disease. Everything had to come out, and it would have taken money and time we didn’t have to spare to put disease-resistant vines back in.”
“Right, Pierce disease.” My cheeks flush. “Bart told me that’s why you pulled out the blackberry vines close to my property line. To reduce the chance of Pierce disease spreading to our side of the trail. I owe you an apology for being difficult about that.”
He grins that cocky grin of his. “Apology accepted. Just trying to be a good neighbor, Blondie.”
“You are a good neighbor.” I return his smile. “Every time I run into Mr. Stroker, he always sings your praises. Says you’re the grandson he never had.”
Dylan grunts with an exaggerated scowl. “But he still agreed to consider your bid, the greedy old bastard. Let’s see if he still loves me after I
let him haul in that crop alone this year.”
“You wouldn’t,” I say, hoping I’m right. If not, I’ll have to hire someone to help the old man. I don’t want him getting hurt or losing profits because I started a bidding war.
Dylan rolls his eyes. “Of course I wouldn’t. He’s eighty-five. If he dropped dead throwing pumpkins onto a flat bed, I’d never forgive myself.”
I shake my head, warmth spreading through my chest as I study Dylan’s face. “Watch out, Hunter. I’m beginning to think this grumpy exterior of yours is a thin shell covering a sweet, soft, gooey center.”
“There’s nothing soft or gooey about me, Haverford.” He dips his lips closer to mine as he adds, “And I’m going to prove it as soon as I get you alone.”
My breath rushes out as another wave of longing surges across my skin to pool between my legs. “How can it take this long to cook a pizza?”
“I don’t know, but at least we distracted your stomach.”
“But you still haven’t told me the tractor story.” I pat his thigh then leave my hand where it is because—muscles. And more muscles. Holy quadriceps, I can’t wait to trace every cut on his phenomenal body with my tongue.
“Sorry, I’m easily sidetracked.” He nods toward the tractor. “When my brother Rafe and I were kids, that’s the tractor they used to pull the winning float down Main Street during the Harvest Parade. Our 4H club won every year because we were committed to excellence in all things—especially things that bagged you a trophy and attention from girls.”
I grin. “You had your priorities in order, is what you’re saying.”
“Exactly.” He nudges my shoulder with his again in a way that warms me all over. It feels like something he would do with a real friend, not just a woman he’s going to bang for fun, land, and babies, and I’m starting to think I’d enjoy counting Dylan among my friends. “But when we were in eighth grade, the Russian River Boy Scouts beat us out. Their scout leader was on the judging committee and swung the rest of the sell-outs his way with free tickets to see a monster truck exhibition.”
The Baby Maker Page 6
