“I Should Be The Father Of Your Baby,” Jake Said.

Marisa realized her mouth was hanging open and closed it. “Are you sure about this?”

“It makes sense,” he said. “You want to raise a child on your own—no husband or significant other, right?”

“Absolutely. But we’re talking about creating a life, Jake—a baby. We’re talking about sex. You and me, having sex. Together,” Marisa said.

“Are you saying that you don’t want to have sex with me? That you find me unappealing?”

“No! What woman wouldn’t find you appealing?” Marisa leaned forward, clasping Jake’s hands firmly between her own. “And I would be proud to carry your child. But you realize this isn’t a one-shot deal. It could take months of trying,” she said.

Jake nodded solemnly. “I’m in it for the long haul.”

Dear Reader,

Welcome to Silhouette Desire and another month of sensual tales. Our compelling continuity DYNASTIES: THE DANFORTHS continues with the story of a lovely Danforth daughter whose well-being is threatened and the hot U.S. Navy SEAL assigned to protect her. Maureen Child’s Man Beneath the Uniform gives new meaning to the term sleepover!

Other series this month include TEXAS CATTLEMAN’S CLUB: THE STOLEN BABY with Cindy Gerard’s fabulous Breathless for the Bachelor. Seems this member of the Lone Star state’s most exclusive club has it bad for his best friend’s sister. Lucky lady! And Rochelle Alers launches a brand-new series, THE BLACKSTONES OF VIRGINIA, with The Long Hot Summer, which is set amid the fascinating world of horse-breeding.

Anne Marie Winston singes the pages with her steamy almost-marriage-of-convenience story, The Marriage Ultimatum. And in Cherokee Stranger by Sheri WhiteFeather, a man gets a second chance with a woman who wants him for her first time. Finally, welcome brand-new author Michelle Celmer with Playing by the Baby Rules, the story of a woman desperate for a baby and the hunky man who steps up to give her exactly what she wants.

Here’s hoping Silhouette Desire delivers exactly what you desire in a powerful, passionate and provocative read!

Best,

Melissa Jeglinski

Senior Editor, Silhouette Desire

Playing by the Baby Rules
Michelle Celmer

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MICHELLE CELMER

lives in southeastern Michigan with her husband, Steve, their three children, two dogs, two cats and a leopard gecko. When she’s not writing or busy being a mom, you can find her in the garden weeding or curled up with a book. And if you twist her arm real hard you can usually persuade her into a day of power shopping.

Michelle loves to hear from readers. Visit her Web site at: www.michellecelmer.com.

To Steve for his unconditional support, and my children

for always being proud of me.

To my parents, who never doubted I would make it.

To Debby, Tonya, Jodi and all the Survivor ladies

for your invaluable critiques, and encouragement,

when it seemed hopeless.

And to Therese: There you have it….

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

One

“I’m telling you, Risa, all you need is a turkey baster.”

Marisa Donato looked up from the new shipment of jasmine-scented aromatherapy candles she’d been shelving and shot Lucy Lopez, her moderately demented sales associate, a look of disgust. “Impregnate myself with a turkey baster? Tell me you’re joking.”

“I just figured, if you’re so opposed to the idea of sex, why not?”

Marisa cringed as a pair of young women browsing near the push-up bras exchanged curious glances. Open talk of sex was probably common when the shop specialized in adult toys and pornographic videos. Since Marisa had transformed the store into Intimate Secrets, an upscale lingerie boutique, blatantly sexual merchandise was a thing of the past. Lucy’s blatantly sexual language, however, was a habit Marisa hadn’t yet broken.

Marisa lowered her voice. “I am not opposed to sex. Just that kind of sex. And even if I were to consider impregnating myself with a kitchen gadget, which I wouldn’t in a million years, where am I going to get the, uh…genetic material?”

Oblivious to the customers, Lucy shrugged and said loudly, “I don’t know. A sperm bank?”

She was rewarded with a round of giggles from the back of the store.

Marisa dropped her voice to a whisper. “I don’t think you can just walk in and say, ‘Hi, I’d like to make a withdrawal.’ Besides, the whole idea is too weird.”

“Okay, so the turkey baster is out.” Lucy chose a candle from the stock behind the counter and dug a lighter out of her jeans pocket. She lit it, and the spicy sweet scent of cinnamon drifted up in a curl of smoke. “Why don’t you just stick with your original plan and have it done artificially?”

“The doctor said the chances of the artificial insemination working are only ten to fifteen percent per cycle, and he’s supposed to be one of the best fertility specialists in Michigan. With success rates like that, it could cost me a small fortune. He recommended doing it naturally.”

“So you either find a small fortune or do it the old-fashioned way?”

“Exactly. And because of the endometriosis, it could take months to conceive.”

Lucy leaned back, resting her elbows on the counter. “What you need is a man who would agree to unadulterated, no-strings-attached sex.”

“More or less.” The thought made her stomach pitch. Ironically, her mother would have jumped at the offer. Make it a different man every night and she would have been in her glory.

“My God, Risa, what man wouldn’t agree to that? There has to be a couple hundred in Royal Oak alone who would jump at the chance.”

That’s what she was afraid of. The idea of meaningless sex with some stranger just seemed so…sleazy. Unfortunately she was running out of options—and time.

What had begun as severe monthly cramping in her early teens was now relentless, stabbing pain. An annual checkup with her gynecologist revealed what she had already suspected. Radical surgery was inevitable. If she was going to have a baby, she was going to have to do it soon.

Artificial means had appeared to be the answer, until she’d learned the exorbitant fees and dismal success rates. Foreign and private adoptions were also far too pricey and domestic adoption for a middle-class, single working woman was practically unheard-of.

There was always the conventional “get married and have a family” routine. Collectively, her parents’ eight divorces had taught her one important lesson—marital bliss didn’t run in the family. By the time she left for college she’d lost track of how many “uncles” had come to stay with her and her mother. Uncles who, after Marisa had begun to develop physically, leered at her in a way that made her skin crawl. She hadn’t dared sleep at night without a chair hooked under her doorknob. Just in case.

She would have given up on the prospect of children altogether, but lately, every time she passed a mother walking her baby in a stroller or pushing her toddler on the swings in the park, that twinge of envy she usually felt had turned into a dull, hollow ache. She longed to feel the unconditional love only a child could give, to share all of the love she’d stored up in her heart.

But sex with a stranger? Could she stoop so low when she’d deliberately spent her entire adult life avoiding that type of shallow existence?

“I don’t know if I could do that,” she told Lucy. “And if I did, it would have to be someone I would want to have sex with, and even more importantly, would want to procreate with.”

“There has to be someone.” Lucy blew a spiral of springy red hair out of her eyes. “Give me an idea of what you would be looking for.”

Gathering her long gauzy skirt, Marisa settled on the stool behind the register and propped her elbows on the glass-top display case. “Well, first and foremost, he would have to be healthy—no weird genetic diseases running in his family.”

“That’s reasonable. You just ask for a family history. What else?”

“He would have to be attractive. Not necessarily gorgeous, although that would be a definite plus, but reasonably good-looking. And he would have to be nice. I couldn’t have meaningless sex with someone I didn’t like.”

“That doesn’t sound so hard.” She counted off on her fingers. “Cute, nice and healthy—who do we know that fits that description?”

The bells above the front door chimed and Marisa opened her mouth to greet the customer entering the store, then realized it wasn’t a customer. It was her best friend, Jake. He was slightly disheveled from the mid-July heat, wearing a rumpled Hawaiian-print shirt, cargo shorts and sandals.

When he saw them standing there, he broke into a wide grin. “Hey guys, what’s up?”

Marisa looked at Lucy, and Lucy looked at her, then they both turned and looked at Jake again.

“Risa?” Lucy said, her unspoken question more than clear.

Her and Jake? Yeah, right. The idea was nearly as preposterous as the turkey baster. They had been best buddies since the fifth grade. Sure, she’d had a hopeless crush on him at first. Every girl in school had a crush on big, bad Jake Carmichael at one time or another. It was a teenage rite of passage.

But she wasn’t a kid anymore. She would never risk damaging their friendship. It was far too important to her.

Marisa shook her head. “Absolutely not.”

Jake stopped, absently rubbing his hand across a two-day-old beard the color of golden sand. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Like what?” she asked, pasting a smile on her face. “I thought you would be in the studio all afternoon.”

“I needed a break.” He nodded toward the door. “I’ve got sandwiches in the Jeep. I thought you might want to do lunch in the park.”

“What a nice idea,” Lucy said, turning to Marisa. “Isn’t he a nice guy?”

“Yes, Lucy, he’s very nice.” Her eyes conveyed a silent warning—zip it.

Unfortunately, Lucy was never one to pick up on subtlety. “And you’re looking very handsome today, Jake.”

He looked down at his wrinkled clothes, raking a hand through his spiky, sun-streaked hair. “I am?”

She nodded. “Oh, definitely. And healthy. I’ll bet you don’t have any weird genetic diseases in your family.”

Under the counter, Marisa planted the toe of one canvas shoe firmly in Lucy’s shin as she smiled up at Jake. “Why don’t you grab the sandwiches and I’ll meet you outside in a minute.”

He looked at them both kind of funny, then shrugged. “Okay. I’m parked right down the street.”

The door had barely closed when Lucy opened her mouth to speak.

“No,” Marisa interjected. “Don’t even suggest it.”

“Why not? He would be perfect! How you can be best friends with that man and not want to jump him on a daily basis is beyond me.”

Hopping down from her perch on the stool, Marisa grabbed her cell phone from her purse under the counter and slipped it into her skirt pocket. “We don’t have that kind of relationship.”

“Why not?”

“Because we don’t. And this whole idea of finding some stranger to impregnate me is repulsive. I just can’t do it, Luce. We’ll have to think of something else.”

The browsing women appeared at the counter.

“Was that Jake Carmichael, the saxophone player?” one of them asked, dropping a hot pink demi-bra on the counter.

Groupies. Ugh.

“The one and only,” Marisa said, holding back a groan as she rang up her purchase.

The woman jabbed her friend and they both giggled. “I told you it was him! He’s so cute!”

Marisa resisted the urge to roll her eyes. “Would you like a bottle of essential oil or a scented candle to go with that?”

“I’ve seen you at the bar when his band plays,” the other girl said. “You’re always up front. Is he like, your boyfriend?”

“Well, we really shouldn’t say anything….” Lucy trailed off cryptically, nudging Marisa with her elbow. “It’s not official yet.”

“We won’t tell anyone.” The girl buying the bra turned to her friend. “Will we?”

Her friend shook her head enthusiastically. “Oh no, we won’t tell a soul. Promise.”

“Well, I guess if you promise not to tell…” Lucy leaned forward, lowering her voice. “They’re engaged. They’re planning a spring wedding.”

“Really?” Bra-girl asked, looking heartbroken. “You’re so lucky. He is so hot!”

Marisa smiled at the girls. “I’ll be sure to tell him two of his biggest fans were in today. He’ll appreciate the compliments.” Not. Despite his rising popularity, he considered himself the same old Jake. The hero-worship garbage made him squirm.

“Maybe you could introduce us sometime,” Bra-girl piped up. “We could, like, get his autograph or something.”

“How about a lock of his hair,” Lucy muttered under her breath.

Marisa bit down on the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing. “I’m sure we could arrange that,” she said as she wrapped the bra in pink tissue paper and slipped it into a bag. “Come again, ladies.”

As they walked away giggling, Lucy made a sound of disgust. “God, I detest groupies. They are fun to mess with though.”

“I know, but I wish you wouldn’t do that.”

“What’s the harm? It’s all in good fun. Now, back to this sex thing—”

“No.” Marisa shook her head. “We’re definitely not getting back to the sex thing.”

“Aw, come on—”

“No. I’ll be back in a little while.” She walked to the door and yanked it open. A suffocating wall of humidity and heat enveloped her. “Call me on my cell if you get swamped.”

“Think about it,” Lucy called after her. “Jake would be perfect!”

Flinging herself out the door, Marisa saw only a flash of color before promptly colliding face first into a very wide and very solid male chest.

“Whoa!” Jake caught her arm. “What’s the rush.”

The door swung shut, bumping her on the behind and knocking her even farther into him. She braced her hands against his chest to steady herself, instantly aware of the play of muscles beneath the sweat-moistened cotton shirt, the heat radiating from his skin. The sudden images racing through her mind, like exactly what she and Jake would have to do to make a baby, sent a funny little shiver down her spine. She never thought about stuff like that—least of all with Jake. It was all Lucy’s fault for suggesting that she and Jake should—

No, they definitely shouldn’t.

“What am I perfect for?” he asked.

He’d heard that? “Um…”

Jake stood, fingers still clasped firmly around her arm. His hands were large and strong but exceedingly gentle, his fingers long and graceful. It took a full five seconds to register the heat seeping through her blouse where he grasped her, and the hum of sensation traveling up her arm. She had to force herself not to jerk away.

“Earth to Marisa. You okay?”

She realized they were just standing there on the sidewalk, interrupting the heavy flow of afternoon foot traffic. Aware, too, that more than her arm had begun to tingle now, she gently extracted herself from his grasp. “I’m fine. Let’s go.”

“What am I perfect for?” he asked again as they started down Main Street on foot toward the park.

“It was nothing.” Sweat began to soak the underside of her bra. It had to be about a million degrees out, which still didn’t account for the heat creeping up into her face. There was no doubt in Marisa’s mind, Lucy had done this on purpose. If she had just kept her mouth shut—

“After seventeen years, don’t you think I can tell when you’re lying.” Jake poked her playfully. “Come on, tell me.”

She shook her head. “You don’t want to know.”

“Sure I do.”

“Trust me, you don’t.”

“Marisa, are you blushing?”

Jeez, couldn’t he just drop it? “We should hurry, before someone gets our favorite spot.” She walked faster, until she was almost jogging. Considering he was nearly a foot taller, he didn’t have any trouble keeping up, and she was in danger of collapsing from heat-stroke.

“I’m not going to stop asking, so you might as well spill it.”

“I can’t.”

He batted obscenely long lashes at her—lashes any woman would kill for. “Please?”

“Nope.”

“Pretty please? With sugar on top?” He was grinning down at her, his expression complete mischief. She had no doubt that he would relentlessly nag and harass her until she gave in.

He nudged her again. “C’mon, tell me. What am I perfect for?”

“Sex, Jake,” she blurted out. “She thinks you’re perfect for sex.”

Two

Sex?

Jake walked beside Marisa to the park in stunned silence. Lucy thought he would be perfect for sex? That was…whoa. He wasn’t quite sure how he was supposed to respond. He didn’t want to hurt her feelings, but Marisa knew he didn’t do relationships. Unless a relationship wasn’t what Lucy had in mind.

“I warned you,” Marisa said, her cheeks two hot pink smudges against a smooth olive complexion. “But you just had to know.”

She’d warned him, and as usual, she was right. Once again he had let curiosity get the best of him. One of these days he would learn not to stick his nose into other people’s business. How many times as a child had his curious nature gotten him several sound whacks from the old man’s belt, or a crack across the jaw from the back of his hand?

They reached the park and automatically walked to the oak tree next to the fountain. Beneath a canopy of gnarled branches and dense green leaves, he spread the blanket on the grass and set the cooler down. He tugged his shirt over his head, rolled it into a makeshift pillow, and sprawled out on his back.

Marisa kicked off her sandals and sat down next to him, tossing her long, chestnut hair over her shoulder and tucking her knees under her chin. “Well, aren’t you going to say something?”

Lucy—sex. Right. He propped himself up on his elbows. “Um, I don’t know what to say.”

A deep crease set in the middle of Marisa’s brow—her disappointed face. Damn. He didn’t want to hurt her feelings, but, Lucy?

“Lucy is nice, and I know you two are good friends, but…” He shrugged. “She’s not really my type.”

“Lucy?” The crease in her brow deepened, and for a second she looked as confused as he was feeling, then she started to laugh. Her laugh was full and rich and musical—like a symphony. He loved making her laugh, seeing her happy. Though, it would have been nice to know why she was laughing.

“Feel like letting me in on the joke?”

“You think I want you to go out with Lucy?”

Now he was totally confused. “Don’t you?”

She laughed harder, her eyes overflowing with tears. “Don’t worry, Jake. Lucy doesn’t want to go out with you. She was speaking hypothetically.”

“Oh. Well, I’m flattered, I guess.” What he really wanted to know, but would never ask, was what did Marisa think? And why had they been talking about him in the first place? Would Marisa ever consider him…?

No. He dismissed the idea before it could evolve into something stronger, like hope. He’d learned not to hope for things that were never meant to be. Especially not that.

Everyone had a destiny, and for him, a family just wasn’t in the cards. He would hurt them, then he would have to spend the rest of his life regretting it. Maybe if things were different.

But things weren’t different. They never would be, and every now and then he had to remind himself of that.

Rolling onto his stomach, he opened the cooler and unpacked the sandwiches, potato chips and diet sodas he’d picked up at the deli on Fourth Street. “Chicken salad or tuna?”

“You know, you shouldn’t run around half-naked,” Marisa said, taking the chicken salad. “It’s embarrassing. You’re giving every female in the park a hot flash.”

He looked around, noticed several pairs of female eyes glued in his direction, then turned back to Marisa, who was picking onions off her sandwich and tossing them onto the grass. Not every female.

He reached over and tugged on the sleeve of her blouse, wondering how she didn’t melt in the blistering heat covered from head to toe in yards of fabric. For reasons he’d never understood, she hid her voluptuous curves behind loose draping clothes. “I’ll put some clothes on if you take some off.”

She gave him an eye roll. “You’re very funny.”

“I’m serious, Marisa. You have a nice figure. Why do you always keep it covered?”

“Trust me, if you looked like this, you’d keep it covered too.”

“You know, lots of men like voluptuous women.”

Do you like voluptuous women? The question balanced on the tip of her tongue, but she bit it back. One, because she knew he preferred his women tall, blond and waify—the antithesis to her own short, dark and curvy—and two, because it didn’t matter one way or the other. He was her best friend, her buddy. He didn’t find her attractive in that way.

“Maybe I just don’t like the kind of men who would like a woman like that,” she said. She knew exactly the kind of men who liked a woman like her—the kind who wanted only one thing from a voluptuous body. The kind of men her mother used to drag home from the bar. The kind of men who, when they tired of her mother, turned their attention to Marisa. A teenager. Though none had even tried anything physical, their leering eyes had been enough to make her feel violated and defiled. Dirty.

Maybe her mother could live that way, but Marisa knew she could never be that kind of woman—not for any reason.

Across the park, she heard the delighted squeals of children playing. She forced herself not to look, for fear that her heart would break. For her, there would be no meaningless sex with a stranger. She could never live with herself. She would have to accept that, until she could afford some artificial means of impregnation or foreign adoption, there would be no children in her life. And if she were never able to afford it, or it took too long, she would have to accept that motherhood for her wasn’t meant to be.

The possibility felt like a knife in her chest, and for a moment she thought for sure that her heart was breaking.

“Marisa? Hey, are you crying?”

Reaching up, she touched her cheek and was surprised to find that it was damp. What was wrong with her? Embarrassed, she sniffled and wiped her face with the back of her hand.

Jake sat up next to her. “God, I’m sorry. I was just kidding. I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings.”

“Jake, it wasn’t you. I’ve just got a lot on my mind today. You know, baby stuff.”

He smacked his forehead. “The fertility specialist. I completely forgot about your appointment. What did he say?”

“It’s not looking like it’s going to happen anytime soon. If ever.” Fresh tears rolled down her cheeks and she brushed them away, forcing a smile. “Just ignore me.”

Jake had learned from years of experience that solitude was the last thing Marisa wanted or needed at a time like this. She had the unhealthy habit of letting things eat away at her until a total emotional meltdown was inevitable. It looked like this would be one for the record books.

“Com’ere,” he said.

She looked up at him, her deep brown eyes full of pain. Her lower lip quivered as she bravely fought her tears. “I’m okay, really.”

“No, you’re not. I know how much having a baby means to you.” Shifting closer, he tugged her toward him. It was all the coercing she needed to dissolve into his arms. He held her, stroking her hair as a river of her tears, intermingled with his sweat, rolled down his bare chest to the waist of his pants. The sensation was almost…erotic.

Erotic? He instantly felt like a slime. She needed comfort—a shoulder to cry on. Impure thoughts involving Marisa had been excusable back in middle school when his hormones had been raging and her breasts had just begun developing. Since then, he’d managed to keep those urges in check. For the most part, at least. Every now and then he indulged in a little fantasy, like finding out what she was hiding under all of those clothes. She owned a lingerie shop. It just stood to reason that she wore sexy underthings. He could imagine her in lace—red lace. Or better yet, black.

A sudden and intense tug of arousal stole his breath. Now was definitely not the time to be thinking about black lace. Especially when it pertained to Marisa’s body. It was just that he’d never felt the caress of her hands on his bare back, or noticed how sweet her hair smelled, or how soft it felt against his cheek.

Maybe he’d just never felt the lush swell of her breasts—

Whoa, stop right there. He was not going to start thinking about her breasts. Though he had to admit that it was tough to ignore them when they pillowed so softly against him. And he realized suddenly, that his hands were straying lower, gently caressing her through her blouse, exploring places they shouldn’t be.

She chose that moment to pull back and dig a tissue out of her pocket. “I’m really sorry about this,” she said, wiping her nose. She gave him a shaky smile, tears still clinging to her long, dark lashes. “I guess I needed to vent.”

“Vent on me anytime,” he said. “That’s what I’m here for.”

“Oh, jeez, I got you all wet.” She pulled a fresh tissue out and wiped the moisture from his shoulder and chest. Sliding lower, closer to his waist, her fingers brushed against the taut skin of his stomach and a stab of desire pierced his gut. Instinctively he jerked.

She looked at him strangely, then, as if realizing what she’d done, her eyes widened and she yanked her hand back. “Sorry.”

There was a brief, awkward silence then her lower lip began to tremble and fresh tears rolled down her cheeks.

It broke his heart to see her so miserable. If anyone deserved unconditional happiness, it was Marisa.

Abandoning any inappropriate thoughts, he pulled her into his arms. “I’m so sorry, Marisa. Is there anything I can do to help?”

You could have sex with me. Marisa wondered what his reaction would be if she were to blurt it out. Would he be appalled? Intrigued? Would he fall back on the blanket laughing hysterically?

Probably the latter. There was no use speculating, because it would never happen. She would never work up the nerve to ask. She would never be able to handle the rejection when she heard that inevitable no.

“It comes down to me not having enough money saved,” she said, sniffling and resting her cheek against his damp shoulder. “I considered mortgaging the shop to make up the difference, but if I’m going to have a baby, I don’t want to jeopardize my financial security.”

“If I could, I would lend you the money, but producing this CD is sucking up all of my cash. I’ve had people calling me constantly with studio work, so much I’ve had to turn some of it down, but things are still tight.”

“I’ll get over this—eventually.”

Jake’s arms tightened around her. She felt the tickle of his breath against her hair, smelled the balmy scent of the spearmint candies he bought by the case since he’d given up cigarettes. Was it just her imagination or had they been touching each other an awful lot today? Or maybe they had always touched each other and it just felt different now. Not just different, but…nice.

Too nice.

“What really sucks,” he said, “is that if we pooled our money together, we could probably do one or the other, but that would mean one of us would have to sacrifice.”

“I could still get pregnant,” she said. “I would just have to find a man to—” She realized her mistake the second the words were out, but it was too late to take them back.

The hand that had been gently rubbing her shoulder came to a dead stop. “Find a man to do what, Marisa?”

There was a long, silent pause. Marisa extracted herself from Jake’s arms and glanced down at her wrist. “Wow, will you look at the time.”

Jake noted with amusement that she wasn’t wearing a watch. “Where are you going?”

“I should head back to the shop. Lucy probably needs me.”

As Jake watched her hastily rewrap her untouched sandwich and stuff it into the cooler, everything began to make a weird sort of sense. “When I walked into the store today, what were you and Lucy talking about?”

She avoided his eyes. “You know. The sex thing.”

“But why were you talking about it?”

“No reason.” She started to get up, but he reached for her arm and tugged her back down.

“You’re blushing again,” he said.

She reached up and pressed her fingers to her cheek.

“Were you talking about getting pregnant when I walked in?” he asked.

Sinking her teeth into her bottom lip, she nodded.

Holy—

Jake’s heart began to race. He could hardly choke out the next question. “Is that what Lucy meant when she said I would be perfect?”

He could barely believe it when her head wobbled up and down. He dropped her arm and sat back, stunned. Him getting Marisa pregnant? Lucy thought he would be perfect, but what did Marisa think? What did he think?

There was one obvious advantage to the situation—sex with Marisa. That alone would be tough to pass up. But he’d decided a long time ago that he would never have a family. He would be a lousy father, and an equally lousy husband. But Marisa wasn’t looking for a family, he reminded himself. She just wanted a baby.

His baby?

“I know.” Marisa laughed nervously. “I told Lucy what a stupid idea it is. I mean, you and me having a baby? Yeah, right.”

“Yeah, right,” he agreed, equal parts disappointment and relief burning through him. Either she didn’t think he was good enough to father her child, or the thought of making love to him was so repulsive she would never consider it.

No matter the reason, she was probably right. It was a crazy idea.

“So, you ready to go?” Marisa stood next to the blanket, cooler in hand. The sun burned bright behind her, hiding her face in shadow, but he could tell by her tone that she was anxious to leave. He’d lost his appetite anyway.

“Yeah, sure.” He pulled his shirt on and balled up the blanket, tucking it under his arm. They were both quiet as they walked back to her shop. When they got there she handed him the cooler.

“This isn’t going to make things weird, is it?” she asked, concern etched in the corners of her eyes. “You know, the whole baby thing.”

If he let it, maybe. But he wasn’t going to let himself take it personally. Nor could he blame her for thinking he wouldn’t be the right man to father her child. After all, she knew him better than anyone.

“Do you know how many women have come up to me after a show and offered to have my children?” He gave her a playful nudge. “I’m used to it.”

She handed him the cooler. “So, we’re good?”

“Yeah, we’re good.”

She reached for the door handle, then stopped, turning back to him. “Because it would be kind of strange. You know, you and me…together.”

He nodded. “Yep. Pretty strange.”

“I mean, not bad strange. Just, different. It would change everything.”

“It certainly would.” Possibly for the better. Or possibly not. It was the not side of that coin that made him uneasy. Without Marisa, he wouldn’t have anyone. He wasn’t prepared to jeopardize their friendship.

“You’re playing tonight?” Marisa asked.

“Nine-thirty. If you’re planning on coming, I’ll stop by and walk you down. It’s on my way. We’re trying out some new material tonight.”

“Okay.”

“So, that’s a yes?”

“That’s a yes.” She pulled the door open, letting out a rush of cool dry air, then stopped again, turning back to him. She looked as if she might say something, then she shook her head and disappeared inside.

The bells over the door jingled softly as it swung shut, and he couldn’t shake the feeling that, despite his assurances otherwise, things had changed anyway.

Three

“Risa, Jake’s here,” Lucy called from the front of the store. “Are you ready to go?”

Wincing as pain clutched low in her belly, Marisa shelved the day’s receipts and stored the cash in the safe. “Go ahead and lock up. I’ll be right out.”

Jake poked his head around the corner. “Anything I can do?”

She wiped a trickle of sweat from her brow. “Nope, I’ll be ready in just a second.”

“Hey, you okay? You look a little pale.”

She forced a smile. “Feminine stuff. I’ll be fine.”

He nodded, no more explanation necessary. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d seen her in pain, and probably wouldn’t be the last either. “If you’re not feeling good, you don’t have to come to the bar tonight.”

“I’ll be okay in a few minutes. Tell Lucy I’ll be right out.”

She grabbed a bottle of aspirin from the cabinet above the sink in the bathroom and chased three down with water. Clutching the edge of the sink, she sucked in several deep breaths while she waited for the spasms to cease. Every bout of pain lately was a grim reminder she was running out of time. She would only be able to take so much more before she had to give in and have the surgery.

“Risa,” Lucy popped her head in. “Someone here to see you.”

“Did you tell them we’re closed?”

“I tried, but he said it’s personal. Some guy and his daughter.”

Some guy and his…oh no, it couldn’t be. She closed her eyes, shaking her head. Please, not tonight, she prayed silently.

She followed Lucy to the front, and of course, it was him. He always managed to show up when she didn’t want to see him. Which, come to think of it, was most of the time. How long had it been anyway? A year? Maybe longer?

Still tall and handsome, he looked a decade younger than his fifty-two years. The only hint of his true age was the distinguished trace of gray peppering his temples. The woman next to him was poured into a black-and-gold dress and clung to his arm. Maybe she was afraid of busting an ankle on her four-inch spiked heels.

“Marisa,” he said stiffly, gazing with barely masked distaste around the store.

She told herself not to let the rejection bother her, but deep down it stung. There was still a remnant of the little girl in her that used to try so hard to please him.

“Hello, Joseph. Long time no see.”

“I’d like to introduce you to Julia.”

“It’s so nice to finally meet you, Marisa. I’ve heard so much about you.”

I’ll bet you have, Marisa thought, accepting her petite hand. She knew Joseph had always preferred younger women, but this was obscene. She couldn’t have been more than twenty.

Lucy stood next to her and appeared perplexed. Jake hovered near the counter looking as if he wanted to disappear.

“Where are my manners,” she said. “Joseph, you remember my friend Jake, and this is Lucy Lopez. We work together. Lucy, this is Joseph Donato, my father.”

Joseph gave them both a slight nod.

“So, when’s the big day?” Marisa asked.

Julia looked up at him, confused. “You told her already?”

Marisa gestured to Julia’s right hand. “The rock you’re wearing tipped me off. How many does this make, Joseph? Five or six?”

A nerve twitched in his jaw, and he eyed her sternly. “You know very well that Melinda was my fourth wife, which will make Julia my fifth.”

She challenged his piercing gaze. “You never know. I thought maybe you slipped one in somewhere without telling me.”

“Marisa,” Julia said, stepping forward. “Joey and I wanted to invite you to join us for dinner, to celebrate our engagement.”

“Really?” She could barely hide her surprise. “Whose idea was that?”

Julia glanced nervously at Joseph. “Um, both of ours.”

Boy, was she a lousy liar. Marisa knew Joseph wouldn’t have voluntarily asked her to join him for a meal. Still, she had no reason to be rude to Julia. “I’m sorry, I have plans tonight. But thank you for the invitation.”

“You will come to the wedding, won’t you?”

She’d never attended one of her father’s weddings. Well, not since his second marriage when her mother had sent her to the formal reception decked out in a ratty old dress and scuffed shoes. She had wanted all of his guests to see how poorly he cared for his daughter. She’d given no thought to how mortified Marisa would feel.

“Your father doesn’t love you,” her mother had said. “He only cares about himself, and now everyone will know it.”

It never escaped Marisa’s attention that her mother had a closet full of designer clothes and shoes. But when Marisa needed money for school clothes, or the rent was due, the well was always dry.

“It’s August eighteenth,” Julia was saying. “Can you make it?”

Marisa scrambled for an excuse to decline.

“It would mean so much to us,” Julia pressed. The look she gave Marisa was nearly pleading. “Please come.”

Pity for the girl overshadowed reason. Julia seemed nice enough. Clueless—but nice. “Sure, I’ll come.”

“Oh good!” she said excitedly. Joseph stood next to her, his face solemn. “I’ll send you an invitation.”

“We should go,” Joseph said, taking her arm. “We’ll miss our reservations.”

“It was so nice meeting you.” Julia took Marisa’s hand again, this time squeezing it firmly. “I hope we see each other again soon.”

Joseph nodded in her direction. “Take care of yourself, Marisa,” he said, guiding Julia to the door.

“It was nice meeting you, too, Lucy and Jake!” Julia waved as the door jangled shut.

“Whoa.” Lucy leaned against the counter next to Jake. “That was tense.”

“Very tense,” Jake agreed. “On a scale of one to ten, I’d give it a sphincter level of about ninety-nine point nine.”

“Your father is gorgeous,” Lucy said.

Marisa grabbed her purse from the file-cabinet drawer and pulled out her keys. “Don’t think he doesn’t know it.”

Lucy switched the lights off and they started toward the door. “Are you really going to go to their wedding?”

“I might. I’m a little curious, I guess.” They stepped outside into the stifling heat and Marisa locked up behind them.

“Your family is so scandalous,” Lucy said. “I envy you. I’ve got a family full of practicing Catholics. It’s so dull.”

They wove their way down Main Street toward the bar. As was the case every Friday night, the streets of the trendy town were clogged with people. “Lucy, trust me when I tell you it’s not as exciting as you may think. Especially for the people directly involved.”

Jake only nodded silently. Having grown up in an equally dysfunctional family, no one had to explain the concept to him.

When they reached the bar, they walked past the long line of customers waiting for a table and the bouncer motioned them through the door.

They negotiated through a sea of people to the table marked Reserved just to the left of the dance floor.

“I’ll see you after the set,” Jake said, and headed for the stage, instantly encompassed by the usual preperformance harem.

Having been so distracted by the pain and her father’s unexpected visit, Marisa barely noticed Jake’s appearance. Not that he looked any different than usual. Under the dim, smoky lights he looked unbelievably handsome. Well, actually, he looked unbelievably handsome all the time. And it wasn’t just good looks that made him so attractive. There were endearing little things that added to his appeal. The hair that was always a little messy. The slightly crooked nose—a battle scar from one of his father’s rages—and the way his mouth lifted a fraction higher on the left when he smiled.

He turned and flashed her that crooked grin and a funny little flutter danced through her stomach.

From across the table, Lucy nudged her.

She tore her eyes away from the stage. “Huh?”

“I said, Jake looks good tonight.”

A rush of heat claimed her cheeks when she realized she’d been caught staring. She tried to sound casual. “Oh, yeah, I guess he does.”

“You need a tissue?”

“What for?”

“The drool on your chin.”

Before she could embarrass herself further with a denial Lucy would most surely see right through, a waitress appeared to take their drink orders. A moment later Jake introduced the band and began the set with a rich, lazy rhythm, rendering a hush over the entire bar. Marisa propped her chin on the back of her hands, gazing up at him, lulled by a haunting tune she didn’t recognize. Then he sought her out, his eyes locking on hers, and she had the irrational, almost thrilling sensation that they were the only two people there. That he was playing for her alone. A slow, melodic seduction. She’d never heard him play more soulfully.

It went on that way throughout the forty-minute set and by the end, she felt as if she’d been picked apart, dragged out emotionally and left raw and exposed.

A burst of wild applause snapped her back to reality. His music had touched everyone there, not just her. Although, he had been watching her…

Jake thanked the crowd, passed the entertainment over to the DJ, then eased his way past a throng of eager young women. Between autographs and words of praise, he slowly made his way to Marisa and Lucy’s table. As Marisa rose to greet him, a tall, leggy blonde seated at the table behind them body-slammed her out of the way. Marisa stumbled, catching her balance on the edge of the table.

The blonde attached herself to Jake like a leech, whispering in his ear. He laughed, whispered something in return and when she handed him a business card he tucked it into his shirt pocket. It occurred to Marisa that Jake hadn’t been looking at her.

He’d been fixed on the blonde sitting directly behind her.

Humiliation blistered Marisa’s pride. What had she been thinking? Why would she let herself believe that Jake could look at her as anything but a friend? How could she have ever even considered that he would agree to be her baby’s father? That the thought of making love to her might not be such a bad thing after all. She should have known better.

Though she wanted to deny it, something had happened between them today. Something had changed and she didn’t know how to reverse it. How to fix it.

“Sorry about that.” Jake folded himself into the chair opposite her and signaled the waitress for his usual soda. “The longer I’m in this business, the more aggressive they seem to get.”

“Poor baby,” Lucy teased, and he pinched her playfully, making her squeal.

Holding in the tears of humiliation burning behind her eyes, Marisa grabbed her purse and rose from her chair. “I’m going home.”

“Already?” Disappointment twisted Jake’s gut. He had hoped she would stay for a while, so he could see if the connection he’d experienced, the charge of electricity he’d felt pass between them, was real or a figment of his imagination. “You’re sure you can’t stay a while?”

“I’m beat.”

“Do you mind if I stay?” Lucy asked. “Or do you want company walking home?”

“You should stay,” Marisa told her. “Have a good time.”

Jake got up. “I’ll walk you home.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“I don’t like you walking home alone at night. See you later, Luce.”

“You two have fun,” Lucy called after them. Her tone suggested she knew exactly what had been on Jake’s mind all night. Hell, all day. As hard as he tried, he just couldn’t shake it.

On the way out he saw the producer who’d approached him. She appeared deep in conversation with the owner of the bar, but as he passed, she glanced over and mouthed the words call me.

He’d tried to explain that he was producing his music himself, under an independent label, but she wouldn’t take no for an answer. He was approached regularly by so-called producers. He’d gone that route before. Never again would he sign away his creative rights. This was his music. He would record it the way he saw fit. Though he made a decent living as a studio musician, and he enjoyed the work, writing music was his true passion.

The night air was still heavy with moisture as they stepped out the door, but the temperature had lowered to a semitolerable level. A warm breeze carried the rich scent of coffee from the shop two doors down, and cars, spitting exhaust and overflowing with rowdy teenagers, lined the narrow city streets.

Jake draped one arm loosely across Marisa’s shoulder as they walked down the street together. They’d walked this way countless times before, but tonight was different. Tonight he was hyperaware of her presence beside him. The softness of her hair brushing against his arm, the scent of her perfume tantalizing his nose, the occasional bump of her hip against his thigh as they walked.

Marisa, however didn’t seem to notice a thing. She stared off, oblivious to his presence, her mind a million miles away.

“What did you think of the set?” he asked, curious to know if she’d felt anything special. Anything different.

“It was good,” she said noncommittally. “I like the new material.”

Disappointment took a choke hold on his heart. Okay, so she hadn’t felt it. She probably hadn’t even been looking at him, just staring blindly into space, thinking about the store inventory or shampooing her hair. Why would he let himself think—believe—it could have been anything else?

He’d promised he wouldn’t let what happened this afternoon compromise their friendship, and here he was flaking out. But he couldn’t seem to erase the idea from his mind. He’d run the situation over in his head a thousand times today and still one question nagged him.

Could he bring a child into the world, his own flesh and blood, then give it up?

Then it had dawned on him. He wouldn’t really be giving it up. As Marisa’s friend, he would always be a part of the kid’s life, but distanced enough to keep from doing any irreparable damage. It would be sort of like having a family, without really having one.

He could take the kid to the zoo, or teach him to play baseball. The little guy would never have to know the truth. At least, not until he was older. Even then he would probably be better off not knowing what kind of family he’d come from. What kid would want to learn he’d had an abusive, alcoholic grandfather and an uncle serving a life sentence in prison? It just wouldn’t be fair to burden a kid with that.

Hell, he could even start a college fund and, of course, if Marisa ever needed support financially, or just someone to baby-sit, he would be there for her. He could teach him about music—start him early learning the fundamentals. If someone had bothered to take the time with Jake, had recognized his musical potential, who knows where he would be today. Marisa’s kid would have the best of everything.

The more he’d thought about it, the more he liked the idea. Somehow the concept of her raising his child just felt right.

He’d tried to dismiss it. He’d tried to ignore the voice inside telling him it would be the right thing to do, that he owed it to Marisa for all she’d done for him. For being his best friend. His only family.

But he hadn’t been able to shut the voice out. The big question was, would Marisa go for it? Would she think he was good enough?

“I was wondering,” Marisa said, breaking the silence. “How would you feel about coming to the wedding with me. I could use the moral support.”

He understood completely. “Sure, I’ll go.”

When they reached her building, she stopped and pulled out her keys. “Thanks for walking me home. Do you want to come up for a bit?”

He shoved his hands into his pants pockets, suddenly filled with nervous energy. This was his chance. He forced the words out. “Sure. I kinda wanted to talk to you about something, anyway.”

“Okay.” Marisa started up the stairs to her apartment above the shop. As they stopped in the hall outside her door, the door to the adjacent apartment opened a crack, snapping tightly against half-a-dozen security chains. A single eyeball peered out.

“It’s just us, Mr. Kloppman,” she called. “Marisa and Jake.”

“Hand please,” a muffled voice ordered, and a small metal cheese grater slid through the opening. Obediently Marisa held out her hand and the grater hovered briefly over her palm. “Next.”

Jake did the same. When Mr. Kloppman appeared confident they were who they claimed to be, he slid the chains free and opened the door.

“Can’t be too careful,” he said, his eyes shifting nervously up and down the short hallway. “I saw it on the news. They can change shape, look or sound like anyone.”

Behind her, Jake chuckled and Marisa elbowed him sharply in the gut. “Have you been watching X-Files again, Mr. Kloppman?”

He shook his head. “Heck no. This was on the late news last night. You keep your doors locked. It’s not safe.” He backed into his apartment, again checking the short stretch of the hallway. “Trust no one,” he said as the door snapped shut.

“That guy is certifiable,” Jake said, after they were safely inside her apartment with the door locked. “I’m afraid he’s going to snap one of these days and hurt someone.”

“He’s harmless. Besides, his daughter pays the rent on time every month and as long as he lives next door I never have to worry about an alarm system.” Clearing a week’s worth of newspapers off the couch, Marisa collapsed onto the overstuffed cushions, stretching out her legs. “So, what did you want to talk to me about?”

Jake sat across from her in the leather recliner and leaned forward, hands clasped between his knees. “It’s about what happened today at lunch.”

Marisa’s heart began to hammer wildly in her chest. “I’ve been thinking about that, too.”

“It’s pretty much the only thing I’ve been thinking about. How about you?”

“Me, too.”

“Is it just me, or do you get the feeling that somehow the dynamics of our entire relationship have changed?”

She didn’t want things to change, but she couldn’t deny that something was different. Looking down at her hands, she nodded.

“In that case, I think Lucy is right,” he said. “I should be the father of your baby.”

Four

Marisa’s head snapped up. “I beg your pardon?”

“I’ve been thinking about it all day, and I’ve come to the conclusion that I would be the perfect man to father your child.”

She realized her mouth was hanging open and closed it. The idea of having Jake’s baby had been funny when Lucy suggested it. Funny in a “yeah, like that would ever happen” way. But this was Jake suggesting it, looking at her as if…as if he was seriously considering it.

“Are you sure about this?”

“Think about it,” he said. “What was the main reason we decided it would be a bad idea? We were afraid things would get weird. That we would feel differently about our relationship. But that’s already happened.”

He had a point. She did feel different, and as much as she’d like to believe otherwise, with the progression of her condition, this could be her last chance to have a baby.

“Look,” he said, “you want to raise a child on your own, no husband or significant other, right?”

“Absolutely.”

“I don’t want a wife and kids—ever. You’re not going to find too many men willing to permanently give up their parental rights. But you know me. You can trust me.”

“I don’t doubt that you would honor any agreement we made. But you’re talking about creating a life, Jake—a baby. You do understand that?”

“Of course I do. You would be an amazing mother, Marisa. You deserve that chance.”

“Maybe I’m not making myself clear. We’re talking about sex. You and me, having sex. Together.”

“Are you trying to say that you wouldn’t want to have sex with me? That you find me unappealing?”

“No! No, it’s not that at all. Jeez, what woman wouldn’t find you appealing?”

“As far as the gene pool goes, I know I don’t come from the best stock—”

“Your genes are just fine.” She leaned forward, clasping his hands firmly between her own. “I would be proud to carry your child. My biggest fear—my only fear—is that it might damage our friendship.”

“You’re my dearest friend, nothing could ever change that.”

She’d never seen him look so serious, so sincere. He made it sound simple—have sex, make a baby.

Maybe it sounded too simple.

“You realize that this isn’t necessarily a one-shot deal. It could take months,” she said. “A year even. If it happens at all.”

He nodded solemnly. “I understand. I’m in it for the long haul.”

“And we would have to establish some ground rules. So things don’t get…confusing. Because things could get awfully confusing, Jake. This is going to change everything.”

“I think setting rules is a good idea.”

“Can you promise me that, no matter what, this will not damage our friendship? You can handle this?”

“I can handle it. I promise.” He squeezed her hands. “I want to do this for you.”

He could handle it, but could she? She knew she should take her time, think this over for a while. She also knew deep in her heart the decision was already made. There had never been a doubt.

“Okay,” she agreed. “Let’s do it.”

Marisa set her wine on the coffee table, dug a legal pad from under a pile of newspapers and pulled a purple gel pen from between the couch cushions. “Are you ready?”

Jake nodded. “Can I take the first one?”

She marked a big purple One on the first line, noting that her hands had finally stopped shaking but her stomach was still a maze of tightly bound knots. Excitement, nerves, fear—she couldn’t recall ever feeling so many intense emotions all at once.

“I say that we have to be totally honest with each other at all times if this is going to work. Even about things that might make us uncomfortable.”

“Okay, rule number one—total honesty. And I think our number two rule should be that we only, um…do it—”

“Time out.” He held his hands up in a tee shape. “Before we go any further, we should establish what it is we’re going to be doing.”

She arched a brow at him. “Let me guess, you missed that chapter in Health class?”

He leaned forward and swatted her foot playfully. “Very funny. I meant, we should decide what to call it. Sex, doing it—there are dozens of ways to label it. I think we should pick one, and stick to it. To keep things consistent.”

His relaxed attitude did little to ease her nerves. He seemed awfully open-minded about this. Almost too open-minded. Like he did this kind of thing all the time.

“What do you think we should call it?”

He rubbed his chin. “Well, to say that it’s just sex seems a little cold considering our main objective. When you’re holding your baby, and you look back on his or her conception, I want it to be with good feelings.”

Her throat tightened and grateful tears burned behind her eyes. “That is so sweet.”

He caught and held her gaze, his eyes gentle and full of understanding. “I want to do this right. I love you, and I like to think that you love me, too.”

She plucked a tissue from a box on the coffee table and wiped her eyes. “You know I do.”

“Then, I think we should say we’re making love—if you’re comfortable with that. Even though we’re not in love, we do love each other. Right?”

“Okay, from now on it’s making love.”

“Settled,” he said. “Back to rule number two.”

“I think we should agree that we only, um, make love during the period of time that I’m ovulating. You know, since that’s the only reason we’re doing this.”

He paused for a second, and she could swear she saw a flash of disappointment. Then he nodded. “Yeah, that’s probably a good idea.”

“And rule number three, so it’s consistent, we should establish where we make love, and number four, agree that afterward we go home. No sleepovers. Again, that could complicate things.”

“Since it stands to reason that at some point we’ll be making love at night, I think it should be here. I don’t want you to have to worry about getting home afterward, and I’m just guessing about this, but you probably want to stay off your feet. So everything stays where it’s supposed to.”

“That’s a good point. I never even considered that.” She jotted it down. The next one was going to be tough. “Number five, and think good and hard about this one, because you could be looking at a year or more. No sleeping with anyone else while we’re involved. It’s not that I don’t trust you, but with all the nasty diseases out there, I can’t take any chances. We’re going to be having a lot of unprotected sex.”

“Can I date other women?”

She tried not to let the question sting. She’d been expecting it, especially after the incident in the bar tonight, and it was only fair. “I don’t see why not. As long as you don’t sleep with them.”

With hardly any consideration, he nodded. “Okay. I can do that.”

“You’re sure?”

He looked hurt by her skepticism. “Of course I’m sure. I know everyone thinks I’m some superstud, but it’s actually very rare that I take a woman to bed. And just so you know, when I do, I always use a condom—no exceptions.”

“I believe you.”

“And that brings us to the next rule. Keeping this to ourselves.”

She had a sinking sensation in the pit of her stomach. He didn’t want people to know they were sleeping together. That shouldn’t have surprised her. After all, he had his superstud reputation to protect. It still hurt a little. “If you think that’s best.”

“Until you decide what you want to tell the kid when he’s older, we should keep it quiet. In my business, these things have a way of getting around.”

Shame burned her cheeks. Why did she automatically assume the worst? Here he was considering the best interests of the baby and she’d taken it as personal insult.

“At some point we will have to figure out how we want to handle that,” she said. “You know, when he or she asks why Dad isn’t around.”

“That’ll be phase two, after we actually get you pregnant.”

“Fair enough. That puts us at number seven.” She grabbed her wineglass and took a hearty swig. She hadn’t said a word and already her cheeks were on fire. God, she hadn’t blushed this much since she was twelve. “Um…”

“Total honesty,” he reminded her.

“It’s important that you don’t…pleasure yourself for the two weeks before I ovulate. It’s the only way to keep your sperm count up. The more sperm, the better chance I have of conceiving.”

He winced. “Two weeks, huh?”

“It’s what all of the literature on the subject says to do. Sorry.”

“No, don’t be sorry. I’ll survive.” He looked up at her, his smile playful. “I don’t suppose that same rule applies to you.”

“Um, I don’t know…”

Jake laughed. “Marisa, I was joking. If you want to make yourself feel good, go right ahead. Maybe, to make up for my torturous two weeks of celibacy, you’ll let me watch you.”

She opened her mouth to respond, but nothing came out. He had to be joking. He didn’t really expect her to—

Oh my God, what if he did? Maybe he was used to that kind of thing.

“Marisa, relax, I was kidding.”

She let out a shaky breath. “Sorry, I guess I’m just a little nervous about all of this.”

“Don’t be. We’re good friends. We’ve done practically everything else together. Do you get nervous when we have a picnic in the park, or go see a movie?”

“Of course not.”

“Then try to think of this as one more thing we’re doing as friends.”

Friends who have sex?

Well, she’d never had a friend like that before. What kind of sex did friends have, anyway? Going-through-the-motions, let’s-get-this-over-with sex, or pulse-pounding, mind-blowing passionate sex? And suppose he wanted pulse-pounding sex, but she didn’t know how to pleasure him? She didn’t want him to be disappointed, or after two whole weeks of waiting walk away unsatisfied.

Worst of all, what if he looked at her body and was completely turned off?

Jake sat down next to her on the couch and draped an arm over her shoulder. She tried not to tighten every muscle in her body as the weight of his thigh pressed against her own and sent little tingles up and down her leg. He’d sat this close lots of times and it had never made her tingle before. Not in the past ten years, anyway.

No. She refused to let herself blow this out of proportion. Forcing herself to relax, she let her head drop on his shoulder. There, that was nice.

Hmm, very nice.

“Is that it?” he asked, taking the legal pad from her.

“I think we covered just about everything. We can always add to it later.”

“We have seven rules. Maybe that’s lucky.”

Yeah, maybe they would get lucky and conceive in the first month. “Jake, I want you to know how much I appreciate this.”

“I know you do.” He squeezed her shoulder. “I think it’s going to work out real well.”

“Me, too.”

“Although I do have just one more question.”

“What’s that?”

He looked down at her with a grin that could make a woman forget her own name. “When do we get started?”

Jake leaned over the console in the control room, wincing as his crotch bumped the hard metal edge.

He’d been daydreaming about Marisa again—more to the point, making love to Marisa. Since she’d begun testing for ovulation every afternoon, he’d thought about little else.

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