Marry Jessie. She Wants A Baby, You Want A Family.

The idea was so shocking that Ryan stopped dead in the middle of the sidewalk, causing a woman to glance at him oddly.

Marry Jessie. The thought made his heart race alarmingly. Part of him was still that adolescent boy with a crush on his lissome young neighbor. With those long legs and the graceful way she carried herself, she was most definitely elegant, but she was also volatile. If she disagreed with him, she said so in no uncertain terms.

He’d told himself he was over Jessie, that she’d been an adolescent fantasy. But in the back of his mind he knew he’d been comparing other women to her for the past ten years or more.

And he was over her. Just because he couldn’t stop thinking about her didn’t mean anything except that he was still as physically attracted to her as he’d always been.

Was it ridiculous to think that he could make a life with her now, a life that included the children he’d always wanted?

He reached for the phone. After all, what did he have to lose?

Dear Reader,

Ring in the New Year with the hottest new love stories from Silhouette Desire! The Redemption of Jefferson Cade by BJ James is our MAN OF THE MONTH. In this latest installment of MEN OF BELLE TERRE, the youngest Cade overcomes both external and internal obstacles to regain his lost love. And be sure to read the launch book in Desire’s first yearlong continuity series, DYNASTIES: THE CONNELLYS. In Tall, Dark & Royal, bestselling author Leanne Banks introduces a prominent Chicago family linked to European royals.

Anne Marie Winston offers another winner with Billionaire Bachelors: Ryan, a BABY BANK story featuring twin babies. In The Tycoon’s Temptation by Katherine Garbera, a jaded billionaire discovers the greater rewards of love, while Kristi Gold’s Dr. Dangerous discovers he’s addicted to a certain physical therapist’s personal approach to healing in this launch book of Kristi’s MARRYING AN M.D. miniseries. And Metsy Hingle bring us Navy SEAL Dad, a BACHELORS & BABIES story.

Start the year off right by savoring all six of these passionate, powerful and provocative romances from Silhouette Desire!

Enjoy!

Joan Marlow Golan

Senior Editor, Silhouette Desire

Billionaire Bachelors: Ryan
Anne Marie Winston

ANNE MARIE WINSTON

RITA Award finalist and bestselling author Anne Marie Winston loves babies she can give back when they cry, animals in all shapes and sizes and just about anything that blooms. When she’s not writing, she’s chauffeuring children to various activities, trying not to eat chocolate or reading anything she can find. She will dance at the slightest provocation and weeds her gardens when she can’t see the sun for the weeds anymore. You can learn more about Anne Marie’s novels by visiting her Web site at www.annemariewinston.com.

For Mary Anne Trent

“Truly great friends are hard to find, difficult to leave, and impossible to forget.”

—G. Randolf

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Epilogue

One

“Boston financial wizard Ryan Shaughnessy comes in sixth on our list of the Northeast’s most desirable bachelors. Shaughnessy, 32, a self-made multimillionaire with diverse business interests, holds the patent on Securi-Lock, a decade-old technological innovation that has taken the world of home security in a new and vital direction. Widowed two years ago and childless, Shaughnessy makes his home in the exclusive Brookline community of Boston’s Back Bay. He stands six-foot-three and weighs in at 205 pounds. If you want to capture the interest of this eminently available hunk, you should take up swimming, rowing and jogging.”

Ryan Shaughnessy glared at his lunch date with ill-concealed poor humor. “Put that thing away.”

Jessie Reilly was still chortling as she dropped the magazine back into her bag. “I’m impressed,” she said, and the sparkle dancing in her eyes made him narrow his own. They’d grown up together and he knew that look. It usually meant trouble for him. “I mean, who’d ever have thought that skinny kid next door would grow up to be an ‘eminently available hunk’?”

Ryan forgot to be annoyed as her amused gaze met his. Jessie looked as good as she always did to him, in a slim-fitting charcoal suit and high black boots to protect her feet from January’s icy weather, and he felt the familiar little shock of attraction in his solar plexus when her wide smile lit her face. “If I’d known you were bringing that rag,” he told her, “I might have skipped lunch.” Right. Like you’d ever miss an opportunity to spend time with Jessie.

Jessie had been his neighbor during his childhood, his first hopeless adolescent love and his good friend forever. She joined him here on the third Wednesday of every month for lunch. As she shook her dark hair back from her face, it gleamed with coppery highlights. He was aware that more than one man in the room watched her as she relaxed at the table he’d reserved by the fireplace in the Ritz-Carlton Hotel’s bar.

“I’m glad you didn’t skip out on me,” she told him. “I’ve been thinking about you, wondering how you’re doing.” Her eyes were a smoky green-gray in the winter light streaming through the windows that overlooked the Public Garden, a dark ring around the irises giving them a striking intensity. He knew she didn’t just want to know generally how life was. She meant, “How are you getting along since Wendy’s death?” She’d asked him the same question, casually sandwiched into their conversations, once a month for the past two years. But he didn’t want to go there today, so he answered it in the general sense.

“Life’s good. Business is good. How about you?”

Her eyes reproached him but she let it slide. “I’m all right. Business is…business.”

Something in her tone made him glance sharply at her, and to his critical eye her expression looked troubled. “Something wrong at the gallery?”

“Not wrong, exactly.” She hesitated. “I just learned this morning that my biggest rival in the area is expanding. Until now they haven’t affected my business at all, but with a larger place and more inventory…” She shrugged. “It’s a little worrisome.”

Jessie owned a fine arts gallery a block away on Newbury Street that catered to the idle rich and those who aspired to the lifestyle. Ryan had bought gifts there in the past and he’d been impressed by both the quality and the unique selection of items she stocked. The prices…she clearly had targeted the well-to-do doctors and lawyers that blanketed the Boston population like the snow outside the windows covered the landscape. “So what are you going to do about it?”

“I don’t know.” Their drinks arrived, and she curled long, delicate fingers around the stem of her wineglass. “I’ve barely had time to think at all this morning. It was busy from the moment the doors opened until I sneaked out at lunch time.” Then she shrugged her shoulders, deliberately shaking off her cares. “I’ll figure something out, I’m sure.”

“I’m sure you will.” He toasted her with his drink. “You’re one of the most resourceful people I know. Not to mention bullheaded, stubborn and tenacious.”

She shot him a narrow-eyed stare. “Gee, thanks. I think.” She took a sip of her drink.

The waitress approached and he ordered lobster sandwiches for each of them. They made small talk until their meals arrived, discussing the lousy—if expected—winter weather, a new artisan Jessie had discovered who hand wove silk scarves and blankets, a new idea he was kicking around.

Minutes later a shadow fell across the table. He glanced up, expecting food. Instead, a tall blonde with enormous blue eyes stood beside the table. She looked like she might be twenty-one. Maybe.

“Ryan Shaughnessy?” The voice was low, smoky, calculated to arouse.

“That’s me. And this is Jessie Reilly.”

Jessie started to offer her hand but the blonde merely flicked her one disinterested glance and then turned back to Ryan, giving him her hand as if she expected it to be kissed. “Hello. I’m Amalia Hunt. Of the Beacon Hill Hunts? Would you like to join me for dinner? Tonight, if you’re available, or any night of your choosing.”

Good God. Not again. He sighed and released her hand. “Miss Hunt. Of the Beacon Hill Hunts.” It was hard to keep the sarcasm suppressed. The elite of Boston’s elite were a truly unique species. Very taken with their own status and too insular to recognize that said status wasn’t worth much in the real world. He sighed again. “Thank you for your kind offer, but I’m afraid I’ll have to decline.” He tilted his head meaningfully at Jessie.

The young woman’s eyes flicked over Jessie again, probably estimating her net worth based on her wardrobe and jewelry. “My loss. But if you change your mind, here’s my card.” She leaned forward and tucked a business card into the breast pocket of his suit jacket, giving him a truly enjoyable view down the front of her low-cut blouse as she did so. “Bye-bye.”

Jessie coughed, and he realized she was on the verge of choking with laughter. He glowered at her. Well, hell, he wasn’t going to go out with Miss Beacon Hill, but he was a man, wasn’t he?

The young woman drifted away, leaving dead silence in her wake.

“Don’t say a word.” Ryan looked across the table at Jessie. She was looking down at her linked hands again, but he knew it was only because she was trying not to burst into laughter. “Not…a…word,” he repeated through his teeth.

The server appeared with their meals then, saving him for the moment.

When the man departed, Jessie said, “Well, gee, considering you used me as an excuse to brush off that poor little thing…”

“You were convenient,” he said. “On the way here I got stopped by a woman with a similar proposition. I could have used you then, too.”

Jessie grinned. “Such a cross to bear.”

He ignored her needling as he applied himself to his meal. Lobster sandwiches were a house specialty, and they dug in.

Well, he dug in. Jess was a nibbler. She could make a meal last longer than it took a Southerner to recite the Declaration of Independence. When his sandwich was gone, he looked hopefully across at hers. She was still nibbling one section, but when she caught him eyeing the other half, she put a protective hand over it and said, “No way, José.”

She knew him too well. “Never hurts to try.”

When he looked back at Jessie, she was chewing her lower lip and her face looked troubled. Something was bugging her. Or she was thinking about something important. But given the way she was scrunching up her brow, he suspected a problem.

He and Jessie had grown up next door to each other in Charlestown, north of Boston across the Inner Harbor, squarely in the center of the blue-collar Irish district. That had been two decades before the first waves of young urban professionals had discovered the pretty, bow-fronted houses. His father had been a stonemason. She’d lived with her grandparents and her mother, who’d worked two jobs most of her life.

Jessie was two years younger than he. She’d been his first love. No, it had been infatuation, even if it had lasted an inordinately long time, he assured himself. And it hadn’t been returned. As far as he knew, she’d never known how he felt about her when they’d been teenagers. It was probably a good thing. He treasured the friendship they still shared.

“You’ve got something on your mind,” he said, resisting the urge to reach over and smooth the furrows from her forehead with his thumb.

It was an educated guess, but her eyes widened, and an odd look—consternation mixed with something that looked almost defiant—crossed her face. She nodded. “I do. I wanted to talk with you about a decision I’m considering.”

“Why me?”

She eyed him cautiously. “Because you’re my oldest friend and you probably know me better than anybody in the world and I need an honest opinion.” She didn’t pause for a single breath throughout the recitation.

He picked up his wine and took a sip, savoring the light, crisp taste of the vintage. “All right. What’s up?”

“I’m thinking about having a baby.”

He heard the words, but it was as if they hit an invisible wall and bounced off. He shook his head slowly, trying to wrap his brain around the syllables and turn them into something sensible. I’m thinking about having a baby. Nope. They still didn’t want to compute. Hell, he’d expected her to bring up something to do with her business. Something for which she needed his financial wisdom.

Carefully, not meeting her eyes, he said, “I wasn’t aware you were…with anyone.”

“I’m not.”

Thank God. The reaction was immediate and instinctive, relief rushing through him so heavily he felt as if he might sag beneath its weight.

It was only that he felt protective toward her, he assured himself. Nothing more. Well, at least, nothing more than serious fondness. He’d loved her wildly, futilely, through his high school years, had pined for her during college when she’d been with someone else, had finally recognized his obsession, conquered it and married a wonderful woman. Jessie and Wendy had been friends from the day they’d met, as well. Wendy had joined them at these lunches often in what he thought of now as “the old days.” It was only natural that he would still feel some attachment to Jessie. She was a large part of his past.

“Ryan?” Her voice called him back to the present. “Are you all right? I didn’t mean to give you such a shock.”

Slowly he shook his head to clear it. “If you’re not in a relationship, then how do you propose to, ah, get started on a baby?”

“That’s what a cryobank is for.”

“A cryobank?” He knew what she meant but he couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

Color rose in her cheeks and she didn’t meet his eyes. “It’s a sperm freezing and storage facility.” She reached into her satchel again as she spoke. “I’ve already been through a battery of tests at a fertility center. I’ve had some preliminary testing and a physical. They started me on some special vitamins and things. I’m considered an excellent candidate for pregnancy. All I have to do is select a donor and have the procedure done.”

“The procedure?”

“Artificial insemination.” She came up for air with a folder clutched in her hand. “I’ve already selected some possibilities but I wanted your opinion.” She extended the folder across the table.

Ryan stared at it, making no move to take it. “Tell me you’re not serious.”

Jessie’s gaze was level. She didn’t speak.

“Oh, hell.” He rested his elbows on the table and speared the fingers of both hands through his hair. “You are serious. Jess…why? Why this way? Why right now?”

“I’m going to be thirty in November, Ryan.” Her voice was quiet. All traces of the earlier humor had fled. “I want a family. Children,” she amended. “I want to be a parent while I’m still young and energetic enough to keep up with my kids and enjoy them.” Unspoken between them was the memory of her own childhood, one that he knew had been lonely and joyless. He remembered her grandparents as stuffy, disapproving old prunes who had never forgiven their only daughter for an out-of-wedlock pregnancy. And Jessie’s mother…well, the best thing his own mother, who rarely had a harsh word to say about anyone, had said was, “It wouldn’t kill her to cuddle that little girl once in a while.”

“Thirty is young,” he said desperately. “Women are having children well into their forties these days. Why don’t you wait just a few more years? You might feel totally differently—”

“I didn’t ask you to criticize me,” she said sharply, and he could see the rising Irish temper that went with the red glints in her hair. “I’ve already decided to have a baby. I merely wanted your opinion on which donor I should choose. But just forget it.” She started to withdraw the folder, but he grabbed it from her.

“Wait.” He was stalling, trying to think of some way to talk her out of this insane idea. The thought of Jessie, his Jessie, going to a sperm bank, caused his chest to grow tight with repugnance. “I’ll look at them.”

He placed the folder in front of him, looking down over the list of information contained on the first set of stapled sheets, then scanning the second and the third. There were at least three more. “These don’t provide a lot of information.”

“Oh, these are just the preliminary profiles,” she said. “If I like some of these, I’ll request medical and personal profiles that are much more detailed. Family background, academic records, that sort of thing.”

“Who fills these out?”

“There are medical evaluations and personality test, things like that,” she said, “but most of the personal information comes from the…the donors.” She looked past him rather than at him.

“And does anyone check to see if they’re telling the truth?”

“I…well…I don’t know.” Her eyebrows rose. “Why would they lie?”

“Beats me. But to assume that the information these anonymous men volunteer is accurate…isn’t that a pretty big risk? I read a case about a guy who knew he carried a rare genetic heart defect that often resulted in death during the young adult years—and he lied on his application. Later, he had an attack of guilt and told his genetics counselor, but when they contacted the sperm bank, his sperm already had produced successful pregnancies for several women. It was a big bioethical mess.”

Jessie rubbed her temples with her hands. “That has to be a pretty isolated incident, though, don’t you think?”

“You’ll be living with the results for the rest of your life,” he said impatiently. “What if the guy just neglected to mention that diabetes runs rampant in his family? Or schizophrenia? Or that he’s got other hereditary diseases or conditions in his genetic makeup that could affect your child?”

“They screen the donations for genetic problems and diseases,” she said. “All the donors have complete physicals and genetic work-ups. I have some literature on it.”

“But they couldn’t possibly check for everything,” he pointed out. “And are there background checks to see if these men are telling the truth about themselves?”

“I…I don’t know. I doubt it.” Jessie looked shell-shocked. “But they’re supposed to fill in everything they know.”

“And maybe they do.” He made a deliberate effort to soften his censorious tone. “Probably 99 percent of these men are honest and trustworthy. Hell, maybe they all are. But you have to assume that there could be some falsehoods, for your own protection.”

Jessie sighed deeply. “Darn it, Ryan. I should have known I’d be more confused than I already am after I’d talked with you.”

“Thank you,” he said.

“It wasn’t a compliment.” But she smiled. Reaching across the table, she took the folder from him and replaced it in her satchel, then shook her head. Her eyes were troubled. “I was planning to do this the next time I ovulate, but I can see this is going to require a lot more thought than I’d anticipated.”

He couldn’t dredge up an appropriate response to that, so he merely murmured, “Good.”

The rest of the meal went quickly. She declined coffee, telling him she had to get back to relieve one of her sales staff, and they parted outside the Ritz. As he bent to kiss her cheek and she tilted her face up to his, the sweet scent of her filled him with an unexpectedly sharp longing, and he nearly closed his arms about her before he could catch himself. Unaware of his mental turmoil, Jessie backed away a step and waggled her fingers at him with an impish grin. “Same time, same place next month, big boy.”

He managed a wave and stood for a long moment as she turned and walked down Arlington Street. Finally he turned and moved off in the other direction, taking a right on Beacon Street past the Public Garden and the Commons, heading back to his office on State Street in the financial district.

As he paced off the steps, his mind churned. What had happened back there? It was just that he missed having a woman in his life, he assured himself. Since his wife’s death in a traffic accident, he’d led a lonely life. Being half of a couple had suited him. It had felt comfortable. He hated going home to the costly mansion in Brookline now, hated the silence after the day staff had left in the evening. He hated attending cocktail parties and charity events and having eager mothers thrusting their oh-so-eligible daughters in his path. The bottom line was that he simply hated being single.

And then there was the thought of children, which he’d put out of his mind years ago. Until Jessie’s bright idea had dredged it up again.

Children. A stab of longing pierced him. He’d wanted kids with Wendy, always assumed they’d start a family someday…but it hadn’t been quite that simple. And now she was gone.

So marry Jessie. She wants a baby…you want a family.

The idea was so shocking that he stopped dead in the middle of the sidewalk on Tremont Street, causing a woman walking past to glance at him oddly.

Marry Jessie. The thought made his heart race alarmingly. Wryly, he acknowledged that some things never changed. Part of him was still that adolescent boy with the crush on his lissome young neighbor.

Marry Jessie. She was as different from his deceased wife as two women could be. Wendy had been blond and blue-eyed, petite and yet buxom. She’d been quietly charming, almost passive, rarely arguing with him. She’d been content to make a home for them; she’d felt no need to prove herself in a career. She’d been musical and elegant. Each night when he’d come home there’d been drinks in the drawing room.

Jessie…Jessie wasn’t any of those things. Except elegant. With those long legs and the graceful way she carried herself, she was most definitely that. His mouth curved at the mere notion of Jess sitting home waiting for any man. She was volatile, determined to succeed at her business. If she disagreed with him, she said so in no uncertain terms. She had a tin ear, although she got offended if anyone suggested that perhaps she shouldn’t sing.

For the first time, the striking differences made him pause. Could he have chosen Wendy, in part, because she was so completely unlike Jess?

It was an unnerving thought. He’d told himself he was over Jessie, that she’d been an adolescent fantasy. He’d married another woman and forgotten her. But in the back of his mind, he had to admit that it was possible he’d been comparing other women to her for the past ten years or more. And he was over her, he assured himself. Just because he couldn’t stop thinking about her now didn’t mean anything except that he was still as physically attracted to her as he’d always been.

So where did that leave him? Was it ridiculous to think that he could make a life with her now, a life that included the children he’d always wanted?

He’d reached his building, walking most of the way on automatic pilot while he’d thought of her, and as he stepped out of the elevator and walked down the hall to his office, a new determination hardened within him. The moment he’d hung up his coat and taken his messages from his office assistant, he went into his inner office and closed the door. Then he reached for the phone.

What did he have to lose?

After lunch Jessie was answering a customer’s questions about a line of glazed pottery she carried when the telephone rang. Excusing herself, she moved to the phone. “The Reilly Gallery. May I help you?”

“Jess.”

A small shock of surprise ran through her. “Ryan?” Normally she didn’t see or hear from him from one month to the next unless they crossed paths at some social function. “Did I forget something?”

“No.” There was an odd quality to his voice, as if he were unsure of something. “I wondered if…I’m calling to ask you to have dinner with me.”

Dinner. With Ryan. “Why?”

He chuckled, and abruptly he sounded like the adult she’d come to know, self-confident and calm. “I had some other thoughts about your, um, selection process that I wanted to discuss with you.”

“Oh.” Well, that was good, wasn’t it? After what he’d said at lunch, she’d been in a blue funk thinking about the risks. “When and where?”

“How’s tomorrow night? I’ll pick you up. Seven all right?”

“Tomorrow evening works for me. And seven is fine.” What she really wanted to say was that tomorrow night was soon. But she didn’t have any reason to delay, and she didn’t even know why she instinctively wanted to do so.

When she hung up the phone, her assistant had taken over with the customer she’d been helping, so she headed into her small office. On her desk was a loan application she’d picked up from her bank on the way back to the gallery after lunch. Ryan’s question, “What are you going to do about it?” had occupied her thoughts during the walk, and she’d realized she had little choice. If she wanted to compete, she was going to have to expand. And to expand, she’d either have to get a loan, or use the money she’d set aside for the artificial insemination. And using that fund wasn’t something she was prepared to do.

Thoughtfully she stared at the application. Although she regularly paid on the loan she’d taken out when she started her store, she had a line of credit that was running a little higher than it should right now. It was a temporary thing, based largely on the inventory she’d recently ordered in anticipation of the spring and summer tourist season. But she suspected she’d have to pay it down before she could get a loan. And then there were the sales figures…it would take a few days to pull all that together.

Another loan. Or, if she rolled her current one into it, a larger loan. The mere thought made her nervous. She’d worked hard to get to where she was now. She could pay her bills, live comfortably and save for a leisurely retirement someday. To her, loans meant that someone else would own what she’d worked so hard to build, and with that came the implied threat of loss. Her business was her independence; she couldn’t lose it. Still, she shouldn’t have any trouble meeting her financial obligations even if they increased. It would simply mean cutting her personal spending and watching her pennies at the gallery. But she wasn’t at all sure she was going to look like a good bet to Mr. Brockhiser, the lender at Boston Savings with whom she would be dealing.

The rest of the afternoon was insane, and it wasn’t until Jessie closed the door to her apartment that evening that she thought about Ryan again. Thoughtfully she put away her coat, boots, scarf and gloves. Her home was only four blocks from her shop, and like many Bostonians, she preferred to hoof it as much as possible rather than fight the notoriously clogged roadways.

She was afraid Ryan might be right about the sperm donations. How did she know that what she saw on those profiles was accurate? The screening process had sounded so complete when she first read through it. But the bottom line was that this was, at best, a game of chance.

When she’d first gone to discuss the procedure at the fertility center, they’d asked her if she had a donor lined up or if she planned to select one from a cryobank’s stock. She’d never even considered asking any of her friends to donate sperm, for heaven’s sake! She’d thought it would be far too embarrassing. Not to mention the fact that something within her warned her against using a friend for such a purpose. What if the guy wanted rights to her child at some later date? Probably an irrational fear, but… And what about the fact that most of the decent men she knew were already married, some with children of their own? She couldn’t, and shouldn’t, generalize, but she knew it would bother her if an acquaintance asked the man she loved to donate sperm for another woman’s child. Oh, she’d read about people who’d done it, but it just wasn’t an approach she felt comfortable using.

So that left bachelors. Jessie shuddered. Most of the single men she knew were single for a reason. She’d dated a number of them and hadn’t been impressed by one yet. How could she possibly ask a guy she didn’t even like? Okay, so that meant she could really narrow down the list, she thought as she pulled a bag of premixed tossed salad from her refrigerator and poured some into a bowl. There was a chicken breast left over from the ones she’d baked last night for herself and her assistant manager, Penny, and as she carried the food and a glass of Napa Valley Zinfandel to the small table in her kitchen alcove, she grabbed a pen and paper to start a list.

Let’s see. She swirled the wine and inhaled, appreciating the fruity odors before she took a first, experimental drink. There was Edmund Lloyd. He wasn’t so bad, except for that little stutter he sometimes couldn’t get past. Was that a hereditary trait? She put a little question mark by Edmund’s name. She’d have to see what she could find out about stuttering on the Internet.

She thought some more. What about Charles Bakler? He was a dear. But…not the brightest crayon in the box. And she wanted her baby to be intelligent. She put a frowning face beside Charles’s name.

Okay. Surely she could come up with more desirable single men that that! What about Ryan? No. She dismissed the idea almost as quickly as it popped into her head. She could never ask Ryan. Not an option. But still…to be fair, she should list him. So she did. She didn’t write anything at all beside his name.

Geoff Vertler. A possibility, except he was a pretty hearty partier, and she wouldn’t want to inadvertently give her baby a predisposition to alcoholism.

Laying down the pencil, Jessie exhaled a frustrated sigh. This was stupid! She didn’t even know as much about these men as she did about the candidates she’d chosen from the sperm bank. If what they’d written was true.

You know almost everything about Ryan, said that sneaky little voice in her head. Oh, Lord. She took a big slug of her wine. He really would be the logical choice. The one man she’d known nearly her entire life. He was smart, he was kind, he didn’t have any horrible health secrets hidden in his family history. He was well coordinated, she knew, since he’d played soccer in high school and college, and he could even sing. Physically, he was…perfect. If she had a son who looked exactly like Ryan, she’d be thrilled.

But how could she ask him? Shaking her head, she pushed away from the table and rose. No way. She just couldn’t.

But as she rinsed her dishes and put them in the dishwasher, a thought struck her. She was having dinner with him tomorrow night. And he’d said he had some other ideas to share with her. What if he was planning to offer to be the donor for her baby? She put a hand to her mouth—that had to be it! Why else would he want to have dinner? They normally had their monthly luncheon and went their separate ways.

Jessie danced down the hallway to her bedroom. It was perfect! She’d never have been able to approach him about it, but if he offered…just perfect. And she didn’t have to worry about offending his wife since he didn’t have one.

The thought doused her good humor, and she slowly tugged off her clothes and donned the oversize T-shirt in which she slept. It was purely an accident that Ryan didn’t have a wife anymore. An awful, unexpected accident.

Climbing into bed, she set her alarm and snapped off the bedside lamp. But sleep eluded her.

She’d been at the University of Alabama getting her degree when Ryan had met Wendy, and she hadn’t come home for the wedding. And by the time she’d come back to Boston, they had married, and Ryan already had begun to make history and money with the invention that had founded his fortune.

Wendy. She could still remember the ridiculous stab of jealousy she’d felt the first time Ryan had introduced them. Wendy had been petite and curvy, with big, arresting blue eyes and pretty cornsilk hair. She’d clung shyly to Ryan’s hand, and Jessie had been jolted by the fierce feeling of possessiveness that had shot through her. Ryan had been her friend; for years and years the first person to whom she ran when things went wrong was the boy next door. Two years older, quiet and intelligent, he’d helped her survive what she now realized was an emotionally abusive childhood. They’d had a special bond. And though it had dimmed when she’d begun going steady with the captain of the high school football team and nearly died when she’d followed Chip south to Alabama, Ryan still had been hers in some indefinable way.

Jessie had chided herself for being childish and resolved to be pleasant to Wendy Shaughnessy, and to her surprise it hadn’t been a chore. If there was a sweeter person alive, someone would have to prove it to Jessie. Wendy had become a dear friend. In fact, it was she who had suggested the monthly luncheon tradition.

Who would have thought they’d be carrying on without her after only six short years?

And who, she asked herself wryly just before she finally fell asleep, ever would have imagined that Ryan would father Jessie’s child? But she was sure that’s what he was going to suggest. She could hardly wait for tomorrow evening!

Two

He took her to L’Espalier, a converted town house that had become one of Back Bay’s premiere restaurants. It was only a few blocks from her home, but Jessie had never been there before. Partly because it was quite pricey, but also because L’Espalier was one of those places people went to celebrate life’s milestones.

Over a truly superb vegetarian meal, though, Ryan showed no signs of getting around to the reason he’d asked her there. Much as they had yesterday, he kept the conversation impersonal, telling her about various causes for which he’d recently been solicited, asking her opinion on which ones would be the best to support. Maybe he’d changed his mind. Her heart sank. Could she force herself to ask him?

When she declined dessert, he asked for the check, and before she knew it, they were back on Marlborough Street, heading for her apartment. They both were silent as they walked along the sidewalk. Each of them had their gloved hands in their pockets, and walked carefully through the darkened streets; there were icy patches in unexpected places left over from a storm the week before.

Twice she opened her mouth and closed it without speaking. How to bring up the topic? Maybe he felt as embarrassed as she did. Maybe she should just go ahead and ask him. But she couldn’t. Her vocal cords simply froze at the thought of asking Ryan to donate sperm. At the same time she was all too aware of his tall, broad-shouldered figure. She’d never looked at him as anything but a dear friend in the most platonic sense, but the whole notion of creating a child raised the specter of sexual intimacy, and try as she might, she couldn’t rid herself of a new fascination with him. She would not, she reminded herself for at least the fiftieth time, engage in prurient thoughts about this man who’d been such a dear friend.

Right.

He had grown into an extraordinarily attractive man. His dark hair was thick and glossy and his eyes were a striking blue, made even more vivid when he had a tan through the summer months. As a child and a teenager he’d been tall but scrawny and awkward. Once he’d begun weight training, his arms had become muscular and strong. Apparently, he’d kept up some sort of fitness routine, because his shoulders now were almost bulky, and his upper arms filled out the sleeves of his suit jackets.

Stop it! Jessie told herself. Again. Ryan was her friend, not a potential lover. She ignored the quickening of her pulse.

In a few more moments they were back at her apartment building. In the hallway outside her door, she turned to him. But before she could speak, he said, “May I come in? I asked you out tonight for a purpose and I’ve been trying to get around to it all evening.” He smiled wryly. “Trying to work up my courage.”

Relief washed through her. “Of course. I’ve been wondering about it. How about if I make us some coffee?”

“Sounds good.” He followed her as she unlocked her door and stepped into the small foyer.

Jessie took his coat and waved him into the living room while she hung up their outerwear and went into the kitchen to start some coffee. She put a paper doily on a small plate, then got some grapes from the bowl on her counter and arranged them on the tray with a handful of peanut butter cookies she’d gotten from the deli down the street on her way home earlier. Pulling out a tray, she set the plate on it along with creamer, sugar and spoons. She was pretty sure he drank his coffee black.

In another moment her little coffeemaker had finished, and she poured two cups. Walking into the living room, she set the tray on the table before the sofa and took a seat. Ryan had been standing at the window, looking out into the dark night. But when he heard her, he turned and came over to stand near her. “Sit down,” she invited, patting the cushion beside her.

“Thanks.” He did so, then picked up his cup and took a drink, grimacing at the heat. She noted with satisfaction that she’d been right—he drank it black. “Your apartment’s nice,” he said. “I’ve never seen where you live before.”

“I don’t do the hostess thing,” she said. “It’s too small for parties. But given the price of real estate in Back Bay right now, I’m lucky to have it at all.”

There was a small, awkward silence between them.

Finally, Ryan stirred and turned toward her. “Jessie, we’ve been friends for a long time. I know you want children.” He took a deep breath. “And so do I. Will you marry me?”

What? She couldn’t have heard him right. But she knew she had, and her voice showed her agitation when she spoke. “No! Ryan, that’s not what I want—I mean, you don’t really want to marry me, either. When you called, I thought…I thought…”

“You thought what?” His voice was flat and distant as he stared into his coffee cup.

She felt a blush creeping up her neck into her cheeks. “Well, I thought you were going to offer to be a…a donor.”

“You what?” His mouth dropped open much as hers had a moment before, and his gaze shot to hers.

“I thought about what you said all day.” She rushed on, wanting only to get this over with. “You’re right about anonymous men being risky. So I decided it would be better to ask someone I know to be a donor. But most of my friends are married, and I didn’t really feel comfortable…so I made a list of bachelors—”

“And my name was at the top of your list?” His voice sounded incredulous and his distaste was clear.

“Well, yes.” She looked away from the cool blue eyes. “I’ve known you practically forever and I know your family.” She shrugged. “It seemed like a logical idea.” She could see from the dark frown that drew his brows into a single thick line that he was about to refuse so she kept on. “Please, Ry? I’m serious about this baby. It would really, really mean a lot to me.”

But he shook his head. “I don’t think so, Jess.”

“But why?” She was pleading and she knew it.

“I wouldn’t be—I’m not comfortable with the idea that a child of mine would be raised never knowing me, never knowing I’m its father.” He shook his head again, decisively, and her heart sank. “It would bother me not to be involved in my child’s life.”

“This is exactly the reaction I was afraid most of my married friends would have.” She made an effort to soften her tone. “But I didn’t expect it from you.”

“I didn’t expect it from me, either, but then I never expected you to ask me to do something like this.” He looked down into his coffee cup again, hesitated, then shook his head. “I couldn’t do it, Jess. It wouldn’t be my child, legally, but I’d feel connected, responsible. I’d want to hold it, to play with it, to watch it grow up and be involved in its life. I can’t imagine knowing I had a child somewhere in the world and not being a father to it.” He spread his hands. “I want kids of my own. I want to give a child memories as wonderful as the ones I have of my own parents.”

She was stunned by the passion in his voice. Her throat felt thick as she remembered the two people who had raised Ryan and his brother, the two people who had opened their arms and their hearts and included her in their charmed circle anytime she entered their home.

She cleared her throat. “I never even knew you wanted children.” She spread her hands. “You were married to Wendy for six years—”

“Wendy couldn’t conceive.” His voice was harsh now and abrupt. He stood so suddenly he knocked against the table, and the coffee sloshed in the cups. Stalking over to the window, he shoved his jacket back and put his hands on his hips. “We wanted them. Badly. But we tried for three years with no luck and then spent another one finding out what the problem was. We tried in-vitro fertilization twice but no luck. And then she died.”

She eyed the rigid line of his shoulders, and her heart squeezed painfully. She’d been thinking selfishly and was sick at heart that she’d inadvertently caused him sadness. Softly she said, “I’m sorry to bring up something painful to you. If I’d known, I never would have—”

“It’s not exactly something you want to share with the world.” His voice was curt.

Hurt pierced her heart. She wasn’t “the world.” She’d thought she was his oldest friend. But apparently, in his mind, that old bond didn’t mean the same thing it still meant to her. She felt the hot sting of tears at the backs of her eyes and she strove to breathe deeply, to stay calm.

At the window Ryan turned, and she quickly dropped her head. As she did so, one fat tear plopped down onto her hands, tightly clenched in her lap. Smoothing it away with her thumb, she kept her head bent as he resumed his seat beside her.

“Jess?” His voice was quiet. “I don’t want to argue with you. You mean too much to me.”

“You mean a lot to me, too,” she said. And then her voice broke and she turned at the same instant he did, moving into the arms he held wide.

Jessie had danced with Ryan before, hugged him occasionally, brushed quick friendly kisses on his cheek. But she’d never known she’d find such comfort in his embrace. Even when his parents had died, they hadn’t shared a closeness like this. He’d had Wendy to comfort him then. Now his arms were hard and muscled beneath the fabric of his jacket, his shoulder a wide plane just right for her head. When she felt him press a kiss into her hair, she smiled. “I have a great idea,” she said.

“What’s that?” His voice rumbled up from beneath her ear.

“Let’s forget this whole stupid conversation. Just pretend it never existed.”

He was quiet for a moment. “If that’s what you want.”

She frowned, drawing back and looking him in the eye. “Isn’t that what you want?”

He shrugged, hesitated. Finally he said, “I still think marriage would be a good plan, if you want to know the truth. We both want the same thing, Jess. I think we could be happy together.”

She sighed. “We’re never going to go back to the way we were, are we?” she asked sadly.

Soberly he shook his head. “Doubt it.”

Fear shot through her at the cool, measured tone. The last thing she wanted was to lose him altogether. Reluctantly she said, “All right.” She folded her hands in her lap. “Explain exactly why you think we should get married.” Get married…get married… The words echoed in her head. Was she really having this conversation with this man?

“Okay.” He stood and began to walk the length of her living room, such as it was. “Selfish reasons first. Number one—I’ve got ridiculous numbers of women throwing themselves at me ever since that stupid article came out. You saw how it is today. Marriage would kill all that.”

“One of them might make a good wife.” But she hoped not.

He shook his head. “Any woman who would come on to a man like that is not a woman I’d want to date, much less marry.”

“Maybe not.” She shouldn’t feel so relieved by his terse words. After all, she didn’t want to marry him. Did she? Of course not. Ryan deserved to find another woman like Wendy, a woman who would adore him and whom he could adore in return. It wouldn’t be fair at all to trap him into marriage to her simply because they shared a history and a common goal.

You both could do a lot worse, pointed out a small devil’s voice inside her head.

That might be true, but what if it didn’t work out? A tremor ran through her at the mere idea. She didn’t think she could bear losing Ryan, as she surely would if they married and it was a disaster. He’d been the rock that anchored her stormy childhood, and he still was her dearest friend in all the world. She couldn’t—wouldn’t—do anything to jeopardize that.

“Number two.” Unaware of her mental deliberations, he held up two fingers of his right hand. “I liked being married. I liked coming home to someone, sharing meals, sharing conversation. Wendy and I were friends. We could talk about anything.” He looked at her. “You and I have that, too.”

Jessie nodded. But she was very aware that there was one thing he hadn’t mentioned sharing in a marriage: a bed. A tingle of awareness shot through her, shocking her with its intensity.

“Number three,” he went on. “I want children. Of my own. Running through my house making noise, breaking windows with baseballs—”

“They might be girls,” she said automatically, still preoccupied by the strange feelings rioting through her.

But Ryan didn’t respond. He stopped pacing, his back to her, and she could see the tension in the rigid set of his shoulders and the way his head drooped. Sensing pain in his silence, she rose and went to him, wrapping her arms around him from behind as far as they would go.

The butterflies that had been plaguing her returned the moment she touched him. He felt bulky and muscular, warm beneath her hands, and his strong back, against which she pressed herself, was as unyielding as steel. He smelled of some expensive cologne and the clean scent of drycleaned wool. Then he turned, dislodging her hold. Placing his hands on her shoulders, he bent his head and kissed her temple.

Her breath caught in her throat and she stepped back, giving him room. As she lifted her gaze to face him, he said, “So what are your objections?”

She shook her head. “When you get hold of an idea, you don’t let go, do you?”

He grinned. “Just noticing?”

She smiled, then crossed her arms and lifted a finger to tap her lips. “Objections. Hmm.” She spread her hands, loath to put all the things running through her head into words. “I don’t know. I haven’t even given marriage a thought since I was too young to know better.”

“With what’s-his-name.”

“His name was Chip and you know it. You never liked him, did you?”

Ryan shrugged. “Maybe I just didn’t think he was good enough for you.”

She laughed. “You were right. And thank God I figured it out before I married him!” Then she sobered. “Actually, he was a great guy. Just not for me. I realized that I liked the things I got from him—security, adoration, the illusion of belonging—a lot more than I liked him. And marriage wouldn’t have been fair to him.” She fell silent.

“Back to your objections,” he prompted.

“I don’t know,” she protested. “I suppose I always assumed that when I married it would be for the usual reasons.”

“The usual reasons?”

“You know. Love,” she said, throwing her arms wide. “And passion.”

As soon as the words were out, she saw his face change. Though he hadn’t moved, she suddenly felt as if all the air in the room were supercharged. A strange, wild flame leaped, deep in his blue eyes, and his gaze dropped to her mouth, igniting a quivering spark in her abdomen that made her catch her breath in shock. “Passion, I can promise you,” he said, his voice soft and low.

Jessie was stunned. This was Ryan, for heaven’s sake! Her friend.

But the feelings coursing through her weren’t those of friendship. She felt as though an invisible cord inexorably tugged her toward him. She could almost feel his strong arms around her again. Her body ached to feel him pressed against her, and her lips practically tingled beneath his intent gaze.

Good Lord. How had she not noticed how incredibly sexy he was for all these years? Or had she? Had she simply refused to acknowledge the deep pull of attraction between them? After all, he’d been married.

“Ryan?” Her voice sounded like a stranger’s.

He took a step toward her, and she instinctively put out a hand to hold him off. But he took it and tugged her toward him. “Don’t you think we should explore what we could have between us?” Pulling her into his arms, he folded her firmly against him. Her hands splayed wide over his biceps. She intended to push him away, but her limbs felt weak and shaky, and when he didn’t release her, she simply stood in his embrace, feeling the erotic electricity that flowed from him to her. She was shockingly aware of his hard body against hers, of the checked power in his close hold.

Jessie’s teeth were practically chattering with nerves. “I…I don’t know. I never thought about you—about me and you—as anything more than friends.” She felt tears fill her eyes yet again. “You’re the best friend I have in the whole world, and I don’t want to screw things up and lose you. I need you to be my friend, Ry.”

Silence fell. Ryan didn’t move. He didn’t release her, nor did he tighten his arms. She kept her head down, knowing that if she raised her face to his right now this whole discussion would be moot, and their relationship would change forever. And despite the words of caution she’d just uttered, she couldn’t stop herself from wondering what it would be like with Ryan. Would he be slow and gentle or as hot and wild as the sensations ripping through her right now? She saw again in her mind the light in his eyes and heard his deep, rough voice: Passion I can promise you.

His hands were on her back, and as he shifted them slightly, rubbing gentle patterns over her sensitive flesh, she shuddered. Had she ever wanted to cast rational thought to the winds so badly? Her body warred with her mind for another long moment. But finally she heaved a deep sigh and pushed back from his embrace. This time he let her go.

“No,” she said, trying to invest her tone with a firmness she didn’t feel. “This wouldn’t be right.” She turned away, hugging her arms tightly about herself. “I’m sorry.” She knew the words were inadequate, but her throat felt as if someone were squeezing it with a vise.

Behind her she heard his footsteps as he went to the closet and took out his coat. Fabric rustled as he donned his outerwear, then he walked to her, stepping into her line of vision and lifting her chin with one finger. Jessie had been standing with her eyes closed, but she forced herself to open them and gaze into his blue ones.

And the moment she did, she knew that nothing would be as it had been before. Awareness leaped and crackled between them like well-fed flames.

“All right,” he said. “Friends it is. But the offer of marriage still stands. Think about it.”

She nodded, unable to trust her voice.

He dropped his hand from her face, stepped away. “Good night.”

Jessie didn’t sleep well that night. Or any night for the rest of the week. On Saturday she threw away the preliminary profiles of the donors. Although she didn’t believe the process carried the risks that Ryan thought it did, it seemed impersonal and distasteful to her now.

On Sunday she walked through the Public Gardens. A young couple passed her, their faces alive with laughter as their toddler, awkward and stiff in layers of bulky winter clothing, ran in circles until she was dizzy. As the father scooped the pink-cheeked child into his arms, the baby squealed with laughter, and Jessie felt her heart contract with pain.

Why shouldn’t she have that joy? Just because she hadn’t been lucky enough to find someone with whom she could share her life—

Ah, but you had someone, her inner self reminded her. And you gave him away.

Chip. She’d been courted by a star member of the football team during her first year of high school. At the time, she hadn’t given the guy behind the persona a serious thought. He’d been popular; every girl in the school had envied her. At fifteen, that was what it all had been about. In her naïveté, she’d never really thought about the fact that they had next to nothing in common. To her he’d represented safety. Security. Someone who loved her unconditionally, darn near worshipped her, for heaven’s sake. In her whole life there had never been anyone like that. Ryan had been her lifeline during her childhood, but he’d distanced himself when she began dating Chip, and she’d rarely seen him after he’d left for college. Looking back, she almost felt as if he’d abandoned her. Was it any wonder she had followed Chip south to school?

It wasn’t until she’d gotten to college that she’d begun to grow and change, to realize that the world was a big place and her choices were limitless. And as she had, she’d realized that she could never make a life with Chip.

She’d been fond of him, but she hadn’t loved him. To marry him would have been unfair to them both. She’d used him as a crutch for a very long time, and she prayed that he’d found some sweet girl and was married, that they were happily raising half a dozen little football players and cheerleaders.

And that thought brought her back to her present problem. She could have married and had children with Chip. But…something had stopped her. She hadn’t known at the time exactly why he wasn’t right. She’d just known he wasn’t.

And after she’d settled down in Boston and gotten her shop established, she hadn’t found the right man, either.

Will you marry me?

Ryan’s words echoed over and over again in her head. Was it possible she’d been tempted to blurt out, “Yes!” for one ridiculous, impetuous instant?

Familiarity, she decided. Ryan had known her forever. He knew all her warts and quirks. They had a number of interests in common. Living with Ryan would be comfortable in many ways.

But as she remembered the breathless, shocking awareness that had swamped her when he’d taken her in his arms, the word comfortable wasn’t the one that seemed to apply.

That line of thought was dangerous. Her mind shied away from any examination of exactly what had happened last night. Instead she focused on his refusal to help her in her quest for motherhood. She should have realized, would have, if she’d thought about it longer, that Ryan Shaughnessy would have difficulty with the concept of a biological child to which he had no rights or attachment.

Ryan’s family had been a close and loving one. She should know. Hadn’t she sought refuge in Mrs. Shaughnessy’s plump arms more than once? Mr. Shaughnessy had been warm and boisterous, including her in the games of pitch-and-catch with Ryan and his older brother, tossing her high in the air just to hear her scream. And on the occasions when she’d eaten at the Shaughnessy house, the teasing camaraderie and open love in their home had never failed to amaze her.

Her family had been very different. Her mother, as far as Jessie could tell, felt that raising a child was little more than a duty. Her grandparents regarded her as a trial, a punishment sent by God for some unfathomable crime. They had failed as parents when their only daughter had gotten herself pregnant and, even worse, refused to marry—or even name—the father of her baby.

Unless they’d been a lot different during her mother’s childhood, Jessie thought it likely that her mother had succumbed to the first man ever to say a kind word to her. A mistake Jessie herself very nearly had made with Chip, although he’d been quite different from the man who’d apparently seduced and waltzed away from her mother.

No, thank goodness she’d gotten smart. She wasn’t ever going to believe that a man was her ticket to fulfillment. She knew better.

And where did that leave her? Alone, childless, aching for her life to mean something to somebody. Which was why, if she was honest with herself, she felt so strongly about having a child of her own.

She thought again of her fears, weighed them against the certainty of years passing her by. Could she marry Ryan? Perhaps he was right about their friendship being a good basis for the marriage. But…what if she didn’t conceive? What would happen then? She had friends who had infertility problems, and the uncertainties put a strain on even the most devoted couple. What would happen to a couple like Ryan and her if something like that happened?

And then it struck her. What if they compromised? What if she agreed to marry Ryan if, and only if, he gave her a baby? She hadn’t thought that her baby needed a father. After all, she’d survived without one. What her baby needed was love, and that she knew she could give it. But she also knew Ryan. He’d said marriage, and she knew he’d never go for anything less.

And the thought of giving her child a warm, loving, complete family was very seductive. Maybe they could even have more than one child. Then it struck her—additional children would be conceived far more conventionally if this all came to pass. She’d be tacitly agreeing to a lasting sexual arrangement with Ryan. And in good conscience, she couldn’t pretend that would be a problem.

The real problem might be keeping her hands off him.

She shivered suddenly, though she was walking down Marlborough Street now at a brisk pace. Her mind racing, she considered the idea from all angles. As she reached the steps of her building, she nodded once, sharply, then went inside and headed straight for the phone.

When Ryan’s deep voice said, “Hello?” though, for a moment her throat seized up, and she couldn’t speak.

“Jessie? Is that you?” His voice was sharp enough to startle her into speech again.

“How did you know?” she asked.

“Caller I.D.”

“Oh.”

Silence.

“Jess? Did you call me for a reason or did you just want to breathe heavily into the phone?”

“I want to talk to you again. About this baby stuff.”

On the other end of the phone, he sighed. “I don’t believe there’s any point in talking it to death.”

“I had an idea,” she said. “Could you meet me for dinner?”

“Three meals in two days. All my adoring fans are going to start to worry.”

“Maybe they should.”

“Jess—”

“Come on, Ryan. Live dangerously. The East Coast Grill? Seven o’clock?”

“Wow. All the way over in Cambridge? I didn’t know you strayed that far from home.”

“Very funny. Will you do it?”

“All right,” he said. “But only because I know you’ll bug me to death until I listen to you. I’m telling you right up front that there is no way I am going to change my mind.”

“I understand,” she said. “All I ask is that you listen.”

When she arrived in a taxi at 7:05 he already was waiting. To her eternal amusement he was seated at the bar with a woman on each side of him apparently vying for his attention.

Jessie walked up behind them and put her hands over his eyes. “Guess who?”

“Hey, there.” He swiveled around on his stool to face her. “You’re early.”

The women who’d been speaking to him were eyeing her with something less than friendliness. An imp of mischief seized her, and she placed her hands on either side of Ryan’s face, leaning forward and giving him a quick peck on the lips. “Miss me?”

“Always.” She hadn’t counted on his quick reflexes. His hands came up before she could draw away. One shackled her wrist, the other cradled the back of her head as he returned a second, much more leisurely kiss. His lips were warm and firm, molding her own as her heart thudded, and she nearly sank into the promise inherent in the lingering caress before she remembered who she was kissing and why. When he let her go, she drew back, flustered.

He rose and settled a hand at her waist, turning to smile at the women as Jessie blinked and forced herself to focus. “It was nice meeting you.”

As he seated her and moved around the small table, she sent him an easy grin, determined not to let him see she’d been shaken by that kiss. “Was I helpful?”

“Infinitely.” He shrugged out of his leather jacket. “I was being accosted.”

“Well,” she said, “it’s not every day a girl gets to meet an eminently available hunk.”

“If I hear that phrase out of you one more time,” he said, leaning forward with mock menace, “your derriere is going to meet my eminently available hand.”

She smiled brilliantly. “Ooooh, sounds like fun. Promise?”

His eyes narrowed, and that quickly the playful moment metamorphosed into something entirely different, something dark and dangerous with undercurrents of an intensity that caught her breath in her throat.

“Okay. You folks want to order drinks?” The arrival of the server broke through the stillness between them.

She sat quietly as Ryan ordered their drinks. What was happening to her? And to the comfortable, familiar relationship she’d had with Ryan?

“So,” he said when the waitress had returned with their drinks and taken their dinner orders, “what new wrinkle in your mind was so urgent that you had to see me again tonight?”

“I was thinking about what you said.” She spoke slowly, cautiously.

“I’ve said a lot of things to you,” he said, unhelpful. “Want to be a tad more specific?”

“About marriage.” The words fell between them, their ripples widening, breaking up the smooth surface of the conversation.

His eyes grew more intense, bluer; she felt like a mouse caught in the cat’s corner. “What about it?”

“Well, I was thinking.” She stopped, swallowed. “If you were to donate—and I did get pregnant—we could maybe get married once the baby was born. I mean, it would be stupid of us to marry assuming we were going to be parents. A lot of things can happen during pregnancy and I wouldn’t want to trap you into anything if it didn’t—”

“Stop.” He held up a hand, palm out. “You’re babbling.”

“Sorry. I’m nervous.” She fell silent, biting her lip. “I just thought—”

His eyebrows rose. “You’ve been doing quite a lot of thinking lately.” He picked up his wineglass and gently swirled the Merlot they were drinking, tilting the glass and absently studying the color of the wine. “Let me see if I understand what you’re proposing. I donate sperm. You, hopefully, get pregnant. If the pregnancy goes to term and we have a child, we marry.”

She nodded, too embarrassed to look him in the eye but relieved that he’d grasped the idea. “Exactly.”

“No.” He sat back in his chair, crossing one long leg over the other.

“No?” Startled, she leaned forward and glared at him. “Why not? I thought you would be happy. This way we both get what we want.”

“It makes me uncomfortable,” he said. “Where’s the guarantee that you’ll keep your end of the bargain once you get what you want?”

She was stung by the implication that he didn’t trust her. “That’s not a very nice thing to say. Have I ever given you reason to distrust my word?”

He shrugged. “No. But this is a life-changing discussion we’re having here, not a promise to water my plants while I’m out of town.”

She had to admit he had a point. But she was still annoyed. “So call a lawyer if I’m so sneaky. I’ll sign a contract.”

Ryan was silent. His eyes regarded her intently until she was the first to look away. Finally he sighed. “Okay, here’s another compromise. You get pregnant. If everything goes all right for the first couple of months…”

“The first trimester,” she said, showing off her knowledge.

“Right. If everything goes well through the first trimester, we marry then. I don’t want my child born out of wedlock.”

She sighed. “You are an amazingly old-fashioned fuddy-duddy.”

His broad shoulders rose and fell again. “An eminently available fuddy-duddy, though. There are lots of women who would leap at the chance to marry me and have my babies.”

It would have been the perfect opportunity to say, Fine. Let one of them have you. But her tongue wouldn’t wrap itself around the words. Something inside her recoiled from the idea of another woman bearing his children. And hadn’t she decided he’d be a perfect biological father for her own? A perfect father in many ways? A perfect husband— She cut off that thought before it took root.

“It’s not just being old-fashioned,” he said suddenly. “I’m helping you out. You can return the favor. If I’m married, there won’t be any more of those annoying articles.”

He had a point. And the reminder that this would be something of an exchange of favors made her feel better. It was nice that she wasn’t the only one getting something out of the arrangement. “All right.” She spoke slowly, cautiously. “I guess we could get married if the early part of the pregnancy goes well.”

He nodded once. “It’s a deal, then.”

The waiter returned with their dinners. Ryan had the barbecue that had been one of the Grill’s outstanding specialties for years. She’d ordered the Grilled Sausage from Hell. Though it was wonderful, she could only manage to eat about half of it, so Ryan polished off the rest as well as his own meal.

“So what happens next?” he asked as their plates were removed.

“I’m monitoring my cycle. I’ll use an ovulation kit to determine when we go. I’m pretty regular so it’ll probably be the middle of next week.”

“Stop.” He held up a hand. “I know the rest. We talked about artificial insemination when Wendy and I were going through this, but ultimately we learned her fallopian tubes were blocked.”

She nodded. The same sense of shock and hurt that she’d felt when he’d first told her about Wendy’s and his infertility treatments rolled through her again. “I cannot believe you never told me about that.”

He looked away. “Like I said, it was a very personal thing.”

And none of her business. She read between the lines. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I don’t mean to be nosy.” She hesitated. “I guess it bothers me a little that there are these big parts of your life about which I know nothing. We shared just about everything growing up, didn’t we?”

“Not by a long shot.” His answer was quick and sharp. “After you started dating Mr. Football Star, there was a whole lot we didn’t share.”

She was stunned by the vehemence in his tone. The Ryan she recalled from high school had been absorbed in academics and weight lifting. He’d rarely sought her out and often had little to say when she’d made time for him. Was it possible she’d hurt him somehow? Offended him without realizing it? She wanted to ask him, but she wasn’t sure either of them was ready to open such a can of worms. “Maybe we should just agree to start from this moment,” she said carefully. “If this works out, we could be sharing a family in less than a year.”

He nodded without looking at her. But after a moment he reached across the table and took her hand. “Good idea,” he said quietly. His palm engulfed hers and his thumb rubbed across the back of her knuckles gently, creating a warmth that sizzled up her arm into her bloodstream. A heavy pool of heat settled low in her abdomen and she shifted slightly in her seat. “I have a good feeling about this,” he told her. “We’re going to be good together…in lots of ways.”

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