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“Good. You?”
“I’m settling in. Lots of meetings. Strategizing about new and creative ways to raise money for Children’s Medical Charities. It’s a challenge in this economy.”
“If anyone can talk the people into parting with their money, it’s you.” Nick should know. She’d somehow convinced him to go along with this baby thing.
When they finished eating she cleared the plates, refilled their drinks, then went down the hall and brought back a bunch of file folders from the second bedroom she used as a home office.
She put the tall stack of paperwork on the coffee table then sat beside him again. “My research.”
“No wonder you fed me first. To keep up my strength.”
“Having a baby isn’t as easy as you might think.” Her cocoa-colored eyes danced with laughter.
“And here I thought it was all about biology.”
“That. And timing. It’s critical.” She opened a file. “But there are things that can boost the odds of conceiving.”
“Such as?”
“The goal is to fertilize the egg.”
“Yeah. I think that was covered in Birds and Bees 101.” He moved closer, glancing at her computer printout, but mostly to feel the warmth of her. Draw in the sweet floral fragrance of her skin. That was something he’d missed and it hadn’t responded to the shut-down-feelings therapy.
“Everyone can use a refresher course. Even you, Doctor.” She looked at her notes. “Ovulation is the key. Besides guessing about when it occurs, there are ovulation predictor kits available at the pharmacy and basal-body-temperature-charts to know when it’s happening.”
“Really?”
All this fell into her territory and he didn’t need to know. But he liked watching her when she talked, the intensity and enthusiasm. The combination made her so damn beautiful he could hardly breathe. Still, this wasn’t about him. The amount of time and effort she’d put into this was a clear indication of how deep her desire to have a baby.
“When you pee on the stick from a kit, it will turn purple the day before ovulation, indicating a surge in…” She stopped and read from the paper. “Luteinizing hormone, which is what causes the ovary to release an egg. The key is to time sex within a day of the LH surge.”
Nick was focused on her mouth and pretty much didn’t hear much of anything until she said “sex.” He didn’t need a predictor kit or a thermometer to know he had a surge of his own and a spike in body temp.
He said the only thing he could think of, what with the blood flowing south of his belt. “Science is pretty amazing.”
“And fascinating.”
“Anything else I need to know?” Like when and where. Now was okay with him. He took a sip of water and not because he was thirsty.
“There was some information about positions during sex.”
He nearly choked. “Oh?”
“Yeah. Missionary might be more promising, but there aren’t any studies to back it up.”
If Ryleigh was involved, he’d be willing to volunteer for research on the subject. “Okay. I can see where that would be practical.”
“Then I saw something about lying still afterward. Remaining horizontal for fifteen minutes.” She shuffled through the papers, looking embarrassed and pretty damn cute. “Again, there’s no evidence to support the theory that it makes a difference, but it can’t hurt, either.”
So, a woman’s inclination to cuddle afterward might be based in biology and science, not emotion, he thought. “Got it.”
“I found a website with frequently asked questions.”
“Okay, now I’m starting to get performance anxiety.”
She slid to her corner of the couch and tucked her legs up beside her. A flush crept into her cheeks, and she didn’t quite meet his eyes.
She crossed her arms at her waist. “There was some discussion about a woman achieving climax—to increase the chances of conceiving.”
No pressure.
“And?” When she hesitated, he said, “Don’t tell me. There are no studies.”
She laughed. “No. But there’s a belief that the contractions move the guys along toward the target.”
“It makes sense.”
But he could truthfully say that not once when he’d made love to her had his goal been to move the guys. He’d only ever wanted to hold her in his arms, make her happy. And he was pretty sure he’d succeeded in bed. In every other way, he’d failed her, which was why making things up to her now was so important.
She lifted her gaze for a moment. “And last but not least there’s the debate about a.m. or p.m.”
“Morning or night—what?”
“Sex.” She sat cross-legged and leaned forward. “Studies have been done on this one and some indicate that there are more swimmers in the morning. But only a million, give or take. Fairly insignificant.”
“Hey, that’s my guys you’re talking about.”
“I didn’t mean to insinuate.” She smiled, and the way her eyes lit up tied him in knots. “The thing is that when you’re talking eighty-eight million as opposed to eighty-seven million, it sounds like a lot but really isn’t.”
“I actually knew that only one is required.” Was it just him, or was it hot in here?
“Right.”
His gaze slid past hers to the bare walls, stack of boxes and unattractive, serviceable furniture. She was a nester and looked out of place in this cracker box with ugly furniture. It was just wrong. Fixing people was what he did, and the words popped out of his mouth before he’d thought them through.
“Move in with me.”
She blinked and sat up straighter. “What?”
“To achieve your objective, timing is everything. If that predictor stick turns purple, your body temp goes up and nature is good to go, what happens if you’re here and I’m there?” He shrugged. “It’s the classic setup for missed opportunities.”
“There’s some logic to that, but I don’t know, Nick.” She caught her lip between her teeth, the very first time she’d looked indecisive. “Invading your space?”
Her lack of enthusiasm made him want to convince her even more. “It was your space, too.” He’d gotten the house in the divorce. “There’s plenty of room, as you know. And we don’t want to drag out the process, right?”
“Yes, but—”
“Like science, nature and biology it’s practical.”
He phrased it the same way she had. Distantly. As if they were talking about another couple being intimate.
Nick remembered all the messy emotions that had nearly brought him down right after she’d left. A guy puts up armor and when a girl gets through it leaves a mark. But this was different. The rules had been discussed and all parties involved agreed. Distanced. Simple. Goal-oriented. She’d get what she wanted. His guilt would be erased. Win/win. Both of them could move on. No feelings, no mess.
“Don’t you want to maximize the chances of conception?” he asked.
“Yes.” She met his gaze and her own was dark with determination. “More than anything in the world I want to have a baby.”
“Well, then?”
“I’ve done the menstrual math. The old-fashioned way,” she added. “By my calculations ovulation is about a week away. Next Monday.”
“So I’ll help you move in Saturday. You don’t want heavy lifting to shock your eggs or anything. Relax the rest of the weekend.”
“You’re sure about this?” she asked skeptically.
“Yeah.” The gate on his feelings opened for a split second and excitement leaked out.
“Okay, then. I’ll move in.”
Nick nodded and again his gaze was drawn to the boxes around the room. She’d said it was a mess and only now did he realize that was a metaphor for his life. He hadn’t really expected her to take him up on his offer to move in, but there was no denying he was far too pleased that she had.
In about a week they were going to do what a man and woman did to make a baby. He was pretty pleased about that, too.
Chapter Three
Ryleigh stopped her compact car behind Nick’s silver SUV at the gated entrance to the neighborhood. She watched him lean out the driver’s window and speak to the guard, then cock his thumb toward her, obviously explaining that she would be living with him. That there was no need to call out the SWAT team on her account.
When the SUV pulled forward, she followed, then stopped when the guard held up his hand.
She lowered her window. “Hi.”
“Miss Evans.” This man was different from the one who’d worked the gate when she lived here. He was young, twenty something and wearing a light blue uniform shirt with navy-colored, official-looking emblems. “Doctor Damian explained that you’ll be staying with him.”
“That’s right.” But only for well-timed sex.
He handed her a visitor’s pass. “Just put this on your dashboard and you’re good to go—or stay.”
“Thanks.”
“Have a nice evening.”
“You, too,” she said, displaying the cardboard square where he’d directed.
This was the first time she’d been back since they’d broken up, and driving through the community was surreal. Nothing had changed, but everything felt different. The houses were all large, expensive and well-maintained. But it wasn’t familiar. She felt distant. And sad. She’d really loved the house and this area.
She pulled into the circular drive, parking behind Nick’s car. He was standing beside it. Glancing at the stately, two-story house brought on that surreal feeling again, but really she’d been wearing that hat ever since she’d presented her how-to-conceive-in-a-nanosecond research.
As far as bizarre moments went, that topped the list. But she’d felt it important to mention everything that could possibly expedite the process. She wanted to get pregnant right away for lots of reasons, not the least of which was not to see Nick after mission accomplished. It didn’t seem prudent to tempt fate too far what with her attraction to him still going on. The only way she’d managed to get through her sex notes was by keeping the conversation clinical and detached, as if she were talking about someone else.
But it wasn’t someone else temporarily moving into Nick’s house. It was her, the same woman who’d moved into this place seeing everything by the light of the stars in her eyes and the delusion that they were going to be blissfully happy there for the rest of their lives. She wasn’t sure which philosopher said the only thing we could count on was change, but the time came when she’d wanted to choke him. She hated change. It was almost always bad.
Bliss and happiness were elusive and highly overrated. Living in the real world wasn’t as much fun, but the highs and lows were smoothed out into straight and steady. She could live with straight and steady.
Blowing out a cleansing breath, she opened her car door and stepped onto the concrete drive separating the house from the landscaping. The dry riverbed running through the length of the yard was still dry and lined with smooth rocks. It was bordered by gold and purple flowering lantana bushes. Everything looked just as it had when she’d left. Nothing had changed but her.
“Why don’t I take your things inside?” Nick said.
His deep voice from behind startled her out of the bittersweet reverie. She turned and forced a big smile. “Sounds like a plan.”
After she unlocked her trunk and started to pull out her suitcase, he put a hand on hers.
“I’ll get it. I’m pretty sure it hasn’t gotten any lighter since I put it in there.”
“Thanks.”
His palm was big and strong, his fingers warm. The touch had heat pooling in her belly and flushing her cheeks. Twilight had dropped shadows over the craggy mountains not so far away, and she was pretty sure Nick couldn’t see how the brush of his hand affected her.
That was something else that hadn’t changed. But attraction without emotion was like a bow without an arrow—no power to wound.
It took several trips to carry suitcases, garment bags and toiletries into the house. He’d suggested she stay here while looking for a permanent place of her own and she’d brought a lot of clothes with her. The apartment was utilitarian and good for storage, but she’d be more comfortable in a house.
Looking around the two-story entry, she wasn’t so sure. Memories attacked from every direction. Nick carrying her over the threshold when they bought the place. The huge kitchen with granite countertops was especially bittersweet. He’d made love to her beside the stainless-steel refrigerator because his eyes went smoky, her insides turned liquid and they simply couldn’t hold back. In fact, the day they moved in he’d declared his intention to make love to her in every room of the house. They’d nearly met that challenge.
She scanned the family room with its big flat-screen TV and the dark green corner group in front of it. In spite of all her efforts to stop it, a big sigh leaked out.
Nick stopped beside her. “Are you okay?”
“Fine.” Afraid he would see the lie, she didn’t look at him. “Why?”
“You’re awfully quiet.”
“Just checking out the old stomping grounds.”
He rested his hands on lean hips. His jeans were worn nearly white in the most interesting places. The long sleeves of his navy-blue shirt were rolled up, revealing wide wrists and a dusting of dark hair on his forearms. He always dressed casually, and right now was no exception. It also wasn’t an indication of whether or not he was working. He’d told her Carlton Gallagher was on call today, and she wondered if she should feel honored. Maybe tomorrow.
“And?”
“What?” She was a little disturbed by how easily one look at him could annihilate her concentration.
“How does it look? Your old stomping grounds.”
“The same,” she answered truthfully. “I was just remembering how festive everything was at Christmas.”
The corners of his mouth turned up. “You mean with the tree in here instead of the living room?”
“Yeah.”
“I stand by what I said then.”
