Courtney's Baby Plan

by ALLISON LEIGH,

  “I’ll call you again.”

  She sighed a little. Oh, she hated this. “Pierce, you’re a really nice man. But I’m just…well, I’m not in a place right now where I’m ready to—”

  “Not even for a simple dinner?” His smile was rueful as he looked past her toward the house. He could see Mason just as easily as she had. “Well, it never hurts to ask.”

  Before she could stop him, he climbed out of the car and came around to her door to open it.

  Feeling even worse, she got out, too. “I did have a good time, Pierce.”

  “But I’m not the right man to be having a good time with,” he surmised. He smiled slightly and caught her hand, lifting it to his lips. “Don’t look so upset. You know where I am if you change your mind.”

  She knew she wouldn’t, but she still appreciated his kindness. “I do.” She stepped back from the curb and watched him walk around his car once more. She tugged her coat more closely around her. “Drive safe.”

  He sketched a wave and drove away.

  She let out a long breath and slowly turned on her heel to face the house. Mason had moved from the couch and was waiting with the front door open. He was barefoot, wearing his cast-altered jeans and a short-sleeved gray T-shirt, and if he was bothered by the definite chill in the November air, he didn’t show it.

  And just looking at him made something inside her stomach dip and sway.

  A part of her wished that would go away.

  A larger part of her wished that the sensation would never end.

  And wasn’t that a fine thing?

  Steeling herself, she marched up the walk. “This is your fault,” she told him as she stomped past him. She peeled out of her coat and tossed it on a chair. “That was a perfectly nice guy. One I wouldn’t have even gone out with if you hadn’t driven me to it.” Reaching around him, she shut the door with perhaps a little more force than she’d intended.

  “If he’s such a nice guy, why are you pissed off?”

  “Because I don’t want a nice guy!” Her voice rose. “Foolish me, I just want you.” Annoyed with herself for admitting it just as much as she was annoyed with him for…well…everything, she kicked off her pumps. They went sailing across the living room, and Plato launched off the couch, catching one of them in his mouth. He brought it back to Courtney, dropping it at her feet. Courtney barely noticed. She hadn’t taken her eyes off of Mason. “You went out and bought those darned condoms, but if we end up using any, you’re going to hate yourself. And as much as I want you, I don’t want to be one more reason for you to do that. Not when it seems you already have enough to beat yourself up over.”

  He looked pained. “You deserve more than I can give you.”

  Her annoyance suddenly wavered, which was not a good thing. Because in its place something far more dangerous began taking root. The same thing that had been trying to take root for weeks. The kind of thing that made her forget all the good, logical reasons why his staying with her was temporary.

  “I’m an adult,” she said with as much starch as she could maintain. “And as I have tried to make plain before, I get to decide for myself what I deserve. What I want.” She stepped closer, deliberately invading his space. “Or have you forgotten that I am a grown woman?”

  The pale green of his eyes seemed to sharpen. “Not likely. And be careful how hard you poke that stick, Courtney. You might get more than you bargained for.”

  The fact that she could goad him at all sent sharp-edged excitement skittering through her. She took another step closer. The toes of her bare feet brushed his. “If you weren’t concerned about that, why concern yourself with being prepared? Why take that little trip to the drugstore?”

  “Because I’m a practical man,” he said flatly. “And I’m used to covering all the bases. The fact is, I can’t be around you for long without wanting to make love to you. Doesn’t matter that common sense tells me we’re better off not going there.”

  It was hardly a romantic response.

  But it was honest.

  And she knew deep in her heart that she’d rather have Mason’s honesty than pretty romance from someone else any day of the week.

  She tilted her head back, looking up at him. She moistened her lips, but her mouth still felt dry. “Do you want to make love to me now?”

  His jaw flexed. If she moved her head an inch, she’d be able to brush her lips against it.

  “Don’t ask stupid questions.”

  She inhaled carefully, ruthlessly containing her leaping nerves. “Will you make love to me?” She waited a beat. “Now?”

  “Courtney—” His hands lifted, then clenched into fists, not touching her. “You’re killing me.”

  “Will you?”

  “Somebody should have taught you when you were a kid not to play with fire.” And then he muttered an oath and pulled her to him.

  His mouth covered hers and her senses leapt. She pressed closer. Her arm knocked into his crutch and it clattered against the wall behind them. His stance wavered and he tore his mouth from hers, swearing again. “This is an accident waiting to happen.”

  She handed him his crutch again and leaned up to brush her lips over his. “Only while we’re standing.”

  And then she went back down on her bare heels and took a few steps away. She gave him a steady look, even though there was not a single cell inside of her that felt steady. “I know how to solve that.” Without giving herself a chance to think about the wisdom of what she was doing, she turned and headed down the hallway.

  After a breathless moment, she finally heard the distinct sound of him following.

  The relief she felt was nearly crippling. But she went blindly into her bedroom and hadn’t even had a chance to pull back the quilt on her bed, when he came in the room. He didn’t stop until he stood behind her.

  His crutches dropped to the floor, and she started to turn, but his hands closed over her shoulders, staying her. Shivers danced down her spine when he brushed her hair over her shoulder and kissed the back of her neck.

  He slid one arm around her waist, his long fingers splaying flat against her belly.

  Breathing normally suddenly became a challenge. Because she couldn’t help herself, her hand closed over his as if she were afraid he’d let go of her before she was ready.

  If she ever was ready.

  “You’re better at balancing on one foot than I thought.”

  He made a faint sound. His mouth moved from the nape of her neck along her shoulder, left bare by the boatneck of her dress. “Nearly six weeks of practice.”

  She didn’t want to think about how long it had been. She threaded her fingers through his at her waist and turned within the circle of his arm.

  Her breasts brushed against his hard chest, and his body heat seemed to singe through the fabric between them. She wasn’t sure if it was her pounding heart or his that vibrated between them. Without thought, her hands moved to his arms. Up over his shoulders to his neck. Her fingers slipped through the unruly length of his dark hair, tugging his head toward hers. Kiss me. The demand swirled through her mind, and whether he read her thoughts or understood the urgency behind her grasping hands, his mouth covered hers.

  His hands clasped her hips, and he dragged her into him.

  And the world whirled.

  As if no time had passed at all since that other time when he’d turned her inside out.

  One tiny part of her mind scrambled toward sensibility. Toward reason. As much as she wanted him, she couldn’t lose herself to him again.

  Not completely.

  The first time had been difficult enough to recover from. Now…

  “Wait.” She tore her mouth away from his. Her lips tingled and her voice was raw. Focus on something practical, she thought with near desperation. Focus, and remember that this is only about sex. “The condoms. Are they in your room?”

  His hand moved away from her. And then like a magician pulling a coin from out of thin air, he
held a square little packet between his fingers. He’d had it in his pocket.

  He tossed it on the nightstand, where it landed next to the base of the lamp that she’d left lit, and put his hands on her again. “What are you wearing under this dress?”

  Her brain felt like it was operating in gelatin. “What?”

  His lips curved faintly. “Under the dress,” he murmured again. He pressed his mouth to her shoulder, and she felt the zipper at the back of her dress suddenly loosen under his nimble fingers. With no effort at all, he nudged the wide collar off her shoulders and down her arms. With no other impediment, the narrow black sheath slipped to the floor at her feet, leaving her clad only in her panties, a strapless bra and the pink jewel in her navel.

  “Pink,” he murmured. “I keep thinking about you in pink.”

  She shivered again. For every moment when she felt in control, two more came on its heels when she felt it slipping out of her grasp. She twisted in his arms and stepped out of the dress, kicking it aside. Then she put her hands on the hem of his shirt and dragged it upward. “Off,” she said huskily when he tried to stop her—as she’d known he would. “Or you’re not going to see anything beneath the pink panties and bra.” She met his gaze. “I’ve seen the scars, remember?”

  His eyes narrowed a little. “You’ve seen everything. More than once,” he corrected, “since you won’t let a man take a shower in peace. A distinct inequity, if you ask me.” Between his dark lashes, his pale eyes seemed to gleam. Then quick as a flash, his hand went behind her, and she felt the clasp of her bra come loose.

  Her nipples pulled together even more tightly.

  Her chin lifted. She let the bra fall away and was gratified by the slight glazing that seemed to come over his eyes. “When you get your cast off, you can shower in peace all you want,” she purred.

  Of course, at that point, he wouldn’t need her at all.

  She kept pulling on the shirt, and finally, he lifted his arms and yanked it off his head. His balance wavered a little, and her arms shot around him.

  The contact was blistering and she gasped. Her fingertips curled into the warm, satiny skin stretching up his spine. She only realized that they’d dipped lower, sliding beneath the waist of his jeans, when he gave a laughing curse and grabbed her arms, pushing her gently until her legs hit the mattress.

  She tumbled backward, and then he stood over her, balanced again on his good leg. His eyes ran over her like a physical caress that left her quaking.

  And just that easily, she didn’t care about maintaining the upper hand. Couldn’t even remember why it had seemed important.

  She lifted her arms toward him and the bed dipped under his weight as he joined her. His hands slid around her back, rolling her toward him even as his mouth found hers again. “I don’t want to crush you,” he said against her lips.

  “You won’t.” She pushed him even further until his shoulders were flat against the quilt, and she slid her leg across his hips until she was straddling him. She leaned over his chest, kissing his chin. His temple. His mouth. His hands were flexing against her waist, and she pulled them to her breasts.

  He made a low sound in his throat that thrilled her to her core. The denim of his jeans felt rough beneath her, needlessly reminding her that there was so much more to come, and she slid away from him just enough to unfasten his straining fly.

  And then, when she succeeded and for some unfathomable reason hesitated, he lifted an eyebrow and smiled faintly. “You gonna stop now?”

  Her lips firmed. She’d helped him dress dozens and dozens of times by now.

  She grasped the jeans and pulled them—as well as the boxers beneath—down his narrow hips, over cast and leg.

  And then there was simply no amount of nurses’ training or experience that could lessen the impact of Mason lying on her bed. For her.

  Her heart pounded dizzily as her greedy gaze took him—all of him—in.

  “Courtney.”

  “What?” She could barely form the simple word, and he gave that faint smile again.

  “Take off your panties.” His deep voice whispered over her nerve endings.

  She moistened her lips, slipped the scanty bikini off her hips and stepped out of them.

  He let out a long, audible breath. And then he held out his hand.

  Shaking inside, she took it. He tugged and she mindlessly knelt on the mattress, then settled over him.

  His hands caught her hips, pressing her harder against him, and a vague portion of her mind feared she’d actually begun purring. And then his hands slid up her spine, urging her torso toward him, and his mouth caught one breast, then the other.

  She could have wept for the perfection in his touch. Almost of their own accord, her hips moved against his, maddening them both with the slide of her against him.

  And then, despite his weighty, cumbersome cast, despite her own not inconsiderable height, he lifted her just enough to sink to the very depths of her.

  She cried out and he went abruptly still. “Did I hurt you?”

  Foolish tears were burning at the backs of her eyes. She shook her head, leaning against him to find his mouth. “No,” she promised. She slowly rocked against him. He would never hurt her.

  Not making love.

  When he left, then she’d be hurt.

  And even knowing that couldn’t stop them now.

  Not when he filled her so deeply, so completely. Not when she couldn’t tell where his hard flesh stopped and her soft flesh began. And not when his hands tightened on her, urging himself deeper. And not when she felt him growing impossibly thicker, harder, and not when she felt herself flying into a million bits of ecstasy while he groaned her name and flew with her.

  It was only later…much later…when she could draw normal breath again, when she could manage to unlock their fused hips and slip off of him, that they both recognized one important thing.

  The condom was still sitting untouched on the nightstand.

  Silently calling himself every vile name he could think of, Mason looked at the packet. He—ever prepared, ever safe—had forgotten the damn thing, even when it was sitting within arm’s reach.

  Courtney’s long, curvaceously lithe body beside him suddenly moved. She pushed her hand through her tousled hair. Her amber gaze skittered over him, then away. “I suppose you think I did this deliberately.”

  “I wasn’t thinking anything of the sort.” His voice was flat with blame. Self-blame.

  Her lovely throat worked. She scooted off the bed and disappeared into her walk-in closet. When she came out, she had a thin black robe wrapped tightly around her that did nothing to help disguise the mind-boggling curves beneath. “Well, whatever you’re thinking, you don’t have to worry. It’s totally the wrong time of month for me to conceive.”

  His jaw felt tight. “Wouldn’t want anything to get in the way of 37892?” He rolled over to the side of the bed and managed to scoop up his boxers and work them on but not without some struggle. “Damn cast.” He had two more weeks before they’d even entertain the idea of removing it, and he was going to be out of his tree by then.

  She was chewing her lip. Her cheeks were pale. “Mason—”

  He lifted his hand. “Don’t. This is my fault. I knew better, and I still let myself get carried away.”

  Color suddenly filled her drawn face. “You think you’re the only one responsible? Maybe it escaped your attention, Mason, but I started it.”

  He gave a bark of humorless laughter. “Believe me, honey. I noticed.” He’d noticed so damn well that he hadn’t thought of another single thing, least of all protecting her. Whether she wanted to be protected or not.

  A pain set up residence between his eyes.

  If he’d taken his chances with Connecticut and the doctors and the reporters there, all of this could have been avoided.

  Courtney wouldn’t have had the funds to invest in good ol’ 37892 yet…and maybe she would have changed her mind with more
time to think about it. She might have dated Dr. Feelgood on her own, and maybe she’d be looking at the whole white-picket-fence deal with him that she claimed she didn’t want.

  And they wouldn’t have ended up burning the sheets again, only this time with the additional wrinkle of his failure to exercise even a semblance of caution.

  “I don’t care what the timing is,” he said. “Good or bad. If you’re pregnant, then—”

  “I won’t be,” she interrupted emphatically. “So there’s no point in even discuss—”

  “Then I’ll do what’s right,” he finished.

  Her eyes widened. “And in your mind, that would be…what?”

  “It won’t involve me abandoning you. Pretending I’m not the father. No kid of mine will grow up not knowing where he comes from, the way I did.”

  “And that’s all this theoretical child would be to you? A responsibility.” It wasn’t quite a question.

  The nape of his neck felt itchy. “A child is a responsibility. That’s what I’ve been telling you ever since I learned about your baby plan.”

  She pressed her lips together for a long moment. The high color faded from her face. The storm in her amber eyes calmed. “Well. I can assure you that your responsible nature won’t be called into play,” she said coolly. “The timing’s wrong.” The corners of her lips lifted, but there was no humor in her smile, either. “And that’s something that I have been paying close attention to. Getting ready for number 37892, after all.”

  Then she turned and walked through the door to her bathroom, shutting it behind her.

  She didn’t come out.

  Mason knew that she wouldn’t. Not until she was sure he’d left her room.

  He retrieved the crutches from the floor, as well as his jeans, which had fallen on top of them, and levered to his feet. At the bedroom doorway, he looked back. The bathroom door was still closed. Her quilt-covered bed was tousled.

  Something inside his chest ached, and he rubbed his hand against it.

  Then, with a sigh, he left Courtney’s bedroom and went into his own.