The Baby Maker

by Valente, Lili

  At least for me.

  I don’t know if it’s the fact that I haven’t kissed anyone in seven months or how desperately I want Dylan’s help or something magical in the light of the harvest moon, but the moment our lips make contact, I go from definitely interested to dying-for-more-of-Mr.-Hunter at the speed of light.

  He threads his hand into my hair and makes a fist, sending my ponytail holder flying as he pulls me in hard and close, kissing me like a drowning man surfacing for a gasp of air. His tongue sweeps through my mouth, stroking, tasting, laying claim as I respond with the same hunger.

  I twine my arms around his neck and press closer, as close as two people can get while still fully dressed. I rub against him, relishing the feel of his firm body and the even firmer length growing thick and heavy behind the fly of his jeans.

  He wants me, wants this.

  All I need to do is convince him there’s no reason not to take what he wants.

  “You feel so good,” I murmur between kisses, moaning as his hands grip my ass, pulling me tight to where he’s so deliciously hard.

  “We should stop,” he says, even as he guides my leg up around his thigh, the better to grind against me exactly where I want him most.

  I gasp at the sudden intimacy of the contact, but God, it feels so good. “Oh no, don’t stop.”

  “If I don’t stop soon, I’m going to take you right here.” His hand roams up to cup my breast through my sweatshirt. “On the ground, in the dirt. It’s been a long time for me, Blondie.”

  “Me, too. Way too long.” I moan against his lips as he rolls my nipple through my clothes.

  “Then we both know this isn’t the way to make this decision.” He brings his hands back to my hair, guiding it out of my eyes and then holding my face captive as he stares down at me, breathing fast. “So we’re going to go home. Alone. And we’ll talk about this tomorrow.”

  “I was enjoying not talking,” I say, my nerves humming and my panties damp with how much I want this.

  Want him.

  I knew from the moment I laid eyes on Dylan Hunter that he was a sexy beast, but I had no idea the chemistry between us would be this combustible. I hadn’t known chemistry like this existed. Even with Jeremy, it was never like this.

  Like a drug. A high. A fix I want so bad I’m shaking with it.

  “Me, too.” The hunger that flashes across Dylan’s features as his hands return to my back, his fingertips tracing my spine, assures me I’m not alone. “So why don’t we put the baby-making talk on hold and go back to my place? I have condoms.”

  I’m tempted—God, am I tempted—but I wasn’t lying when I said I want a baby more than anything. I truly do.

  Even more than I want to be naked with this sexy-as-hell man.

  “As much as I would love to,” I say, “truly. That’s not the kind of relationship I need right now. If you decide you don’t want to help me, I’ll completely understand. But if you won’t, I’ll need to find someone who will, and that’ll be easier if I’m not already involved.”

  Dylan’s eyes narrow, but his mouth remains soft, and after a moment he steps away with a nod. “All right. I’ll have an answer for you by tomorrow afternoon. Monday morning at the latest.”

  Heart lifting, soaring into the air on wings of hope, a smile explodes across my face. “Perfect! Thank you so much. I appreciate you giving this a chance. Some thought. Some time.” I wave a hand, awkward again now that there’s physical distance between us. “All those things. I appreciate them.”

  He shakes his head slowly as he backs away. “I still think it’s crazy,” he warns. “And I’m probably going to say no.”

  I press my lips together and nod, but secretly I’m thinking, But maybe you won’t say no. Maybe you’ll say yes. You’re at least going to think about it, which you weren’t going to do before we kissed.

  The thought gives me an idea, a naughty, not-playing-fair idea that keeps me smiling as I wave goodbye and Dylan steps through the gate at the edge of his pasture, starting up the hill toward his place.

  I have a secret weapon now, something I can use to my advantage if I dare to bend the rules. Honor is all well and good, but this is a battle I’m determined to win at any cost.

  Mind made up, I hurry back to where the harvest is well underway, helping Bart shift the light cart as the workers move methodically down the rows to the far side of the vineyard. But inside I’m already at that meeting with Dylan tomorrow, plotting, planning, scheming the best way to play my ace and make sure he has no choice but to say yes.

  Chapter 4

  Dylan

  No. The answer has to be no.

  I’m crazy to have even said I would think about it. There is no answer but no. Yes isn’t an option. I should have drawn a line in the sand last night and made sure Emma understood I never meant to step over it.

  Never.

  No matter how sweet her mouth tastes or what an insanely hot kisser she is or how good it felt to have her curvy body pressed tight and grinding against my cock through our clothes.

  God, she was hot…

  Five-alarm hot…

  Wild, hungry, and so much more responsive than I’d imagined she would be.

  And yes, I’ve imagined what it would be like to kiss her, imagined Emma’s smart mouth melting beneath mine as I show her how much fun we could have if we stopped duking it out for a piece of land that should rightfully be mine. And yes, the real Emma is even more irresistible than the fantasy.

  But that’s exactly why I should say no. She’s the kind of woman it would be so easy to get hooked on, and neither one of us is looking for a steady date.

  She wants a no-strings-attached baby, and I want a clear path to a future that’s truly mine, not more connections and obligations. Even assuming Emma and I end up hating each other by the time our fucking-for-a-baby experiment is through, there’s no way I would be able to live next door to my own child and pretend he’s just the neighbor’s boy.

  I don’t want a kid at this point, but if my son were growing up across the pasture, I would want to be a part of his life. I would want to be there when he needed me, especially when he got old enough to wonder why his father wasn’t in the picture. I would want to make sure he knew it wasn’t because of any flaw in his design; it’s just grown-up bullshit, pure and simple.

  “Bullshit, bullshit, bullshit,” I grumble as I toss plates onto the long wooden table in the front dining room.

  “In good spirits this morning, I see.” Tristan slams the front door behind him and tosses his jean jacket onto the pile of coats on the bench in the hall. “Rafe up yet?”

  “No idea.” I open an arm to pull my little half-brother in for a quick hug, before motioning him toward the silverware lying in a tangle at the far end of the table. “He didn’t come home last night.”

  Tristan snorts and shakes his head. “One day back in town and he already found a woman willing to put up with his ass?”

  “At least for the night,” I say, earning a grin from Tris. It’s crazy how much he looks like Rafe when he smiles—same mile-wide grin and dancing brown eyes—but they couldn’t be more different.

  Tris is the family do-gooder, the kid who was always saving wounded animals and looking out for the underdog growing up. Rafe is our rebel, blazing his own path without giving a good God damn what anyone else has to say about it.

  And then there’s me, somewhere in the middle, torn between my heart and my head, my personal goals and my family obligations. My dick and the sound knowledge that getting a stranger pregnant is a stupid idea under any circumstances, no matter how sad a woman looks crying in the moonlight, how sweet her mouth tastes, or how long it’s been since I got laid.

  If I were Tris or Rafe, this decision would have already been made—they don’t traffic in middle ground.

  Which gives me an idea…

  When Rafe stomps in a few minutes later, whistling the jaunty tune of a man who had a very good time last night, I d
ecide to go for it.

  “Rafe, get in here. I need to ask your and Tristan’s advice on something.” I prop my hands on a chair as Rafe swaggers in, clapping Tristan on the back in greeting as he says, “Sure, what’s on your mind?”

  “First, I need you to promise that you won’t mention this to anyone else. No one,” I emphasize, keeping my volume low. “Not Dad or your friends or anyone else. Especially not anyone in town.”

  Tristan’s expression sobers. “Of course not. Teepee of silence, man.”

  When we were kids, our oldest brother Deacon—the only kid from Dad’s first marriage—built us a teepee outside. It served as our clubhouse and refuge from family drama when Dad and his lady of the moment were in the middle of a dust-up. The teepee was a place where we felt safe to talk about anything, knowing our brothers would never breathe a word of it to the outside world.

  So, even though I’m a grown man, I nod and agree, “Teepee of silence.” And then I fill them in on what happened last night, leaving out the more intimate parts but making it clear that attraction and sexual compatibility are not part of what I consider the problem in this situation.

  By the time I’m finished, Rafe’s eyes are saucer-wide and Tristan is wearing his thoughtful poker face, the one I’m sure serves him well managing the board of a non-profit, but which I can see through in a heartbeat.

  He thinks I’m crazy, too. They both think I’m crazy.

  I’ve finally found something that the two of them agree on, which makes this decision a no-brainer.

  “Forget it.” I make a shooing motion with both hands as I step away from the table. “Don’t even answer. I’ll say no. That’s it. It’s the only rational answer.”

  “Don’t run off,” Rafe says as I start into the kitchen, making me pause in the doorway, close enough to hear Dad whistling as he fries bacon. “You wanted to talk, so let’s talk. Why did you tell her you would think about it? There has to be a reason.”

  Tristan nods. “Right. Your first instinct had to be to say no, right? Even with the land on the table.” He waits until I nod in confirmation before continuing. “So what changed your mind?”

  I shrug uncomfortably. “I don’t know. My thoughts were fuzzy there at the end. It was the middle of the night and she’s… Well, she’s…” I pull in a breath and let it out long and slow, making Rafe laugh.

  “I thought she would be,” he says. “But just because she’s a sexy little number and you’ve spent the past year monking it up is no reason to go knocking her up. Have some fun together, date, whatever, and put the baby talk off until later. Preferably a day that never comes.”

  Tristan frowns. “Some people like the idea of having a family someday, V.”

  “Not Dylan,” Rafe says with complete confidence. “Between Dad and watching the boys every time Deacon deploys, he’s had enough babysitting for two lifetimes.”

  He’s right.

  But he’s…not right, too.

  A few years from now, or if I meet the right woman, I don’t know how I’ll feel about starting a family. But I do know his solution isn’t going to work. “I already suggested taking things slow. She’s not up for it. Said she was tempted, but that her first priority is finding a man willing to do the job. If I won’t, she’s going to keep looking until she finds someone who will.”

  “Wow.” Tristan blinks faster as he crosses his arms, leaning against the wall by the sideboard where his mother’s vintage Italian china is stored, waiting to become a wedding present when he seals the deal with Kim, his girlfriend since high school. He’s the only man in our generation who has been able to make a relationship work for more than a year. When he talks, we all tend to listen.

  After a beat, he continues, “So, two things are bothering me about this…”

  Rafe and I nod, but neither of us interrupts. That’s another thing about Tris—he’s thoughtful with his words and won’t be rushed.

  “The first is that I wonder if you might be underestimating how hard it would be to not be a part of this child’s life,” he says carefully.

  I shake my head. “I know it would hard. Especially with her and the baby living right next door. I mean, maybe if she were in another city or state or something…”

  “Out of sight, out of mind,” Rafe agrees. “That would definitely make it easier for me. Not that I would even consider something stupid like this.”

  As I pull a face at Rafe, Tristan continues, “The other thing is that I wonder if you and Emma are both underestimating how this could affect your relationship with each other.”

  “They don’t have a relationship,” Rafe says, brows wiggling up and down as he glances my way. “At least, not yet.”

  “Right,” Tristan agrees. “But if they do decide to go for it. Keeping sex and love separate is one thing, but when you’re creating a life together…” He shrugs. “Obviously I don’t have personal experience, but I imagine that would be pretty emotionally intense.”

  Rafe grunts. “That’s because you’ve never fucked someone you weren’t in love with.”

  “No, I haven’t,” Tristan says, not a bit defensive. He’s never been the kind to apologize for being a romantic. “So I could have it all wrong. I don’t know. It just feels way too complicated for me.”

  “Me, too,” Rafe agrees. “I know it’s hard to walk away from big chemistry, but there are plenty of other grapes on the vine, bro. My old dirt-biking friend Deborah, the one who was out wine tasting with Chastity yesterday, is single. She’s a fun girl, easy-going, low pressure. I could set you guys up.”

  “The girl you were with last night’s name is Chastity,” Tristan observes dryly.

  “Yeah.” Rafe scrubs his hand across his face, losing the battle against a wicked grin. “God bless parents who name their kids uptight shit. Those girls are always crazy in the sack. I slept maybe fifteen minutes last night.”

  Tristan rolls his eyes, slashing a finger across his neck as the twins slam through the door and shuffle, still bleary-eyed, toward the table, clearly having enjoyed their one morning to sleep in late while I handled the eggs.

  “You can keep talking.” Blake yawns magnificently as he gathers an armful of juice glasses from the sideboard to start his Sunday morning family breakfast duties. “I don’t care about your old man gossip.”

  “Yeah, we already know Uncle Rafe didn’t come home last night,” Jacob calls over his shoulder on his way into the kitchen for the pitchers of water and juice.

  “And we know who he was with.” Blake’s green eyes flash with mischief as he circles the table, setting out glasses. “Chastity’s little sister, Honor, is in our class. She posted a status update saying she was having a hard time sleeping last night, what with all the moaning and groaning coming from her sister’s room.”

  Tristan’s nose scrunches. “Seriously, Rafe? You were at this girl’s family’s house?”

  “No, I was at her place,” Rafe says. “I didn’t know her little sister was sleeping over until I came downstairs this morning and she was sitting there watching TV. But she’s seventeen; it’s not like she’s a kid.”

  “Yeah,” Blake agrees, grinning harder. “She knew what all the ‘Oh yes, oh yes, oh yes, Rafe! Rafe!’ was about.”

  While Rafe grabs Blake in a headlock, knuckling his hair, and Tristan expresses further concern that seventeen is too young to be exposed to the sounds of loud, raunchy sex, I head into the kitchen to start bringing in the food. Squeezing past Jacob on his way out with a tray loaded with pitchers, I circle around Dad. He’s fishing bacon out of the frying pan with a fork, adding to an already impressively piled-up plate beside him.

  “Pancakes and toast are ready, right?” I ask, giving my hands a quick wash at the sink.

  “Everything’s ready except the bacon.” He adds another layer of meat to his already hot pan. “And that’ll be up in just a few.”

  “Sweet. I’ll bring everything else out and tell the boys to go ask Pete and Jose if they want to eat wi
th us.” If it’s a busy day, our farmhands don’t take off for our midmorning Sunday meal, but with the hops already in and autumn coming on fast, there’s less to do around the property than there was even a month ago.

  “I already told Jacob to go fetch Pete and Jose.” Dad turns to face me, revealing his “Cereal Killer” apron. “Why don’t you hang here with me a minute, son?”

  Brows lifting, I lean back against the sink, drying my hands. “Okay. What’s on your mind?”

  Dad only calls me “son” when he’s got something serious to discuss. I just hope he’s not planning to lay on another guilt trip about ripping out the vineyards. After sleeping barely three hours last night, I’m not in the mood to defend myself for pulling the family back from the brink of financial ruin.

  “My knees and my ticker aren’t what they used to be,” Dad says, motioning toward his chest with his greasy fork. “But the ears work just fine.”

  I sigh as I cross my arms, bracing myself for confrontation. “So you heard?”

  “I heard, and I’ve got an opinion, too, if you don’t mind taking a second to hear it. Your brothers gave you solid advice, but neither of them has ever been a father.”

  “All right.” I nod, jaw clenched. I’d rather not hear Dad’s baby-making advice—I already know we’re on opposite sides of that issue—but he’s the parent who has always been there for me. He visited us in Mendocino when I was little, and when my mom flaked, he took over raising me without a second of hesitation, even though it cost him his marriage to Francesca.

  He’s earned the right to preach his truth and have me listen, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to take him seriously.

  “The way I see it is this.” Dad glances out the window over my shoulder, toward Emma’s vineyards. “That woman wouldn’t have asked for this kind of help unless she was at the end of her rope. Brave new modern world or not, most women still want to have babies with someone they love. Someone they can share the ups and downs with. Being a single parent is a hard gig.”