The Baby Maker

by Valente, Lili

  “The sooner the better,” I agree, meeting Emma’s gaze over the trembling dog and nodding to my left. “Mrs. Mumford lives in the subdivision on the other side of that patch of woods. It’s the pink house on the right with the gnomes in the front yard, you can’t miss it.”

  Emma stands, dusting her hands off on her dress. “You want me to go get her?”

  “If you could just run and tell her I’m on my way with Cupcake. I’ve known this little girl since she was a puppy. Hopefully, I can convince her to let me pick her up now that the dickwad is gone.”

  “Got it.” Emma nods, glancing both ways before she starts across the trail.

  After a little more sweet-talking and scruff scratching, I slide my arm under Cupcake’s belly, cradling her ribs in my hand. Being careful to disturb her wounded paw as little as possible, I pick her up, holding her close as I head for Mrs. Mumford’s house. The pup whimpers, but she doesn’t snap or try to squirm free, and we make it down the narrow path leading to the subdivision without incident.

  We’ve just stepped onto the pavement at the end of the cul-de-sac when Mrs. Mumford appears on her front porch toting a pink pet carrier. Emma is close behind her, holding an oversize purse and a box of dog treats.

  “Oh my goodness, thank you, Dylan! You’re a gem, as usual.” Mrs. Mumford, still looking the way she did when I was ten years old and sat in the third row of her fifth-grade class—steel-wool-colored hair fuzzing around her face and all—hurries down the steps. “How is my baby?”

  “I think she’ll be fine,” I assure her as Cupcake pants faster in my arms, clearly excited to see her human—and treats—headed her way. “Just needs to get her paw checked out, and probably take it easy for a week or so.”

  “I can’t believe she got out of the backyard again,” Mrs. Mumford tuts, setting the carrier down by her Subaru and reaching out to cradle Cupcake’s face in both hands. “We’re going to have to get that fence fixed, aren’t we, baby? Poor thing. Here, let’s get you a treat to make you feel better.”

  As soon as the word “treat” is out of Mrs. Mumford’s mouth, Cupcake’s trembling stops and her tail begins to wag. At Mrs. Mumford’s direction, Emma places two treats at the back of the carrier, and I set the dog gently inside. A few minutes later, we have Cupcake loaded into Mrs. Mumford’s car and both of them on their way to The Village Vet.

  When they’re gone, I turn to Emma and smile. “Thanks for helping.”

  “Of course.” She lifts a hand to her hat as a gust of cooler air rushes down the street, promising a break in the heat wave. “It was good to see her excited about the treats. I was worried. She seemed like such a sweet dog, I knew she wouldn’t have tried to bite me if she weren’t in serious pain.”

  “Are you okay? She didn’t get you, did she?” I take Emma’s free hand in mine, turning it over to check both sides.

  “No, I’m fine. I have quick reflexes.”

  I release her slim fingers with a squeeze. “Good. Sorry I didn’t ask before.”

  She smiles. “You were kind of busy scaring away bad guys and saving the day. That was very educational, by the way. If I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes, I wouldn’t have believed you were capable of looking that scary.”

  “Oh well…” I cross my arms over my bare chest, cooling down fast now that I’m not slaving away in the hot sun. “The twins taught me a long time ago that a scary look goes a long way. If you get the look down, most of the time you don’t have to follow it up with anything else.” I sigh. “Speaking of the twins, I should get back. They’re good kids, but they’re not going to take it upon themselves to start work unless I’m there to remind them we’ve got shit to do.”

  Emma glances up at me, studying my face as we turn toward the woods. “You’re like a second father to them, aren’t you?”

  “Hardly.” I snort. “I was fourteen when they were born. I’m like a much older brother, I guess. Kind of like my brother Deacon was for Rafe, Tristan, and me.”

  “Fourteen,” she says, surprise in her tone. “So that means you’re…thirty-one?”

  “I am,” I confirm.

  She blinks. “Wow. How did I not know that?”

  I flash her a grin. “I think you may have been distracted by something more exciting than small talk. At least I hope so.”

  “Definitely more exciting than small talk. But still, I’ve never dated—” She breaks off, motioning toward me. “Or, you know, whatever, with someone younger than I am.”

  “Whatever?” I tease. “Is that what they’re calling it these days?”

  “You know what I mean,” she says, rolling her eyes as we stop to check the trail for speeding bikes before crossing to the other side. “I’m almost thirty-five.”

  I gasp in exaggerated surprise, pausing at the edge of the patch. “No way. So, does that mean you’re a cougar and I’m your prey?”

  “Oh, stop,” she says, slapping my arm.

  “I’ve always wanted to be cougar bait,” I continue, enjoying the blush spreading across her cheeks too much to stop. “To be lured in by an older woman and taught her sexy older lady secrets.”

  Emma glares. “Not funny, Hunter. Not even a little funny. This is not the way to earn that bottle of Sauvignon Blanc I was going to have chilling for you as a reward for a long day spent helping your neighbor.”

  “How about I bring over a six pack after I’ve showered instead?” I let my fingers skim the brim of her hat because I need to touch her and all her other parts are off-limits until I’m clean and away from prying eyes. “We can have beer and burgers?”

  “Assuming you can figure out how to work my grill, that sounds wonderful,” she stays, still glaring. “So you’re not bothered by the age difference at all?”

  “No, I’m not bothered. Why should I be? Four years is nothing.” I nod soberly before I add, “And from what I can tell, I’m still the senior officer in this arrangement, so…”

  “Is that right?” She props a hand on her hip.

  “It is. Unless you were lying last night when you said no one had ever slipped his thumb up your ass while he made you come before.”

  Her cheeks go instantly, powerfully red, and I can’t help but burst out laughing.

  “Now you’re laughing at me?” She huffs, but I can tell she isn’t angry. “Great.”

  “I’m laughing with you,” I correct, still losing it. “You’re cute when you blush like a cherry. Or a tomato.”

  She grabs the brim of her hat, tugging it down until it covers her face.

  “No, don’t hide. Don’t hide, I’m sorry.” I bend to catch her eye as I add in a softer voice, “Seriously, Blondie. I’m happy to be the senior officer. I like teaching you new things. Especially things that make you feel good.”

  “Well, I might have a few tricks up my sleeve, too.” She lets her brim flop up as she lifts her chin. “And maybe I’ll show them to you tonight. If you’re good.”

  “Oh, I’ll be good,” I promise, not making any effort to keep the innuendo from my tone. “I’ll be very good, princess.”

  And I am.

  And so is she.

  Damn, so is she.

  By the time she’s done this thing to me—a thing that involves my balls in her mouth and her hands everywhere and my brain leaking out of my ears as she makes me come so hard her bedroom ceiling becomes a sky full of stars—I am willing to admit I may have been too quick to claim seniority.

  “Mea culpa,” I breathe, fighting to get my lungs back under control as she crawls up the mattress to curl beside me. “I was wrong. You were right.”

  She reaches out, petting the hair on my chest. “Good boy. Good cougar bait.”

  I laugh. “I wouldn’t go that far.”

  “Oh, I would,” she says breezily. “That’s your name from now on. I shall call you Cougar Bait and Cougar Bait shall be your name.”

  “No way, Blondie.” I roll on top of her, pinning her wrists to the pillow above her head as her pink lips sp
read in a satisfied grin. “If you start screaming ‘oh, yes, Cougar Bait’ when you come for me, I’m going to have to spank you.”

  Her lids droop and her smile widens. “Oh no, not that… Anything but that…”

  I shake my head, trying to pretend I’m horrified but failing miserably. Because I’m already imagining how hot it’s going to be to spank her sweet ass while I take her from behind with my hand fisted in her hair.

  “Bad girl,” I murmur as my cock stirs, insisting he’s ready for round two.

  “Bad cougar,” she corrects, wrapping her legs around my hips. “Admit that I won, and I’ll let you be Dylan again. At least until I think of a better nickname.”

  I rock against her, letting her feel what she does to me, the way she gets me hard mere minutes after I’ve come like a train barreling off the tracks. “Not so fast. I haven’t had my turn. I’ve got a few tricks left up my sleeve, too.”

  Her breath catches, becoming a moan as I grind my rapidly swelling length against her clit. “I don’t believe you. You’re stalling, cougar bait.”

  “Hang on, princess,” I murmur, lowering my lips to hers. “I’m about to prove you wrong.”

  We don’t run out of steam until after two in the morning, at which time we both decide to call this battle a draw—for now.

  “To be continued,” she sighs, snuggling into the small spoon position where she fits oh-so-perfectly.

  “TBC,” I agree, relaxing into the feather softness of her bed, the warmth of her body, and the sweet smell of her shampoo, clean linen, and sex.

  And it is good. So good, I can’t help sleeping over another night.

  I’ll sleep in my own bed tomorrow. My bed isn’t going anywhere, but my nights with this woman are numbered.

  Maybe only a couple weeks left. Maybe less, my inner voice supplies as I drift into the haze of half-sleep. Should know soon if she’s pregnant…

  Soon. But not too soon.

  There’s still time to enjoy each other. Still plenty of time, I assure myself, ignoring the other voice in my head, the one insisting that this is the kind of thing that shouldn’t have an expiration date. This is the kind of thing you hold on to so tight not even a starving cougar can rip it from your hands.

  Chapter 13

  Emma

  Six days later…

  I love teaching kids new things. And I love coding.

  I’m not a corporate slave to a multibillion-dollar tech company anymore, but that doesn’t mean I don’t still relish the rush of writing an elegant, streamlined piece of magic. Coding can feel like sorcery, sometimes, like I’m a wizard-architect, crafting my own virtual universe.

  It’s empowering as hell, and I love seeing that same sense of wonder and accomplishment on the faces of my students.

  But today I do not want to teach. I do not want to code. I want to run away with the sexy as sin man standing on my doorstep with trouble flashing in his hazel eyes and a picnic basket tucked under one strong arm.

  “Hey,” Dylan says, breath rushing out. “I just spent two hours going over the books with my dad, and the second he tried to record an entry in the accounting program, he managed to delete the entire September register. And now it’s gone. Ten hours of slave labor down the drain. I’m going to be late getting shit to the accountants anyway, so I’ve decided to ditch work for the rest of the day and get out of town before I strangle my father. Or the twins, who are in the living room playing some loud video game that makes me feel old. Want to come?”

  “I do,” I say with a grimace. “But I can’t. I have to be at my coding class at the elementary school in fifteen minutes.”

  “Shit, I forgot that was today.” His shoulders slump as his brows peak into a pleading upside-down V. “Are you sure you can’t play hooky? I packed a picnic.” He lifts the basket lid, granting me a peek at wine, fruit, and half a dozen packages wrapped in brown paper nestled against the red-and-white checkered lining.

  Lips turning down hard, I shake my head. “I can’t. I don’t have a substitute, and the girls are already on their way. But I’m bummed. I haven’t been on a picnic in forever, and I love unwrapping mysterious edible things. Food presents are the best.” I sag against the doorframe with a whimper. “Ugh, and all I packed for lunch is a tuna salad sandwich and cucumber slices.”

  Dylan pulls a face. “God. That sounds awful.”

  “I know.” I whimper again, eyes squeezing closed. “And it’s not even good tuna salad. I didn’t have any pickles or egg, so it’s basically canned grossness with mustard and mayo swirled on top.”

  “You poor thing, come here.” Dylan sets the basket on the ground and pulls me into his arms, making shushing sounds as he dramatically pets my hair, making me laugh as I snuggle into his gray sweatshirt, inhaling the soap-and-Dylan smell of him.

  Damn, how does he always smell so good?

  “But seriously, I’m sorry.” I wrap my arms around his waist, leaning into his warmth, wishing I could stay here all day. “About your spreadsheet and missing the picnic. Can I take a rain check? Maybe we can go tomorrow?”

  “I have a better idea.” His hand wanders down to pat my ass through my jeans. “Why don’t I put this picnic on ice and we can have it for dinner?”

  I tip my head back, grinning up at him. “Oh, yes, please. That would be perfect.”

  Dylan nods, still ass-patting as he adds, “And how about I pick you up at the school when you’re done with class and we both ditch for the rest of the day? We can get out of town, get into trouble, have a little adventure before we unwrap the food presents.”

  “Yes and yes.” My smile stretches wider. “You’re full of brilliant ideas today.”

  His brows bob up and down. “It’s fondling your ass. Gives me all kinds of great ideas.” He squeezes my bottom tight before kissing my forehead and bounding away down the steps. “See you at two?”

  “Two,” I confirm, spirits lifting as I dash inside to toss my tuna in the trash—no sad sandwiches allowed on adventure day—exchanging it for an apple and a granola bar.

  A few minutes later, I’m grabbing my lesson plans and heading out the door. And though I know it’s probably not wise to be this excited about spending the afternoon with a guy I’ll be cutting ties with before too long, I don’t try to tamp down my excitement. I don’t believe in throwing cold water on happiness, and spending time with Dylan is too much fun to resist.

  The two hours of class are peppered with laughter, conversation, coding triumphs, and some truly delicious homemade tortillas, and when we head out the door at two sharp, Dylan is waiting in the parking lot. He leans against his truck, looking like a fantasy come to life in jeans, boots, and a brown sweater that sets off the golden highlights in his hair.

  Grin popping back onto my face, I lift a hand, holding up two fingers to indicate I’ll be just another second. As I turn back to the computer room door, struggling with the finicky old lock and slightly bent key, Isabella’s big sister, Sonia, asks in a hushed voice, “Who’s that Ms. Haverford? By the truck?”

  “That’s my friend, Dylan.” I fight to keep the giddy from my voice and fail miserably.

  “Your boyfriend, right? I knew you had a boyfriend! You’ve been holding out on us.” Sonia’s dark eyes dance as she bounces lightly up and down on her toes. “Oh my gosh, he’s so cute! Are you guys engaged? Do you live together? My cousin Tina just moved in with her boyfriend last week, even though they’re not engaged, and my entire family is freaking out.”

  “We’re just friends,” I say as I fight to free the key from the lock, not wanting to feed her boy-crazy fever. Sonia’s only fourteen, but she and the other older girls are constantly talking about boys and asking me about boys and expressing profound disappointment that I’m not the font of romantic guidance they were hoping for when they learned their coding teacher was a single lady of a certain age.

  “Right,” Sonia says with a knowing nod. “Just friends. That’s what my Tia Mimi said about her boyfri
end. Now she’s six months pregnant, and last time I checked, friends don’t get friends pregnant."

  I clear my throat in an attempt to conceal my laughter—she couldn’t have hit my arrangement with Dylan more on the nose if she’d tried—but Sonia’s too sharp to miss my slip.

  “See!” She pokes a finger into my side with a cry of victory, “I knew it! You’re not just friends!”

  “Hurry up, Sonia,” Isabella calls out the window of their mother’s Volvo. “We’re going to be late to ballet practice!”

  “Have fun on your date with your boyfriend,” Sonia teases in sing-song as she hurries across the leaf-strewn grass.

  “He’s not my boyfriend!” I call after her, but I can’t stop smiling.

  He’s not my boyfriend, but I have no doubt that we’re going to have fun. I always have fun with Dylan, whether we’re hanging out on my back porch having dinner or hiking through the apple orchards or playing Scrabble in my office, seeing how many dirty words we can get onto the board before we’re forced to take a break and play naughty librarian.

  “Hey there, princess.” Dylan’s lips curve as he watches me cross the parking lot. “Ready to roll?”

  “I was born ready.” I drop my bag to the pavement and jog the last few steps, leaping into his arms. He catches me with a laugh that becomes a moan of appreciation as I kiss him hard, telling him how much I missed him without saying a word. It’s only been two hours, but lately time has a way of stretching out and taking up way too much space when he’s not around.

  “Watch out, Blondie,” Dylan murmurs, his lips moving against mine. “Or we’re going to have to take a detour to your place before we leave so I can get you naked.”

  “Or we could go parking,” I say, fingers threading into his hair. “Pretend we’re teenagers.”

  He hums his approval. “Sexy and smart. And I know just the place.” He kisses me again, making my head spin before he sets me back on my feet. “But first, we drive. I thought, since you like food presents so much, I’d give you my grand tour of secret local joints. Show you where I get the good stuff.” He points a warning finger my way. “Assuming you promise to keep this knowledge to yourself and help keep the tourists away.”