Page 37 of Most Likely to Fear Love

The car door slammed shut. Footsteps approached. The door knocker clattered.

I yanked off my work gloves and shoved them in my back pocket, wiping my hands on my jeans. My heart hammered as I walked through the house to the door. Reaching for the door handle, I took a moment to close my eyes and get my shit together.

Then I pulled the door open and there she was. Cassidy. Looking gorgeous and a little uncertain, her green eyes meeting mine.

“Hey,” she said softly, tucking a strand of blonde hair behind her ear.

My heart tripped at the sight of her. Damn, she was beautiful. I wanted nothing more than to pull her into my arms and kiss her senseless. But I couldn’t. We’d agreed this was a bad idea.I had to keep hammering that knowledge home to make it sink into my brain.

“Hi,” I managed, my voice rougher than I intended. I cleared my throat. “Come on in.”

She hesitated for a moment before stepping inside. The scent of her perfume hit me as she brushed past, making my head spin. I closed the door behind her, trying to ignore how right it felt to have her in my home again.

“How are you?” I asked, desperate to break the tension.

She turned to face me, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth. “I’m good. You?”

“Can’t complain.” I gestured toward the kitchen. “Want some water before you…? Or coffee?”

Cassidy nodded. “Um, sure. Water would be great, thanks.”

I headed for the kitchen, grateful for the chance to put some space between us. But even with my back turned, I could feel her presence, electric and undeniable.

I grabbed a bottle of water from the refrigerator and left it on the bench, not even trusting myself to get close enough to hand it to her. “Everything you need is in the bedroom. I’ll be outside.”

“Okay. Thanks.”

Without looking back at her, I stalked out of the house, back to the wood pile.

CASSIDY

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.Fuck!

I should never have made a move on him last night. I’d gone and ruined every fucking thing. Now I was frozen on the spot, watching Harle outside, swinging the axe as my blood heated. I couldn’t even tell if I was turned on or just embarrassed. Fuck. Grrrr!

I sucked in some air, trying to calm my racing heart as I made my way to Harle’s bedroom. The tension between us was so thick you could cut it with the axe he was wielding. I pushed open the bedroom door, my eyes immediately landing on the small cup on the nightstand.

There it was. The whole reason I was here. Not for Harle’s piercing blue eyes or his strong, capable hands. Not for the way he made me laugh or how safe I felt around him. Certainly not for his kisses. No, I was here for that little plastic cup and its contents.

I moved to sit on the edge of the bed, my fingers tracing the soft quilt. Fuck, this room smelled so good. Harle’s scent was all over it. It was intoxicating.

“Stop it,” I muttered to myself. “You’re here for a baby, not... whatever this is.”

But as I reached for the cup, my hand trembled. Images of last night’s kiss flashed through my mind. The warmth of Harle’s lips, the strength of his arms around me. God, I wanted that again. And more.

I flopped back on the bed, covering my face with my hands. This was such a mess. How had I let things get so complicated? I was supposed to be in control, dammit. I had a plan.

But here I was, lying on Harle’s bed, completely torn between what I wanted and what I thought I needed.

I took a few deep breaths, trying to calm my racing thoughts. This was ridiculous. I was a grown woman, for crying out loud. I could handle a simple medical procedure without falling apart.

My hands shook slightly as I prepared the syringe. I’d done this before, but never with this much tension. Never with the object of my attraction just outside, probably glistening with sweat as he chopped wood.

Nope. Not going there.

I dropped one of the pillows in the middle of the bed and lay down. This was Harle’s pillow. I closed my eyes for a moment, allowing myself one brief fantasy before getting down to business.

Lifting my hips, I slid another pillow underneath, then raised my legs, resting my feet against the wall behind Harle’s headboard. The position was awkward and not particularly dignified, but it was supposed to help with conception. Taking the rubber syringe, I reached down to position it between my legs. As I did so, I accidentally brushed the tip against my clit. The bolt of pleasure that shot through my system had me gasping.

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