Playing by the Baby Rules

Marisa realized her mouth was hanging open and closed it. “Are you sure about this?”

“It makes sense,” he said. “You want to raise a child on your own—no husband or significant other, right?”

“Absolutely. But we’re talking about creating a life, Jake—a baby. We’re talking about sex. You and me, having sex. Together,” Marisa said.

“Are you saying that you don’t want to have sex with me? That you find me unappealing?”

“No! What woman wouldn’t find you appealing?” Marisa leaned forward, clasping Jake’s hands firmly between her own. “And I would be proud to carry your child. But you realize this isn’t a one-shot deal. It could take months of trying,” she said.

Jake nodded solemnly. “I’m in it for the long haul.”

Dear Reader,

Welcome to Silhouette Desire and another month of sensual tales. Our compelling continuity DYNASTIES: THE DANFORTHS continues with the story of a lovely Danforth daughter whose well-being is threatened and the hot U.S. Navy SEAL assigned to protect her. Maureen Child’s Man Beneath the Uniform gives new meaning to the term sleepover!

Other series this month include TEXAS CATTLEMAN’S CLUB: THE STOLEN BABY with Cindy Gerard’s fabulous Breathless for the Bachelor. Seems this member of the Lone Star state’s most exclusive club has it bad for his best friend’s sister. Lucky lady! And Rochelle Alers launches a brand-new series, THE BLACKSTONES OF VIRGINIA, with The Long Hot Summer, which is set amid the fascinating world of horse-breeding.

Anne Marie Winston singes the pages with her steamy almost-marriage-of-convenience story, The Marriage Ultimatum. And in Cherokee Stranger by Sheri WhiteFeather, a man gets a second chance with a woman who wants him for her first time. Finally, welcome brand-new author Michelle Celmer with Playing by the Baby Rules, the story of a woman desperate for a baby and the hunky man who steps up to give her exactly what she wants.

Here’s hoping Silhouette Desire delivers exactly what you desire in a powerful, passionate and provocative read!

Best,

Melissa Jeglinski

Senior Editor, Silhouette Desire

Playing by the Baby Rules

Michelle Celmer

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MICHELLE CELMER

lives in southeastern Michigan with her husband, Steve, their three children, two dogs, two cats and a leopard gecko. When she’s not writing or busy being a mom, you can find her in the garden weeding or curled up with a book. And if you twist her arm real hard you can usually persuade her into a day of power shopping.

Michelle loves to hear from readers. Visit her Web site at: www.michellecelmer.com.

To Steve for his unconditional support, and my children

for always being proud of me.

To my parents, who never doubted I would make it.

To Debby, Tonya, Jodi and all the Survivor ladies

for your invaluable critiques, and encouragement,

when it seemed hopeless.

And to Therese: There you have it….

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

One

“I’m telling you, Risa, all you need is a turkey baster.”

Marisa Donato looked up from the new shipment of jasmine-scented aromatherapy candles she’d been shelving and shot Lucy Lopez, her moderately demented sales associate, a look of disgust. “Impregnate myself with a turkey baster? Tell me you’re joking.”

“I just figured, if you’re so opposed to the idea of sex, why not?”

Marisa cringed as a pair of young women browsing near the push-up bras exchanged curious glances. Open talk of sex was probably common when the shop specialized in adult toys and pornographic videos. Since Marisa had transformed the store into Intimate Secrets, an upscale lingerie boutique, blatantly sexual merchandise was a thing of the past. Lucy’s blatantly sexual language, however, was a habit Marisa hadn’t yet broken.

Marisa lowered her voice. “I am not opposed to sex. Just that kind of sex. And even if I were to consider impregnating myself with a kitchen gadget, which I wouldn’t in a million years, where am I going to get the, uh…genetic material?”

Oblivious to the customers, Lucy shrugged and said loudly, “I don’t know. A sperm bank?”

She was rewarded with a round of giggles from the back of the store.

Marisa dropped her voice to a whisper. “I don’t think you can just walk in and say, ‘Hi, I’d like to make a withdrawal.’ Besides, the whole idea is too weird.”

“Okay, so the turkey baster is out.” Lucy chose a candle from the stock behind the counter and dug a lighter out of her jeans pocket. She lit it, and the spicy sweet scent of cinnamon drifted up in a curl of smoke. “Why don’t you just stick with your original plan and have it done artificially?”

“The doctor said the chances of the artificial insemination working are only ten to fifteen percent per cycle, and he’s supposed to be one of the best fertility specialists in Michigan. With success rates like that, it could cost me a small fortune. He recommended doing it naturally.”

“So you either find a small fortune or do it the old-fashioned way?”

“Exactly. And because of the endometriosis, it could take months to conceive.”

Lucy leaned back, resting her elbows on the counter. “What you need is a man who would agree to unadulterated, no-strings-attached sex.”

“More or less.” The thought made her stomach pitch. Ironically, her mother would have jumped at the offer. Make it a different man every night and she would have been in her glory.

“My God, Risa, what man wouldn’t agree to that? There has to be a couple hundred in Royal Oak alone who would jump at the chance.”

That’s what she was afraid of. The idea of meaningless sex with some stranger just seemed so…sleazy. Unfortunately she was running out of options—and time.

What had begun as severe monthly cramping in her early teens was now relentless, stabbing pain. An annual checkup with her gynecologist revealed what she had already suspected. Radical surgery was inevitable. If she was going to have a baby, she was going to have to do it soon.

Artificial means had appeared to be the answer, until she’d learned the exorbitant fees and dismal success rates. Foreign and private adoptions were also far too pricey and domestic adoption for a middle-class, single working woman was practically unheard-of.

There was always the conventional “get married and have a family” routine. Collectively, her parents’ eight divorces had taught her one important lesson—marital bliss didn’t run in the family. By the time she left for college she’d lost track of how many “uncles” had come to stay with her and her mother. Uncles who, after Marisa had begun to develop physically, leered at her in a way that made her skin crawl. She hadn’t dared sleep at night without a chair hooked under her doorknob. Just in case.

She would have given up on the prospect of children altogether, but lately, every time she passed a mother walking her baby in a stroller or pushing her toddler on the swings in the park, that twinge of envy she usually felt had turned into a dull, hollow ache. She longed to feel the unconditional love only a child could give, to share all of the love she’d stored up in her heart.

But sex with a stranger? Could she stoop so low when she’d deliberately spent her entire adult life avoiding that type of shallow existence?

“I don’t know if I could do that,” she told Lucy. “And if I did, it would have to be someone I would want to have sex with, and even more importantly, would want to procreate with.”

“There has to be someone.” Lucy blew a spiral of springy red hair out of her eyes. “Give me an idea of what you would be looking for.”

Gathering her long gauzy skirt, Marisa settled on the stool behind the register and propped her elbows on the glass-top display case. “Well, first and foremost, he would have to be healthy—no weird genetic diseases running in his family.”

“That’s reasonable. You just ask for a family history. What else?”

“He would have to be attractive. Not necessarily gorgeous, although that would be a definite plus, but reasonably good-looking. And he would have to be nice. I couldn’t have meaningless sex with someone I didn’t like.”

“That doesn’t sound so hard.” She counted off on her fingers. “Cute, nice and healthy—who do we know that fits that description?”

The bells above the front door chimed and Marisa opened her mouth to greet the customer entering the store, then realized it wasn’t a customer. It was her best friend, Jake. He was slightly disheveled from the mid-July heat, wearing a rumpled Hawaiian-print shirt, cargo shorts and sandals.

When he saw them standing there, he broke into a wide grin. “Hey guys, what’s up?”

Marisa looked at Lucy, and Lucy looked at her, then they both turned and looked at Jake again.

“Risa?” Lucy said, her unspoken question more than clear.

Her and Jake? Yeah, right. The idea was nearly as preposterous as the turkey baster. They had been best buddies since the fifth grade. Sure, she’d had a hopeless crush on him at first. Every girl in school had a crush on big, bad Jake Carmichael at one time or another. It was a teenage rite of passage.

But she wasn’t a kid anymore. She would never risk damaging their friendship. It was far too important to her.

Marisa shook her head. “Absolutely not.”

Jake stopped, absently rubbing his hand across a two-day-old beard the color of golden sand. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Like what?” she asked, pasting a smile on her face. “I thought you would be in the studio all afternoon.”

“I needed a break.” He nodded toward the door. “I’ve got sandwiches in the Jeep. I thought you might want to do lunch in the park.”

“What a nice idea,” Lucy said, turning to Marisa. “Isn’t he a nice guy?”

“Yes, Lucy, he’s very nice.” Her eyes conveyed a silent warning—zip it.

Unfortunately, Lucy was never one to pick up on subtlety. “And you’re looking very handsome today, Jake.”

He looked down at his wrinkled clothes, raking a hand through his spiky, sun-streaked hair. “I am?”

She nodded. “Oh, definitely. And healthy. I’ll bet you don’t have any weird genetic diseases in your family.”

Under the counter, Marisa planted the toe of one canvas shoe firmly in Lucy’s shin as she smiled up at Jake. “Why don’t you grab the sandwiches and I’ll meet you outside in a minute.”

He looked at them both kind of funny, then shrugged. “Okay. I’m parked right down the street.”

The door had barely closed when Lucy opened her mouth to speak.

“No,” Marisa interjected. “Don’t even suggest it.”

“Why not? He would be perfect! How you can be best friends with that man and not want to jump him on a daily basis is beyond me.”

Hopping down from her perch on the stool, Marisa grabbed her cell phone from her purse under the counter and slipped it into her skirt pocket. “We don’t have that kind of relationship.”

“Why not?”

“Because we don’t. And this whole idea of finding some stranger to impregnate me is repulsive. I just can’t do it, Luce. We’ll have to think of something else.”

The browsing women appeared at the counter.

“Was that Jake Carmichael, the saxophone player?” one of them asked, dropping a hot pink demi-bra on the counter.

Groupies. Ugh.

“The one and only,” Marisa said, holding back a groan as she rang up her purchase.

The woman jabbed her friend and they both giggled. “I told you it was him! He’s so cute!”

Marisa resisted the urge to roll her eyes. “Would you like a bottle of essential oil or a scented candle to go with that?”

“I’ve seen you at the bar when his band plays,” the other girl said. “You’re always up front. Is he like, your boyfriend?”

“Well, we really shouldn’t say anything….” Lucy trailed off cryptically, nudging Marisa with her elbow. “It’s not official yet.”

“We won’t tell anyone.” The girl buying the bra turned to her friend. “Will we?”

Her friend shook her head enthusiastically. “Oh no, we won’t tell a soul. Promise.”

“Well, I guess if you promise not to tell…” Lucy leaned forward, lowering her voice. “They’re engaged. They’re planning a spring wedding.”

“Really?” Bra-girl asked, looking heartbroken. “You’re so lucky. He is so hot!”

Marisa smiled at the girls. “I’ll be sure to tell him two of his biggest fans were in today. He’ll appreciate the compliments.” Not. Despite his rising popularity, he considered himself the same old Jake. The hero-worship garbage made him squirm.

“Maybe you could introduce us sometime,” Bra-girl piped up. “We could, like, get his autograph or something.”

“How about a lock of his hair,” Lucy muttered under her breath.

Marisa bit down on the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing. “I’m sure we could arrange that,” she said as she wrapped the bra in pink tissue paper and slipped it into a bag. “Come again, ladies.”

As they walked away giggling, Lucy made a sound of disgust. “God, I detest groupies. They are fun to mess with though.”

“I know, but I wish you wouldn’t do that.”

“What’s the harm? It’s all in good fun. Now, back to this sex thing—”

“No.” Marisa shook her head. “We’re definitely not getting back to the sex thing.”

“Aw, come on—”

“No. I’ll be back in a little while.” She walked to the door and yanked it open. A suffocating wall of humidity and heat enveloped her. “Call me on my cell if you get swamped.”

“Think about it,” Lucy called after her. “Jake would be perfect!”

Flinging herself out the door, Marisa saw only a flash of color before promptly colliding face first into a very wide and very solid male chest.

“Whoa!” Jake caught her arm. “What’s the rush.”

The door swung shut, bumping her on the behind and knocking her even farther into him. She braced her hands against his chest to steady herself, instantly aware of the play of muscles beneath the sweat-moistened cotton shirt, the heat radiating from his skin. The sudden images racing through her mind, like exactly what she and Jake would have to do to make a baby, sent a funny little shiver down her spine. She never thought about stuff like that—least of all with Jake. It was all Lucy’s fault for suggesting that she and Jake should—

No, they definitely shouldn’t.

“What am I perfect for?” he asked.

He’d heard that? “Um…”

Jake stood, fingers still clasped firmly around her arm. His hands were large and strong but exceedingly gentle, his fingers long and graceful. It took a full five seconds to register the heat seeping through her blouse where he grasped her, and the hum of sensation traveling up her arm. She had to force herself not to jerk away.

“Earth to Marisa. You okay?”

She realized they were just standing there on the sidewalk, interrupting the heavy flow of afternoon foot traffic. Aware, too, that more than her arm had begun to tingle now, she gently extracted herself from his grasp. “I’m fine. Let’s go.”

“What am I perfect for?” he asked again as they started down Main Street on foot toward the park.

“It was nothing.” Sweat began to soak the underside of her bra. It had to be about a million degrees out, which still didn’t account for the heat creeping up into her face. There was no doubt in Marisa’s mind, Lucy had done this on purpose. If she had just kept her mouth shut—

“After seventeen years, don’t you think I can tell when you’re lying.” Jake poked her playfully. “Come on, tell me.”

She shook her head. “You don’t want to know.”

“Sure I do.”

“Trust me, you don’t.”

“Marisa, are you blushing?”

Jeez, couldn’t he just drop it? “We should hurry, before someone gets our favorite spot.” She walked faster, until she was almost jogging. Considering he was nearly a foot taller, he didn’t have any trouble keeping up, and she was in danger of collapsing from heat-stroke.

“I’m not going to stop asking, so you might as well spill it.”

“I can’t.”

He batted obscenely long lashes at her—lashes any woman would kill for. “Please?”

“Nope.”

“Pretty please? With sugar on top?” He was grinning down at her, his expression complete mischief. She had no doubt that he would relentlessly nag and harass her until she gave in.

He nudged her again. “C’mon, tell me. What am I perfect for?”

“Sex, Jake,” she blurted out. “She thinks you’re perfect for sex.”

Two

Sex?

Jake walked beside Marisa to the park in stunned silence. Lucy thought he would be perfect for sex? That was…whoa. He wasn’t quite sure how he was supposed to respond. He didn’t want to hurt her feelings, but Marisa knew he didn’t do relationships. Unless a relationship wasn’t what Lucy had in mind.

“I warned you,” Marisa said, her cheeks two hot pink smudges against a smooth olive complexion. “But you just had to know.”

She’d warned him, and as usual, she was right. Once again he had let curiosity get the best of him. One of these days he would learn not to stick his nose into other people’s business. How many times as a child had his curious nature gotten him several sound whacks from the old man’s belt, or a crack across the jaw from the back of his hand?

They reached the park and automatically walked to the oak tree next to the fountain. Beneath a canopy of gnarled branches and dense green leaves, he spread the blanket on the grass and set the cooler down. He tugged his shirt over his head, rolled it into a makeshift pillow, and sprawled out on his back.

Marisa kicked off her sandals and sat down next to him, tossing her long, chestnut hair over her shoulder and tucking her knees under her chin. “Well, aren’t you going to say something?”

Lucy—sex. Right. He propped himself up on his elbows. “Um, I don’t know what to say.”

A deep crease set in the middle of Marisa’s brow—her disappointed face. Damn. He didn’t want to hurt her feelings, but, Lucy?

“Lucy is nice, and I know you two are good friends, but…” He shrugged. “She’s not really my type.”

“Lucy?” The crease in her brow deepened, and for a second she looked as confused as he was feeling, then she started to laugh. Her laugh was full and rich and musical—like a symphony. He loved making her laugh, seeing her happy. Though, it would have been nice to know why she was laughing.

“Feel like letting me in on the joke?”

“You think I want you to go out with Lucy?”

Now he was totally confused. “Don’t you?”

She laughed harder, her eyes overflowing with tears. “Don’t worry, Jake. Lucy doesn’t want to go out with you. She was speaking hypothetically.”

“Oh. Well, I’m flattered, I guess.” What he really wanted to know, but would never ask, was what did Marisa think? And why had they been talking about him in the first place? Would Marisa ever consider him…?

No. He dismissed the idea before it could evolve into something stronger, like hope. He’d learned not to hope for things that were never meant to be. Especially not that.

Everyone had a destiny, and for him, a family just wasn’t in the cards. He would hurt them, then he would have to spend the rest of his life regretting it. Maybe if things were different.

But things weren’t different. They never would be, and every now and then he had to remind himself of that.

Rolling onto his stomach, he opened the cooler and unpacked the sandwiches, potato chips and diet sodas he’d picked up at the deli on Fourth Street. “Chicken salad or tuna?”

“You know, you shouldn’t run around half-naked,” Marisa said, taking the chicken salad. “It’s embarrassing. You’re giving every female in the park a hot flash.”

He looked around, noticed several pairs of female eyes glued in his direction, then turned back to Marisa, who was picking onions off her sandwich and tossing them onto the grass. Not every female.

He reached over and tugged on the sleeve of her blouse, wondering how she didn’t melt in the blistering heat covered from head to toe in yards of fabric. For reasons he’d never understood, she hid her voluptuous curves behind loose draping clothes. “I’ll put some clothes on if you take some off.”

She gave him an eye roll. “You’re very funny.”

“I’m serious, Marisa. You have a nice figure. Why do you always keep it covered?”

“Trust me, if you looked like this, you’d keep it covered too.”

“You know, lots of men like voluptuous women.”

Do you like voluptuous women? The question balanced on the tip of her tongue, but she bit it back. One, because she knew he preferred his women tall, blond and waify—the antithesis to her own short, dark and curvy—and two, because it didn’t matter one way or the other. He was her best friend, her buddy. He didn’t find her attractive in that way.

“Maybe I just don’t like the kind of men who would like a woman like that,” she said. She knew exactly the kind of men who liked a woman like her—the kind who wanted only one thing from a voluptuous body. The kind of men her mother used to drag home from the bar. The kind of men who, when they tired of her mother, turned their attention to Marisa. A teenager. Though none had even tried anything physical, their leering eyes had been enough to make her feel violated and defiled. Dirty.

Maybe her mother could live that way, but Marisa knew she could never be that kind of woman—not for any reason.

Across the park, she heard the delighted squeals of children playing. She forced herself not to look, for fear that her heart would break. For her, there would be no meaningless sex with a stranger. She could never live with herself. She would have to accept that, until she could afford some artificial means of impregnation or foreign adoption, there would be no children in her life. And if she were never able to afford it, or it took too long, she would have to accept that motherhood for her wasn’t meant to be.

The possibility felt like a knife in her chest, and for a moment she thought for sure that her heart was breaking.

“Marisa? Hey, are you crying?”

Reaching up, she touched her cheek and was surprised to find that it was damp. What was wrong with her? Embarrassed, she sniffled and wiped her face with the back of her hand.

Jake sat up next to her. “God, I’m sorry. I was just kidding. I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings.”

“Jake, it wasn’t you. I’ve just got a lot on my mind today. You know, baby stuff.”

He smacked his forehead. “The fertility specialist. I completely forgot about your appointment. What did he say?”

“It’s not looking like it’s going to happen anytime soon. If ever.” Fresh tears rolled down her cheeks and she brushed them away, forcing a smile. “Just ignore me.”

Jake had learned from years of experience that solitude was the last thing Marisa wanted or needed at a time like this. She had the unhealthy habit of letting things eat away at her until a total emotional meltdown was inevitable. It looked like this would be one for the record books.