a difference, but it can’t hurt, either.”
So, a woman’s inclination to cuddle afterward might be based in biology and science, not emotion, he thought. “Got it.”
“I found a website with frequently asked questions.”
“Okay, now I’m starting to get performance anxiety.”
She slid to her corner of the couch and tucked her legs up beside her. A flush crept into her cheeks, and she didn’t quite meet his eyes.
She crossed her arms at her waist. “There was some discussion about a woman achieving climax—to increase the chances of conceiving.”
No pressure.
“And?” When she hesitated, he said, “Don’t tell me. There are no studies.”
She laughed. “No. But there’s a belief that the contractions move the guys along toward the target.”
“It makes sense.”
But he could truthfully say that not once when he’d made love to her had his goal been to move the guys. He’d only ever wanted to hold her in his arms, make her happy. And he was pretty sure he’d succeeded in bed. In every other way, he’d failed her, which was why making things up to her now was so important.
She lifted her gaze for a moment. “And last but not least there’s the debate about a.m. or p.m.”
“Morning or night—what?”
“Sex.” She sat cross-legged and leaned forward. “Studies have been done on this one and some indicate that there are more swimmers in the morning. But only a million, give or take. Fairly insignificant.”
“Hey, that’s my guys you’re talking about.”
“I didn’t mean to insinuate.” She smiled, and the way her eyes lit up tied him in knots. “The thing is that when you’re talking eighty-eight million as opposed to eighty-seven million, it sounds like a lot but really isn’t.”
“I actually knew that only one is required.” Was it just him, or was it hot in here?
“Right.”
His gaze slid past hers to the bare walls, stack of boxes and unattractive, serviceable furniture. She was a nester and looked out of place in this cracker box with ugly furniture. It was just wrong. Fixing people was what he did, and the words popped out of his mouth before he’d thought them through.
“Move in with me.”
She blinked and sat up straighter. “What?”
“To achieve your objective, timing is everything. If that predictor stick turns purple, your body temp goes up and nature is good to go, what happens if you’re here and I’m there?” He shrugged. “It’s the classic setup for missed opportunities.”
“There’s some logic to that, but I don’t know, Nick.” She caught her lip between her teeth, the very first time she’d looked indecisive. “Invading your space?”
Her lack of enthusiasm made him want to convince her even more. “It was your space, too.” He’d gotten the house in the divorce. “There’s plenty of room, as you know. And we don’t want to drag out the process, right?”
“Yes, but—”
“Like science, nature and biology it’s practical.”
He phrased it the same way she had. Distantly. As if they were talking about another couple being intimate.
Nick remembered all the messy emotions that had nearly brought him down right after she’d left. A guy puts up armor and when a girl gets through it leaves a mark. But this was different. The rules had been discussed and all parties involved agreed. Distanced. Simple. Goal-oriented. She’d get what she wanted. His guilt would be erased. Win/win. Both of them could move on. No feelings, no mess.
“Don’t you want to maximize the chances of conception?” he asked.
“Yes.” She met his gaze and her own was dark with determination. “More than anything in the world I want to have a baby.”
“Well, then?”
“I’ve done the menstrual math. The old-fashioned way,” she added. “By my calculations ovulation is about a week away. Next Monday.”
“So I’ll help you move in Saturday. You don’t want heavy lifting to shock your eggs or anything. Relax the rest of the weekend.”
“You’re sure about this?” she asked skeptically.
“Yeah.” The gate on his feelings opened for a split second and excitement leaked out.
“Okay, then. I’ll move in.”
Nick nodded and again his gaze was drawn to the boxes around the room. She’d said it was a mess and only now did he realize that was a metaphor for his life. He hadn’t really expected her to take him up on his offer to move in, but there was no denying he was far too pleased that she had.
In about a week they were going to do what a man and woman did to make a baby. He was pretty pleased about that, too.
Chapter Three
Ryleigh stopped her compact car behind Nick’s silver SUV at the gated entrance to the neighborhood. She watched him lean out the driver’s window and speak to the guard, then cock his thumb toward her, obviously explaining that she would be living with him. That there was no need to call out the SWAT team on her account.
When the SUV pulled forward, she followed, then stopped when the guard held up his hand.
She lowered her window. “Hi.”
“Miss Evans.” This man was different from the one who’d worked the gate when she lived here. He was young, twenty something and wearing a light blue uniform shirt with navy-colored, official-looking emblems. “Doctor Damian explained that you’ll be staying with him.”
“That’s right.” But only for well-timed sex.
He handed her a visitor’s pass. “Just put this on your dashboard and you’re good to go—or stay.”
“Thanks.”
“Have a nice evening.”
“You, too,” she said, displaying the cardboard square where he’d directed.
This was the first time she’d been back since they’d broken up, and driving through the community was surreal. Nothing had changed, but everything felt different. The houses were all large, expensive and well-maintained. But it wasn’t familiar. She felt distant. And sad. She’d really loved the house and this area.
She pulled into the circular drive, parking behind Nick’s car. He was standing beside it. Glancing at the stately, two-story house brought on that surreal feeling again, but really she’d been
