Courtney's Baby Plan

“More than I ever wanted to,” she assured evenly. “We nearly lost my brother because of Hollins-Winword. You work for them, too.” Her gaze drifted over him.

Maybe he did have a fever, because it felt like everywhere that amber gaze landed, a fire started to burn. “I never told you about my work.” He damn sure had never mentioned the name of the agency.

“So you don’t work for them? And I’ll bet the fact that you’re laid up like this has nothing to do with them, either.” She was still crouched on the floor beside the couch. It was a physical effort to drag his eyes away from the warm, golden glow of her.

So much skin, and so much on display, thanks to the thin shirt that she wore.

His fingers twitched, and he pushed around the cloth on his forehead just to keep them busy. “Right now I’m not working for anybody.” It was true enough in a sense. But since he was more or less toeing the line that Cole had drawn in the sand, it was only a temporary truth. “And I’m laid up because I wasn’t moving fast enough when I needed to.”

“Mmm.” She didn’t look convinced.

He wasn’t in the mood to argue about it. For one thing, it wouldn’t serve any good purpose.

All he needed to remember was that she was his landlady for the time being. A landlady nurse.

Who smelled like something soft and powdery and gently alluring.

She moved and her hand nudged his, slipping the cloth away. “I’ll get this wet again for you.”

He didn’t argue that, either, and watched her straighten and move across the living area, around the small dining table that shared the space with her computer and through an arch that led to the kitchen.

Her long hair swayed against her slender back that was faithfully outlined by her thin blue tank top. And then there was the womanly flare of her hips and the long, long legs….

Watching her was like watching a fantasy unroll in his head.

Only, the night that they’d spent together had been indelibly real, and he knew good and well that the reality was eons better than any fantasy.

He heard the sound of water and then she was walking back toward him, and the front view was equally as magnificent as the rear view had been.

He wondered who had been living the fantasy with her lately and grimaced over the acid taste that thought put in his mouth. “Why are you trolling the internet for matches?”

Her smooth, stupefyingly feminine walk halted. She blinked once, then shrugged casually. “Why does anyone? Because they’re curious? Bored?” She crossed the last few steps to the couch and lowered the blessedly cool cloth to his forehead again. “Lonely? Hopeful?”

“I’m not asking about anyone.” A yawn suddenly split his face. “Sorry,” he muttered and tried to shift, but the cast on his leg made it awkward, and the sharp pain in his back made it impossible. He bit back an oath. “I’m asking about you.”

She was watching him with that sympathetic, “poor baby” look in her eyes. “I guess you could put me in the hopeful camp,” she said after a moment.

“So you’re trying to find yourself a husband. On the damn internet. Don’t you know the dangers there are in—”

“Don’t you know that I’m a grown woman and am more than capable of handling any supposed dangers out there? How’s it any worse than meeting a stranger in a bar? Or a Valentine’s Day kissing booth?” she added with pointed amusement. “And just to be clear, I am not looking for a husband.”

“Just to be clear,” he returned, “I know you’re a grown woman. My memory’s not impaired about that, at all.”

She cleared her throat, her amusement seeming to dissipate in the blink of an eye. “I think it would be better if we just pretended that never happened.”

His head was throbbing. His toes sticking out from the bottom of his cast were throbbing. And every spot in between was throbbing. He felt like he was burning from the inside out, and not all of it was because of some stupid temperature.

The fever he had for her was ninety percent of his problem.

“You brought it up first,” he reminded. “But if you can pretend, go for it. I can’t.”

“Why not?” For the first time, he heard frustration in her voice. “It was just one night.”

“Yeah, it was one night. But there wasn’t anything just about it.”

She shook her head. It only made the long, thick strands of gold hair slide across her gold shoulder and curl over the full jut of her breast, which was clearly—thank you, Lord, for torturing him with that incredible sight—delineated by the thin fabric of her shirt.

“It’s only going to make things … awkward,” she insisted.

“Then things will be awkward,” he said flatly. “‘Cause I can’t forget about it.” Nor did he want to.

The night they’d spent together was as much a perfect memory as it was a very necessary reminder.

Making love with her had been the most indescribable thing he’d ever experienced. And he needed to remember that it had been temporary.

Short-lived by necessity.

And by choice.

He pressed the damp, not-so-cool cloth down over his eyes. “Just make sure you’re careful about it.” His voice sounded as dark as he felt inside. “Meeting up with whatever hopeful suitors you find. There’re a lot of crazies out there. And guys who’ll take advantage of you the second you let down your guard.”

“So … you don’t have any problem with the idea of me finding a, um, a date like this.” Her voice went so smooth that warning bells jangled in the back of his mind.

She sounded miffed.

If he were honest, he could have told her, hell yeah, he had a problem with it.

He had a problem with the notion of her going out with any other guy, no matter where or how she met the man.

He had a problem thinking about anyone touching her. Physically. Emotionally.

But that sort of honesty wouldn’t get them anywhere.

“Like you said. You’re a grown woman. It would be unusual if you didn’t want to date.” To marry. Have children. “Though, I’d have thought you’d have plenty of pickings at the hospital and wouldn’t have to resort to meeting strangers in a bar. Or aren’t there any eligible doctors there?”

She was silent just long enough that his curiosity started nagging at him and he peered at her from beneath the cloth again. She was chewing at the inside of her lip, her eyes narrowed. But after a moment, all she said was, “You should be in bed.”

“No.”

He was almost surprised when she didn’t argue.

“All right. But if you need to get up or anything, just call my name. I’ll hear you.”

The last damn thing he wanted to do was call her name so she could help his sorry butt off the couch just so he could take a leak. That was the only thing he could think of at the moment that would make him willing enough to bring on a fresh set of agony by moving around.

Unless it was to go to her bed.

Which would be a joke right now.