Page 9 of The Billionaire's Baby

"An IUI," I explain, "where I would have been inseminated artificially with sperm from a donor."

"A donor?"

I nod. "I’ve been on fertility medication to stimulate my egg production. My peak ovulation window is this evening, and if I don’t get there in time, all of my work will go to waste."

"Hold on." He shakes his head. "You had an appointment this evening, to inseminate yourself with some man’s sperm—"

"Not some man, someone I chose after careful screening."

"Right." He nods. "And now, since you can’t do that, you want me to—" He seems at a loss for words, and honestly, the spectacle of this confident alphahole at a loss for words, is more than funny. I can’t stop the chuckle that escapes me.

"Weren’t expecting that, huh?" I mutter. "Surprise," I sing out.

"So, you want me to stand in for your sperm donor?"

"Damn, you’re bright." I widen my gaze in mock surprise. "So, what do you say?"

"To what?" He scowls.

"To donating your sperm to my cause, of course… Only, you’d do it the old-fashioned way."

"So unprotected sex, huh?" he rumbles. "Resulting in possible offspring?"

"It’s known to happen," I deadpan. "So, what do you say?"

"Huh." He glances down at our position, then springs up to his feet, as if he can’t wait to put distance between us.

Ha, knew it. Nothing like talking about real stuff like family or kids or, god forbid, the L word to have an alphahole backtrack and give you a wide berth. Jeez, I should have used this conversation earlier. It would have saved me so much time.

I wrap the sheet more securely around me, then try to stand up. My feet entangle with the bloody sheet, and I fall back. "Bugger." I huff. Yep, I'm American, but damn, if I don’t love using the British insults. They have a certainJe ne sais quoiabout them, don't you think?

"Let me." He holds out a hand, and I stare at it.

"Take it," he mutters. "After what you told me, I am not likely to jump on you—not that I would have earlier either—but trust me, until this…whatever this insane conversation between us is sorted out, I am not likely to...you know…" He frowns down at me as if still not comprehending what we’d discussed thus far. Typical male attitude. Instead of trying to talk it out, pretend the problem doesn’t exist in the first place.

I grab his hand and he hauls me to my feet, then abruptly releases me. He retreats and it’s as if he’s sucked out all of the heat in the room with him. I tug the covers under my arms, then fix my gaze on him. "So? What do you think?"

"What do I think?" He drags his fingers through his hair. "I am not ready to have children."

"You don’t need to take responsibility for the kid."

He turns on me. "It’s my sperm," he points out. "That’sifI decide to donate sperm the old-fashioned way and shag you, which I haven’t agreed to yet."

"Thought that’s what you suggested?"

"That was before." He draws in a breath. "Look, this is all a bit sudden."

He pats the pockets of his shorts, then frowns. He glances around the room, walks over to the bedstand, snatches up a pack of cigarettes from the drawer. He pulls out a cigarette, places it in between his lips, but doesn't light it.

"You smoke?"

He drops the pack back on the bedstand. "I'm trying to quit."

"You'd have to if you wanted anything to do with the child."

He levels a dirty look at me and I raise my hands. "I mean, that's the point I'm trying to make. You wouldn't have to change anything if you didn’t' have anything to do with the kid. I’d take care of him or her. In fact, I’d insist you don’t have any relationship with them."

"Hey," he protests, "you’re acting as if I would be a bad influence on the kid."