Page 57 of The Proposal
This should be fun. “Propose away … especially since I don’t know if you did before we got hitched. You owe me one, anyway.”
His grin is wobbly. “Stay married to me for ninety days—tops.”
What?My brows pinch together. “Stay married for ninety days? That’sthree months.”
“I know.” He clears his throat, steadying his gaze on mine. “In exchange for you not ending it, I’ll give you a baby.”
Suddenly, the Brewer Air logo isn’t the wildest part of the evening.
Did he just say he’ll give me a baby?
“I’m sorry, Renn. Repeat that.”
His eyes stay glued to mine. “I said that I’ll give you a baby.”
“What? How are you going to do that? Steal one?”
“No, I was thinking I’d put it there.”
“Renn.”
He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “I know this sounds crazy, and hot, but—”
“Renn. Stop.” I gulp as fire streaks through my veins. “You just asked me to …My God.”
“Will you just think about it?”
My mouth hangs open. “No, I won’t just think about it. I’m not having a baby with you!”
“Why?”
The question is a full-on sentence, a challenge for me to explain why having a baby with my brother’s best friend is a terrible idea. While I know that’s true and that there are a million reasons for it, the only thing I can focus on is the heat in his eyes … and the heat building in my core.
“This is the perfect answer,” he says. “You’ll realize it if you think about it.”
“This is … ridiculous! That’s what this is.”
“Ridiculous? I’m asking for a ninety-day commitment and I’m offering you eighteen years. I think it sounds pretty damn generous.”
I roll my eyes. “You’ve lost your mind.”
“Do you not want a baby?”
“Yes.”
“I can give you that. I’ll pay child support. You’ll have a whole family waiting to embrace you and the baby. Hell, I’ll play by your rules. I’ll sign a contract—whatever you want. It wouldn’t want for a thing.”
Except the love of a father. “I can’t believe we’re discussing this right now. Yesterday, I was in a bikini in Vegas wanting to see a male strip show and today I’m married and discussing havingyourbaby.”
“So you’re considering it?”
“No.”
He smirks. “You have to admit, our baby would hit the genetic lottery.”
I lean forward to smack him, but he catches my hand in the air. The feeling of his fingers wrapped around my wrist is electric. He releases me slowly, one digit at a time.
Once I’m free, I fall back onto the sofa cushions and drag in a shaky breath.
