Rafe’s right.

At least, sort of right. I’m thinking with my heart, not my dick, but of the two, the heart is definitely the more dangerous organ.

If I’m smart, I’ll roll out of Emma’s bed while she’s in the shower, leave a note that I’ll touch base with her soon, and head back home, where I will stay until I’ve gotten my shit together and stopped wanting to carve “Dylan hearts Emma” into every tree trunk between my property and hers.

It was never supposed to go down like this. I wasn’t supposed to get addicted to her body or the feel of taking her bare in every possible position. I wasn’t supposed to sleep over at her place every night and wake up smiling because she’s still wrapped up in my arms the next morning. I wasn’t supposed to spend every spare minute making her meals, making her laugh, making a fool of myself because I can’t stay away from her.

I wasn’t supposed to fall.

But her pussy is magical, damn it. And she’s so much fun to be with. She made it easy to let down my guard and get way too fucking comfortable.

It’s only now, after the wake-up call from Rafe, that I realize I haven’t slept over this many nights in a row with a woman in…

“Ever,” I confess to the ceiling fan whirring gently overhead because Emma and I both like it cold while we sleep.

The realization is enough to take the edge off the boner I’ve been sporting since I was so rudely awakened from dreams of eating Emma’s pussy like my mission on earth was to pleasure her with my mouth.

That’s it. No more burying my head in the sand or between Emma’s legs or anywhere else. Time to get some distance and think without Emma close enough to kiss, to touch, to surprise in the shower the way I did yesterday.

Though a few more minutes in her company probably won’t hurt…

I’ve got to shower sooner or later anyway…

Tossing off the covers, I tug on boxer-briefs and head for the bathroom, but I pause at the closed door. It’s quiet. No sound of the fan or the shower running or Emma humming to herself as she shaves her legs.

I glance back at the clock on the bedside table.

Fuck, it’s almost seven-thirty. She must have already showered and headed out to get shit done. She doesn’t have animals that require the five-a.m. wake-up call mine do, but her garden is massive, and tending to it usually takes up most of her morning.

Seeing her straw hat is missing from the hook on the wall, my hopes—and the last of my erection—fall flat. I push into the bathroom with a sigh, intending to grab the world’s fastest shower before heading for home, only to freeze, curse, and lift a hand to shield my eyes when I discover Emma.

On the toilet.

“Shit, I’m sorry,” I say, laughing uncomfortably as I reverse my steps. “I thought you were already gone.”

“It’s okay, I was just peeing,” she says, her words thick-sounding in a way that makes me concerned. I peek through my fingers, and sure enough, her face is blotchy and her cheeks damp.

I let my hand fall to my side. “What’s up? Why the sad face, baby?”

She shakes her head. “Nothing. I’m fine.”

I frown, concerned. “You don’t look fine. What’s wrong? Are you sick? Need me to head into town to get you something? Meds or soup or—”

“Tampons.” The word ends in a laugh-sob as she scrubs a hand across her eyes.

Oh fuck.

Her period.

Which means…

“I’m sorry.” She sniffs and blinks faster. “I’m being ridiculous, and I have tampons. I just really thought…” The edges of her mouth turn down hard. “I was two days late and so hopeful, but then I came in to pee and…” Her face scrunches again, and I can’t help myself. I have to go to her, even if she is sitting on the damned toilet.

“Hey, hey, don’t cry.” I crouch beside her, giving her a hug as I smooth a hand over her fuzzy, sleep-mussed hair. “We’re only one month in. We’ve still got time. It’s going to happen.”

“You really think so?” Her arms go around my shoulders as she tucks her face against my neck. “Honestly?”

“Honestly,” I affirm. “Next month, no doubt. You’ll take your temperature, like you said, figure out the best day, and we’ll bang like our lives depend on it.”

She sniffs again. “I feel like we do that already.”

I smooth my palm over her back through her flannel pajama top. “Are you kidding me? I’ve got levels of intensity you haven’t even glimpsed yet, Blondie. Don’t doubt it. It’s all going to be okay.”

She pulls away, looking up at me with grateful eyes and a soft smile. “Okay. Thanks for the cheering up.”

“Anytime,” I say, even as a part of me wonders what the hell I’m saying. What I’m thinking.

Yes, I’ve been gladly going condom-free for the past few weeks, but I’ve secretly been hoping we would dodge the baby bullet, not land two tickets on the knocked-up train. I don’t want Emma pregnant and leaving town. I want her here, with me.

My mouth goes dry as the words rise in my throat. But do I dare? Do I honestly have the balls to ask her to choose me instead of the baby she wants so desperately? To change lanes this late in the Big Dream game?

Before I can decide what to say, to do, Emma gently pats my cheek. “But now you have to go,” she says. “Because this is embarrassing.”

“Are you sure?” I ask, grateful for the excuse to keep things light. “I’ve never hugged a woman on a toilet. We could make out if you want. Add to the list of firsts.”

Her nose wrinkles. “Ew. No. Stop.”

“You’re sure?” I tease as I back toward the door. “I’m down with fulfilling your toilet fantasies, baby. I’m a gentleman on the street, but I’ll be your freak on the can.”

Eyes glittering with laughter instead of tears, Emma jabs a finger toward the door. “I have no toilet fantasies, weirdo. Now get out of here!”

I make a break for it, closing the door behind me with a laugh.

But as soon as I’m out of Emma’s sight, my smile slips away.

I’ve always prided myself on telling it like it is—to my brothers, my friends, even my dad—but with Emma… I don’t know how to cross this bridge with her, or if she even wants to cross it.

I could call off Operation Baby Bump now—while I know I’m in the clear—and beg her to consider a new arrangement, one where we date for real and just…see where things go.

But even as the thought zips through my head, I know better. I know her better than I did before. She’s as stubborn as she is sexy, and she will absolutely find another man to fuck a baby into her if I won’t.

And I do not like the idea of another man in this bed with Emma, his dick trespassing in my territory.

No…she’s not mine. Not even close.

That’s dangerous thinking, any way you slice it.

I dress quickly, trying to think of some more potty jokes to lob at Emma on my way out, determined to get home and start seeking clarity regarding the mess I’ve gotten myself into. But when Emma emerges wearing jeans and the weathered blue sweatshirt she prefers for cool mornings, I don’t have any jokes. Or clarity.

All I’ve got is an idea I hope might cheer her up.

“Want to come to the harvest parade with me tonight?” I ask as I shrug on my jacket. “See if the 4H club brings home another winning float this year?”

“I don’t know.” She leans against the bureau beside the bathroom door. “I thought we were keeping a low profile. You know, so people won’t get nosy.”

“We’ll keep our hands to ourselves while we’re in public and go as friends. You’re my neighbor. No reason you shouldn’t catch a ride into town. Parking’s always a pain in the ass, so lots of people carpool.”

“Or we could ride bikes,” she says, eyes lighting up.

I curl my lip, playing up my disdain. “You and the bicycling everywhere…”

“It’s fun,” she says, crossing her arms. “And good exercise.”

“I get plenty of exercise.”

“Yes, you do.” Her gaze flicks up and down, making my cock thicken because he is that easy around this woman. Just a look, that’s all it takes. “But are you getting plenty of fun, Mr. Hunter?”

I sure have been lately. Aloud, I say, “All right, bike it is. I’ll text you when I’m on my way over, okay? We should leave around five to get a good spot.”

“Okay. Sounds good.” She props one foot on top of the other, her toes squirming into the thick carpet.

“You sure?” I eye her feet. “’Cause those tend to get wiggly when you’re worried about something.”

She laughs guiltily as her toes still. “Your powers of observation are scary sometimes.”

I arch a brow, silently encouraging her to spit it out.

“I just…” She flaps a sleeve in my direction. “I’m not going to be very much fun after the parade. I know some people don’t mind getting busy while they’re surfing the red tsunami, but I’m not one of them.”

I huff as I realize what she’s saying. “The red tsunami, huh?” I step into my boots, reaching down to tug the loop at the back as I assure her, “It’s fine, Blondie. We’re capable of enjoying each other’s company without getting naked.”

“Yes, we are,” she says, a grin curving her lips. “Though I will look forward to getting naked with you again on Wednesday.”

I do the math—four days, over ninety miserable hours—and fight the urge to beg her to reconsider her stand on this. I’m a grown man, for God’s sake. I’m a lot more concerned about not getting into her pants than I am a little mess. This is why our ancestors invented shower sex, after all.

But the four days will probably be good for me, help me recover some of that perspective I’ve misplaced the past few weeks and decide what to do about that fact that I’m every bit as addicted to Emma’s laughter as I am her body.

“Me, too.” I reach for the door to her bedroom. “See you tonight, princess. And don’t be afraid to give me a call if you need more cheering up.”

“Thanks,” she says softly. “You’re the best, Cougar Bait.”

I smile, but I don’t respond. I just wave and head for the door because I’m not the best. I’m the worst. I’ve taken a perfectly good friends-with-benefits situation and fucked it all up. And now, there might be no way back and no way out. It all depends on whether or not I can convince Emma that this thing growing between us is worth putting her dreams on hold.