Chapter One

Jenna

This is it.

This skyscraper doesn’t look like anything special. No different from any of this city’s dozens of office buildings covered in mirrored windows or gray concrete. But as soon as I cross the threshold, I’ll be taking the first step toward my dream.

Every step feels heavy with anticipation. I pause outside the building’s tall revolving door, steeling my nerves for what I’m about to do. This is just a consultation, I tell myself. It’s not like I’m getting knocked up right here on the spot. They probably won’t even prescribe me any fertility drugs yet. All I’m doing is getting more information and learning how the process works. Still, it feels more like I’m jumping off a cliff rather than walking into a doctor’s office.

Smoothing my sweaty hands over my skirt, I take a deep breath to chase away the butterflies in my stomach. Then I stride inside and cross the lobby. I’ve never been so excited or so frightened. There’s no doubt in my mind that this is what I want, but having a baby is still a monumental decision. It’s not like it’s a pair of shoes I can return if I have buyer’s remorse. I can’t take it back, and it will change my life forever.

In the elevator, I press the button for the thirteenth floor. There’s something that strikes me as ominous with that floor number. But I know that it’s just my nerves and anxiety working overtime, so I step in.

Just before the doors close, a large, strong-looking hand shoves between them and they retreat. A man in a crisp navy suit and a white shirt steps inside—and damn, what a man. My jaw threatens to drop open at the mouthwatering sight. He’s tall, with broad shoulders that his tailored jacket does nothing to hide. Sculpted jaw. Dark hair in a clean-cut, classic style. Brown eyes, the color of a rich brandy, with just a few lines around them crinkle at the corners in mischief.

I hastily pretend to be fascinated with the carpet so he doesn’t catch me ogling him. He hits the button for the top floor and stands a little closer than necessary.

Is he doing that on purpose? Does he not understand the concept of personal space, especially when his personal space is practically rubbing up against mine? No, he’s acting perfectly normal; I’m the one who’s reading way too much into this situation. Damn these nerves.

I can’t turn off my awareness of him. I can smell his crisp cologne. Hell, if I didn’t know better, I’d swear I can feel his body heat. My heart beats faster as we rumble upward, floor by floor, the tiny enclosed space of the elevator just full of him. Even though he hasn’t said a word, his presence is still so intense, almost overpowering.

Dammit, he’s perfect.

It’s ridiculous how scorching hot he is and how I’ve run into him here, now, of all times and places. It’s almost like the universe is laughing at me. Mocking my decision to give up on finding a partner to plant his seed in my garden of love. Dangling the exact kind of man I’ve always wanted—and never managed to catch—right in front of me. He even looks about my age, maybe a few years older. I sneak another glance and peg him at mid to late thirties. This is so unfair.

Suddenly, there’s a metallic screech. A jolt that makes us both stumble. Our breaths catch simultaneously, and his hands reach out and grab my upper arms. I’m seared by his touch. Every part of me is alive.

My eyes fly open wide. No. No, seriously, come on. You gotta be kidding me.

Ignoring my frantic prayers, the elevator grinds to a jarring halt.

“Shit,” the man grumbles. “You all right?” His gaze penetrates mine, and I’m unsure if the tightness in my stomach is because of his touch or because of the elevator.

I nod. “Just startled.” And a bit pissed off. Although, despite everything, I still can’t help noticing that his voice is just as yummy as the rest of him. A smooth, rich baritone.

Rather than pressing the Help button on the wall panel, he releases his hold on me and pulls out his phone. “Hey, Ted. The elevator’s stopped.” A pause. “Does it matter? Somewhere around the tenth floor.” A much longer pause, during which a deep furrow appears in his brow that causes my stomach to sink. “I see. Thanks.” He hangs up.

“Well?” I ask, unable to keep the anxiety from my voice.

“That was the building maintenance manager. He’s going to call a repair crew, but he said it’ll probably be about half an hour until the company can get them dispatched, and then at least another half hour until they can fix whatever the problem is.” The man pockets his phone, looking annoyed but unconcerned. “Looks like we’re stuck here for a while.”

Meanwhile, I groan, wanting to tear my hair out. “Ugh, I can’t believe this.”

Good-bye, doctor’s appointment. Hello, no-show fee and redoing all the scheduling hassle. Maybe they’ll waive the fee, at least. I have a good excuse—they’re sure to hear about their own building’s elevator breaking down. Thank God I ate breakfast this morning.

Oh my God. Why am I thinking about breakfast right now when my nerves have scrambled—pun intended—every breakfast morsel sitting in my stomach. I almost feel like vomiting.

“Yeah, it’s a pain in the ass.” He sighs. “But there’s nothing we can do about it now besides make ourselves comfortable.” He lowers himself to sit cross-legged on the floor, expensive suit and all.

How can he be so blasé about being trapped in a metal box for an hour, possibly longer? Me, I’m trying to get my anxiety together and not lose my shit.

I cock my head at him. “You don’t have somewhere to be?”

“Yes, work, but my office will probably be happy that I’m showing up late for once.” He chuckles. “My name’s Emmett, by the way.”

When I don’t make a move to sit, he gives me another smile. “I promise I don’t bite. Not unless you ask nicely. Join me?”

God, why does he have to be so fucking hot? And whatever this is—this flirty banter from him? I’m so out of practice, it’s not even funny. What do I do with my hands right now?

I awkwardly kneel on my side of the elevator, holding down my skirt so I don’t flash him by accident. “I’m Jenna. So, you work in this building? What do you do?”

I guess we have nothing better to do right now than strike up a conversation. And talking is the only thing that will keep me from obsessively texting my assistant, Britt, to ask how she’s handling things at the bookshop.

He shrugs. “I took over the family business a couple of years ago.”

Way to avoid actually answering what it is that he does for a living. This is going to be a long hour.

In that moment, his friendly smile turns crooked. He glances at the button I punched on the control panel. “And what about you? You were headed to the spank bank?”

My head pulls back as I open and close my mouth a few times, struck dumb. “What? It’s . . . I . . . No!”

“Sorry, that’s a pretty juvenile term, I suppose.” He smirks at me. “Masturbation station? I’m sure that’s not much better.” His smirk is overwhelmingly sexy.

I roll my eyes for good measure. “I’m not going there. And even if I were, it’s none of your business,” I say with a huff, hoping my cheeks aren’t turning pink.

His grin is full-on devilish now. “The clinic is the only thing on that floor, so you were either going there for business . . . or for pleasure. You aren’t carrying a big enough briefcase to be a pharmaceutical rep, you don’t look old enough to be a jizz doctor, and you aren’t dressed in scrubs, so you aren’t a nurse. There’s only one option left.”

I’m rescued from further interrogation by my phone ringing. Thanks for the save, Mom.

“Hold on, I should take this,” I mutter, then turn aside slightly to answer. “Hello?”

“Did they stick it in yet?” Mom hollers without preamble. “Or do they just give you the stuff in a little jar?”

Did I say thanks to the woman who birthed me? I take it all back.

I keep my phone volume on maximum, and Mom’s voice is permanently set to “as loud as humanly possible.” Glancing at Emmett, I see he’s smirking like he’s holding in a laugh.

Fuck, my face is on fire. “N-now’s not a good time, Mom. I’m stuck in an elevator.”

“Oh no! You spent weeks trying to get that appointment. What a shame. Are you okay? Did you bring a snack? Do you need to pee?”

I love you very much, but please shut up. “It’s fine, seriously,” I hiss through gritted teeth. “A repair crew’s coming to get us out any minute now. I’ll call you later.”

“But what about your—”

“SorryIloveyoubye.” I hammer the End Call button before she can announce more embarrassing details to the world, then grudgingly glance back at ungodly sexy Emmett. “Any chance you didn’t hear that?”

He shakes his head, still smirking. “Sorry, I’m not going to lie. I heard every word, and my question has been answered. Pleasure, it is.”

“Awesome.” I drop my phone back into my purse and consider dying on the spot.

There’s a moment of silence before Emmett says, “So, that seems like a—”

“Yes, okay? You were right.” I sigh. “I’m going to the fertility clinic. I want a baby. It’s not a big deal.” But, of course, it is a big deal. The biggest.

“There’s nothing wrong with that. But why didn’t your husband come with you? Seems inconsiderate to let you do this all alone.”

Ouch. “Because I don’t have one.”

“Your boyfriend, then.”

I shake my head. “Fresh out of those too.”

He blinks, surprised. “Girlfriend?”

Dear God, this man . . . “No. I’m single.” Maybe not always happily, but I think I’m doing all right. Except for times like this, sitting near a prime male specimen like Emmett and having to look and not touch. I really want to touch. Even just to strangle him.

“I see.” He rubs his chin, looking thoughtful. “So you’re just . . . doing it.”

I give him a curt nod. “Yup.”

A heavy silence hangs between us, and his gaze latches onto mine like he’s trying to sort this out, trying to understand it—understand me—on some deeper level. I fiddle with my hands in my lap, not exactly pleased that his knitted brow suggests I’m a complicated math equation—or a bomb he needs to defuse.

Clearing my throat, I square my shoulders, fighting to regain some of the confidence I’ve lost since the elevator stopped. “I’m sorry, this is . . . can we just start over?”

Emmett raises both hands in front of him. “Yes, absolutely. I didn’t mean to pry. I’m sure it’s a very personal decision.”

I nod again. “It is. It’s just . . .”

I take a deep gulp of air and let my gaze wander to the beige paneled walls. It seems the perfect metaphor—I’m tired of living a beige life. I want more.

“I’m used to taking the bull by the horns,” I say, my voice rising. “I started my own business a few years ago, and it’s left little time for relationships. Now I’m thirty-five, and . . .” The clock is ticking. I shake my head. “I guess it’s not that out of character for me, going after something I want. I’ve made all the big life decisions up till now, so this is really no different.”

Except that it is. It’s very different, and doesn’t just involve me if I fail.

Why am I telling him all this? When I left the house this morning, I never expected to have to bare my soul to a stranger. Then again, no one’s forcing me. Perhaps it’s just a byproduct of being trapped together in such close proximity with the scent of his cologne lingering in the air. Smelling him, inhaling him, it’s like drinking truth serum.

“You’re an independent woman. I think it’s admirable.” Emmett smiles warmly, and I feel the flutter of butterfly wings again.

It’s nice to have someone acknowledge my decision. Especially someone who seems so normal and levelheaded. My biggest fear in all of this is being judged—by family, by friends, by strangers like him—being made to feel like a nut case for living life on my own terms. I’m glad to see that’s not the case. At least, not by Emmett’s standards.

“You don’t happen to have a deck of cards or something in that bag of yours, do you?” he asks.

I’m so thankful we’ve moved on from the topic of my uterus that my shoulders feel an actual weight lift off of them.

“Sadly, no.” I slip my purse off my shoulder and open it in my lap, scrounging around for anything that will keep the subject off of my life choices. “Would you like a cough drop?” I pull out a handful of the cherry-flavored drops that have been tumbling around at the bottom of my purse since last winter.

He chuckles. “I’m good.”

Together, Emmett and I begin taking stock of our personal inventory to pass the time, and I’m amazed at how casual it feels being stuck here with him. I’m not thinking about my assistant, the shop, or the doctor who’s probably wondering where I am right now. There’s no panic, no rush to get out.

We set everything on the floor between us. I pull out a package of tissues, a pen, mint chewing gum, hand sanitizer, and six tubes of lipstick. He contributes his smartphone and the key fob to a Mercedes, joking that we’d be screwed in a zombie apocalypse if we needed to survive on these meager items, all the while vowing to stockpile better supplies for any future catastrophes such as this.

“Wait.” My fingers feel around in the zippered compartment, and I locate a mini-sized candy bar. “Ta-da!”

“Wow. Not bad. Except for the fact that nobody likes Three Musketeers. It’s all nougat. And it’s squished. Seriously, how long have you carried that around in there?”

I frown at him. “I happen to like nougat, and beggars shouldn’t be choosy. If this were a real crisis, you’d be begging me for some.”

With that, he glances up at me and raises his right brow, a silent innuendo unspoken between us . . . one that doesn’t involve chocolate or nougat but rather something deliciously more sinful. Jesus, why is my mind immediately going to the gutter here?

He sighs with a knowing smile. “And here I was starting to think you were totally normal and might like a little begging.”

Needing to change the subject again, I snatch my candy bar from the pile, bumping our knees together. “I was going to share it with you, but never mind.”

Emmett gives me another of those playful megawatt grins, then absently picks up the tubes of lipstick, opening each one in turn and raising the stick to inspect the color. “Which is your favorite?”

I shrug. “Depends on my mood.”

Emmett looks at a soft pink, almost nude-colored lipstick, raising a brow.

“That’s an everyday color. I usually wear it to work.”

“Or to doctor's appointments at the fertility clinic.”

He’s observant. I’m wearing that shade now. “Yes.”

“I like it.” His voice is deeper, huskier somehow, and he’s still looking at my mouth.

The tension and chemistry that have been building between us rise to a new all-time high. An image of me climbing on top of him flashes through my mind, and I have to look away. This feels an awful lot like flirting, and a little bit like foreplay. Plucking my favorite tube from the pile, I show him the bright hue that’s between a pink and a red.

“This one is made more for evening, and it’s typically the one I’d wear on a date.”

Why did I just tell him that? God, what is it about this man that makes me prone to spill my secrets? It’s official. I’m truly pathetic.

At this, he stops fidgeting and his eyes meet mine, an intensity to them that I haven’t yet seen in our elevator rendezvous. “I like that idea.”

“What idea?” My mind comes to a screeching halt and my shoulders tense.

“Just hear me out for a second.” He recaps the lipstick and hands it to me. “About the whole baby-making thing . . . what would you say to going on a date with me first?”

I blink at him. “Well, I think the first thing I’d say would be, huh? And the second would be, why?”

“What do you mean, why? You’re a gorgeous woman.” He turns his palm up, as if proposing a business deal. “Just think about it. Before you do this, let me take you to dinner and see if you’re interested in trying . . . the old-fashioned way instead.” His eyes smolder.

I immediately do this awkward gasp-choke thing, my breath coming out faster than my lungs will tolerate. I stare wide-eyed at Emmett and immediately think that the oxygen in the elevator must be depleted, causing us both to say and do things we normally wouldn’t.

Once I’ve gotten my breathing under control, I look up at him, my mind reeling with a response. “You want to help me?”

“With my sperm, yes. I mean, we’ll work out the details later. But, what do you have to lose? I have a college education. My family doesn’t have any serious medical issues that we know of. I’m athletic . . . got third place all-state with my high school track team.” His voice is so nonchalant. “Not to mention, I’m pretty damn good in bed.”

My brain crashes and explodes. I stare at him, openmouthed. Is he saying what I think he’s saying? I can’t think of any other way to interpret his words. This smoking-hot man wants to fuck me. He’s offering to put a baby in me.

Holy shit, what? We’ve known each other a whole half hour. Not that I would know any of the men from the binder at the sperm clinic, but still.

Either ignoring or not noticing my internal meltdown, Emmett continues. “And if you decide you’re not feeling it and you’d truly rather use the clinic, then no harm done. Go right ahead. Hell, if you want company, I’ll even hold your hand while they put in the turkey baster and spread the nut butter.”

“Oh my God . . . you know they don’t use a turkey baster,” I say, managing to correct him through my haze of shock and increasingly naughty thoughts, climbing on top of him right now being the tamest. “It’s much more clinical, you know. They catheterize your cervix.”

He winces. “Ouch. A couple of orgasms sounds much more fun to me.” He raises his eyebrows at me insistently. “So, your verdict on dinner?”

My throat has gone bone dry. This man is throwing a major curveball my way, and I’m not sure how to feel about that. I have everything set, but now he’s right here in front of me, offering me more than I could ever hope for, and I’m silently considering it. Like seriously considering it. I’m blaming it on the low oxygen levels for what comes out of my mouth next.

“How about we grab coffee sometime?”

He shakes his head. “Coffee isn’t a real date. Neither is anything else that happens before five p.m. or takes less than an hour. That’s my personal policy.” He looks resolute.

Even if we don’t ever have mind-blowing sex, a date would be nice. I consider, then shrug, his smile coaxing out one of my own. “Sure. Dinner would be nice.”

As if the universe was waiting for me to cave, the elevator groans and shudders to life, heading down as soon as we’re done exchanging phone numbers.

The doors open up to the lobby and an apologetic repair crew. We thank them, then stand there awkwardly, watching each other.

“I’ll look at my calendar and text you later,” he says, his voice low.

I nod. “Okay. Have fun at work.”

Emmett nods and we part ways, him into another elevator and me out to the parking lot. I figure there’s no point in visiting the clinic now. It might not be my fault, but I’m so embarrassed this whole debacle has made me so late, I’ve missed my entire appointment. And even if I hadn’t missed it, I’d be too busy thinking about the crazy deal I just struck with a total stranger in a broken-down elevator to focus on anything the doctor said anyway.

God, I must be nuts. What the hell was I thinking? But somehow, I can’t bring myself to regret agreeing to a date. Emmett calmed me when I would normally be panicking . . . and that damn smirk? I’m certain that smirk has dropped countless panties across the entire state.

Heading back to the bookshop, I try to shake off the strange interlude in the elevator and get back to the real world. The whole thing was so surreal that I almost feel like I dreamed it, yet I know I didn’t.

I don’t have time to ponder this all day; there’s a mountain of work waiting for me at the bookshop. Right now, what I need most is to sit down at my desk and clear my head with purchase orders and invoices. I’ll call the clinic to reschedule my consultation later, after Emmett’s proposal inevitably turns out to be a flop.

At the very least, I’ll still get a nice dinner out with a devastatingly handsome man.