He gently tugged her hand forward, and then the dangerous Rory Ahearn, a man with tattoos, a motorcycle, a sexy-as-sin accent, and a devil-may-care attitude toward life, turned her hand over and pressed a single, moist killer of a kiss into the palm of her hand.
He looked up, his eyes filled with fire. “Have a good night, lass.”
* * *
Courtney had exactly twelve minutes before her meeting with Laurie Wilson, and she probably should have used that time to review her notes for the upcoming wedding. But this was the third wedding Courtney had planned for Laurie. Brandon had dumped her at the altar the first time around. And she’d dumped Brandon the second time around. This time she was marrying someone else, thank God. In any event, after three weddings Courtney knew Laurie’s likes and dislikes like she knew the back of her own hand.
So instead of reviewing the Wilson-Lyndon file, she studied Matthew Lyndon’s contact information in her iPhone, her finger poised over the telephone number. Six days had passed since she’d run into him at the Jaybird, since he’d invited her out to the Red Fern Inn. Their supposed date was tomorrow night, but she hadn’t heard one word from him.
So typical.
She halfway hoped he’d forgotten about it because she didn’t want a guy like Matt to pollute her memories of Dad and their dates at the Red Fern Inn. But she knew he hadn’t forgotten. He was just testing her.
And even though she wanted to cancel, her finger hesitated over the phone, stopped by her clearly out-of-control libido. Courtney hadn’t had sex in almost a year. The whole use-it-or-lose-it concept was beginning to worry her. What if she never had sex again? What a depressing thought.
Clearly her libido recognized a potentially great lover when it saw one. If it weren’t for Brandon Kopp and his bet, she might even let it happen. Would it be so bad if she hooked up with a known Hook-up Artist?
She put down the iPhone and turned toward her laptop. Maybe she should forget about her date with Matt and think about her future. If Mr. Right wasn’t ever going to arrive, maybe she should go after what she truly wanted in life—a family. Waiting for some guy seemed like a stupid plan of action.
She booted her web browser and keyed in the words “sperm bank near me.” Google returned two million hits. Clearly, sperm donors were in high demand these days. Maybe everyone was tired of waiting.
She let go of a long sigh as she studied the Google list.
The Fairfax Cryobank had forty-nine Google reviews with an average of four and a half stars. She clicked on the link to the sperm bank’s webpage, where she learned she could select a sperm donor by race, hair color, and eye color. She could also upload a photo of herself and use a facial matching program to select the donor that looked most like herself.
She sat there trying to process this information. Why would she want a child who looked like herself? In her fantasies, there was always a husband—a handsome one—who loved her more than life. Their baby always looked like a miniature of him in every way.
She didn’t want a child who resembled her. She’d been the ugliest baby in the history of man, with a big dome head and a lazy eye. All her school pictures showed this poor child with an overbite, Coke-bottle glasses, an eye patch, and a page-boy haircut. It only got worse when her adult teeth and hormones arrived. She’d spent her teen years wearing out the road between her father’s house and the orthodontist, ophthalmologist, and dermatologist. Surgery and contacts had finally fixed the lazy eye. Years of braces and losing four adult molars had fixed her teeth. And time had finally dealt a blow to the acne.
She didn’t want a kid who looked like her. Never in a million years. If she were going to find a sperm donor, she’d upload a picture of Johnny Depp or Ashton Kutcher—someone with deep, soulful brown eyes.
Sort of like Matt Lyndon’s.
No. Matt didn’t have soulful anything, although his eyes were as dark as espresso. Her body tingled with the thought, and gooseflesh prickled her skin.
“Hey. What are you looking at?”
Courtney minimized her web browser and turned around. Laurie Wilson stood in the office’s doorway, her blond hair pulled back in an easy ponytail that exposed the pearls at her ears and throat. They looked classic and beautiful with her navy and white polka-dot sundress. The expression on her face was a bit wide-eyed.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
Courtney closed her laptop completely. “Oh, nothing. I didn’t expect you to come all the way up here.” Usually brides checked in with the front desk and Courtney met them down in the lobby, where she treated them to tea or samples of Antonin’s baking.
Laurie settled in the side chair. “I’ve already seen Eagle Hill Manor from top to bottom. I’ve sampled all of Antonin’s fabulous canapés and hors d’oeuvres. I don’t even know why we’re having this meeting. I just want to get it over with. Honestly, I wanted to go to Vegas for a quickie wedding, but Andrew is old-school.” Laurie smiled the sappiest smile when she said her fiancé’s name.
And why not smile? Andrew was that rare man who knew how to treat a woman with respect. He’d stepped right up when Brandon had crushed Laurie’s heart. He’d protected her, wooed her, and treated her like she hung the
