Rafe’s hand slid out of her hair, his fingers so deeply entangled they caught. His hold disappeared from her waist. The loss of each touch felt a little death.
She waited for him to move back, away, to curse himself for giving in. But his hands lifted to hold her by her upper arms, gently, kindly, and she realised how wobbly she was on her feet.
“You okay?” he asked, a glint in his eye as if he knew exactly what he’d just done to her.
“No! Of course I’m not okay! I don’t want this. Not from you.”
She felt his fingers lift a smidge.
“Could have fooled me.”
Sable squeezed her eyes shut. “I didn’t mean it that way. I mean, I did. But we can’t be kissing, Rafe. Kissing complicates things. And I need this—us—to be as clear-cut as can be.”
A muscle twitched under his right eye. “Because all you want from me is my sperm,” he said, his voice a rough burr.
“Yes,” she countered. “Your sperm!”
Okay, Sable, perhaps a little less enthusiasm on the sperm front.
“I don’t want to be a distraction, Rafe. I don’t want Janie to feel as if she has to look out for you. Or for people to whisper behind their hands about you because I’m back—”
“What people?” he asked, his fingers tightening once more.
“A few people in town today. You know what they can be like—”
Her words dried up at the concern in his dark gaze. Rafe, standing so close, his strong hands holding her, his dark eyes on hers, his familiar scent curling through her making her knees melt, and making it hard to put her true wants into precise words.
Then she closed her eyes, shook her head. “That’s not the point. Don’t worry about me. I’m totally used to it. Water off a duck’s back.” Yeah right. “The point is, I know we can do this right. If it’s direct, honest, simple, clear-cut.”
Rafe breathed out long and hard, his eyes shifting between hers. Then he slowly let her go. Took a step back. And said, “Sable—”
Knowing, to the very innermost threads of her marrow, he was about to deny her, she cut him off. Searched frantically through the arsenal of arguments she’d prepared, for something that might stay him. “It’s sudden. I get that. I wish I could give you all the time and space you need to sort through all of this. But as well as being an overwhelming ask, it’s also time sensitive.”
Hands lifting to rub the spots he’d late been holding, Sable took another breath. This next bit never got any easier to say out loud. The last person she’d told was The Chef. And the way he’d taken it... As if it was a blessing.
But this wasn’t The Chef. This was Rafe. A good, kind, strong man—which was why she’d come to him.
“I saw a doctor a few months ago because my cycle has been seriously out of whack. I assumed it was stress-related as things hadn’t been good for quite some time. When she took my medical history my burst appendix came up.”
“Your appendix burst?” Rafe moved in, hand out to steady her.
“When I was little,” she quickly added, quietly telling her heart to chillax when it began to thumpity-thump at the concern in his dark eyes. “Before we moved here. Anyway, it turns out there’s damage. Incidental scarring to one of my fallopian tubes means it no longer does the job. That, plus another underlying condition, it’s all a bit of a mess in there. If I don’t do this, and soon, my chances only go downhill, rapidly.”
She finished with a shrug. Refusing to give in to the hopelessness that came with the litany of reasons why a child might never be in her future. No matter how well she planned it out.
Right now, hope was all she had.
Rafe remained quiet. Too quiet. It took every ounce of restraint she had not to ask what he was thinking. Especially when she wasn’t sure she’d like the answer.
“What kind of condition?” he finally asked, his expression grave.
“It’s called primary ovarian insufficiency, which basically means my egg-release mechanisms don’t work properly or stopped working earlier than they ought.”
A shadow passed over his face. Then he ran a hand over his chin and looked away, before leaning back against the closed bonnet of the muscle car and crossing his arms over his broad chest.
“I thought I was handling this rather brilliantly,” he said. “You. Being back. I told myself I was fine.”
“Are you not fine?”
He watched her and said nothing. Stoic. Controlled. Emotions hidden behind a tough facade. It was a side of Rafe she’d conveniently repressed when putting together her plan. His determination to keep such a tight check on his feelings, when hers spilled out of her pores whether she wanted them to or not.
“Rafe,” she said. “Talk to me.”
Whether it was the crack in her voice, or the fact she held eye contact and refused to let go, something yielded in his gaze.
“You walk in here as if we’re in the middle of a conversation from ten years ago. As if all that has happened in the last decade is moot.” He glanced down at his shoes then back at her, as if he needed a break between all the words. “I can feel myself wanting to accept it too. Just forget all the bad and welcome you home. It’s unnerving. You unnerve me, Sutton. I nearly ran over Fred’s foot this afternoon, backing a car out of the garage, because my mind was elsewhere. I lost it at him. Poor kid had no idea what he’d done wrong.”
“Ouch.” Then, “What were you thinking about?”
The look he shot her was direct. A warning. The sudden memory of his mouth on hers, his tongue sliding over the seam of her lips, strong enough her knees buckled.
“Don’t sweat it,” she said, flapping a hand to distract him from the thoughts no doubt written all over her face.
