Baby Fever. Susan Crosby

her eyes for a moment, waiting for lightning to strike her at her half-truths. But all she felt was a sense of rightness. She wanted her baby created in a loving moment, if not out of love. It was important that he or she be conceived in a night of beauty, not just physical pleasure. She looked at him, the man she had chosen to father her child. He was a good man, and strong. A kind man who didn’t deserve to be lied to. But didn’t she deserve something, too?

      His silence unnerved her. She almost told him to forget it—she didn’t need this extra tension.

      “This is the honeymoon cottage,” he said at last.

      Hope filled her again. “Is it?”

      “My son-in-law arranged the room. He told me he hoped I enjoyed my visit as much as he had.”

      “What does that mean?”

      “He and my daughter—” He looked around, obviously uncomfortable with the sudden thought. “They were here.”

      “For their honeymoon?”

      “They didn’t wait that long.”

      Jasmine smiled. She liked that he was protective of his daughter, even though she was an adult. “You’ve already carried me over the threshold, but it would just be pretend for us, Patrick.”

      He stared at her for so long she felt mesmerized. Then he walked toward her, his gaze on hers, and stepped into the tub. He grasped the hem of her sweater and pulled it over and off her. She was grateful that she’d worn her only remotely sexy bra and panties, ones she hadn’t worn in years. But she’d been hopeful tonight—