Between You and Me(29)

She blinked but said simply, "I disagree."

He swore under his breath. "Tess, I'm . . . flattered. Really. I had no idea you thought . . . so highly of me."

"I do."

"Thank you. But no way can I help you on this." His chest was tight, and  he had to push out air to speak. "It's a terrible idea. You haven't  totally thought it through."

"On the contrary," she said with such composed sureness that it threw him. "I've thought of little else the past few days."

Jesus. How could he make her see he was the worst candidate on earth for  something like this? "I'm a recovering alcoholic," he said staunchly.

"Stress on recovering. Which speaks volumes about your character, willpower, and strength."

"Thank you, but that doesn't mean it's gone forever. I could relapse at any time."

"I suppose you could," she conceded. "But if you haven't relapsed even  once in eleven years, the chances get lower as more time passes. My  money's on you."

"And that's okay with you? That risk factor?" He glared at her, trying  to get her to understand. "It's in my genes, Tess. It's a disease."

"I'm fully aware of that. I'm not downplaying it."

"But you are, enough so that it passes the tests? Both medical and psychosocial?"

Her lips pressed together as she formulated her thoughts. He was about  to forge ahead when she said, "Yes, it warrants notice. But not enough  to knock you out of contention." Her voice and expression turned wry as  she added, "My own father is a borderline alcoholic, who just won't ever  admit to it. He certainly didn't have traumatic circumstances like you  did. You've worked hard to overcome that part of your life, and you  have. Admirably. That strength of mind and character outweighs the  potential risk. At least, for me." She smiled softly. "Besides. You  won't be raising the child. I will. Even if you do fall off the wagon . .  . it won't be around my child. So. Next rebuttal. Hit me."

Logan's jaw went slack. "You're serious. You're fucking serious about this."

"Dead serious," she said.

"My mother has cancer," he said. "What about that? That's in my medical history."

"My aunt had breast cancer," she said. "Thankfully, she beat it, but she  had it. That's a direct link too. Unfortunately, most people have a  relative who's had cancer. I can't take any potential donor off the list  for that. What else?"

He raked his hands through his hair and sat back. This woman was insane.  She was out of her goddamn mind if she thought he was the answer to her  prayers. But she seemed so fiercely convinced, it was mind-blowing. And  made him want to shake her. He pulled at the neck of his sweater, which  suddenly felt too tight around his throat. "I'm not a good candidate."

"I think you are. For many reasons."

"Why, because we have some chemistry? You're attracted to me, you think  I'm good-looking?" he said, knowing he was losing control but unable to  stop the slide. "You want to make sure your child is tall and pretty?  That's super flattering, but not enough of a reason to-"

"Of course you're good-looking," she said flatly. "Yes, I'm attracted to  you. Come on, you're gorgeous. That's just a fact. Do your physical  traits help keep you on the yes list? Absolutely, I won't deny that. You  will make strong, beautiful children. But that's not enough of a reason  for me to ask you to be my donor, to make up half the DNA of my child."  Her elegant brows arched as she added sharply, "Give me a little more  credit than that. I can find a good-looking man anywhere. It's what's  inside that counts. Do I really have to say that?"

He scratched at his beard. She kept throwing him for loops, and her  single-minded focus on what she wanted was scary as hell. He had to get  real with her. Remind her he was so far from perfect, it was laughable  that she'd even consider him a prospect. "There's something you seem to  have forgotten about me." His voice hardened, and every muscle in his  body went taut with tension. "I don't want kids."                       
       
           



       

He thought it'd be the thing that stopped her cold. But her big blue  eyes took on an almost victorious gleam, and she practically purred,  "That, Logan, is what makes you absolutely ideal as my donor." She  smiled, and he imagined that must be what she looked like at work when  she was about to close in for a killer deal in the boardroom. It was  both glorious and intimidating. "I don't want you to be my baby's  father. I want you to be the sperm donor. There's a world of difference  in there. Can I explain further? Are you willing to listen?"

Too mixed up to say much, he nodded, figuring the least he could do was  hear her out. Plus, hell yes, he was curious to know what was going on  in that sharp mind of hers.

"I want to have a baby and raise it on my own. I don't want a partner,  and I don't need a father figure." A long, wayward curl bounced into her  eyes, and she brushed it back impatiently. "You know I have the  resources to ensure I can raise a child well. I have the money, I'll  make the time, and I have so much love to give . . . my child will want  for nothing."

"Except a father." Logan couldn't believe that'd burst from his mouth, but it had.

She didn't even blink. "I have three amazing brothers," she said. "My  child will never lack for male role models or fatherlike affection. If  anything, I can say with full confidence that my child's three uncles  will make sure he or she never feels unloved, or feels a lack of that  kind of attention."

Logan found himself nodding. "Well . . . I've never met Pierce, but from  what I know of Charles and Dane, you're probably right."

"I know I'm right. We're all very close. My child will have three doting  uncles, three lovely aunts, and a ton of cousins. He or she will have a  big, loving family." That hurdle cleared, Tess barreled on. "I hate to  say it, but the fact that you've told me in no uncertain terms that you  don't want kids is so ideal for me, it's ridiculous. The fact that you  don't want to be a father is perfect, because I don't want you to be its  father."

She paused for a moment to let that sink in. "In fact, I'll be drawing  up legal documents for my donor-you, hopefully, but if not, whoever I  choose-stating that the donor agrees to relinquish any and all parental  rights. All parental rights, all financial rights, everything. This  child is going to be mine, and mine alone. I take full responsibility. I  want it that way. I'm not asking you to be a father. I'm not asking  anything of you . . . except for your badass DNA."

Logan wanted to be affronted, offended, and outraged. But seeing it from  her side, it all made a lot of sense. Did that make her controlling?  Maybe. It also showed just how much thought she'd put into this. She was  clear on her wants and decisions, wasn't hiding that, was going to  cover her ass legally . . . He had to give her credit for covering every  angle.

"Does that make you feel any better about it?" she asked, her voice  softer and eyes shining with . . . ah hell, hope. She was really hoping  he'd say yes to this craziness. "You'd still have your freedom, your own  life. I'm just . . . well, to be blunt, I'm just asking for your sperm.  That may sound callous, I know that. But also completely open and  honest." Her tongue darted out to lick her lips. "I think you possess so  many qualities I'd love to have in my child, Logan. I can sit here for a  while and list all your good qualities . . ." She tried to grin,  probably to offset the hesitance he caught in her voice.

Then those brilliant blue eyes of hers got glassy, and his heart nearly  stopped in his chest. "Will you help me, Logan? I know it may sound a  little wild, and I know it's a lot to ask. I do know that. I'm not  taking this lightly, and neither should you. But would you at least  think it over?"

He couldn't breathe. He couldn't think. Something rose up in his chest  and cut off his air. He shoved away from the table and shot to his feet.  "I'm sorry, Tess." His voice felt rough in his throat. "I can't. No.  Just no."                       
       
           



       

She looked up at him, the hope in her eyes dissolving into  disappointment. Goddammit, that sent a lance through his gut. But she  blinked it away, put on her best game face, and murmured, "All right. I  understand." She sat up a little straighter, recomposing herself as her  gaze dropped to the table. He was glad for that, because that stark look  in her eyes had been almost too much to take. Then she reached for her  water glass . . . and he noticed her hand was trembling.