A Weaver Christmas Gift. Allison Leigh

      “That’s usually the reason people get married, isn’t it? What’s in this plan of yours when it comes to that?”

      * * *

      It was the first week of September, but Jane still felt a shiver jolt down her spine.

      She casually moved away from Casey, crossing the room to retrieve the garish Hawaiian-print shirt he’d been wearing unbuttoned over his T-shirt when he’d arrived. The garment was hideous in the extreme, but it smelled of him and that wasn’t hideous at all. No. The scent was warm. Slightly spicy. Definitely heady.

      She shivered again and turned to carelessly fling the shirt at him. She wished she could fling away the man’s effect on her as easily. “I’m not looking for love,” she said blithely. “Just a—”

      “Legitimate sperm donor.” As he caught the shirt, he seemed to look right into the depths of her with his silvery-gray eyes.

      “Why does it even matter to you?” She kept her voice tart as much for self-preservation as from habit. Unless she was mindless with lust in his arms, it was always easier to spar with the tall man with the butterscotch-colored hair than have any sort of serious conversation. Mostly because she was never entirely sure what exactly he was thinking.

      Despite his outwardly laid-back style, she’d never made the mistake of thinking Casey Clay actually was laid-back. He was too intense for that. And much, much too secretive.

      When it came to him, sex was easy.

      It was all the rest that was impossible.

      “Be glad that I’m under no illusions that you might be a candidate,” she finished.

      His mobile, scrumptious lips twisted wryly. “Janie.” He pressed his splayed hand against his chest. “I might be wounded.”

      “But you’re not,” she deadpanned, then rolled her eyes when his cell phone chirped and he grabbed it off the nightstand. “Naturally.” It wasn’t the first time his phone had interrupted them. At least this time it had waited until after.

      She went into the adjoining bathroom while he answered. Not particularly proud that she tried to listen in but trying anyway, she twisted her tangled hair up into a clip at the back of her head.

      However, his voice was low, his words brief, revealing as little as they ever did.

      She returned to the bedroom just as he was pocketing the phone. “Let me guess.” She might not have overheard the reason he was being called away, but she had a good idea where he was going and she smiled facetiously. “Somebody’s computer is on the fritz at Cee-Vid and you have to go save the day. Or the night, as it were.”

      His gaze slid over her, setting off another darned shiver. “That’s why I get the big bucks.”

      Cee-Vid produced video games. He was in charge of the computer systems there, but she couldn’t imagine what could be so critical at the business that he’d get called at all hours of the night in the way he often was even if he’d already been there all day.

      She’d have suspected him of having a wife if Weaver weren’t so small that such a fact would have been impossible to hide.

      Everyone knew everyone else’s business around town. Or so it had seemed to her since she’d moved there five years ago. As a result, it was still an amazing thing to her that they’d been able to keep their...encounters...private.

      He stepped up to her and raised his hand. She stiffened. Not from fear, but because he was drawing a single fingertip slowly down her cheek and she felt a corresponding line of heat work down her spine. He was a truly impossible man, but for some unfathomable reason, he charged her batteries in a way nobody else had ever done.

      And the faint half smile on his face warned her that he knew exactly the reaction he elicited.

       Dammit.

      “Mebbe you figure you don’t need to order up a dose of love with this prospective husband of yours, but you didn’t say anything about chemistry either.” He waited a knowing beat. “Don’t pretend you don’t want passion. I know otherwise.”

      She wanted to move back from him in the worst way, but she knew that was what he was expecting, so she held her ground. “Passion is overrated,” she said.

      His eyes took on an unholy glint. “It gets a couple into the bedroom, sport. I’ve always heard that making babies is a lot more fun when it’s done the old-fashioned way. Or were you thinking you’d be able to get yourself in the family way while keeping your convenient husband at arm’s length?”

      “Medical science is a wonderful thing.” She savored the satisfaction of actually igniting some surprise in his silvery gaze. “But no. I want a husband. I want to make a baby—or babies—with him.” Though she hadn’t expected it, over the past several months she’d come to realize she wanted the same thing her little sister had. She wanted to be more than a business owner. She wanted a real home. A real family. “I expect to get pregnant in the usual manner.”

      His lips twisted again. He was probably thinking she was nuts. She knew he wasn’t jealous. He didn’t care about her that way. He cared that she gave as good as she got when their clothes started hitting the floor.

      Chemistry. She and Casey Clay had it in spades.

      But that was all they had.

      There was no future. He’d made that abundantly clear from the very start. She might have had a change of mind along the way, but she wasn’t foolish enough to believe that he had.

      Or that he ever would.

      “Borrow your sister’s baby for a week,” he advised. “The allure might wear off after 24/7 of diapers and bottles and crying.” He tugged the garish shirt over his wide shoulders. “Hell. Get a puppy. Angeline’s gonna have a whole new litter of ’em in a month or so that’ll be needing homes. I’ll hook you up with one.”

      She just eyed him. Angeline, she knew, was his sister who lived with her husband and family over in Sheridan. They’d met once in passing some time ago. In passing because family get-togethers weren’t part of Casey and Jane’s deal. He didn’t invite her to any—even though, with the Clay family, who had fingers in nearly every pie in town, there seemed to be many.

      And if he had invited her, she’d have told him he was out of his tree anyway. They weren’t dating. They were just sleeping together. Nothing more.

      “This isn’t like deciding I want a new pair of shoes. Or a new dog. I’ve never even had a dog.”

      He gave her a vaguely shocked look and she wished she’d kept that tidbit to herself.

      “I want a husband,” she added quickly. “A family of my own. I want it when I wake up and when I go to sleep and I’m too old now not to do something about it!”

      Something came and went in his eyes as he put on his worn tennis shoes. He didn’t even bother tying the laces. “If you’re bound and determined, I could probably set you up with a couple candidates.”

      She nearly choked. “I don’t need your help finding a husband.”

      He shrugged. “Suit yourself, sport.” Then his head swooped and his mouth caught hers in a fast, thorough kiss that left her knees weak and her insides hot. When he lifted his head again, she was certain there was amusement lurking at the corners of his lips. “Just let me know if you change your mind.”

      About what? Ending things with him? Allowing him to set her up with someone else?

      “I won’t change my mind,” she said stiffly. Removing him from the equation would best be accomplished cold turkey. Like a swift yank that removed an adhesive bandage. “So the next time you’re looking for a bedmate, you’ll have to look elsewhere.” The fact that he wouldn’t have to look hard wasn’t lost on her. Despite his unfathomable dedication to