LITMIR.BIZ

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I have a window of opportunity in my cycle coming up very soon. And I’m disappointed that I can’t take advantage of it. Dramatic? If you say so. But, then, you’re not the one staring down the barrel of a ticking time bomb.’

      ‘Wow. See? Scary.’ He stepped back. ‘I’ll just make sure I’m out of eye-stabbing range.’

      She stalked off to her car, then stopped abruptly and turned on him, gravel scraping underfoot. Never before had he seen such passion and anger and determination and spirit in anyone. ‘For once in your life, Liam, take me seriously.’

      ‘I do. All the time. I was just trying to make you feel better.’

      ‘Well, you didn’t. You know what? I bet we could spend the next few weeks going round in circles with this and you’d never understand.’

      Oh, he understood all right. He’d been thinking about it for days, ever since she’d brought the subject up. In fact, that ludicrous idea that had flitted through his head had taken seed and would not let go.

      But the ramifications were huge.

      She glared at him, her eyes fierce, curls springing loose and free around her face. Her mouth taut and determined. She looked magnificent and terrifying, like the time she’d pushed him into Resus for that baby. And many times since when she’d been hell-bent on partying hard or just grasping life in her hands and making the most of it. She’d been like that since he’d known her—reaching, grasping, dreaming. Making her life full, taking what she wanted. Because she’d had so little for so long she hadn’t wanted to waste a moment, and she defied anyone who stood in her way.

      She was strong and staunch and loyal and in that second he knew that if his back was against the wall, she’d do anything for him. Anything.

      And so here they were at an impasse. All he had to do was offer her what she wanted.

      Great to help out a friend, but at the same time he was held back by … abject fear. Fear, that was it. The increased heart rate, sweaty palms, gut clench. He was scared as hell at the prospect of it all, of letting everyone down. Of not loving enough. Or, worse, loving too much. And he knew damned well how that panned out. He wouldn’t be able to function around a child or be part of her cosy family. But if he didn’t do it then she’d be forced to choose someone she didn’t know or give up altogether—and he knew, too, that that was not part of her dream.

      Despite all the late-night musings and the words going round and round in his head, he knew it was the most stupid idea he’d ever had.

      But the words lingered. Lingered still as he saw her shrug her shoulders. As she turned her back to him and opened the car door. Lingered as he watched her swipe her hand across her face to stop a rogue tear. She wouldn’t even allow herself to show her bitter disappointment. That almost broke him in two.

      It would cost him little in time and effort. Not overtly anyway. He’d have to deal with the ramifications later. But right now his friend was hurting and there was something he could do to help. One singular thing. He could be that guy. The one he wanted to be, the one who took an emotional risk and helped a friend in need, whatever the personal cost.

      Before he’d had a chance to second guess himself the words were tumbling out. ‘Georgie, wait. I’ll do it.’

      Her voice was small and he could hear the pain, and yet deep down there was some hope as she turned to face him. ‘Do what?’

      ‘I’ll be the donor.’

      ‘You? You? Why?’ Her laugh was bordering on sarcastic.

      He took a step forward. ‘Because I’m taking you seriously. This is what you want. What you deserve.’

      She wagged her finger, fast. ‘Oh, no. No. No. No. No. No. No. Not happening.’

      ‘Unless you have a particular aversion to passing along my DNA? If I were to look objectively I’d say I was pretty okay. I’m a doctor, so not dumb. Oh, and my compassion knows no bounds. Apparently you like that in a father figure. I’m funny—always a winner.’ He pointed to his abs, which he sucked in for effect. ‘And pretty much the most devastatingly good-looking man in town.’

      And bingo—his aid work meant he’d be out of the country for most of the rest of his life if he wanted. So he wouldn’t be forced into any emotional attachment. This was a purely altruistic act. Which begged the question—what the hell did he want?

      This wasn’t about him, he reminded himself. It was about Georgie. ‘How could you not want to use my sperm?’ He whispered the last word as reality started to seep through his feel-good fuzzies.

      The sarcasm melted away and the laugh was pure Georgie. ‘Yeah, right. That’s objective? Don’t get above yourself. For one, you have a slightly crooked nose.’

      He ran his down his ethmoid bone and he gave her his profile view. ‘Rugby injury, not genetic. Besides, you can hardly see it.’

      She cocked her hip to one side as she perused him. ‘You have particularly broad shoulders.’

      ‘Great for tackling and giving great hugs.’ And he should know. He’d done it often enough. Usually as he was patting women on the back and wishing them well. It wasn’t them, it was him.

      She frowned. ‘But not great for wearing halter-neck tops.’

      ‘Ah shucks, and now you’ve spoilt my dress plans for tomorrow.’ Funny, but it felt strange, being analysed in such a way by a friend.

      ‘On the other hand, you do have … long legs.’ Her voice cracked a little as her gaze scanned his trousers. Her pupils did a funny widening thing. A flash of something—and then it was gone. Two red spots appeared on her cheeks. ‘Ahem, big feet.’

      ‘And we all know what that means.’ He winked. ‘Any boy would be happy with the MacAllister brand of DNA. If you bottled it you’d get a fortune.’

      ‘Oh, yeah? No girl wants big feet. Bad for shoe buying.’ She gave him a final once-over glance. Then her voice softened. ‘Really, it’s a lovely offer and I’d be stupid not to take you up on it. But what about you? You don’t want this. You really don’t want this.’

      ‘But you do, Georgie.’ There was a long beat while he tried to put into words the weird feelings he was experiencing. He could give her the chance she wanted, on one condition. ‘But we’ll need a contract. I don’t want any involvement.’

      ‘Oh.’ Giving the minutest shake of her head, she held her palm up. ‘You’ll be the baby daddy but don’t want to be the daddy?’

      ‘Yep.’

      ‘Oh. Okay. Then I’m utterly shocked that you’ve offered. Why would you do that?’

      Not wanting to dig up something he’d pushed to the darkest part of his soul, he gave her the scantest of explanations. ‘Happy families isn’t my style. But a happy Georgie is. I’ll do it. Just agree before I change my mind.’

      ‘Oh, this is fast and so out of left field.’ She put a hand to his shoulder, ran her fingers down his arm. And in the cool late summer evening goosebumps followed the trail of her warm skin against his. ‘Can I think about it? Get used to the idea?’

      ‘Sure.’ He needed time too, his chest felt blown wide open.

      ‘It would mean a lot of changes. For us.’

      ‘I know. I realise that.’ And if it hadn’t been Georgie’s dream on the line, no way would he ever contemplate something like this.

      She looked hesitant, shocked, but hopeful. ‘So … well, we could have a contract similar to the clinic’s standard donor document. We can use that as a blueprint. If that’s what you really want?’

      ‘That’s what I want. No involvement, nothing.’

      ‘I won’t ask you for anything else. Ever. Trust me.’

      He

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