I woke up first. It's amazing how much you forget when you've been sleeping alone, like how having another warm naked body next to you feels damned good. I know other folks go to bed in pajamas or shorts but frankly I've always been a fan of bare skin, and Simone was a little radiator—plenty warm.

Shifting carefully to my side I watched her sleep, studying her for a while as she lay on her back, breathing softly. Enjoyed what I saw, too. Simone was full of slopes and dips, her frame strong. I loved the way her breasts felt in my hands; loved the deep dimples at the base of her spine; the way her waist curved in under her ribs and flared out again at her hips. Up close I could see how thick her eyelashes were, and the saucy tilt of her nose.

Experimentally I tugged the coverlet down, exposing more of her torso, amused at the flicker of annoyance across her sleeping face. One hand sleepily grabbed for it, trying to pull it up again, but I slid closer and Simone snuggled against me instead making little contented noises.

How could I resist that? When you get down to it, all any of us really want is to be wanted. To feel needed by someone else. I nuzzled her hairline, breathing in the scent of her hair and let myself think about a few things I hadn't before . . . like the future.

Like the fact that she wasn't seriously upset about possibly being pregnant.

And that was a bittersweet can of worms, honestly. I wasn't about to delude myself: I'm old. Old enough to be a grandparent. I've had my shot at fatherhood and Laurel has always been the dearest thing I've ever managed in that department. I was sure that aspect of my life was over and done; that I'd had my run of parenthood, the end.

But first Laurel's comments in her phone call, and now Simone's nonchalance had me a little flummoxed. Sure it was biologically possible, I knew that. But a second chance? A second . . . family?

I needed coffee.

Because the reality was . . . I liked being a dad. No, the reality was I loved being a dad. God's honest truth, I had no problem when Sebastian had called me 'dad.' He and the rest of the team . . . yeah I thought of them as my kids, and treated them that way at times. Coached them, consoled them, fed them, kept an eye on them. Second nature. Been doing it all my life for the folks I considered family.

I can't take full credit for how Laurel turned out; Linda had a hell of a lot to do with it, but I played my part as well. And if Laurel was supportive of half-brothers or sisters . . . I shook my head, bemused at these thoughts.

It was out of the question. Just lazy daydreams on my part because men my age didn't have kids. The job was too dangerous; the hours too long; the lifestyle too unstable. Better to keep to the status quo and leave fatherhood to men Christopher's age. His chances of seeing a child through college were greater than mine at this point.

Besides, Simone had made it clear she wasn't going to get re-married, and I'd be damned if I'd father a child without some sort of formal commitment. That's not the sort of man I was or would ever be, so that was that. No marriage, no kids, but at least there was someone sweet in my bed and that helped. I cuddled closer to Simone and closed my eyes again.

-oo00oo—

There were a few more items in Simone's refrigerator now. Water and oranges were still there, but I saw eggs, cheese, a very sad looking bunch of spinach and a jar of peanut butter, which I took out and set in a cupboard, shaking my head.

There was a coffeemaker too, with a rack of pods for it so I selected one and popped it in. "Do you want coffee?" I called towards the living room and heard an affirmative hum.

Simone was busy sewing the buttons back on my shirt, looking very domestic as she did so. As a matter of practicality I did have a change of clothes in the car; you learn to be prepared when you're in a job like mine, so I was dressed. Simone was too in an oversized sweater and leggings, sitting cross-legged on the very sofa we'd debauched the night before. I leaned against the kitchen doorway and looked at her just as she finished the last button.

"There. I have righted the wrong I have done," Simone announced, smoothing the shirt down. "All mended."

"We did go a bit savage, didn't we?" I murmured, crossing the room to drop myself next to her.

"Yes," she agreed, catching my glance and smiling. "But I don't regret it at all. It was . . . a night to remember."

"On several levels," I nodded. "Simone . . . what did you mean when you said now wouldn't be a good time for that?"

She ducked her head and busied herself with her sewing basket, putting the thread away. It tickled me that she had one—not many women knew how to sew by hand anymore, and the last basket I'd seen had been my mother's. Even Linda didn't sew.

"Ah, well . . . I'm still settling into this job and this city," she replied vaguely. "Not really ready for the next big step in my life, you know?"

"Which would be?" I prompted. I'm pretty good at getting answers to questions, even when I have suspicions. The hesitation dragged out until Simone took in a deep breath and lifted her head.

"I do want to have a baby. Hear me out though," she added, shifting to look at me. "I would never EVER coerce or use you, Dwayne. Not ever. I have been the victim of lies and coercion myself and I made a promise I'd never do it to anyone else, let along someone I care for. I'll be going to the pharmacy this morning for two doses of levonorgestrel and you can come with me if you like."

I nodded, my stomach tense. "All right. But . . . you want a child?"

She brightened. "Yes, I do. I think children are wonderful. I studied to be a pediatrician in the beginning, but took a detour into forensic pathology, which is rewarding in a different way. I . . . well, I didn't want children in my marriage, not with Hugo. Given how he was, it would have been a terrible mistake."

"Yeah, I can understand that," I agreed, slipping an arm around her. "Good decision there."

"Yes. So after he died, I started to consider what I wanted in life," Simone sighed. "And mostly what I wanted was a second chance. New job, new city, new life, I suppose. New Orleans is so very different from Las Vegas. It's old and vibrant and wild and yet genteel too. I know I made a good choice coming here."

I waited, knowing there was more. Simone started to look uncomfortable. "Annnd . . . I figured in that second chance, I could also start a family. I spent time researching the local fertility clinics here. The one on Magnolia, and Hope Women's clinic."

"Go on," I urged her, feeling a strange twist of pain in my chest. Simone rubbed her eyes.

"I was looking at donors too. And then you talked me into cooking lessons and I had less time to do research. I didn't know where we were going and I wasn't about to put you on the spot because ethically, morally, emotionally, that wouldn't be fair, Dwayne. My intention from the very beginning was to have a baby by myself, the way my mother did. With a donor there wouldn't be any . . . complications. Nobody to make demands or threats. And I'd have someone of my own to love."

"So let me get this straight," I rumbled. "You want a baby, but you don't want a husband. You want a child, but on your own terms."

She blinked, and I saw how wet her eyes were; how close Simone was to crying. "Yes," she whispered.

I said nothing for a while, trying to take it all in, trying to make sense of it.

"Simone," I finally managed, "Where the hell do I fit in, then?"

She did sob then. "I don't know!" Simone sniffled. "I didn't plan on meeting someone like you, mon cher! You took me completely by surprise, and I didn't know how to say anything to you, especially since I know you don't want anymore childr-"

"-Stop!" I told her. "Right there. I never said that. Never even talked about kids other than Laurel with you."

"But . . ." she spluttered, wiping her eyes, "I just assumed-"

"Bad habit," I sighed. "Look, right now we're both stressed and tired and hungry. Let's get some breakfast and fresh air, all right? I'm not going to keep on this without making sure the two of us are in our right minds."

Simone nodded.

-oo00oo—

I took her for beignets at a little café near the university. It was early enough that we were alone and carried our pastries to one of the tables outside. The storm had passed, sunshine put a sparkle on the distant waters of the lake and there was enough of a breeze to keep things cool. I was grateful that the coffee was close to scalding and took a sip.

Simone pulled apart a beignet, nibbling at it and watching me. I finally took a breath, feeling a little more settled. "Okay then. I'm gonna lay this out so we can get it straight. I . . . feel strongly about you, Simone. More than just the sexual attraction although that's kind of the icing on the cake. Not sayin' the L word because I don't want to scare either one of us. Got that?"

She nodded, handing me a piece of pastry. I continued after eating it. "You want a baby. You've got your reasons and I respect everything you've been through to get to this point. I don't have a problem with that particular desire. However . . . I don't think I can handle you havin' a baby by an anonymous donor."

"That's not a choice you get to make," Simone countered, looking stubborn. "Dwayne, I'm a grown woman and much as I care about you, this will be my child."

"I'm talking logistics, genetics and emotional support," I sighed. "Simone, taking care of a baby on your own is damned hard. I'm pretty sure your own mother would back me up on that. Single parenting, even when you think you know what you're getting into—it's rough. Rougher than it needs to be. If you choose a donor, you're never going to get any kind of support from the father. And that goes for matters around the baby's health too. Lots of these places are good at screening, but what if some condition pops up and you don't have any family history to look at? Anything from asthma to birth defects to inherited disorders?"

She pursed her lips. "I'm aware of that, yes, although my own family history isn't . . . complete by any means. Still, all of that has crossed my mind, Dwayne. I know what I'm getting into."

"In theory," I interjected. "And the last one's probably the most important, mon ange. You're gonna need people to lean on. At least one good one. Now if you were in Las Vegas you'd have friends who've known you for years, but you're in New Orleans now and you've only been here . . . five months? Maybe six? I know you've got Loretta, and maybe a few folks you've met on your own, but reality is . . . you're kind of a loner."

Simone didn't have an answer for that, but to her credit, she nodded ever so slightly. I took another sip of coffee to clear my throat.

"What all this circles around to is that the smart choice would be if I was your donor."