Page 23 of Not Mine to Rescue

My gasp was audible. The shiver that went through me wasn’t. But it made my breath shaky as I imagined what that growl would sound like with his cock inside me. Or how his rough hands would feel…everywhere.

What was I doing? He was thirteen years younger than I was. He was a client. Well, former client and possibly a future client because his “boss” employed my firm often. “We’d never work.”

“I hate work. Let’s play instead.”

“Are you suggesting an affair?”

His silent pause made me hold my breath.

Finally, he answered. “Affair? No. Sex. Hot, sweaty, aching pussy…sex.” He leaned in. “You’re a beautiful woman. And a damn sexy one. You deserve everything sweet and spicy handed you on a fucking platter. You need a man who could make you come five times in one night and cook you breakfast in the morning because you can’t get out of bed without your legs giving out.”

I exhaled, wondering in what world that was even possible. “You’d do that?”

“Hell yes. Emphatically, yes.”

I was in trouble, deep, deep trouble. Because it would be so easy to just take what was offered and forget my pain for one night.

“You’re one hell of a woman, Honoria Ryder, Esquire.”

He would have to remind me of the reason we met. I stared at him. The lights illuminating the farm buildings cast his face into shadow, masking the open and surprisingly honest expression he usually wore. His strawberry-blond hair was messy, the longer ends hanging loose from the ponytail he’d wrapped it in. He’d cut it shorter for court, but it had still been longer than I advised. But without it hanging past his shoulders, it accented the strength there. He was wiry, not bulky. Tapered with no excess around his waist. I didn’t dare glance lower for fear I’d get caught by the bulge in his jeans. Just thinking about that made me wonder if he’d look younger with his clothes off.

That made me wince. “I can’t do this.”

“Why? What did you see in that head-to-toe that you didn’t like?”

“It wasn’t head to toe.”

Wombat shook his head. “Am I too short for you?”

“No.” I didn’t like overly tall men. They had an adverse effect on me.

“Too dirty? Or because I got dog hair permanently embedded in my clothes?”

I brushed at Molly’s fur stuck to my dress pants. “No. A little dog hair isn’t the problem.”

“I’m twenty-five. I’m legal in every country. In case you’re worried about that.”

There it was. “I’m thirty-eight. Thirteen years older than you.”

He did something I hadn’t expected. He leaned to the side and scanned me from head to toe, much more blatantly than I had done to him. “And you are damn fine. You will be for the rest of your life, you know that? You are a woman, capital W. I prefer women.”

If only his compliments were genuine.

“I can’t have children.”

Why in the hell did I blurt that out? I dropped Molly’s leash and hid my face.

The jingle of her collar made me peek through my mortification. Wombat had collected her and given her enough slack that she pressed against my side. I tangled my fingers in her fur before facing my embarrassment head-on. “Well?”

“Don’t want to get pregnant, or—” He stopped, uncomfortable.

“I can’t stay pregnant.” Those words hurt so badly, I almost broke.

Somehow I gathered what little courage I had and met his gaze.

He blinked first. Then followed up with, “There’s this woman I know… Fin’s wife. She had gestational diabetes, bad. It messed her up. Messed up her chances of having kids. Fin’s cool with it. He loves her just as she is.”

I knew he was trying to be helpful, but helpful wasn’t what helped. Nothing could. “Can we not talk about this?”