Rule's Property (The House of Rule 2)

With a sinking heart, she trailed back into the living area, not surprised in the least to see Nick tensed up, standing next to the wall of windows, a highball glass in his hand.

At her entry, he turned to face her and downed the drink. Attempting to steady her nerves, she took a seat in the chair next to the sofa and waited.

She didn't have long to wait. He set the glass down, but instead of sitting on the sofa as she'd expected, as she'd intended, he came directly in front of her, into her personal space and maneuvered her legs apart with his hands on her knees. He came down on his haunches between them with a sigh. With a gentle hand, he speared his fingers through her hair and gazed at her, his heart in his eyes. "Sweetheart, I shouldn't have said what I did. Of course there's no rush. Baby, you're worrying for nothing."

Unable to control her need to touch him, she sank her fingers into his hair. The chemistry that had always been so strong between them hadn't lessened a bit. Her eyes held his as she savored what it had been like between them, even if it had only been that way for a short while. With the words she was about to speak, everything between them would change.

She took a stabilizing breath and began. "I'm sorry that the subject of a baby never came up between us. I don't know why it never did." She swallowed and continued, "Of course you want a family," her eyes filled with tears and she shrugged her shoulders as her hand dropped away from him to land in her lap. "I can't have a child, Nick."

He was silent for a moment and although she was looking down at her hands, she knew he studied her intently before he carefully spoke. "Why, sweetheart? Is there a physical problem that precludes you carrying a baby?"

She bit her lip and shook her head, misery like a lead ball in her belly.

"What's wrong, then?" he whispered, his thumb rubbing along her cheekbone.

She took a deep breath and lifted her face, but kept her eyes downcast. "Being orphaned was . . . was devastating," she answered, although that was only the tip of the iceberg.

He flinched at her words and his touch on her face tightened. "Yeah, but now you have me. We have each other." His voice reflected confusion, genuine concern, and at the same time, ultimate possession.

Courtney bit her lip, so badly wanting to go into his arms. She knew what he would say. She knew he'd say they didn't have to have kids. But she also knew he wanted a family, he deserved his own family. And he could still have that. Just not with her.

With her lip between her teeth, as he stared at her face, she looked away, unable to meet his eyes. Tears spilled down her cheeks and she brushed them away. "I know losing your dad was hard on you and your siblings. I don't want . . . I don't want to downplay that loss. But you still had your mom, and the house you'd grown up in. You had stability in your life." Her words came to a quavering halt as she thought about what she'd say next.

His fingers became caressing against her scalp. "I realize you had it bad, baby. I've always known that. It's one of the reasons I've always ached to take care of you. Don't you get that?"

She nodded her head. "I know, and I love you for it." She finally found the courage to meet his eyes. "This is so sad, you know?"

"Why does it have to be sad?" He questioned with something close to panic in his voice.

She looked away from him again. "I can't give you the family you want, I just can't do it. I can't ever, ever bring a child into this world, knowing there's a possibility it might go through what I went through." Her throat began aching with unshed tears but she persevered before she broke down. She had to make him understand. "See, if I don't ever have a baby, then there's no chance it could ever lose its mommy and daddy, you know?"

There was utter silence in the room except for the tick of the antique clock on the mantel. After a few seconds she felt Nick's hand release her hair and then he lifted her chin. Her eyes met his and she was immediately hit by the anguish she saw reflected there. And it wasn't anguish for his loss of a child, no; she knew it was anguish for what she was feeling. His voice was rough and implacable when he spoke. "Then we won't have any. It's as simple as that."