He stared at her, this beautiful, commanding woman, as a million thoughts raced through his head. Finally he said, “You’re out of your damn mind.”
She blinked but said simply, “I disagree.”
He swore under his breath. “Tess, I’m . . . flattered. Really. I had no idea you thought . . . so highly of me.”
“I do.”
“Thank you. But no way can I help you on this.” His chest was tight, and he had to push out air to speak. “It’s a terrible idea. You haven’t totally thought it through.”
“On the contrary,” she said with such composed sureness that it threw him. “I’ve thought of little else the past few days.”
Jesus. How could he make her see he was the worst candidate on earth for something like this? “I’m a recovering alcoholic,” he said staunchly.
“Stress on recovering. Which speaks volumes about your character, willpower, and strength.”
“Thank you, but that doesn’t mean it’s gone forever. I could relapse at any time.”
“I suppose you could,” she conceded. “But if you haven’t relapsed even once in eleven years, the chances get lower as more time passes. My money’s on you.”
“And that’s okay with you? That risk factor?” He glared at her, trying to get her to understand. “It’s in my genes, Tess. It’s a disease.”
“I’m fully aware of that. I’m not downplaying it.”
“But you are, enough so that it passes the tests? Both medical and psychosocial?”
Her lips pressed together as she formulated her thoughts. He was about to forge ahead when she said, “Yes, it warrants notice. But not enough to knock you out of contention.” Her voice and expression turned wry as she added, “My own father is a borderline alcoholic, who just won’t ever admit to it. He certainly didn’t have traumatic circumstances like you did. You’ve worked hard to overcome that part of your life, and you have. Admirably. That strength of mind and character outweighs the potential risk. At least, for me.” She smiled softly. “Besides. You won’t be raising the child. I will. Even if you do fall off the wagon . . . it won’t be around my child. So. Next rebuttal. Hit me.”
Logan’s jaw went slack. “You’re serious. You’re fucking serious about this.”
“Dead serious,” she said.
“My mother has cancer,” he said. “What about that? That’s in my medical history.”
“My aunt had breast cancer,” she said. “Thankfully, she beat it, but she had it. That’s a direct link too. Unfortunately, most people have a relative who’s had cancer. I can’t take any potential donor off the list for that. What else?”
He raked his hands through his hair and sat back. This woman was insane. She was out of her goddamn mind if she thought he was the answer to her prayers. But she seemed so fiercely convinced, it was mind-blowing. And made him want to shake her. He pulled at the neck of his sweater, which suddenly felt too tight around his throat. “I’m not a good candidate.”
“I think you are. For many reasons.”
“Why, because we have some chemistry? You’re attracted to me, you think I’m good-looking?” he said, knowing he was losing control but unable to stop the slide. “You want to make sure your child is tall and pretty? That’s super flattering, but not enough of a reason to—”
“Of course you’re good-looking,” she said flatly. “Yes, I’m attracted to you. Come on, you’re gorgeous. That’s just a fact. Do your physical traits help keep you on the yes list? Absolutely, I won’t deny that. You will make strong, beautiful children. But that’s not enough of a reason for me to ask you to be my donor, to make up half the DNA of my child.” Her elegant brows arched as she added sharply, “Give me a little more credit than that. I can find a good-looking man anywhere. It’s what’s inside that counts. Do I really have to say that?”
He scratched at his beard. She kept throwing him for loops, and her single-minded focus on what she wanted was scary as hell. He had to get real with her. Remind her he was so far from perfect, it was laughable that she’d even consider him a prospect. “There’s something you seem to have forgotten about me.” His voice hardened, and every muscle in his body went taut with tension. “I don’t want kids.”