Her jaw dropped. “I thought you’d nixed that.”

“I may reconsider if it’s that important to you—and if we don’t have any success having our own children.”

She bit her lip and studied him. “An adopted child would be our own child.”

“Of course.” He waved aside her comment. Having a rug rat by any method was unappealing. Kids were disruptive. But if they kept Meg in the house? Worth the sacrifice. She’d be the one taking care of them anyway. “Here’s the thing, though. From what I’ve heard, adopting is almost a full-time job.”

She chewed on her lip again. “I’ll tell you what. Why don’t we give ourselves six months to get pregnant? If that doesn’t happen, we’ll start the adoption process—and if it’s too time consuming, I’ll quit my job to handle all the paperwork and other details.”

Six months.

Too long.

He wanted her home now.

And he wasn’t changing his time frame.

But until the radio show she’d been hired to assist with was history, why not play along with her plan? It would buy him breathing room to figure out how to accelerate the process.

“I can live with that.” He took her hand, stood, and pulled her to her feet. “In the meantime, why don’t we work on beating the odds your doctor gave us? I’ve been missing you all day.”

Her shoulders drooped a tiny bit, but she masked her dismay well. “Sure. Give me ten minutes to freshen up?”

“No problem.”

He bent and kissed her.

Meg responded—as always—despite the shadows beneath her lower lashes and the faint lines of weariness at the corners of her mouth that testified to her long day. Food and sleep had to be high on her priority list.

But it was important for her to remember he came first.

He drew back and played with a lock of her hair. “Go ahead and get ready. Wear that skimpy black outfit I got you.”

The one she didn’t like.

The one she’d kiddingly said made her feel like a hooker.

Except deep down she hadn’t been kidding. The revealing scrap of lingerie wasn’t anywhere close to her style.

He liked it, though—and he especially liked how he felt making her wear it.

“Okay.” She backed off, rubbed her palms on her slacks, and disappeared down the hall.

Steve strolled over to the fridge and took out a beer. He’d had his fill already tonight, but Meg hated the smell of beer—and the taste of it when he kissed her.

This would remind her who ran the show.

He popped the tab and took a long pull, thinking about what he would do to her in a few minutes.

His mouth curled.