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The Rules of the Baby Maker's Club are simple:
Never ask him who he is.
Never meet outside the club.
Never fall in love.
I've always wanted to be a mother. But to have a baby you need a man... or money for a proper donor. Let's just say dating is my weak point. And money? It's in short supply.
When a co-worker catches me googling cute baby photos, she whispers a name: The Baby Maker's Club.
That's how I was introduced to my nameless, well-hung hero.
His job was to knock me up. No dates, no drama, just me and him and the horizontal tango.
But I messed up bad.
I found out his name. Then I googled him.
Now, I wish I could forget the truth I learned about my personal baby-maker, but I can't.
I might have broken the first two rules of the club, but someone like him—a walking Adonis with a devil's smile and a dark secret—he did something way worse.
He made me fall in love.
