Nobody's Baby But Mine Part 4

"Sure." He got up and walked over to the stereo cabinet. "I think I might have some highbrow stuff. I bet a SPS such as yourself loves longhair music."

"SPP."

"Isn't that what I said?" He slipped a compact disc into the machine, and as he resumed his seat, the living room was filled with the lively music of Rimsky-Korsakov's "Flight of the b.u.mblebee." A piece with such a frenzied tempo was hardly her idea of seductive music, but what did she know?

She performed a few shoulder rolls from the warm-up part of her aerobics cla.s.s and tried to look sultry, but the quick pace of the music made it difficult. Still, the chemicals surging through her bloodstream spurred her on. She added some side stretches, ten on the right and then ten on the left so she wouldn't get lopsided.

Her hair brushed her cheeks as she moved in a manner that she could only hope was alluring, but as he watched her with those scorched-earth eyes, she couldn't see any evidence that he was getting swept away with l.u.s.t. She thought about touching her toes, but that didn't seem like a very graceful dance movement. Besides, she couldn't reach them without bending her knees. Inspiration struck.

One. Two. Three. Kick!

One. Two. Three. Kick!

He crossed his legs and yawned.

She experimented with a small hula routine.

He glanced at his watch.

It was hopeless. She stopped and let the b.u.mblebee fly on without her.

"And here I was waitin' for you to get to the jumpin' jacks part."

"I don't dance well with people watching."

"Guess you should have spent a little more time with them training videos. Or a couple of old John Travolta movies." He got up and walked over to lower the volume on the music. "Can I be honest with you here, Rosebud?"

"Please."

"You're not turnin' me on." He reached into his back pocket and pulled out his wallet. "Let me give you a little extra for your time."

She could barely resist the urge to cry, despite the fact that she wasn't a crier by nature. He was going to kick her out, and she would have lost her best chance to have the child of her dreams. Desperation made her voice husky. "Please, Mr. Bonner. You can't dismiss me."

"I sure can."

"You'll ... You'll get me fired. The Stars' account is a very important one to my agency."

"If it's so d.a.m.ned important, why did they send you? Anybody can see you don't know diddly about being a hooker."

"There's a-a convention in town. They were shorthanded."

"So what you're sayin' is ... I ended up with you by default."

She nodded. "And if they find out you weren't satisfied with my services, they'll fire me. Please, Mr. Bonner, I need this job. If they dismiss me, I'll lose my benefits."

"You get benefits?"

If prost.i.tutes didn't get benefits, they certainly should. "They have an excellent dental plan, and I'm scheduled for a root ca.n.a.l. Couldn't we ... Couldn't we just go into the bedroom?"

"I don't know, Rosebud ..."

"Please!" With a sense of desperation, she s.n.a.t.c.hed up his hands. Squeezing her eyes shut, she pulled them to her b.r.e.a.s.t.s and held them there, palms flat.

"Rosebud?"

"Yes?"

"What are you doing?"

"Letting you ... feel my b.r.e.a.s.t.s."

"Uh-huh." His hands remained still. "Did any of those training videos suggest you take off your clothes first?"

"The jacket's very thin, so I'm sure it doesn't make any difference. As I'm certain you can tell, I don't have anything on under it."

The heat from his palms burned through the fragile silk into her skin. She didn't let herself imagine what those hands would feel like without the tissue-thin barrier. "You may move your hands on them if you like."

"I appreciate the offer, but- You plannin' on openin' your eyes anytime soon?"

She'd forgotten they were shut, and she quickly raised her lids.

It was a mistake. He was standing so near that she had to tilt her neck to gaze at him. From such close range, his features had blurred, but not quite enough to hide the fact that his mouth looked even harder than she'd first thought. She saw a small scar on the side of his chin, another near his hairline. He was all muscle and steel. There wasn't a playground bully on this planet who'd have the nerve to torment this man's child.

That's my swing, geek face! Get off it or I'll punch you.

Brainy Janie's got cooties ... Brainy Janie's got cooties ...

"Please. Couldn't we just go to your bedroom?"

She loosened her hands, and he slowly released her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. "You really want this bad, don't you, Rosebud?"

She nodded.

He gazed at her, and his warrior's eyes revealed none of his thoughts.

"I'm bought and paid for," she reminded him.

"That's right. You are." He seemed to be mulling it over. She waited patiently, giving his sluggish brain all the time it needed to work.

"Why don't you just go back to your employer and say we did the dirty."

"I have a very transparent face. It would immediately be apparent that I was lying."

"There doesn't seem to be any other way out of this, then, does there?"

Her hopes began to soar. "I'm afraid not."

"All right, Rosebud; you win. I guess we'd better head on upstairs." He slipped his index finger under the pink ribbon. "You sure you didn't bring any handcuffs with you?"

She felt her throat move against his finger as she swallowed. "I'm sure."

"Let's get it over with, then."

He tugged on the ribbon as if it were a dog collar. Her heart thudded as he led her out into the foyer and up the carpeted steps without releasing her. The side of her body brushed against his. She tried to move away, but he held her captive.

As they climbed the stairs, she regarded him through the corners of her eyes with apprehension. She knew it was only her imagination, but he seemed to have grown taller and bigger. Her gaze swept from his chest to his hips, and her eyes widened. Unless she was mistaken, he wasn't quite as detached as he seemed. Beneath those jeans he seemed to be fully aroused.

"In here, Rosebud."

She stumbled as he drew her through the doorway into the master bedroom, still trying to figure out how someone as inept as she had managed to excite him. She reminded herself that she was female, and he had a caveman mentality. In his drunken state, he must have decided that any woman would do. She should be grateful he was dragging her into his cave by the ribbon instead of her hair.

He flipped a switch. Recessed lighting illuminated a king-size bed made up with blankets, but no comforter. It sat opposite a wall that held a row of windows covered with plantation shutters. There was a chest of drawers, a comfortable chair, a set of bedside tables, but very little clutter.

He released her ribbon and turned away to shut the door. She gulped as he twisted the lock. "What are you doing?"

"Some of my buddies have the key to this place. I'm guessin' you'd just as soon we didn't have any company. 'Course if I'm wrong ..."

"No, no. You're not wrong."

"You sure? Some PSSs specialize in groups."

"SPPs. And those are level threes. I'm only a level one. Could we turn out the lights, please?"

"How am I going to see you if we do that?"

"There's quite a bit of moonlight coming in through those shutters. I'm certain you'll be able to see just fine. And it'll be more mysterious that way."

Without waiting for permission, she made a dash for the light switch and flicked it off. The room was immediately bathed in the wide bars of moonlight slipping through the shutters.

He walked over to the bed and turned his back to her. She watched him draw his knit polo s.h.i.+rt over his head. The muscles of his shoulders rippled as he tossed it aside. "You can put your clothes on that chair there."

Her knees trembled as she walked toward the chair he had indicated. Now that the moment of reckoning had come, she was nearly paralyzed with a fear that even narcotics couldn't quite overcome. It had been one thing to plan this encounter in the abstract, but it was quite another to face the reality of having s.e.x with a stranger. "Maybe you'd like to talk a bit first. Get to know each other a little better."

"I lost interest in talking when we walked through that bedroom door."

"I see."

His shoes. .h.i.t the floor. "Rosebud?"

"Yes?"

"Leave the bow on."

She clutched the back of the chair for support.

He turned to her and, with a flick of his fingers, opened the b.u.t.ton on his jeans. Bars of moonlight fell across his naked chest and down over his hips. His arousal was so p.r.o.nounced she couldn't tear her eyes away from it. Had she done that?

He spoiled her view by sitting on the edge of the bed to pull off his socks. His bare feet were straight and narrow, much longer than Craig's had been. So far everything about him was larger than Craig. She took a long, steadying breath and slipped out of her heels.

Wearing only his unb.u.t.toned jeans, he lay down on the bed and leaned against the pillows. She reached for the snap at the side of her jacket. He crossed his arms behind his head and watched.

As her fingers touched the snap, ripples of panic turned her skin to gooseflesh, and she fought to rea.s.sure herself. What difference did it make if he saw her naked? It wasn't as if she had anything unusual beneath her clothes, and she needed him so desperately. Now that she had seen him, she couldn't imagine anyone else siring her child.

But her hand felt as if it were paralyzed. She noticed that his zipper had crept down, revealing a narrow blade of hair bisecting a flat abdomen.

Do it! her brain screamed. Let him see you Let him see you! But her fingers wouldn't move.

He watched her, saying nothing. There was no kindness in that hard-eyed gaze. No gentleness. Nothing to rea.s.sure her.

As she tried to shake off her paralysis, she remembered that Craig hadn't liked s.e.xual foreplay. He'd told her that with men, the end result was all that mattered. Cal would probably appreciate it if she simply let him get to it. She began walking toward the bed.

"I got some rubbers in the top drawer in the bathroom, Rosebud. Go get 'em."

Even though his request made everything more complicated, she was pleased with this evidence of his survival skills. He might not be book smart, but he had street smarts, a valuable a.s.set to pa.s.s on to a child.

"No need," she said softly. "I came prepared."

She extended her leg slightly, then tugged on her skirt with her left hand. The white silk crept up to her thigh. She reached underneath, and as she withdrew the condom she had tucked in the top of her stocking, she was. .h.i.t full force by the moral implications of what she was doing. She had deliberately sabotaged the condom, and this was thievery.

Studying particle physics either distanced people from G.o.d or brought them closer. For her, the latter had happened, and she was defying everything she believed in. At the same time, she began to rationalize. He had no use for what she wanted, and she wasn't harming him in any way by taking it. He was merely a device. This would have absolutely no negative effect on him.

Setting aside her qualms, she peeled apart the package and handed the condom to him. Even in the dim light, she wasn't taking any chances that he would notice the package had been tampered with.

"Well, now, aren't you an efficient little thing."

"Very efficient." Drawing a steadying breath, she tugged her skirt just high enough so that she could kneel on the edge of the mattress. Then she straddled his thighs, determined to get this over with as quickly as she could.

He gazed up at her, his arms crossed behind his head, the condom between his fingers. Staying on her knees, she garnered her courage and reached for the open waistband of his jeans. Her fingertips brushed the taut skin of his abdomen, and the next thing she knew, she was flat on her back.

With a hiss of alarm, she gazed up at him. His weight pressed her into the mattress, and the heels of his hands pinioned her shoulders so she couldn't move. "Wh-what are you doing?"

His mouth tightened into a hard, thin line. "The game's over, lady. Who the h.e.l.l are you?"

She gasped for breath. She didn't know whether it was his weight or her own fear, but her lungs felt as if they'd collapsed. "I-I don't know what you mean."

"I want the truth, and I want it now. Who are you?"

She'd underestimated his street smarts, and she knew she couldn't afford another convoluted explanation. Her only chance to salvage this situation lay in simplicity. She thought of Jodie Pulanski and forced herself to look directly into his eyes.

"I'm a big fan."

He regarded her with disgust. "That's what I figured. A bored society bimbo with a hankerin' for football jerseys."

Bimbo! He thought she was a He thought she was a bimbo! bimbo! The novelty of it distracted her, and it took a moment to recover. "Not all jerseys," she said hastily. "Just yours." The novelty of it distracted her, and it took a moment to recover. "Not all jerseys," she said hastily. "Just yours."

She hoped he wouldn't ask her the number because she had no idea. The personal research she'd done had centered on his medical records: low cholesterol, twenty-twenty vision, no family history of chronic disease, only a variety of orthopedic injuries that were of no concern to her.

"I should kick your a.s.s out of here."