The Stud

by Barbara Delinsky

  Then she slept in his arms as though it was the most natural thing in the world to do, as though there had never been talk of separate bedrooms or separate sides of a king-size bed or, heaven help them, his using the sofa. True, when she awoke to daylight the next morning, she slid away, but he understood that Relatively speaking, she had come a long way. If he was patient, she would come another long way yet. And he could be patient. For a treasure, he had all the patience in the world.

  Jenna knew she was falling in love with Spencer. The knowledge hit her hard on Sunday morning when, after a late brunch in bed, he rented a car and drove them to visit friends of his in Virginia. Sitting in the passenger's seat for a two-hour blend of easy conversation and companionable silence, she had time to reflect on the previous day. She'd had a wonderful time with him—she couldn't deny it—and that included what they'd done in bed. Yes, what they'd done in bed. As a lover, Spencer was masterful. He had her wanting him the way she had never wanted another man, and it kept getting better and better. The wanting was with her even now. No matter that they were in bucket seats, separated by a storage bin and the gearshift, she felt his presence as though they were still in bed, nestled against each other, sleeping—or pretending to. He had been sleeping; she had heard the evenness of his heartbeat by her ear; but she had found something so pleasurable in lying with him that she hadn't wanted to miss it by sleeping for long.

  Vividly she remembered the softness of his chest hair against her cheek, his clean scent, the firmness of his torso against hers, the length of the arm that circled her and held her in place. She remembered the way her leg had curved naturally over his, and the way he had slept with his face buried in her hair.

  Oh, yes, she was falling in love. Try as she might to find things to hate about Spencer, she couldn't She supposed she could take that as a tribute to her own judgment, that the man she had chosen to father her child was as close to perfect as a man could be. But it didn't bode well for her future, in which Spencer had no role at all.

  So what was she to do? Was she to go back to pushing him away and trying to keep their lovemaking as uninvolved as possible? That made sense. At least if she could keep reminding herself of the reason they were together, she had a chance of keeping her feelings for him within bounds. The problem was that when she was with him, when they were doing things together, she had trouble thinking straight.

  It was a good thing she didn't have to remember to use birth control, she mused. She'd be pregnant for sure then.

  "What is it?" he asked, darting her short, repeated glances.

  "What?"

  "You chuckled. "

  She hadn't realized it. Blushing but unable to help it, she said, "It was nothing. A Murphy's Law kind of thing. "

  He reached over and took her hand. She liked it when he did that. His hand was large and strong, and made her feel protected. This time he anchored it to his thigh—clad in jeans today—and held it until they turned in at his friends' farm.

  Jenna liked his friends. Spencer had gone to school years earlier with the female half of the couple, and he and the male half had subsequently become friends. The couple raised horses. Jenna, who had always wished Rhode Island were lush enough for that, loved seeing the stables, the paddock, the pastures. Though she had never ridden a horse previously, she was eager to try—then proud when she held her own on the albeit gentle mount they gave her. Spencer stayed by her side for all but the brief periods of time when he gave his own horse free rein. She didn't begrudge him those times. He needed the freedom himself, and besides, he was a heart-stopping sight on a horse.

  It was dark before they left Virginia. Having slept only intermittently the previous night, Jenna managed to stay awake during the drive back, but she was in bed and sound asleep by the time Spencer returned after disposing of the car. She woke up several times during the night to an awareness of the warmth of his body beside her and, selfishly, didn't fight its pull. He would be gone soon enough, she knew, but before he left, she wanted the closeness he was so willing to offer. Somehow that didn't seem wrong.

  So she curled against him in defiance of the fact that he was Caroline's brother, that he was a world-renowned adventurer and author, that he would be back to his own life before long. If nothing else, she reasoned, he would know that his baby's mother was a woman worthy of warmth and affection.

  Spencer was in pain. The last thing he wanted to do was to climb out of bed on Monday morning, and it didn't have to do with the soreness of his thighs, but rather what lay hard and heavy between them. Morning desire had always been a problem for him, but waking up to a snuggling Jenna made the problem ten times worse. He shifted her in his arms and rubbed his lips against her forehead, then lay for a while wondering how much more he dared do. She wasn't a daylight lover. He would make her one yet, but he couldn't rush her. She was still thinking of the baby, and had her mind set on the night.

  The night. That night. He wasn't sure if he could wait. Closing his eyes, he took a tortured breath.

  "Spencer?" came a whisper from his chest.

  "Umm?" He was afraid to say much, lest she move away.

  "Are you okay?"

  "Just fine. "

  "You sound uncomfortable. " Before he could explain that the discomfort was a sweet agony, she rolled out of his arms and sat up on her side of the bed. Her hair was a tangle around her head. She pushed it back with a hand, sat that way for a minute, then freed herself of the sheet and swung her legs to the floor.

  In her innocent white gown, with her slenderness apparent and her hair a dark, seductive cloud, she looked as exotic as the most delicate of South Seas beauties. Spencer would have given his right arm to lunge for her and drag her back to bed.

  In a moment of pique that was directed as much at his own damnable self-control as at her, he said, "I wasn't just uncomfortable. I was—am—in excruciating pain. "

  She looked back at him in alarm, but the alarm faded when she caught sight of the shape of the sheet "Oh, " she said, and blushed.

  He laughed in spite of himself and rolled away. "I would suggest, " he called over a shoulder, "that we get dressed and out of here fast. Anything else, and I can't promise I'll behave. " The next thing he heard was the soft click of the bathroom door.

  Fifteen minutes later, she emerged fully dressed and ready to let him take his turn, and that too, was torture. The bathroom was filled with the lingering warmth from her shower and the scent of her body lotion. He had to ran the water at its coldest and stand under it for a bone-numbing ten minutes before he was finally under control.

  They ate breakfast in the hotel dining room. Then Spencer set out for the Smithsonian. He asked Jenna if she wanted to come, but she was intent on museum-hopping, and it was just as well. He needed a break. She was a temptation to look at He prayed that out of sight would be out of mind.

  For the most part, it was. He spent the day poring through ancient records of vessels that had sailed at the time of his Spanish galleon. He traced their routes on yellowed maps and made notes of their cargo, as recorded in crude journals that demanded his close attention. There was referencing and cross-referencing to be done, papers of earlier researchers to study, and he found it all as intriguing as he'd known it would be. Then the mustiness of the air got to him. His mind slowed and started to wander. He felt not so much bored as drained of energy.

  The office he was using was in the basement of one of the lesser buildings of the Smithsonian, and wasn't far from where the records he needed were stored. He had given Jenna the number of the room and told her that he would be there at least until six, and that if she finished early and wanted to join him, she could. By midafternoon, he was listening for her footsteps in the hall.

  Shortly before six, he heard them. When she knocked on the door and poked her head in, he felt a return of the energy he had been lacking. He also felt a return of the desire, which, in his enervated state, hit him all the harder. Hoping action would diffuse it, he rose from
the desk and quickly gathered together the books he'd been using.

  "I'll wait if you want to work more, " Jenna said, but he simply handed her a book to carry.

  "I've had enough. " He pushed his notes into a pile and put them in his briefcase. "If I were superstitious, I wouldn't be touching these records. The court still has to rule in my favor. " He put the books on top of his briefcase and lifted the lot. "Let's get these returned. " He shut off the light, locked the door and started down the hall. "How was your day?"

  "Fun. "

  "Which museums did you hit?"

  "The Portrait Gallery and the Hirschorn. I had lunch on the terrace at the Botanic Garden. "

  "You went to the Botanic Garden without me?" The Botanic Garden was his favorite. Being there was the next best thing to being on a tropical island.

  She smiled him an apology. "Sorry. But I couldn't resist. I love that place. "

  "You should've saved it. You should've gone shopping, instead. That's what most women would have done. " His words were gruff, offered in jest, but they made him think. Jenna wasn't like other women. He was just coming to realize that. She didn't follow a crowd, didn't cling to tradition for its own sake, didn't run from new experiences. She had walked all over Washington with him, had ducked into a movie theater on the spur of the moment, had bravely climbed up on that horse. She had decided that she wanted a baby, so she'd set out to get one. He respected that.

  Now she sent him a chiding look, but it was no harsher than his tone had been, and he was struck once again by how pretty—no, how beautiful she was with her dark hair and her pale skin, how sweet and innocent, how sexy.

  "Here we go, " he said in a thick voice, and separated a key from the others. After using it, he shouldered open a door that took them out of the dimly lit hall and into a pitch-black storage room. He hit a switch with his elbow to give them light, dropped his briefcase on a table by the door, took his books and Jenna's and returned them to the shelves from which he'd removed them several hours earlier.

  Jenna was leaning against the table by his briefcase. Her eyes smiled when he emerged from the stacks, and he felt a little flip-flop inside. From nowhere came a naughty thought. Actually it wasn't from nowhere; he'd been thinking naughty thoughts all his life. This one, though, he immediately pushed from mind. Jenna wasn't the type.

  Then he remembered what he'd been thinking about her, that she wasn't any "type, " and the naughty thought returned.

  Pushing at the light switch, he plunged them into darkness, but it was Jenna he reached for, not the door. "I missed you today, " he said, and brought her close. "Did you miss me, too?" His head was already descending, and before she could answer, he covered her mouth with his.

  It was supposed to be a mischievous kiss, stolen in the black belly of the Smithsonian, but within seconds, it erupted with the hunger he had been feeling so strongly that morning. She tasted faintly of coffee and smelled of rare flowers, both of which pleased him, but it was the stealth of her arms winding around his neck that pleased him most of all.

  He kissed her deeply, using his tongue to its utmost, but that wasn't enough. He caressed her back, brought his hands forward and caressed her breasts, but that wasn't enough, either. So he bent his head to her neck and planted wet kisses down that slender column to where the slim strap of her sun dress lay on her shoulder.

  Her arms were coiled around his neck. Taking encouragement from that, he reached behind her and unzipped her dress.

  "Spence?" she whispered breathlessly.

  He unhooked her bra and reached for her hands. "If I don't feel you, I'll die. " Pulling her hands down, he drew the dress and bra from her breasts.

  "Here?" she cried, then cried again when he took her warm flesh in his palms.

  "Oh, yeah, here. " He felt her swell and wished he could see her. Since he couldn't, he lowered his head.

  "Someone could walk in—" She caught her breath sharply when he opened his mouth on her breast. She said his name again, pleadingly this time, and while he was waiting for her to push him away, she surprised him by fastening her fingers in his hair.

  He drew her into his mouth, nipped her softly with his teeth, used his tongue to make her wet. His thumb rolled over that wetness while he moved to the other breast, and when it was as wet, he left both hands on her and rose to her mouth. For the first time, her kiss was as open, as deep, as hungry as his was.

  Needing her more badly than he'd have imagined possible, he dragged his mouth away. "Help me, " he whispered, and pulled up her dress.

  "Are you sure we can do this?" she whispered back, but her hands helped his.

  "The only thing I'm sure of, " he said as he opened his pants, "is that we can't not do it. "

  She clutched his bare hips. "What if someone comes along?"

  "I'll take that risk. " He splayed his hands over her bottom and lifted her onto the table. When he felt her legs circle him, he captured her mouth and thrust into her.

  He would never get over how tight she was, or how delicate, or how sweet smelling, or how right. She was made for him. Their fit was ideal. Again and again, he buried himself in her, only to withdraw for the sake of stroking the warm, wet walls that hugged him. He was thinking that nothing could be better when she started to come apart in his arms. Her first small cry sent him into a shattering orgasm.

  Afterward, she was the first to speak. "My God, I don't believe this. " There was, indeed, disbelief in her voice, but delight as well.

  He was still breathing heavily. "The room?"

  "Room, table, building—" She paused and in a smaller voice said, "That was the first time I've ever climaxed during intercourse. "

  He suspected she wouldn't have confessed in the light, and he knew the feeling. In a voice that wasn't so much small as humble and the tiniest bit awed, he said, "Do you know how rare it is for two people to come at the same time?"

  She drew her head away from his shoulder. "Is it?"

  "Yes. It's only happened to me once before in my life. "

  "I don't believe you. "

  "So help me God, it's true. "

  "But you're so experienced. "

  "Yeah, well, not in the kind of thing we just shared. " And that included the one other time he had climaxed at the same time as his lover. That time had been purely accidental. This time there had been deep emotions involved.

  He stroked her legs all the way around to her ankles, then reluctantly eased them from his hips. "I guess we blew the missionary position, huh?"

  "Guess so, " she murmured. He could tell by the small, slithering sounds that she was putting on her bra.

  "Are you gonna hate me in the morning for this?"

  "Of course not. "

  He pulled up his pants. "Do we get to do it again tonight?"

  "I don't know. We shouldn't. "

  "Because I won't be at full potency? Somehow I don't think that's an issue here, and it's got nothing to do with ego. " He zipped up. "You have a powerful effect on me, Jenna. "

  The sounds that had been telling him she was putting her dress back in place suddenly stopped. Hesitantly she asked, "Is that really true?"

  "Can't you tell?"

  "Words are words. A person can say what he or she thinks the other wants to hear. It's done a lot. "

  Annoyed that her earlier experience with men had been so deflating, he snapped, "Not by me. " He gentled his tone. "And besides, it isn't only the words. It's the action that goes with them. Do you think I could make love to you the way I do if my attraction to you wasn't potent? And with nearly no foreplay!"

  Jenna was quiet.

  "Well?" he prodded.

  "Okay. "

  "Okay, we can do it again tonight?"

  "Okay, you're attracted to me. "

  He sighed. "Such enthusiasm. "

  She went back to dressing. "I'm pleased. "

  "Such enthusiasm. "

  It was her turn to sigh. "Enthusiasm can be a dangerous thing. We're leaving tomorr
ow. "

  "We don't have to, " he said because it seemed like the time. "I'm pretty free right about now. "

  "I'm not. I have McCue's. "

  "And you're the boss. " He ran his hands up her arms to her shoulders. "You're not punching a time clock. " He reached behind to raise her zipper. "You can take another day off if you want" He barely had to move to put his mouth to her temple. "Do it, angel. Spend another day with me. "

  "Oh, Spencer, " she whispered, and slipped her arms around his waist.

  Once upon a time, Spencer would have heard that whisper and felt those arms, and turned and run in the opposite direction as fast and as far as he could. No woman had ever tied him down. He had never allowed or wanted one to. And he wasn't sure he did now. All he knew was that the sound of his name, whispered so sweetly by Jenna, made his heart swell, while the feel of her arms warmed something he hadn't realized was cold, until now.

  What he felt was confusing. He and Jenna didn't have a future. Not in the long run. He had his travels; she had McCue's. And then there was the matter of the baby. She was vehement in her determination to raise it alone, and that was fine, because he didn't want to change diapers.

  But, damn it, he liked being with Jenna.

  "Stay, " he whispered. "Just for the fun of it. One more day. I'll be a good boy and get on top, and I'll make sure you don't move for an hour afterward. I'll even do it in that bed again, though it goes against my better judgment to make love in the same place twice. "

  She growled in frustration. "Ugh, Spencer, you're impossible. "