by Various
His tongue slid along the seam of her lips. She wouldn’t open her mouth. She didn’t like him enough to kiss him like that. She wouldn’t open her mouth… well, maybe just for a second. She was dying to know if the rest of his kiss was as good as the first part. She was certain it wouldn’t be. The only reason she felt all hot and heavy was because she hadn’t been kissed in a while. It had nothing to do with him. His tongue swept inside her mouth and his hand slid down to the small of her back to urge their bodies closer. Is this what weak in the knees feels like?
Because of her predisposition against men like John, she hadn’t expected his touch to make her feel anything other than revulsion. She certainly hadn’t expected to enjoy it and be turned on by it. She was furious with him for being so presumptuous and furious with herself for letting things progress to this point. She should push him away right now and give him a piece of her mind. And she would do exactly that, just as soon as she kissed him a moment longer. Just a few more moments and then she’d stop. Because the last thing she needed was to get involved with the donor father—
That jolted her back to reality. Double dammit, what was she thinking? Her eyes flew open and she shoved him away. Hard.
John’s eyes came open slowly. “What’s wrong?”
She moved several steps away from him. A safe distance. “Let’s not go there.”
“Let’s not—?” He composed himself, shoving fingers through his hair and giving it a sexy, tousled look. “If I moved too fast,” he finally said, his voice husky, “I apologize. I guess with the champagne, the dancing, that dress—” His eyebrows rose as his gaze raked over her.
She bristled. “What? You mean because I’m wearing a sexy dress, I must be easy? Is that it?”
“Oh, come off it, Samantha. You can’t wear a dress like that and not expect a guy to get ideas.”
Sam forced herself to take some calming breaths because she couldn’t quite shake the toe-curling sensation of that doggone kiss. Feeling out of control in any way always sparked her anger. It never failed to take her back twenty years, to the most terrifying night of her life.
She cleared her throat. “I was simply trying to make the point the way a woman dresses has nothing to do with her moral character.”
He crossed his arms over his broad chest and studied her from narrowed eyes. “Okay. So, why did you break the kiss?”
She crossed her arms, too. “Because I don’t like you in that way.”
He was silent a moment, then he laughed. “You don’t like me in that way? Is that why you’ve been flirting with me all evening and practically threw yourself at me on the dance floor?”
“I haven’t been flirting with me, I mean you, all evening,” she huffed, trying to look indignant and hating he was able to fluster her. “And I don’t ‘throw’ myself at anyone.”
“Uh huh. And that dress…” he waved his hand at her, taking in the shimmery body hugger in a long glance, “you wouldn’t call that flirtatious?”
She lifted her hands in the air. “See, there you go again. Figuring the way a woman dresses—”
“You’re a tease,” he said, cutting her off.
“I am not.” Okay, so she could be a tease on occasion, but only when she wanted something from a man. She certainly couldn’t tell John what she wanted from him. Not yet, anyway.
She made a sound of disgust through her teeth. She wasn’t used to verbally sparring with a man who could give it right back to her. She didn’t like it.
She yanked her coat from the coat rack, shoved in her arms and buttoned it. She looked up to find John trying to hide his amusement, his blue eyes twinkling. “I’m glad you think this is so funny, Everest. But I’d like you to take me back to my car now.” When he made no move to obey, she said, “Fine, I’ll call a cab.” She dug into her purse for her phone.
His chuckle brought her gaze back to him. “No, no. I’ll take you.”
They were silent on the drive into downtown Seattle. Reaching his club, she directed him to her car in the middle of a nearby lot. He put his car into park, letting the engine idle. “Look, I obviously misread—”
“Ya think? Good night, John.”
Chapter 5
Sam should have been having a great day. They’d had to run off more copies of today’s paper, thanks to her article on Darwin Tooch. Her editor hadn’t stopped grinning all morning. Her phone hadn’t stopped ringing. She finally quit answering her calls so she could get some work done. Normally, she’d let herself bask in the glow of a job well done for at least an hour or two, but not today. Her nerves were still shot from her date with John last night. He’d left a message this morning, but she hadn’t called him back.
She wasn’t sure if she was more angry at him, or herself. He’d been right to call her a tease. How could she have expected to toy with a man like John Everest and not have him pull what he did? And how could she have thought she’d be impervious to his advances? He was an attractive man, and she’d been without any man, attractive or otherwise, for… well, for a long time. She’d been plenty in control until he’d kissed her. She hadn’t gone out with him to become all weak in the knees over him. She’d gone out with him to assess his fitness as a possible donor, nothing more. Kissing him certainly hadn’t been part of her plan.
Did she dare still ask him to father her child? Like Nina said, he met all her requirements and then some. If he’d never kissed her, then she’d definitely ask him. But now… being sexually attracted to the donor father wasn’t a good thing. It could only complicate matters. Her support group would rake her over the coals.
The phone rang and she picked it up without thinking. Before she’d even said hello, her palms dampened. It was him. She knew it.
But it was someone worse. “Nice story you put out this morning,” spat the gravelly voice of her ex-husband. “I’d really like to know how you got the scoop.”
“Well, that’s a mystery you’ll never solve. Did you call to whine?”
“No, I also wanted to thank you for the little gift last night.”
“Glad you liked it. First issue off the press.”
Wayne Metzger guffawed. “Yeah, I adore being woken up at three in the morning by a messenger boy who can’t decide whether he wants to look like Johnny Depp or goddamn Britney Spears.”
Sam whistled softly into the phone. “Such language from an educated man. What possessed me to marry you, I’ll never know. Youth and stupidity, I suppose.”
He was silent a long moment, and she hoped he’d hung up. Finally, he said quietly, “You know, this little game of yours can stop now, Sam.”
“Game?” she asked in a candy-coated voice. “What game?” If they’d been face to face, she would have batted her eyes.
“We both know this is just your way of getting back at me.”
“Getting back at you for what? For opening my eyes to the degeneracy of the male gender? I should thank you.”
“Come on, Sam. I think it’s time we bury the hatchet, don’t you? We’re not in direct competition any longer. Instead of trying to scoop each other all the time, we could work together. We’d both come out ahead.”
“I’m already ahead.” She slammed down the phone. “God! I hate men!”
Oz, her editor, who was approaching her desk to discuss an upcoming article, spun on his heel and practically ran the other way.
“Have you thought more about Gary’s offer?” asked Rosemary. “He told me again he’s willing to help.”
Sam lowered her eyes, unable to meet Rosemary’s gaze. “Actually, I have someone else in mind, but, uh, thanks.”
“You have a donor in mind?” asked Rita. “Who is he?”
Sam shrugged. “He’s just a guy I met through, um, work.”
“What’s his medical history?” “Have you asked him yet?” “Is he good-looking?” “Make sure he’s tested.”
The questions and advice came at her from every angle. Sam laughed and held up her hand. “Wait a second here,”
she interrupted. “I haven’t decided for sure that I’m going to ask him. He just seems like a good possibility.” She told them briefly how she’d met John and about their “date,” including his making a move on her.
“What a jerk.” “That’s just like a man.” “I’d’ve kicked him in the balls.”
She would probably say the same things if she was in their shoes and had heard the edited version of the episode, the one that left out the small matter of how she’d sorta kinda led him on and sorta kinda enjoyed his kiss.
“So, anyway,” she said, putting a halt to the barrage of insults about John, “I need to make a decision. The thing is, I don’t really like him all that much.” She had a strange urge to cross her fingers behind her back.
“That’s even better,” Rita said. “The less emotionally attached you are to the donor, the better. Remember what happened to Lisanne? Her donor father took her to court to get custody. All because she got romantically involved with him.”
Sam squinted her eyes. “Didn’t they end up getting married?”
“Yes. Can you believe it? Lisanne was trying to do what was best for her child.” Rita looked shocked as if it weren’t old news. “You want to end up marrying this John fellow?”
Sam practically spit out her coffee. “Good God, no!”
“Then keep your emotional distance. The less you like him, the better, I say.”
“You know what I think you should do?” Mona asked Sam from the opposite end of the couch. Everyone turned their attention to the woman who looked like she invented the term ‘A hard day’s night.’ “I think you should make a date with him during your next fertile time and then screw his brains out. You said he’s good lookin’. Make him your boy toy until you get pregnant.”
Sam’s eyes widened. “You mean, don’t tell him what I’m doing?” Is that how Mona got her kids?
Mona shrugged, and tugged on a hangnail, examining it like it was priceless jewelry. “Sure. Like he’d think twice about using you.”
Rosemary nodded. “I say go for it. He sounds like the type of guy that would say it was your problem anyway if you accidentally got pregnant.”
Murmurs of assent went around the room. Sam grimaced. “I don’t think I could do that. I mean, like I said, I don’t particularly like this guy, but to lie to him like that—”
“It wouldn’t be lying, just a simple matter of disclosure,” Rosemary said.
Sam shook her head. “It just seems too…” Immoral, mean, wrong. She liked these women, but sometimes they were too extreme, even for her. She cleared her throat. “I just couldn’t do that.”
“I agree with Sam on this one,” Rita said, glancing around the room. “I know one or two of you here may have gone that route, but I don’t think we should condone that as a group.”
It was a few moments before a begrudging murmur of assent went around. Bertie spoke up. “I think you should ask him to help you, Sam,” she said. “The worst he could do is say no.”
Helen guffawed. “Let’s get real here. We all know that men think with their dicks. All Sam has to do is wear something real slinky and sexy, and this dude will be bending over backward to help her out. I guaran-fuckin-tee it.”
John upped the resistance on the exercise bike as his assistant confirmed his schedule for the next week. Alex rode the bike beside him.
Margo raised her voice over the whirring treadmills behind her. “Your meeting with the new PR firm is set for next Friday at ten. Your brother called and invited you over to his place on Sunday to watch the ‘big game.’ I told him you’d be out of town and you’d call him before you left.” She paused for his acknowledging nod. “Your real estate agent called and wanted to know when she could take you and Mr. Drake through that building for the youth center. And… that’s it.”
“Great. Thanks, Margo. I’ll see you Monday. Have a good weekend.”
She nodded briskly at him, didn’t spare a look at Alex, and tucked her pencil behind her ear, moving aside a wisp of her shoulder-length blond hair as she did. John noticed Alex’s eyes follow her swaying hips as she walked away.
“She hates me,” Alex said.
“Only because you keep hitting on her.”
“I can’t help it. Look at her.” He sighed. “It’s a damn shame, it is.”
“My friend, if you want to succeed in this mission of yours to find a good woman, I’d suggest going after someone who’s attainable,” John said on the edge of a chuckle. “Or at least is attracted to men.”
Alex laughed. “Hey, a guy can look can’t he?”
“Oh, John.” Margo hurried back toward them, pulling a piece of paper from the pocket of her tailored jacket. “I almost forgot. A Sam Rossi is on her way to see you.”
John gripped the handles of the exercise bike a little harder, his body tensing. Sammy Jo. After the other night, he hadn’t expected to see her again. He’d really blown it by kissing her.
Alex hooted. “Oh, this should be good.”
“Did she say why she wanted to see me?” John asked Margo.
“No. I suggested she make an appointment, but she was pretty insistent about coming by now.”
“That’s okay. I’m almost done. Tell the front desk to send her to my office when she arrives.”
Margo nodded and left.
“I thought you said you screwed everything up with Sam,” Alex said.
“I did.”
“So what’s with this visit?”
John read the digital display attached to the bike. Seven more minutes. “I have no idea.” He tried to focus on his workout, with little luck. Had Sam made the connection between him and the no-good Johnny he used to be? Was that why she was on her way over? He cringed at the thought.
The old guilt welled inside of him, making him nauseous. Swallowing hard, he lowered the resistance on the bike and forced his body to cool.
A loud wolf whistle came from somewhere in the room, interrupting his troubled thoughts. John glanced around for the object of admiration.
Alex saw her first. “Lord have mercy,” he muttered.
On the second-floor walkway beside the club’s offices, Sam peered into the fitness room. She looked even more outrageously sexy than John remembered. She wore a red belted motorcycle jacket over matching mini skirt. The short, shiny outfit appeared made of vinyl. It showed off every man-pleasing curve of her incredible body and a whole hell of a lot of leg. She looked like a woman who wanted to be slammed against the wall and given the high hard one without foreplay. John shifted on the suddenly uncomfortable bicycle seat. Why did she have to be Sammy Jo? If she weren’t, he’d be all over her like white on rice. Not that she’d let him, of course, if the other night was any indication. This woman was harder to figure out than a Sudoku puzzle and almost as maddening.
When she looked his direction, he lifted his arm in a weak wave. “I’m almost done. About another five minutes if you can wait?” he called up to her. She nodded. “My office is open. Make yourself comfortable.” Without another glance, she continued down the walkway, her black heels clicking against the hardwood floor, probably putting little dents in it with every step. He watched until she disappeared inside his office.
From beside him, Alex said, “If you’ve got your head screwed on straight, John-boy, you’ll throw yourself at her feet and beg for mercy.”
John looped the towel around his neck, took a deep breath, and opened the door to his office. Sam turned around as he entered. “Hi.” He closed the door behind him. “I hope you don’t mind, but I haven’t showered. I didn’t want to make you wait.”
She nodded and paced the room, obviously nervous about something. Damn. The way she looked made him nervous.
“Look, Samantha,” he said, wiping sweat from his brow. “About the other night. I owe you an apology—”
She fluttered her hand, waving off his words. “No. It was my fault you got the wrong idea, but it doesn’t matter.” Were her hands shaking? “Okay, I’m just going to
say it.” She smoothed the short vinyl skirt over her thighs then met his gaze. “I want you to help me have a baby.”
Thud to the solar plexus. “Excuse me?”
She sighed. “I said, I want you to—”
He held up his hand. “I know what you said, I’m just a little—” He cleared his throat. “Wow.” Then, “Shit. You’re not a lesbian, are you?”
Her brow crinkled. “What? No.”
Well, that was a relief. He’d never have forgiven himself if he thought the incident twenty years ago might have in any way turned her off men that much. “Hmm. Okay. When you say ‘help,’ what exactly do you mean—”
Another impatient sigh. He wouldn’t have been surprised if she’d stomped her foot. “I mean I want your sperm, John Everest, if I may be so blunt. I want to have a baby and unfortunately I can’t do it without a man’s help.”
He scratched the area behind his ear and crossed over to the couch and sat, elbows on knees. “In other words, you’re asking me to donate—”
“Yes, I’m asking you to donate! You’ll have a little plastic cup, a dimly lit room, dirty magazines, whatever else it takes.” Her expression was straight and hard — not a hint of embarrassment. Then, suddenly, her face softened. “I’m sorry. That was rude. This isn’t an easy subject to bring up.”
As her request sunk in, an adamant, “Hell, no!” was on the tip of his tongue, but he held it back. If she was anyone else, he’d turn her down flat.
A jumble of emotions roiled through him as he pushed aside the nightmare of that long ago tragedy — it wasn’t often he let those images out, and right now definitely wasn’t a good time. He forced his mind to the present, effectively trapping those memories safe within the dark recesses of his soul. For now.
