Passionate Kisses

by Various

  “Yeah, yeah. I remember.”

  “So admit it. You’re full of crap.”

  “Shut up, Nina.” Sometimes having a best friend was a real pain in the ass.

  Late Wednesday night, John sat in a first-class seat on a flight from Chicago to Seattle, after a whirlwind trip opening two gyms in the Windy City. There’d been photo shoots with fitness celebrities, speeches, parties, and last minute legalities. The week had been tiring but exhilarating. He figured one of these days he’d slow his pace, but for now he saw no end in sight. He loved the travel, the excitement, the women…

  Women. That got the wheels in his mind turning in the direction they’d been going to all weekend — Sam and her proposition. Her of all people, to ask him of all people. Wow.

  The idea just seemed a bit shameful, to put a child into the world and not take responsibility for it — even though Sam didn’t want the donor father to have any responsibility after conception. Besides all that, he didn’t want children and didn’t want to help anyone else have children.

  Time was a big issue. His career had been going full steam ahead since graduating from UCLA at twenty-three. Resigning from the corporate world six years ago certainly hadn’t slowed him down. If anything, he was even busier. Next week alone, he’d be in three different cities in three different states promoting his gyms. He spent half his life on the road. He didn’t have time for kids. Children deserved at least one parent around on more than a part-time basis. And since he didn’t plan to marry again, or give up his hectic and time-consuming career which he loved…

  He was full of dog shit. Those reasons were superficial. They were true, but just the tip of the iceberg. They were excuses he gave to anyone who dared get personal. His jaw clenched until his teeth hurt. Excuses to keep the guilt at bay.

  As a kid, he’d envisioned himself as a dad, wanting to give his own kids everything his parents never could — unconditional love and support. But ever since that tragic night twenty years ago, the thought of children in his future had disappeared.

  For the second time in a few days, the nightmarish images knocked at his mind’s door. Usually, he was able to keep the door safely closed or ajar. Last week with Sam, he’d slammed it shut by playing along with her game. Now, however, he was vulnerable to the memories. He was tired and alone, and Sam’s proposal lay heavy on his mind. The door swung wide.

  The twisted metal that used to be a car. The small, lifeless faces. The blood. The sobbing mother. The hatred in her eyes when she’d looked at him. The dead bodies of his so-called friends strewn across the field. The medics tending to Sammy Jo.

  John would live with those images and his father’s warning for the rest of his life. He accepted that. It was how it should be.

  He ordered a Bloody Mary with an extra shot of vodka from the passing flight attendant. He needed something to lull him to sleep during this long flight. He hadn’t slept well since Sam’s proposition. Her request had triggered the nightmares to return, nightmares he’d had for months after the accident. Now the nightmares were back. And so was the guilt. It pressed like an iron fist against his chest.

  The attendant brought his drink. John reclined the leather seat and stretched his legs out as far as the restricted space allowed, then downed the Bloody Mary. As the vodka hit his bloodstream, a relaxing warmth oozed into his head and his limbs. The double shot soon had his eyes drifting closed. At that fuzzy state between awareness and sleep, he saw Sam in his mind’s eye. He saw her as Sammy Jo, lying on the floor of the Mercury. He saw his ex-wife Kate and remembered her words of hatred. He saw little Amber and Amanda Finch, the two children who’d died in that accident. Then he saw Sam holding the baby she wanted so desperately. All the images blurred together, and he fell into a fitful sleep.

  Sam sat in a private booth at the downtown restaurant, drumming her fingers against the polished table. John had called her at work first thing this morning, setting up lunch. He’d given her no clue to his decision.

  She looked up when someone approached. It wasn’t him. The hostess led a family of four to the booth across the aisle. A little girl of about three climbed onto the cushioned bench and jumped up and down, her springy brown curls boinging. Her father settled her with a firm hand on her arm. The mother slipped into the booth, holding an infant carrier. Sam figured the cooing baby couldn’t be more than one or two months old. As she watched, the baby put a fist in its mouth and sucked. Loudly. Sam couldn’t help smiling, just as she couldn’t help her sting of tears.

  “Hi, Sam.” John slid onto the bench across from her.

  She blinked fast and straightened in her seat. She cleared her throat. “Hi.” He looked great in his sport coat and slacks. His blond hair had been tousled by the wind outside, blowing it onto his forehead to frame those deep blue eyes. She didn’t want to think what a perfect choice he was for fathering her child. She stole a glance at the kids across the aisle, and butterflies danced around her stomach.

  The waiter took their orders. John ordered salmon, and she ordered the same, not caring what she chose because she wasn’t hungry. Her stomach was in knots — it had been all weekend. Dear God, let him say yes.

  She told herself to be patient and wait for him to bring it up, but as soon as the waiter departed, she asked, “So? Have you decided?”

  John leaned onto his elbows. “It took a lot of guts to approach me about this, so I figured I at least owed your request serious thought.”

  She didn’t like the sound of that. She also didn’t like his awkward expression. He stared at the table as if waiting for the right words. He was obviously trying to figure out how to let her down gently. Think fast. “Before you say more,” she blurted. His startled gaze met hers. “I’ve never really told you why I’m going this route to get pregnant.”

  “Sam, I—”

  She held up a hand. “And you probably think I don’t seem like the motherly type.”

  His expression was sheepish. “Well…”

  She almost winced, knowing she’d nailed it. But he didn’t know her. Not the real her anyway. All he knew was what she’d shown him — red vinyl, stilettos, and a bitchy attitude. It was pretty much just an image. It wasn’t easy for her to let people get to know the real Sam Rossi, but she knew she had to let John inside at least a little if she wanted any chance of getting a positive answer from him.

  She cleared her throat. “Look, I won’t bore you with long explanations about my pathetic love life, but suffice it to say I’ve had more than my share of bad luck when it comes to men. I decided a long time ago I didn’t want to get married again. But I really want a child. I know it’s hard to believe looking at me, but I’m very maternal. I was the babysitter everyone wanted to hire when I was a teenager.”

  She ran the tip of her finger around the rim of her water glass. Her gaze strayed to the kids in the other booth. The little girl was now under the table. “I think most women have this little timer inside them that dings when they’re ready to have a baby. You can ignore it for a while, but before long, it becomes too loud to disregard.” She blinked the burning from her eyes. When her emotions were under control, she said, “My mother and aunts all went into early menopause around the age of forty-three.” At John’s narrowed gaze, she quickly added, “Now, so far my doctor says I’m fine, but that doesn’t mean next year or the year after, my body won’t start going through the change. There’s really no other way for me. My time’s running out.”

  John stared at her a long time, his deep blue eyes studying her. When he didn’t say anything, she added, “And as to the way I dress…” She couldn’t exactly explain to him that after a string of crappy incidences in her late teens and early twenties, including her parents’ messy divorce, she’d gained weight as a result of her emotional eating. And then her husband had subsequently left her for a skinnier model. She couldn’t really tell John she’d started wearing form-fitting clothes after she’d gotten back into shape so she’d know immediately if she gained
more than a few pounds. And the way she dressed had the added benefit of attracting non-marriage-minded men. Which is how she wanted it. She didn’t know John well enough to tell him those things. So she just said, “I don’t make a habit of wearing vinyl at home, and the only time my baby will see cleavage is when it’s breast-feeding.”

  “You plan to nurse the baby?” He looked surprised.

  She nodded. “It’s supposed to be the best thing.”

  Again, he watched her silently. Sam told herself to stay calm, even though she was pretty sure she knew the outcome of this conversation.

  Finally, he asked, “You’re comfortable with the idea of raising a child by yourself?”

  “There are plenty of capable single mothers out there. Men always think women can’t make it without them. Well, I’m telling you they’re wrong. You’re wrong.” She sounded defensive, but she was tired of explaining her decision to people. Of course, John wasn’t just “people.”

  “Sam,” he chided. “I didn’t say you couldn’t do it. But don’t you think the child would be better off knowing who his father is?”

  “When he’s old enough to be curious, then I’ll tell him. Or her. Provided, of course, you, er, the donor father agrees to such an arrangement.” She rattled the ice in her glass. “I know the ideal situation would include both parents, but because I don’t plan to marry again…”

  “Because divorce runs in your family, right, so why bother?”

  “Look. I’ve seen first-hand the effects of divorce. It’s hell on earth. I don’t want my child to ever experience that pain.”

  “You’re assuming your marriage would fail. Kind of a self-defeatist attitude, isn’t it?”

  “It’s a realistic attitude. No offense, but look at you. Two times, Everest.”

  His lips thinned. “I didn’t go into those marriages expecting they would fail.”

  “Doesn’t matter. How in the world are we supposed to go about finding that one special person out of the millions of people out there? It’s like searching for a specific needle in a pile of other needles. The odds aren’t good. You chose wrong twice. Once was more than enough for me.”

  His blue gaze bore into her, unfathomable and unreadable. She softened her tone. “I can provide well for a child, Everest. I’m not rich by any means, but I make enough to give him everything he’ll need and much of what he’ll want. He’ll have a mother who wants him more than anything and loves him dearly. That’s more than a lot of kids have.”

  It was a lot more than he had as a kid, John mused. He’d never felt wanted, and rarely felt loved. His mother had been hesitant to show any affection because Harlan Everest believed too much affection spoiled a child. Thus, John received little in the attention department — unless it was negative. He’d received plenty of that once he started getting into trouble as a teenager. Negative attention, after all, was better than none.

  He had hated his parents for a long time, but after his father’s death fifteen years ago, his animosity diminished. He could now see Harlan for what he was: a hard, cold man, unable to show affection or love toward anyone but his God. Toward his mother, John just felt pity for the way she used to be. A stronger woman would have stood up to Harlan, but Martha Everest was brought up to believe a man’s home was his castle and everyone was subservient to him.

  He let out a long breath and sipped his water, eyeing Sam over the rim of the glass. She watched the antics of a rambunctious little girl across the aisle, her eyes crinkled at the corners in silent amusement.

  He drummed his fingers on the table, trying to figure out how to say what had to be said. He took a deep breath. But before he could get any words out, the relative silence of the restaurant was shattered by the shriek of the man across the aisle, the one with the active child.

  “Hannah Marie! You get back in your seat right now!”

  The little girl careened across the aisle with a full glass of soda pop in her chubby hands. She spun around at her father’s scolding and when she did, tripped headlong into Sam, who leapt backward in her seat as ice and brown liquid soaked the front of her jacket and blouse.

  The child stood frozen in the middle of the aisle, her big brown eyes filling with tears. With a frantic sob, she hid behind her father, who had jumped from his seat. The man shot a stern look at his daughter then immediately approached John and Sam’s table. “I’m terribly sorry,” he gushed at Sam as she futilely dabbed at her wet blouse with a napkin. “My daughter’s only three, but of course that doesn’t excuse her behavior. Naturally, we’ll pay to have your outfit dry-cleaned.”

  John glanced at Sam, expecting her to be furious, but hoping for the child’s sake she’d tone down her reaction. To his surprise, she looked like she was trying not to laugh.

  She smiled at the man. “Don’t worry about it. This outfit is washable. It’s no big deal.” The blouse was made of a silky material and the suit looked to be a wool blend. John was pretty sure neither was washable.

  The man’s face reddened, but he smiled stiffly at her graciousness in spite of his embarrassment. “Well, er, thank you. And again, I’m sorry.”

  The next few minutes were a riot of confusion as the restaurant staff bustled about, cleaning the mess. Someone swept the broken glass, another mopped the sticky soda from the floor, and at least two times the manager asked Sam if there was anything he could do. John doubted good customer service was all the young man had in mind. Soda-stained or not, Sam was gorgeous.

  Finally, it was business as usual. Now that the aisle was clean and clear, the family in the opposite booth hurried out of the restaurant, bright red stains of discomfiture on the parents’ cheeks.

  Sam turned her attention back to him. “Shall we get back to our reason for being here? You were about to tell me your decision.” Her voice was quiet and flat, sounding resigned. Her face told John everything — she was certain he was going to say no.

  As he thought about the words he would use, flashbacks from the night of the accident came to him. Her huddled form on the floor of the car. How terrified she must have been. “Keep an eye on my bitch,” Morris had said. “Take a look at them titties,” said another. John imagined how distrusting she must have been of the opposite sex after that awful ordeal. Had she dated much? Had she questioned her ability to recognize “nice” guys? If not for the stupidity of him and his so-called friends, she might be happily married by now with a van-load of children. “I’ve had more than my share of bad luck with men,” she’d told him. “I’ll never marry again.” Christ.

  Guilt collided with an unfamiliar emotion inside his chest, and the decision was made.

  “Okay,” was all he said.

  “Okay?” she repeated. “You mean you’ll—?”

  He gave her a wavering smile. “Yes.” What the hell had he just agreed to? Was he completely insane? He waited for the feeling of dread and remorse to envelop him. Funny, but it never came. Instead he felt a sense of… rightness, and as if an oppressing weight had been lifted from him.

  “Oh, I could just kiss you!” Her smile would have brightened midnight.

  Maybe not so insane, he thought, smiling back at her. “Go with your gut.”

  She didn’t. Instead, her smile faded. “You just changed your mind, didn’t you? You came in here today with no intention of helping me.”

  He just shrugged, still a bit dazed.

  “Why?” she asked softly. “Why did you change your mind?”

  Because I owe you one, dammit! And you’ll stand up for your child like my mom never did for me.

  He cocked his head. “A man’s got the same prerogative, doesn’t he?” He could tell she wanted a better reason. He pasted on his most charming smile. “It was simple decision — here’s an opportunity to make love to a beautiful woman on a somewhat regular basis, with no strings attached and without a condom. You figure it out.” It was a truthful if not complete answer.

  Her expression was startled for a moment. “Well . . . thank you, E
verest. I—I don’t know what to say.”

  “You can start by calling me ‘John.’”

  “What?”

  He smirked. “You’ve been using my last name since we met. And I gotta tell you — the thought of having you calling out my last name while in the throes of ecstasy doesn’t exactly turn me on.”

  Her expression changed, hardened a bit. “At the risk of sounding ungrateful, I need to tell you I’m not in this for the pleasure. My sole purpose is to become pregnant. I want to be clear about that.”

  He leaned onto his forearms. “At the risk of sounding— hell, I don’t care how it sounds. I am in this for the pleasure, beautiful. Call me selfish, but I’m telling you right now I intend to exact every bit of pleasure out of our time together as is humanly possible. I want to be clear about that.”

  Sam couldn’t help the slow tingle of excitement that traveled up her spine. She had a sudden vision of twisted sheets, sweat-drenched bodies, tangled arms and legs, and hot, hot kisses…

  Thank goodness for her sanity’s sake their meals arrived just then. As they ate, she got back to the business at hand and gave him the questionnaire she’d prepared, as well as the list of blood work he’d need done.

  He gave it a perfunctory glance and said, “It’s only fair I know your medical history, too. I mean, for all I know, you could be crawling with—”

  She slapped an envelope onto the table between them, effectively slapping that expression off his handsome face. “Way ahead of you, Everest.”

  “John.”

  She smiled a flat smile. “John.” She pulled the contract from her briefcase. “You might want to have your lawyer look this over before you sign it, but basically all it says is you agree to relinquish your rights as the baby’s father. That I will have sole custody and you won’t be responsible for child support, and some other legal mumbo jumbo. It’s pretty clear, but like I said, you might want to—”