by Lacey Savage
Reams of paper, all arranged neatly by thickness, covered the surface of the desk. Pens gathered in a coffee mug in a corner, and a small lamp blazed close to the wall. Above it, a framed playbill announced the debut of Dirty Love, the “highly anticipated first play of up-and-coming playwright Connor Flynn."
Well, at least she hadn't walked into the wrong room.
Anxious jitters made their way through her system, causing her knees to wobble. She dropped onto the couch, which hugged her curves with more pliant bounce than she'd anticipated. She leaned back against the headrest and allowed herself to relax for a brief moment, preparing for the battle to come.
Connor Flynn had to be a reasonable man. He just had to. The future of her clinic—her future—depended on it.
"There's only one thing I like better than that couch ... and that's a beautiful naked woman on that couch."
Isabel jumped to her feet and whirled around. Connor Flynn stood in the center of the room, hands thrust in his pockets, a grin curving his lips.
And oh, God, what gorgeous lips. The picture hadn't done him justice. She saw now it had obviously been taken years earlier. The man standing in front of her resembled the image she'd studied, but there were marked differences as well. His hair had been cropped in a modern style and slicked back, though a couple of wavy locks escaped and spilled over his broad forehead. He sported a light tan, and the smile that captured her attention seemed fluid and genuine, making the corners of his eyes crinkle.
Gone was the obstinacy that had shocked her in the photograph. Now, his blue eyes sparkled with amusement and his gaze flittered over her from head to toe.
"You're not naked.” His lips turned down in feigned disappointment, but the humor didn't fade from his features. “We'll have to change that."
Isy's hand flew self-consciously to her chest. She'd worn a square-style blazer over her silk blouse, and matching brown slacks. She'd gone for a neat, professional appearance, but seeing herself through his eyes, she realized she probably only managed to look drab. And old.
The thought stung. She straightened her spine and narrowed her eyes. “Where did you come from?"
He moved with a smooth grace that contrasted with his powerful frame. The small room seemed to shrink in around her when he neared.
Placing both palms on the back of the couch, he leaned toward her. “I could ask you the same thing."
She pointed to the door, pleased when her hand didn't shake. “The hallway."
"Ah. Well, then. Me, too."
Isy had the distinct impression he was toying with her. The knowledge made an odd sensation stir in the pit of her stomach. She ignored it. “Look, Mr. Flynn, I'm here—"
His grin returned and deepened. “Connor, please. Any woman who's about to get naked for me should call me by my first name."
Isy's chest tightened. Arousal blossomed in an instant, unwanted and completely unprofessional. It arrowed straight between her legs, causing her pussy to flinch at the unexpected sensation. She fought to ignore that, too, and pasted her best woman-in-charge look on her face. “I'm not the one who's going to get naked here, Mr. Flynn. You are."
"Oh?” His gaze turned sultry. “That's fine by me, too."
"Mr. Flynn!” She struggled to filter as much outrage into her tone as she should have felt. But no righteous indignation flared inside of her. Rather, her body had responded to his words with quick and heated approval. Lust blazed a path through Isy's veins, awakening a frenzy of long-dormant sensations.
Oh, this wasn't good. In fact, this was very, very bad. She had to work with this man. Once he submitted to the court order's demand for testing, she had to examine him intimately. This improper attraction would make the job a hundred times more difficult.
Not that she could ever act on his flirtation. Even if he'd been attracted to her as well—which wasn't going to happen, no matter how much Isy deluded herself—consummating a relationship with a man who could potentially be fertile would land her in jail. Or worse.
Mild teasing was generally considered harmless, but nudging this relationship one step beyond good-natured verbal sparring could take her down a path that would prove ill-conceived, if not outright dangerous for both of them. That's assuming the Medical Board's suspicions about him proved correct, and Isy had every reason to believe a court order would not have been issued otherwise.
Connor had to know the risks as well as she did, so the sooner they put a stop to this absurd game, the better.
Avoiding his probing gaze, Isy dug into her purse and pulled out a small plastic container with a screw-on lid. She thrust it out at him. “For you."
He took it and glanced at it warily. “What is this?'
She locked her hands together in front of her to steel her nerves. “I have a court order for your semen, Mr. Flynn."
His head snapped up. “My ... what?"
"Your semen. You do produce semen, don't you?"
Even though she stood safely behind the couch, Isy could swear she felt the scorching heat in Connor's gaze as his eyes narrowed.
"You're accusing me of being fertile."
She reeled back as though she'd been slapped. “Accusing you? Being fertile is a gift. If you are able to produce semen, you have a moral obligation to—"
"Spare me. The only obligation I have is to myself.” The stubbornness she'd glimpsed in the photograph returned, frenzied and electrifying. Up close, it was even more menacing than she'd imagined. “Is that clear?"
Isy resisted the urge to grind her teeth. She tilted her chin a fraction of an inch. “You're either the most idiotic man in the entire world, or the most deluded. Do you have any idea what this means? If my tests come back positive, you can spend the rest of your life nestled between a woman's legs.” Her voice dropped an octave. Heat rushed into her cheeks. “Practically any woman you want, Mr. Flynn. As many women as you want. Unless ... you don't like women."
Shit. She hadn't thought of that possibility until the words fled from her mouth. Homosexuality hadn't been banned in the United States. Infertile males could find their pleasure anywhere they chose. Fertile males, however, were a rare and precious commodity. Their ability to create life depended not only on their capacity to produce semen at the moment of climax, but also on their level of sexual arousal. Or at least, that was the accepted theory these days.
The more aroused the man, scientists agreed, the greater the chance of conception. It was a simple equation, but one that depended on heterosexual human behavior. The same explanation had been given to account for the reasons all attempts at artificial insemination had failed. Thorough analysis of each case showed that sperm needed to travel directly from one person to the other without intervention. Shortly after that discovery had been made, condoms were outlawed.
"Oh, I like women very much."
Connor's low, sultry voice vibrated through Isy, making her want to squeeze her thighs together. Her pussy lips turned achingly sensitive as they rubbed against the cotton of her panties. Deep inside, her cunt clenched with the need to find out just how much he meant that.
She cleared her throat. “Good. Then it's settled. You, Mr. Flynn, have come to the attention of the Medical Board as a healthy male with the potential for semen creation. Upon further investigation into your medical history, I discovered you've never been tested for fertility. The court order indicates you must return with me to my laboratory, where I will conduct the test and report my findings. If you are deemed to be a likely candidate for natural fertilization, you will be asked to submit to the Medical Board within a week's time to begin your conception activities."
She took a deep breath and held it. Her nails dug into her palms and her knuckles ached from being pressed together. She waited for his outburst, dreading having to report him if he didn't come of his own accord.
"I see.” He turned over the plastic container in his hand. When he glanced at her again, the fire in his eyes had gone cold. “And you have no issue with turning me
into a stud? In the hands of the Medical Board, I'll be no better than a stallion tethered to a barn door. Told whom to service. When. How. I'll be watched. Examined like a fucking animal."
She flinched. “It's my job, Mr. Flynn. It's not my place to have an opinion. If you carry within you the seeds of life, then it's my responsibility to make sure those seeds aren't wasted."
For a moment, neither of them moved. A shimmering warmth played around Isy's breasts as Connor's gaze slid down to her nipples, which tented the fabric of her blazer.
"Ah. And you think I'd be ... wasting my seed if I made love with a woman of my choosing?"
"If the woman in question was of legal conception age, then no.” She opened her hands, pleading with him to be reasonable. “There are plenty of women under the age of forty who would be more than willing to be your ... your..."
"Whores,” he finished when she faltered.
Coming out of his mouth, the word seemed filthy, deplorable. But it wasn't like that. Having spent eight years in medical school, she knew as well as anyone how important it was for fertile males to spread their seed to as many wombs as possible. The greater the number of couplings, the higher the chance of a successful pregnancy carried to term.
Of course, there were other factors. Sperm levels. Stages of arousal. That's where she came in.
"It's just a series of tests, Mr. Flynn. You and me, in a laboratory. No one else and nothing more. For now."
He seemed to consider that. Unfortunately, he pondered by running his gaze from her face to her chest, then down lower, over her belly and between her legs, where heat flared in her pussy. His assessing glare scorched her skin like a ravenous touch.
"Let me see if I have this right ... A beautiful woman invites me to take off my clothes? I'd be a fool to say no."
Isy's nipples beaded, chaffing against the material of her bra as she shifted from one foot to the other. Her heart gave an unsteady lurch. For the second time, she had the impression she was being toyed with. “Wonderful. Then we agree. If you'll follow me to the lab, we can begin immediately."
He tilted his head, but didn't budge. “On one condition."
A shiver of unease traveled up her spine, but the apprehension did little to quell the fire he'd stoked inside her. For a brief moment, she wondered whether she made a grave mistake by agreeing to take this case. It had seemed like a godsend when she'd found the fax lodged in her machine earlier that morning. Her clinic hadn't been credited with locating a fertile male in almost ten months. It wouldn't be long before the Medical Board shut her down and reassigned her funding to a more promising practitioner.
And when that happened, Isy would be relegated to waiting tables, or scrubbing toilets. Not only did a woman past the age of forty no longer qualify for health benefits—those were reserved for women who could conceive—but once demoted from her scientific post, she'd barely make enough money to feed herself and maintain a roof over her head for the rest of her days.
That was not a life Isy wanted for herself. She'd worked too hard, sacrificed too much, to end up living in a trailer park on the outskirts of the city, discarded like a used dishtowel.
Whether he knew it or not, Connor Flynn was her only hope. Her salvation. She had to treat him as such.
"Name your condition.” She hoped the trepidation didn't show in her voice.
Connor moved around the couch and came within touching distance. Isy stiffened, though what she really wanted to do was lean against him and let him engulf her in those powerful arms just once.
Would his body feel as strong and athletic as it looked? Would his mouth taste as lush and soft as she imagined?
She didn't know, but she'd bet money he smelled like the ocean. The scent probably clung to him, as sexy and inviting as the rest of the man.
When he reached up and tucked a lock of her long blond hair behind her ear, Isy nearly jumped out of her skin.
"Mr. Flynn. Please.” God, she was pathetic. The words had come out on a trembling sigh, like a needy, desperate whisper.
He stepped forward, closing the remaining distance between them. Isy's heart thumped so hard she could feel it in her throat.
She could smell him now, too, that rich aroma of salt and wind and fresh air. The scent flooded her veins with electric need that set her senses on edge. She knotted her fists at her sides to keep from touching him.
"Two conditions, then."
Connor's deep, sexy voice rumbled through Isy. He stood too close, smelled too good. Alarm bells rang somewhere in the back of her head. She tried to pay attention, she really did, but then he spoke again, and she found it difficult to concentrate on anything but the way his full lips parted on each word.
"One.” His voice was a velvet whisper, infinitely tempting. “You call me Connor."
She swallowed past the dryness in her throat. Relief numbed her legs. She'd expected an impossible request, one with which she couldn't possibly comply. “Done. And two?"
He dropped his head another fraction of an inch. His mouth was close enough now that his lips brushed hers when he spoke, sending trembling shivers of arousal down her skin.
"Two ... You administer every test. Not with the clinical touch of a practitioner, but with the soft, tender caress of a woman in love."
She'd misheard. She had to. “You want me to...” She licked her lips, which was a mistake, because her tongue came into contact with his bottom lip, and oh, God, he tasted like beer and salt and something sweet, like honey, and she couldn't think, couldn't breathe—
She was about to lean in, to cross that threshold into forbidden territory, when he stepped back abruptly and headed for the hallway.
"For research purposes, of course.” He yanked the door open. “For my next play."
Isy stood in front of the couch, shaking, her head buzzing with what she'd almost done, what she would have done if he hadn't stopped her.
"Coming?” he called from the hallway.
Isy wiped her damp palms on her slacks and nodded once, curtly. A spark of determination lit in her veins and she clung to it with all the tenacity she possessed.
She'd do her job, and do it well. If Connor thought he could distract her with a sultry glance and a hot body that made her think of sweaty, frantic sex, well, she just had to make sure every bit of that male virility came through in her test results. With a bit of luck and a lot of hard work, she'd end up impressing the hell out of the Medical Board.
If testing went as well as she hoped, by the time she finished with Connor Flynn he'd be the most wanted “stud” in New York City. Women would be lining up around the block for a chance to ride him.
That thought should have invigorated her. Instead, she might as well have poured ice water on her libido. The flames he'd ignited inside her cooled at the image of hoards of women straddling Connor's powerful waist as his cock pounded into one tight pussy after another.
A flicker of doubt tugged at Isy's mouth as she swept past him. “Conditions accepted, Mr. Flynn."
[Back to Table of Contents]
CHAPTER 2
Isy planted the heel of her palm against Connor's chest. “Stay here."
They stood on the steps in front of the renovated Manhattan brownstone that housed her clinic and her apartment. Behind Connor, three skeletal frames that had once been cars lined the sidewalk. Flowers bloomed through the rusted metal and moss covered their wheels.
"I'll call you inside when I'm ready for you."
Connor reached up and traced the tip of his thumb across Isy's lower lip. “Oh, I'd say you're more than ready for me right now."
A shiver of anticipation snaked its way down Isy's body. Despite the surge of arousal that burrowed between her legs, she kept herself in check and smacked his hand away before darting a glance up and down the street. She hadn't expected to see anyone, but confirming the lack of possible eyewitnesses out at this hour allowed her to expel a sigh of relief.
In the old days, New York had been a bustling
metropolis. Since the S.O.S. virus had its way with most of Earth's population, cities had grown significantly quieter. Some had been abandoned altogether, but people still congregated in chosen areas and tried to lead lives that were as normal as possible.
Manhattan remained inhabited, though significantly quieter now than it had once been. Some old habits died hard, however, and vicious gossip remained a favorite pastime.
Luckily, it seemed no one had gotten a glimpse of Connor's overly intimate gesture. Good. The less explaining Isy would have to do, the better.
"Your little research experiment hasn't started yet, Mr. Flynn.” She uttered the last two words slowly, deliberately, hoping to infuriate him. No such luck.
It had taken close to forty minutes to get here from the theater, and in that time, Connor's irritability had vanished. In its place, the hint of amusement had returned, which only served to annoy—and arouse—her further.
With a lift of a shoulder, he leaned against the railing at the top of the steps and crossed his arms over his chest, drawing her attention to the smooth, lean curve of his rock hard bicep as it bulged beneath the short sleeve of his black T-shirt. As her gaze followed the lean lines of sinew and muscle, she also noticed an old-fashioned watch clasped to his left wrist. Its golden face glimmered in the rapidly fading sunlight.
"I won't move from this spot,” Connor said. “Cross my heart."
Isy made a disbelieving sound in the back of her throat and pushed the front door open. The waiting room, with its checkered-pattern tile and boxes of toys stacked neatly in a corner, was empty, as it had been for the last few months. The reputation Isy had worked so hard to create had shattered, little by little, with every day that passed without a genetically fertile male discovery.
Connor was her last chance. The second fax earlier that morning made it clear that if she failed again, she'd be out of a job. The Medical Board had enough practitioners, novice and experienced, beating down their door. They didn't need to fund her pathetic clinic a day longer if they thought she lacked the necessary skills to locate a fertile man.
