Читать книгу The Pregnancy Negotiation - KRISTI GOLD - Страница 8

The televised baseball game was already well into the third inning, and Whit couldn’t begin to concentrate on it. He was keyed up, combating his libido and concerned over Mallory’s low opinion of him. Yes, he’d escorted quite a few women in his life. But he hadn’t slept with all of them, contrary to popular belief. He’d tried his hand at a couple of serious relationships, but he’d come up short each time. Things would rock along fine for a while until he’d begun to feel suffocated by his need to put up a front. No one really knew the real Whitfield Manning—except Mallory.

And that’s what was bugging the hell out of him. She knew him better than any woman ever had, and maybe everything she believed about him was true. He couldn’t be serious about anything aside from his job. And that’s the way he’d been since his mother’s exodus, keeping up a happy-go-lucky front to cover his pain.

But that was past history and he was damn sure going to keep it in the past. He could do serious if he had to. He’d entered into this baby-making arrangement with the realization that being a father was serious business. He vowed to learn from his own father’s mistakes and try not to repeat them.

He also vowed not to push Mallory too far too fast. He could wait two days to make love with her. He could keep his hands to himself and his hormones in check. Not a problem—until she walked into the room, smelling like gardenias and looking like his own private invite to sinful indulgence.

She had on a pair of pajamas—pink and silky with thin straps on the top and short-shorts on the bottom. Okay, maybe they weren’t that short, but any glimpse of her thigh was enough to send him into orbit. Was she intentionally trying to torture him straight into insanity?

She offered him a bowl. “Here’s your ice cream. Enjoy.”

“Thanks.”

After he relieved her of the bowl, Whit expected her to retire to her bedroom, taking all that female sex appeal with her. Instead, she sat down on the floor, her back resting against the sofa and her shoulder touching his bare leg.

Nodding toward the television, she asked, “Who’s winning?”

Not Whit. To hell with slow. At the moment, he wanted to toss her down on the floor for a little rug rumba. “I’m not sure. I just turned it on.” A necessary lie. He couldn’t tell her about his recent thoughts and concerns. He sure as hell couldn’t tell her that the bats and balls had begun to take on the appearance of phallic symbols from the minute she’d walked into the room. And frankly, he didn’t care about scoring, at least not when it came to the baseball game of the week.

Whit choked down the ice cream in record time, thankful he didn’t receive a bout of brain freeze from his quick consumption. After setting the bowl on the table, he kicked back against the couch and studied Mallory’s profile as she focused on the game. She’d tucked her hair behind her ears, exposing her lobes, which would probably taste as good as the mint chocolate chip. He visually traced the line of her shoulder, then down her back, following the path of her spine until it disappeared where her back met the sofa.

Unable to resist, he laid his palm on the bend of her neck above her shoulder and gave a little squeeze. But when her frame went rigid, Whit dropped his hand into his lap, then dropped back on the sofa again. “This isn’t going to work.”

“I know. Morton’s fast ball has the velocity, but he doesn’t have control.”

“I’m not talking about the game, O’Brien, and you know it.”

“Actually, I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she said without taking her eyes from the TV.

“Look at me, Mallory.”

She shifted and rested her left elbow on the edge of the cushion. “Okay, I’m looking at you. Now what is it?”

He pointed to her than back to himself. “You and me, it’s not going to work if you tense up every time I touch you.”

Her gaze drifted away. “I’m sorry. I’m just a little nervous. It’s been a long time since I’ve been intimate with anyone.”

“Me, too.”

That brought her attention back to him. “Bet I’ve got you beat.”

“Almost five months.”

“Try three years.”

Three years? Whit couldn’t imagine any healthy adult going that long without sex. “You can’t be serious.”

Her expression told him she was dead serious even before she said, “I’m very serious. I went out with a guy from the office a few times and then I thought, ‘Why not?’ I answered that question in about two minutes. It was awful.”

“And before that?”

“Six years.”

Man, this was getting almost too weird for Whit. “You’re telling me you’ve had sex only once in nine years?”

“I’ve only been with two men, Mr. Awful and my ex-husband, Mr. Infidelity.”

Whit prepared to ask the question he’d wanted to know for a long time but never had the nerve to ask. “How was it with old Barry?”

“That’s Jerry, and it was okay.”

“Only okay?” For some reason, that made Whit happy.

“I think he saved his best for the coeds.”

The bastard. Whit rubbed his jaw then sat forehead, hands clasped between his parted knees. “During all that time, you didn’t miss the sex?”

She lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “I didn’t have time to think about it. I had law school and then work. I put all my energy into my career. Sex was just low priority.”

He frowned. “I’m probably getting too personal, but didn’t you ever take care of things yourself?”

She laid a dramatic hand on her chest. “What? And risk going blind?”

“If that were true, then most men would be running into walls.”

“Does that include you?”

“I’m going to take the fifth on that one.” He rubbed his stubbled chin. “Maybe you haven’t found the right man, someone who makes your pleasure top priority.”

She gave him a wry smile. “And I suppose you’re going to say you’re that man.”

“Yeah.”

She rolled her eyes. “You have one unparalleled ego.”

“Not really. I’ve just had some good instruction.”

“No doubt from some older woman who knew all the ins and outs of lovemaking, no pun intended.”

“Actually, my dad told me everything I needed to know, before I ever touched a woman in that way.”

Mallory came to her feet and plopped down on the couch. “This I’ve got to hear, Whit Manning getting the sex talk.”

“Sex, drinking, it didn’t matter. My dad was always pretty open about that sort of thing.”

For the first time in years, Whit thought back to a time when things hadn’t been so bad between him and his dad. “One time, when I was about fourteen, he caught me and Logan sneaking a beer from the fridge. He took the twelve-pack, sat us down at the dining room table and told us to drink them all.”

Her green eyes went wide. “You didn’t!”

“We did, or at least most of them. I think we both quit about halfway through the fifth beer, or maybe the fourth. Then to top it off, Dad told us to go out in the garage and make something with his skill saw.”

She clasped a throw pillow to her chest as if she needed protection from a member of the Mad Mannings. “When you were drunk?”

“Yeah, but he knew we wouldn’t do it. We told him he was crazy, and then he told us to remember how we felt, especially when we got behind the wheel of a car, because that would be just as dangerous as trying to attempt to use a sharp object under the influence. I’ve never forgotten it, and I’ve never driven drunk, not once.”

“What happened after that?”

“Logan and I blew a few chunks, then we passed out.”

Mallory smiled. “A good lesson for you both. Your dad’s a smart man.”

Whit had to admit his dad was very smart. Overly critical and demanding, but smart.

She scooted a little closer and tossed the pillow aside. “So exactly how did he handle the sex thing? Bought you a woman?”

He grinned. “Nothing like that. Right after he found out I had my first real girlfriend, he gave me some very detailed female anatomy lessons and a few tips on what women like. Explicit tips. He also stressed that no meant no. That maybe most people considered sex as a rite of passage for guys, but guys had no right to assume anything. Then he told me if I did decide to take that step, I should always wear a raincoat. Before I figured out he was talking about condoms, I got this vision of climbing in the back seat of a car, wearing nothing but a yellow slicker.”

She smiled. “What a vision.”

“Oh, and I also learned you didn’t stick your tongue down a woman’s throat.”

She looked shocked again. “He told you that?”

“Nope. I read that in one of my mom’s magazines when I was eleven. I think the article was called ‘The Fine Art of Kissing,’ or something like that.”

“Did you practice with your pillow?”

“Hell no. I went for the real thing.”

She sighed. “I didn’t even kiss a boy until I was fifteen. My first date to the spring cotillion.”

Another reminder of a time long passed. Whit wrapped his arm around her shoulder and pulled her to his side. At least she didn’t tense up this time. In fact, she seemed relaxed, even if he wasn’t. “I remember that night,” he said. “It was mine and Logan’s senior year of high school. We were hanging out in the living room, and you came down the stairs wearing this peach-colored dress. It was the first time I realized you had breasts.”

She playfully swatted his arm. “I had breasts when I was thirteen.”

“Maybe so, but I didn’t notice them until that night, probably because that dress was cut kind of low.”

She laid her hand on her chest. “I’ll have you know, it was a sweetheart neckline, very modest.”

“You looked like a sweetheart in it. You also looked scared. I thought you might pass out.”

“Poor Bobby looked a whole lot more scared than me when he walked in the door to face all of the guys.”

Whit chuckled. “Well, I think he nearly ran when Aidan…or maybe it was Kevin—”

“It couldn’t have been Kevin because he was never around, and Aidan was still in college.”

“Maybe it was Kieran or Devin or Logan. I really don’t remember, but I do remember what was said. ‘If you lay one hand on her boob, Bobby Hiller, I’ll cut off your hand and stuff it in your mouth.’”

Mallory laughed. “Oh my gosh, I remember that now. It was Kieran. I could’ve killed him.”

“I was thinking the same thing.”

“That you wanted to kill Kieran?”

“Actually, that I wanted to put my hand on your breast. But I didn’t think I’d get any special consideration just because I was Logan’s best friend.”

She replaced her smile with a sultry look. “Do you still want to do that?”

He’d give up ice cream for good in exchange for that opportunity. “Are you going to cut my hand off if I say yes?”

“No. Not at all.”

“Then yeah, I have to admit it has crossed my mind.” Like right now.

“I wouldn’t exactly object.”

Never before had Whit turned down an offer to touch a woman. But this wasn’t just any woman beside him. This was his friend. One-in-a-million Mallory. And she could eventually be the mother of his child. He needed to proceed with care, even if his body wanted to move at the speed of a light.

“Tell you what…” He leaned over and snapped off the lamp on the end table, then wrapped both arms around her. “Let’s just get used to being close to each other while we’re watching the game.”

She rested her head in the crook of his neck and laid her arm across his middle. “That’s a good idea.”

Whit thought so too, except for the fact that her hand was precariously low on his belly. And to make matters worse, a commercial heralding the benefits of a new pill to enhance a woman’s libido came on during the break.

“I wonder if those work,” Mallory said. “Maybe I should try them out.”

Whit tipped her chin up and forced her to look at him, her face cast in the blue glow of the television set. “You’re not going to need them with me.”

She lowered her gaze. “What if there’s something wrong with me, Whit? It probably isn’t normal, going as long as I have without having sex.”

He breezed his fingertips up and down her bare arm. “There’s nothing wrong with you. You like to be in control, with your job and your private life. You need to learn that being out of control is preferable when it comes to making love.”

“Thank you, Dr. Manning.” She said it with amusement but Whit detected wariness in her voice.

“You’re welcome.” He brushed a kiss across her cheek. “You can pay me later.”

She snuggled closer. “I can only imagine what you expect as payment.”

“I wouldn’t mind collecting with a kiss or two.” Or ten.

She lifted her eyes to his. “I could probably live with that.”

So could Whit, for now. He started with just touching his mouth to hers, applying only slight pressure. He pulled away then swept his lips across hers slowly, until her mouth relaxed and her lips parted. Only then did he take advantage and intensify the kiss, slowly at first, then deeper, sliding his tongue in slow increments against her tongue.

They kissed for a good while, both growing more daring as the minutes ticked off. Before Whit could prepare, Mallory was leaning back and he was following her down onto the sofa. He adjusted his position until he faced her, realizing that was a whole lot safer than lying on top of her, and thankful he hadn’t fallen off the couch. Landing on the coffee table might give him a concussion. That would definitely destroy the mood.

They continued to kiss as if they’d recently discovered the fun of making out, just like a couple of high school kids. Whit was definitely discovering how great it was to kiss his roomie, and how hard it would be to leave her with only this tonight, especially when she breezed her hands up and down his back, coming very close to his butt with every pass. Running on automatic, he divided her legs with his own leg, bringing them into closer contact, particularly certain parts of their anatomy that should be avoided at all costs.

Whit kept a firm grip on his control, even with Mallory’s breasts pressed against his chest, her pelvis flush against his. He commanded his thigh not to move to the apex of her thighs, cautioned his hands not to rove below the dip of her spine. Mr. Happy presented another problem altogether, but he didn’t seem to have any control over him, especially when Whit considered how easy it would be to slip his hand beneath Mallory’s man-slaying shorts to touch her. To find out exactly how turned on she was at the moment, as turned on as him, he suspected. He opted to bring his palm to her belly and move up beneath the top instead of down between her legs, weighing her breast while thumbing her nipple in slow circular movements.

He was vaguely aware that someone on his favored team had hit a grand slam, but his concentration centered on the highly sexual sound that slipped out of Mallory’s mouth as he continued to fondle her.

Whit pulled back and sought her eyes. “See? There’s not a damn thing wrong with you.”

Her face was flushed, her eyes hazy and her lips swollen from their lengthy make-out session. “If you say so.” Her rapid breathing betrayed her skeptical tone.

He lifted the shirt to watch his hand in motion as he circled one rigid nipple with a fingertip. “You’re body doesn’t lie, Mallory. You’re excited, and you know it.”

She sucked in a breath and blew it out slowly. “Okay, I’m a little excited. Are you happy now?”

“I won’t be entirely happy until I prove that I can make you more than a little excited.” He was about to do something he’d never done before. Yeah, he was. In just a minute. Or two. If he didn’t do it now, then he wouldn’t before he’d crossed that point of no return. “I’m going to bed.”

Determined to get out of there while he still could, Whit lowered her top and worked his way off the couch. He decided to escape before he answered his own body’s demand, yanked down her satin shorts and his ridiculous boxers to bury himself inside her. If she wanted to wait another couple of days, he’d give her that. Tomorrow night, he also planned to give her another taste of what was to come, in slow increments, until by the time they finally made it to the bed, she would want him more than she’d wanted any man. Whit definitely wanted her more than he’d wanted any woman in ages, if ever. Reaping the end rewards would definitely be worth the wait.

Mallory glanced at his fly then her gaze zipped to the clock on the wall. “It’s only 9:00 p.m.,” she said, her voice unsteady and hoarse. “Since when do you go to bed before the end of the game?”

“Since I’ve decided that in about thirty seconds, I’m going to bypass second base and head straight for a home run.”

She pulled her legs beneath her and leaned back on the sofa, thrusting her breasts forward. “Fine, go to bed then. I’m going to watch the game.”

“You do that.” He leaned down and planted another kiss on her mouth, a little deeper than intended, but he wanted to get his point across. “And when you go to bed, remember how you felt tonight, and magnify that ten times. That’s how you’re going to feel in two nights.”

“Promises, promises.”

“You can count on it, Mallory. So be prepared.”

Mallory had not been prepared for last night, not in the least. She hadn’t been prepared for the impact on her sleep, or the fact she’d been thinking about Whit’s mouth, Whit’s body, Whit’s promise, all morning long.

She also couldn’t forget the last thing that Jerry had told her when she’d confronted him on his cheating.

Face it, Mallory, you’re lousy in bed.

Logically, she had to remember she’d only been twenty, and he’d been the only man she’d made love with to that point. But logic couldn’t supercede her continued insecurities about her own sexuality. In her job, she was all cool confidence and control. But when it came to lovemaking, she was anything but self-assured.

Maybe Whit had been right. Maybe she hadn’t found the right man, and he could very well be that man. Yet that presented another problem. He was a master of seduction and, she suspected, an expert lover. Even though making love with him was supposed to solely lead to pregnancy, she still hated the thought that she might not meet his expectations or realize her own. Again.

The door jerked open, in turn jerking Mallory out of her musings. Enter Rosalyn “Roz” Johnson, Mallory’s fifty-something paralegal and a perpetual fixture at Cramer, Collins and Fox for over twenty years. With the silver streak cutting a wide berth in her jet-black bob, she looked like a cartoon villainess. Mallory loved her dearly, despite her penchant for spewing cutting comments from her permanently pinched mouth.

Considering the way Roz slapped the file on the desk, Mallory braced for one of those verbal acid attacks now. “The proposed agreement from opposing council on the McMillan divorce,” she said. “You’re not going to like it.”

Sliding the folder closer, Mallory flipped through the document and scanned the wording. “Looks like it’s in accordance to the prenup.”

Roz pointed a bony finger at one section. “Not when it comes to the kid.”

Mallory’s eyes widened when she came to the terms. “He wants custody of their child?” She snapped the file closed. “That’s absurd. According to Anna McMillan, he never wanted the baby in the first place.”

“Obviously he does now.”

This was all Mallory needed, going to battle with a well-heeled bastard. “Does Mrs. McMillan know?”

Roz picked up the phone and offered it to Mallory. “Thought it would be best coming from you.”

Mallory took the receiver and placed it back onto the cradle. “She’s out of town with her son for a couple of weeks. I’ll call her when she returns. Better still, I’ll tell her face-to-face. This will devastate her, especially since her sorry husband could very well win.”

Roz clucked her tongue. “I won’t tolerate that kind of talk, counselor. You’re good and you can beat him.”

“You’re right. I can and I will.” She saw it as her duty to keep mother and child together, as it should be.