The Pregnancy Negotiation
Kristi Gold

To Houstonians Sandy and Paul W. who set the perfect

example of what a good marriage is all about.

Contents

Acknowledgments

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Epilogue

Coming Next Month

Acknowledgments:

To the members of West Houston RWA

for their invaluable information on residing

in the fourth largest city in the United States.

One

“Let’s have a baby, Whit.”

Most men would be shocked out of their shoes over the abrupt request, but Whitfield Manning IV wasn’t most men. Because of his status and wealth, he’d become accustomed to propositions from various and sundry females, although this particular proposition was a first. Most women were interested in the benefits of consummation, without any possible consequences.

But Mallory O’Brien, attorney at law, his best friend’s sister and his own roommate of four months, wasn’t like most women. She didn’t fawn all over him, didn’t care about his bank account. She did enjoy handing him grief on a daily basis. Obviously this was just another one of her ploys to get his attention.

Whit continued to peruse the sports page and muttered, “A bagel sounds great, O’Brien. Add some of that cream cheese, will ya?”

“I didn’t say bagel. I said baby. B-a-b-y.”

Fortunately, Whit was a multitasker. He could read the current baseball stats and still humor her. “Sure thing, but my schedule’s pretty tight at the moment.” He studied the ceiling and pretended to think. “I can probably do you at lunch on Tuesday, on top of the conference table, right after I get approval of the Barclay headquarters’ design. I’ll have my secretary mark it down on the calendar.”

In spite of the randy images rolling around in his mind, Whit went back to the newspaper. But before he even finished the western division standings, Mallory snatched the section from his grasp, wadded it up and cannon-balled it across the room. “Whit Manning, just stop and listen to me for a minute.”

He glanced up to see her standing over him, all five feet, ten inches of curvaceous female folly with shoulder-length, dark auburn hair and translucent green eyes that she aimed on him in a hard stare. The loose-fitting, red and white heart-spattered pajamas rode low on her hips, giving Whit a gander at her navel, where the skimpy matching top didn’t quite meet the bottoms.

He should’ve known better than to give her the set for her birthday last month. He really should’ve known better than to walk in on her last week without knocking. But how was he supposed to know she liked to slather her body with lotion while sitting on the end of her bed, naked?

Big mistake, especially for a man who hadn’t been involved with any woman in months. Oddly, he hadn’t felt the need to find a woman since Mallory had moved in. He chalked that up to establishing a comfortable rapport with his roommate, not his desire for celibacy. Or any real desire to take their relationship to another level. At least he didn’t think so, or really didn’t think about that at all. At least not more than twice a day.

He needed to end his current dating slump fast, before he did something really stupid, such as try to seduce her. And, in turn, ruin their friendship. Another potential mistake.

And that “potential mistake” continued to glare at him as if he were primordial slime, which would be justified considering his primitive thoughts.

Whit gave her a champion scowl, not difficult because right now he was pretty ticked at himself for staring at the big heart decal centered between her breasts, his gaze wandering right, then left. Next year, he would buy her that damn smoothie machine she’d always wanted. A much safer gift as far as his sanity was concerned.

He straightened and sent her his well-practiced grin, the one that had saved him from many a woman’s wrath on more than one occasion. “Okay, O’Brien, you have my undivided attention. Did I forget to wash my beer glass? I know I didn’t leave the seat up because I haven’t been in your bathroom.” Not that he hadn’t considered joining her in the shower a time or two.

She dropped down on the sofa beside him, hugged her legs to her chest and rested her chin on her knees. “You didn’t do anything wrong. Today. And I’m dead serious. I want to have a baby. With you.”

The shock finally arrived and slammed into Whit full force. If he’d been wearing any shoes, they’d be across the room next to the Sunday Times about now. “Are you insane?”

After lowering her feet to the floor, Mallory shifted until she faced him, one arm resting over the back of the sofa, one hand fisted on her lap. “No. I’m determined.”

Her somber expression prompted Whit’s concern. Damn, this was getting even more confusing. “Why the hell would you even consider having a baby with me?”

“Because I trust you, Whit. Because you’re my friend. And I know you’re safe.”

He wasn’t feeling particularly safe at the moment, or savvy. “Maybe I’m a little slow on the uptake, Mallory, but you still haven’t fully explained this crazy notion of yours.”

She squirmed and grabbed a pillow to her chest, covering her breasts and alleviating at least one reason for Whit’s sudden urge to squirm, too. “I’m thirty now. It’s time. My biological clock is getting noisy.”

“So hit the sleep button. I’m thirty-three, and the thought of having a kid hasn’t crossed my mind.”

She twisted the corner of the pillow until Whit thought she might rip it open. “Men are different. You can conceive a child in your eighties. Women don’t have that luxury. My eggs are getting older. Your sperm will stay young for years.”

Instead of the usual legal jargon, the words sperm and eggs coming out of Mallory’s pretty mouth sounded kind of strange. But thinking about the process of joining his and her reproductive parts sounded like an enticement Whit couldn’t refuse. But he had to refuse. This was nuts. He also had to get out of there before Old Man Libido carted off his common sense.

Without offering a response, he moved onto the nearby ottoman, grabbed up his running shoes, pulled them on and tied them so tightly he expected his toes to drop off due to lack of circulation before the first lap. Normally he would exchange his jeans and T-shirt for more appropriate running gear, but he didn’t have a minute to waste.

“Where are you going, Whit?”

He glanced at Mallory, who was still seated on the couch, choking the pillow even tighter. “I’m going for a run. And while I’m gone, do me a favor. Return to your mother ship and send the real Mallory back home.”

She rolled her eyes and plopped the pillow into her lap. “This is so typical.”

He stood and frowned again. “Typical? Nothing about this whole conversation is typical, at least not in this dimension.”

She tossed the pillow aside, came to her feet and shortened the distance between them with two strides. “Not the baby thing. The way you’re always running away. That’s typical.”

Typical Mallory. She was nothing if not a straight shooter, even if she wasn’t always right. “I’m about to run, but not away.” Okay, so this time she was right.

She propped both hands on her hips. “Yes, you are. Just like you’ve been running away from starting your own business because you can’t stand up to your father. Do you ever do anything you want to do without his permission? Maybe that’s the reason you won’t even consider this. You know he wouldn’t approve.”

Damn her insight. And damn him for being more open with her than he had with any woman in his past. “I’m designing top-rate buildings, and I’m getting richer by the minute. Nothing wrong with that.”

“But you’re not happy about it because you want to build houses. You said so yourself.”

Right again. “And you think having a baby with a man like me would make you happy? A man with a commitment allergy? You said that yourself.”

She looked as frustrated as Whit felt. “I’m not asking you to marry me, for heaven’s sake. I just want to have a baby. Then you can go your way, and I’ll go mine. No complications.”

“No strings attached, huh? I’m supposed to just walk away from my child and let you play single mom.” That he couldn’t do, even though his own mother had walked away.

“No, that’s not what I want. You should be involved. And considering what I see day in and day out, bitter custody battles and divorces and kids used as pawns, I know we can bypass all of that because we’re good friends. Neither one of us would let our child suffer through that BS.”

Man, she had totally lost it. And Whit was about to lose it, too. Big-time. “Forget it. It ain’t gonna happen.”

She gave him a pleading look. “Just think about it, Whit. You could be my only hope.”

Before Whit did something he might regret, like actually agree to this unbelievable scheme, he tore out the front door and slammed it behind him. He opted to ignore the elevator and sprinted down nine flights of stairs and rushed out of the exit leading to the street. He continued down the sidewalk at a fast clip, dodging the crush of Sunday strollers pushing baby carriages. Once he reached the nearby park, he navigated past the patrons enjoying Mayfest activities and made his way to his favorite jogging path along the bayou. He went into a dead run, all the while thinking his roommate had taken leave of her senses—and imagining what it would be like to have a baby with Mallory. Correction. What it would be like to make a baby with Mallory.

Whit pulled up dead in his tracks and swiped a hand over his forehead, the afternoon sun bearing down on his already overheated body. He wasn’t ready to father a child. In fact, he’d always been extremely careful in his relationships—and there had been more than a few—to avoid that very thing. Even if he were ready, he sure as hell wouldn’t walk away from his own kid, despite that Mallory would make a great mother. Regardless of the fact that his father had told him more times than he could count that he wasn’t responsible in his personal life. Like Whitfield the third had room to talk, with three marriages under his belt.

But wouldn’t his dad have to eat his words if Whit did agree to Mallory’s plan? Wouldn’t that just be a damn sight to see when Whit dropped that bomb?

He shook his head to clear away that concept, but he couldn’t quite shake the fantasy of making love with his roommate. No can do. If he laid one hand on Mallory, her brother would torture him first and ask questions later.

He needed to run a couple of miles. Maybe then he would be too damn tired to act on impulse before weighing the consequences. Maybe when he returned, Mallory would tell him it had all been a bad joke. And maybe when he walked into work tomorrow morning, he would discover his father was retiring, giving Whit the freedom he craved.

Not very likely any of those things would happen, so he turned around and headed back home to talk it over with his roommate like an adult. But he still couldn’t escape the images of making love with her, or ignore the desperation he’d seen in her eyes and heard in her voice during her final comment before his speedy exit.

You could be my only hope.

He had to know why. And he had to know now. As soon as he ran just a little more.

She shouldn’t have blurted it out that way. But to Mallory it had seemed the only way to handle it. Upfront and straightforward.

When she wanted something badly enough, she pulled out all the stops to get it—namely, achieving the position of associate in her prestigious law firm, which she’d managed much quicker than most. After living with five older brothers, she’d learned to fight for what she wanted.

Now she wanted Whit Manning, the perfect father candidate—six feet three inches of a prime tribute to testosterone. He had a great body, a good sense of humor, dark chocolate eyes like her mom’s and an inherent compassion that he often tried to hide with machismo. Most important, he had a brain and extreme talent as an architect.

He was also a player, known for his talents with the ladies, or so her brother Logan had told her time and again, dating back to the days when Whit was a fixture in their home during high school. But when she’d decided to relocate closer to her office to avoid the forty-minute commute, Logan had trusted Whit enough to suggest Mallory move in with Whit until she found her own place. Of course, that had been four months ago, and she was still living with him in the expensive downtown Houston loft he’d received from his dad as a graduation gift upon obtaining his master’s degree. An exclusive two-story corner apartment—over two-thousand square feet of prime upscale property situated in a restored building with a rooftop pool and an unparalleled view of the city from myriad windows spanning the length of the living room walls.

The arrangement had worked out amazingly well, better than Mallory had expected. Whit hadn’t pressured her to find her own apartment, and she had stopped searching about three weeks ago when she couldn’t locate anything convenient to work. At least anything she could afford—yet. Eventually she would need to find someplace else, maybe a nice little house in the ‘burbs. Something suitable for a child. And she would have that child—if Whit Manning cooperated. If Whit Manning ever came home again.

Mallory had almost given up on that happening when the door opened and Whit walked in, looking way too sexy for a man who needed a shower in the worst way. His dark hair clung to his nape, and sweat had left a fine sheen across his forehead. His dampened white T-shirt shirt molded to his broad chest, leaving no room for doubt that the man worked out often. Mallory’s neglected hormones received a vigorous workout when Whit crossed the room and dropped down in the chair opposite the sofa where she sat, cotton balls stuffed between her half-painted toenails, and her brain stuffed with some fairly wicked thoughts.

Stopping midpedicure, Mallory tightened the top on the polish and set the bottle on a tissue on the chrome end table. “Well?”

He raked a long glance down her body and centered his gaze on her toes. “Hot pink looks good on you. Makes your feet look sexy.”

Mallory wanted to laugh over that one considering her feet were much too big—size ten. “I’m not asking advice about nail polish. I want to know if you’ve thought any more about my proposal.”

He leaned forward, rested his elbows on his thighs and clasped his hands together between his parted knees. “That’s all I’ve been thinking about. And I’m also thinking you’re leaving something out. So spill it.”

Mallory laid a palm on her chest and tried to look innocent. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Yes, you do. I can see it in your eyes.”

Darn, he was good. Mallory imagined he was good at everything. She could probably find plenty of female references to attest to that fact, if only she could find his little black book. But his prowess in bed shouldn’t matter to her, as long as he got the job done and got her pregnant. If she could convince him to agree.

She stiffened her frame and resolve and brought out all the well-rehearsed reasons for her decision, minus the most compelling one. “First of all, my parents are in their seventies, I’m the baby and the only girl. I’m not sure how much longer they’ll be around and I want my child to know them.”

“In this day and time, they could be around twenty or even thirty more years.”

Strike one. “If I’m lucky, but I’m not sure I’ll find the right guy in twenty or thirty years. Prospects are at a premium. Not to mention, I don’t have time to date.”

He looked altogether skeptical. “But you will have time to have a baby.”

“I’ll make the time.”

“What about your goals to become full partner?”

She pulled the cotton from between her toes on the foot she had finished and balled them in her fist. “I can still do that. If I have a baby now, then I can concentrate on my career by the time he or she starts to school.”

“What about artificial insemination? That seems to be the norm these days for women who don’t want partners.”

She tossed the discarded cotton onto the table next to the polish. “I’ve considered that, but I don’t want a stranger fathering my child. Plus, that’s one shot once a month and hormone treatments. And it can be expensive. I personally believe nature is the best way to handle this, unless that doesn’t work. Then I’ll explore other options.”

He frowned. “Are you saying if I agree to do this, you want to handle it the natural way?”

She countered his scowl with a grin. “Unless I buy a supersize syringe.”

Without cracking a smile, Whit stood and began to pace the length of the room. “You don’t want the marriage and the proverbial picket fence first?”

“That sounds nice and all, but I’ve been the marriage route before. Remember?”

“Yeah, I remember. Gary.”

“Jerry.” The jerk.

Whit faced her and streaked one hand through his hair. “Oh, yeah. I never liked that guy.”

“As it turned out, neither did I. I expected more than a year of marital bliss. What I got was a year of an immature male who spent most of his time finding ways to get out of the marriage. And he was successful when the sorority girl showed up at my door with her large, um, knockers.”

He hinted at a smile. “I still don’t understand why the hurry to marry him.”

As always, most everyone believed that she and Jerry had rushed to the altar at age twenty because of an unplanned pregnancy. That unplanned pregnancy hadn’t happened until later. “If you must know, my upbringing dictated you didn’t do the deed unless you were properly wed.”

“You were a virgin?”

“Oh, yes. As pure as homemade soap. My mother was so proud.” And that experience had been less than gratifying. In fact, her whole married sex life had been less than gratifying.

Whit pointed at her. “Which brings me back to your parents. I don’t think they’re going to approve of you having a baby out of wedlock.”

“Maybe so, but I don’t intend to tell them.”

Now he really looked perplexed. “Are you just going to hide the pregnancy then show up for a family dinner with a baby? Surprise, Mom and Dad, look what I found on my doorstep.”

“Of course not. I’m not going to tell them until I do get pregnant. If I get pregnant. It could take a while.”

“Why would you think that? You’re young and healthy.”

Now was the time to tell him the truth, at least most of it. She didn’t have the strength to tell him about the baby she’d lost five months into her doomed marriage; not even her family knew about that. And she couldn’t even begin to explain the soul-deep cavern she’d carried around since the day she’d miscarried, though she hadn’t been ready to be a mother back then. Now she was ready. More than ready.

She patted the cushion beside her. “Come and sit.”

He complied, dropping down on the opposite end of the sofa, leaving a good two feet between them. Mallory twisted her pinkie ring round and round, the one her parents had given her upon her graduation from law school. Plain gold with a tiny diamond chip, and presented with much love. The same love she wanted to give to her own child, if she ever had her own child.

Drawing in a deep breath, she prepared to explain as best she could. “I went to the family doctor for my annual checkup a couple of weeks ago, and when I told him I was considering pregnancy, he sent me to a fertility specialist.”

He looked more than a little worried. “Why?”

“Because when I was younger, I had a minor infection that he believes damaged one fallopian tube and ovary. That means I’m basically running on one cylinder.”

“I’m sorry, Mallory.” His tone and expression indicated he truly was. “Is it painful?”

“No, but it could make timing the conception a little more difficult. I’m prone to having irregular periods.”

“Oh.”

Mallory rolled her eyes over Whit’s obvious chagrin. “Come on now, Manning. You can’t be that embarrassed, talking about the monthly curse with me.”

“It’s not something that usually comes up in our conversations.”

“Not now, but it did when you used to hang out with my brothers. Don’t you remember that Irish slang they used to torment me with? ‘Mallory, you’re in a foul mood. You wouldn’t be jammin’, would you?’”

Whit grinned. “Oh, yeah. And I also remember what you used to say to them. ‘Shut up or I’ll be jammin’ my knee in your yockers.’ You really scared me back then.” His smile evaporated. “You’re kind of scaring me now.”

“I don’t mean to scare you, Whit. Other than those few problems, I’m fine. And if you think about it logically, it’s just a simple agreement between us.”

“Simple?” He didn’t bother to hide his astonishment. “You’re talking about having a baby, not signing a contract for a health club membership.”

“I know. But we don’t have to make it that complicated. We try to have a baby, and if it doesn’t work, then we can say we gave it our best shot.”

His grin reappeared, the one that suspended Mallory somewhere between arctic chills and equator heat. “I guarantee it works.”

“I imagine it does.” With great clarity, she imagined it. “Does this mean you’ll do it?”

He remained silent for a few moments, yet Mallory saw something akin to understanding in his expression. “This is that important to you?”

“Yes, it is.”

“And if I agree to this, you’re sure you won’t object to me being involved with our child, after we both move on?”

“As I said before, I’d want it that way. Raising a child is a lifelong commitment.”

Whit swiped both hands over his face and stared straight ahead. “If I live that long.”

“What do you mean?”

“Logan isn’t going to like it.”

Mallory had predicted the friends-to-the-end loyalty between Whit and her brother might be a negative factor. “You let me worry about Logan when the time comes.” If the time came.

“I’m still not sure this is a good idea.”

Mallory scooted over to Whit’s side, using the last of her trump cards in an effort to persuade him. “You know, the whole process could be fun. Unless you find the prospect of having sex with me totally appalling.”

He visually followed the movement of her fingertips as she ran them up and down his very toned bicep. “Are you trying to seduce me into making a decision, O’Brien?”

“What do you think?”

He leveled his dark eyes on her. “I think you should consider you’re challenging a man who hasn’t been with a woman in a while.”

“That’s not necessarily a bad thing.”

Before Mallory could prepare, he had her back against the sofa and his body pinning her in place. “Are you sure you still want to do this, Mallory?”

How stupid to think Whit wouldn’t answer the challenge immediately. She swallowed hard around the nervous knot in her throat. “That depends on what you’re about to do.”

“I’m going to kiss you.”

Mallory suspected he was trying to scare her out of the decision. She wasn’t going to let him. “No kisses until you give me your answer.”

He brushed her hair away from her face and framed her jaw with one palm. “What if you hate the way I kiss? Would you still want me in your bed?”

A sharp, shaky breath slipped out between her parted lips. “Your kissing ability wouldn’t matter. Whether you’re up for the challenge of consummation would.”

He gave her a lopsided grin and glanced down before meeting her gaze again. “What do you think?”

She thought she might dissolve into the expensive tan suede sofa when she, in turn, looked down and noticed some activity stirring below his belt. “I think you’re a normal man. Say the word sex, and here comes the salute.”

When she pulled her gaze back to his face, he lowered his mouth to less than an inch from hers. “Maybe I should shower before I give you my answer. I’m feeling pretty dirty right now.”

Mallory was having some dirty thoughts of her own. “I know. It reminds me of the times you used to come in with Logan following football practice. A regular pheromone fest. Those football pants did enhance your assets.”

He slid his thumb along her jaw. “If I can find a pair, does that mean I have a better chance of scoring?”

“Have you not been listening to me? I’m a sure thing. Ready and willing.”

He collapsed against the couch and moved as far from her as the cushions would allow. Seconds ticked down, turning into minutes while Whit remained quiet, obviously deep in thought. Mallory held her tongue for the time being, giving him the opportunity to consider his answer carefully. And the waiting was pure agony.

He sighed, interrupting the silence. “Okay. I’ll do it.”

“You will?”

He turned his head toward her. “Yeah, I will. I’m probably crazy for agreeing, but if this is what you want, then I’ll try to give it to you.”

On a rush of adrenaline and sheer joy, Mallory climbed into his lap, straddled his thighs and held his face in her palms for a succession of wet kisses on his cheeks. She pulled back, intending to tell him he wouldn’t regret it, but the look he sent her halted her speech. Granted, she’d been out of the dating loop for a long time, but she could still recognize I-want-you in a man’s eyes. Except Whit had never looked at her that way before. Ever.

Without saying a word, he circled her nape with one hand and pulled her mouth to his. If this kiss served as his resume, as far as Mallory was concerned, he was hired. A tempered touch of his tongue to hers, a soft sweep, a heady thrust and she was reacting in ways she hadn’t in years, if ever. She might actually enjoy the consummation. But that couldn’t happen now. Not yet. Oh, boy.

He deepened the kiss, not giving her a chance to protest. How could she when he was occupying her mouth with such tender urging? When he was draining her thoughts dry as a winter skin with his expertise?

Even though Mallory truly didn’t want it to end, Whit obviously did when he broke the kiss. “Was that satisfactory, O’Brien?”

Satisfactory? Had it been any better, she might have been naked about now, disregarding her ultimate goal. “As I’ve said, this isn’t about your skills, Manning. We’ll go into this arrangement knowing it’s for the sole intent of procreation. You don’t have to feel obligated to prove anything to me in terms of your proficiency as a lover. And you don’t have to—”

Kiss me again, dammit. But he did, slowly, seductively, persuasively. This time, Mallory pulled away, with great effort. “I can already tell you’re going to be trouble.”

His smile made him part devil, and all devastating male. “And I feel like I’ve been remanded to stud service.”

“In a way, you have.” She climbed out of his lap and stood on wobbly legs. “Now go take a shower, my little stud muffin.”

When she turned away, he slapped her bottom. “Sure thing, my little broodmare.”

She faced him again, arms crossed at her middle to conceal her onset of trembles. “I don’t think I like being called a broodmare.”

“If I’m a stud, then you’re a broodmare.” He laced his hands behind his neck and assumed an insolent posture. “One more question.”

“Yes, Whit?” Why did her voice sound so shrill? In the courtroom, she never let anything throw her off course. But she’d never faced Whit Manning, and all his masculine arrogance, in a courtroom. Eventually she would have to face him in the bedroom, and she doubted she would have the strength to object to anything he might ask of her.

“Do we begin the breeding process tonight?” he asked in a low, compelling voice.

“No. In three days.”

His arms dropped to his sides and his smile dropped from his face. “Three days? Why?”

“Because I should be ovulating then.” If she was lucky. Mallory grabbed up the polish and started away before she decided to kiss him again. “I’m going to finish my toenails then work for a while in my bedroom.”

He was on her fast, taking her arms and turning her around. “After I’ve gone out on a limb to agree to this, you’re really going to make me wait? What am I supposed to do in the meantime?”

“Build up sperm.”

He narrowed his eyes. “You’re kidding, right?”

“No, I’m not. Normally I’d tell you to get a handle on it, but that’s not an option this time. I’m sure you’ll manage. Think of it as preparation, sort of like a boxer training for the big fight.”

“Just so you know, I’m going to be walking funny for the next three days in anticipation.”

As she headed toward the chrome stairs leading to the bedrooms, Mallory couldn’t stop her laughter though it was more nervous than jovial. She also couldn’t stop the tiny bite of fear over the decision they had made.

She was going to have a baby with her roommate. At least she was going to try. And the “trying” part thrilled her and frightened her.

Whit Manning wasn’t a man who did anything halfway. If that kiss was any indication, she suspected that would hold true when it came to lovemaking. One thing she had to remember—no love would enter into the equation, aside from brotherly love. Only sex for the sake of a child, no more than three days at a time, once a month. No great expectations. No emotional entanglement beyond friendship. Otherwise, she could very well begin wanting more from him than a baby.

Yet another thought kept nagging at Mallory’s cluttered mind. Where she had agonized over the decision for weeks, Whit had agreed to the plan in less than an hour. And although he was well known for his spontaneity, Mallory still worried that come morning he might change his mind.

Two

He must be out of his mind. He sure as hell was out of his element, at least when it came to fathering a child. After all, what did he know about raising a kid? Not a thing.

At the moment, he tried to immerse himself in the familiar—his job as head architect and vice president at Manning Development Corporation. But he couldn’t concentrate on much of anything, so he sat at his desk in his cushy downtown office, his skull gripped firmly in his hands. He had a meeting with the design team in twenty minutes and a headache pounding his temples as if he’d been on a four-day drinking binge. But he hadn’t had a drop to drink. He had spent one restless night tossing and turning and worrying that agreeing to Mallory’s pregnancy plan had been a huge mistake.

One thing he did know, Mallory was right about his commitment phobia. So far his marriage examples had fallen short. His father had two failed marriages on his resume and a third that didn’t look promising, and his mother had left her only child behind. One year after the divorce, Julia Manning had taken off for parts unknown with only the excuse that she needed to “find herself.” He’d gone to live with his dad after that and had befriended the O’Brien family. The O’Briens had been great, his proverbial port in the storm, but he’d never gotten over his mother’s abrupt departure, or the fact that she’d stopped all communication beyond an occasional birthday card. No congratulatory phone calls after his graduation from high school or college. Not even a “Hi, I’m still alive and kicking and I think about you often.”

In a way he’d blamed his father’s need for control for his mother’s quick exit. Yet Whit had to admit that his dad had taught him everything he knew about architecture, even if he did have the temperament of a demonic drill sergeant. Taught him every facet of building—from design to construction—as a matter of fact. Since that time, Whit had felt he owed his father a debt. But that debt was costing him his dreams. Someday soon, it would have to end.

Too bad it wasn’t today, Whit decided when Field breezed into the room, looking golf-tanned and prosperous, his hair silver sleek, his expression royally pissed off.

When his father shoved his hands into his pockets and strolled toward the desk, Whit braced for the usual weekly lecture. “You’ve screwed up, son.”

Hadn’t he heard that before? “Good Monday morning to you, too, Dad. What did I supposedly screw up this time?”

“Barclay told me last week you only incorporated three conference rooms into the design instead of four. That kind of mistake is unacceptable.”

Whit clung tightly to his anger but kept it secreted away for the moment. “Actually, old man Barclay changed his mind after the initial design was complete. And I fixed it while you were off on your little weekend getaway with the new wife.” Whit’s new stepmother, Rebecca, who was all of six years Whit’s senior.

Whit enjoyed these moments the most, when Field Manning knew he’d been bested. But as always, his father recovered quickly in order to get in another dig. Today it came in record time.

“You look like hell, Whit. Obviously you’ve been spending a lot of time bed-hopping. That’s a distraction you can’t afford, especially during this particular project.”

Whit held back the string of curse words clamoring to climb out of his mouth. “You know something, Dad. What I do in my off time is none of your business. But for your information, I’m not involved with anyone right now. If that changes, rest assured you’ll be the last to know.”

Field’s jaw went as rigid as his frame. “I’m glad you’re not involved with anyone. You’re not ready to settle down.”

Whit shoved aside the latest issue of an architectural magazine and clamped his hands together on the desk. “You’re right, I’m not ready to settle down. Considering the example I’ve had, I may never be ready.”

Anger flashed in Field’s dark eyes, the only true sign of his slipping composure. “I’m not even going to justify that with a response. I had valid reasons for ending my marriages. I just happened to spare you the dirty details.”

“Details as in your need to keep a tight rein on everyone in your life and if they dare challenge you, they’re history?”

“Believe what you will, Whit, but at least I’ve had relationships that lasted longer than a few weeks.”

In other words, it wasn’t Field Manning’s fault. It never was. Whit made an exaggerated show of checking his watch before turning his attention back to his father. “Anything else you’d like to criticize, Dad? I’ve got a full schedule today. But I could mark off a few hours for you tomorrow. You might want to bring a complete list of my shortcomings.”

“Sarcasm is unbecoming, Whit.”

“You taught me that, too.”

Field stared at him for a long moment. “Maybe I have made my share of mistakes, but I deserve more respect considering everything I’ve done for you since your mother left.”

You owe me, echoed in Whit’s mind, even if those hadn’t been his father’s exact words. He scrubbed a hand over his jaw. “Yeah, Dad, I know what you’ve done for me. You remind me often enough. But it seems to me that’s what you do for your kids, help them out. And you shouldn’t expect someone to bleed in return.”

“I don’t expect you to bleed. I do expect you to be grateful for what you have. And it would be nice if you’d grow up.”

With a palpable arrogance, Field strode out of the room and closed the door behind him with more force than necessary. Whit contemplated his father’s words for a few moments and then came to a surprising conclusion. He could be responsible and he had the prime opportunity to prove it—both to himself and to his hypercritical father. He could be a better father, and in turn, a better man.

He would give Mallory the baby she wanted and, by doing so, rise above Field Manning’s continuous condemnation. He would stick around to help raise his child, unlike his own mother. And he planned to enjoy every moment, making the whole process pleasurable for both him and Mallory. That consideration might be the only thing that would get him through this godforsaken day.

Mallory was on edge, starving and exhausted. To make matters worse, she had a gorgeous, seminaked man in her kitchen. His kitchen, she conceded. But did he have to drop in wearing only a skimpy black towel draped low on his narrow hips? Odd thing was, she’d seen him in a towel before, but at the time she hadn’t been planning to be impregnated by him. That alone made her curious about certain aspects, namely what he had lurking beneath that towel. Just the thought made her feel as if she had warm, male fingers drifting up and down her body. Maybe there was hope for her hibernating libido yet.

To provide some distraction, she lifted the lid on the pan and stirred the array of mixed vegetables. Distraction was short-lived when a very masculine hand came to rest on her shoulder and the very male specimen pressed against her back. “Smells good,” Whit said.

So did he, Mallory thought, only he smelled like summer-fresh soap. He radiated heat like a hot summer sidewalk. She replaced the lid but didn’t dare turn around. “It’s carrots and peas and potatoes.”

“What’s in the oven?”

“Halibut.”

He stepped away from her, providing some relief from the heat. “You know I hate any kind of seafood.”

Mallory turned and folded her arms across her chest. “You told me you haven’t eaten it since you were in grade school. I think it’s time you give it another shot.”

“Why?”

She opted for a fractional truth. “Because it’s good for you.” If she knew what was good for her—which she didn’t—she’d stop staring at the tuft of hair centered in the middle of his chest. Stop staring at the indentation of his navel peeking out from the low-slung towel. Stop her gaze from going any lower, which, of course, she didn’t.

“What’s this?”

Mallory glanced up to see Whit holding a slip of paper. Damn her wandering eyes. If she hadn’t been gawking at his manly attributes, Whit wouldn’t have found her little list. When she tried to grab it out of his clutches, he raised it above his head. Mallory was taller than most women, but Whit was taller than many men. And he was stronger and quicker, something she realized when he clasped both her wrists in one large hand and held the paper up to read it.

His grin arrived slowly. “‘Deciding Your Baby’s Gender the Old Fashioned Way?’”

When he loosened his grip, Mallory took advantage and yanked the page from his hand. “It’s just a few tips,” she said as she folded the paper into a small square and shoved it into her jeans’ pocket. “Something I found interesting.”

He leaned a hip against the counter and deepened his grin. “You found it on the Internet.”

Mallory turned back to the stove and stirred the veggies that didn’t need stirring. “Yes, I did. Do you have a problem with that?”

“Not a problem, but I am surprised.”

She afforded him a quick glance. “Why? It’s good to be prepared.”

“I agree, and I expected you to find some kind of how-to guide because that’s in line with your personality. But relying on old wives’ tales? That shocks the hell out of me. And honestly, I don’t believe any of it.”

“As I’ve said before, sometimes the old ways are the best ways. And you might as well face it, you don’t know everything about me.”

“But I plan to.”

That drew her attention to his face, particularly his trademark grin. “A girl has to have some secrets, Whit.”

“And a guy has ways of uncovering them, one by one.”

A shiver scanned the length of Mallory’s spine. “You wish.”

“I know.”

Greatly needing a subject change, Mallory told him, “Speaking of making babies, go look on my bed. I bought something for you today.”

“If it’s performance enhancers, I don’t need them.”

Mallory considered that she might need them when coming up against Whit Manning’s talents. “I bought you some boxers.”

His smile withered into a scowl. “I prefer briefs.”

“It’s only temporary. You can go back to wearing whatever you like after…you know.”

He inched closer to her side. “After we procreate?”

“Yes.”

“Mind if I ask why this is necessary?”

Mallory shrugged. “Supposedly it’s best if you’re somewhat unencumbered.”

“What if I just wear nothing at all?” He grinned again. “You know what they say, if you love them, set them free.”

Mallory laughed but it ended abruptly when his hand went to the knot on the towel. “Don’t you dare!”

“Why not? I could just walk around the house naked and unencumbered.”

A really nice idea, Mallory decided, before jerking herself back into reality. “Not a good idea, Whit.” At least not yet.

He folded his arms across his chest, enhancing the bulk of his biceps. “Does this have something to do with that list?”

“Yes.”

“Wearing boxers helps determine the sex of a baby?”

“That’s what they say.”

“They being who?”

“The people who came up with the list.”

He rubbed his chin. “Just one more question. You hoping for a boy or a girl?”

“Actually, a girl.”

“What if I want a son?”

That macho attitude didn’t surprise Mallory a bit. “You have a fifty-fifty chance.”

He pointed at her pocket. “Aren’t you stacking the odds against my choice by using those tips?”

She smiled. “I thought you didn’t believe in them.”

“I don’t, but I’d prefer not to take any chances, just in case.”

Mallory decided to use the one thing men always seemed to relate to—the act itself. “I get to be on top.”

“Guess we’ll have a girl then.”

They exchanged a brief smile before the moment turned rife with tension. The kind of tension that came with the tug and pull of desire. Mallory saw it in Whit’s dark eyes—a powerful, dangerous kind of desire.

He took her hand and rubbed her knuckles over his shadowed jaw. “After dinner, are you interested in priming the pump?”

She forced her eyes to remain on his face, focusing on the single strand of damp hair falling across his forehead. “My pump or yours?”

“Both.”

Avoiding Whit’s continued perusal, Mallory pulled out of his grasp and turned back to the stove. “Go try on your boxers and I’ll put dinner on the table. I thought we would eat out on the verandah since it’s such a nice night.”

He patted her bottom and she jumped like a freaked-out frog. “You do that.”

After he left, Mallory went through the motions in a haze, filling the plates and setting them out on the round, glass-topped patio table situated on the balcony beneath a blue-striped umbrella. As the largest in the building, Whit’s loft spanned a good deal of the ninth floor, and the wall of windows in the living room, as well as the balcony, provided a breathtaking view of the street below lined with sports bars and shops, the lights of the downtown skyline twinkling in the distance.

Mallory strolled to the railing to survey the coral sunset, her favorite time of day and her favorite scene. Yet the familiar atmosphere seemed somewhat surreal this evening. Things were changing between her and Whit; that much she knew. She supposed preparing to have sex with a man, according to a well laid-out plan, would present some changes—and challenges. She had to keep everything in perspective. Had to remember this was Whit, her friend. Her roommate. Nothing more would exist between them. Nothing could.

Granted, Whit was a great guy, but he was also a player. She’d made the fatal mistake of marrying one of those before. She wouldn’t make the mistake of falling for another, no matter how tempting Whit Manning might be. Even if she found the courage to go anywhere he might take her in terms of lovemaking. Considering past experience, she wasn’t certain she could.

Tucking that little reminder away for the time being, Mallory sat down and waited for Whit’s return. Several minutes passed before he appeared at the sliding glass doors leading into the den, wearing the boxers she’d bought on her lunch hour.

A giggle bubbled up in her throat and rushed out on a full-fledged laugh. Whit, on the other hand, did not look amused. But he did look cute as could be in the red thigh-length drawers, a bright yellow happy face centered strategically over the fly.

He looked down, then up again. “You’re kidding, right?”

Mallory let another little laugh slip out before she asked, “You don’t like them?”

“I look like a joke.”

He looked like a dream come to life, as far as Mallory was concerned. “Who’s going to see them?”

“Since we’re nine floors up, probably no one. But if I wear them to work, the guys will see them.”

Mallory drummed her fingers on the table’s edge. “Not unless you plan to go to the office without your slacks.” That pleasant image slipped into her brain—Whit wearing his dress shirt and nothing else. And she was really losing her grip on reality.

Whit rubbed a hand over his bare belly, drawing Mallory’s undivided attention. “I do have to take bathroom breaks now and then.”

The old “communing at the urinals” thing, talking about the baseball score and scoring in general, according to her brothers. Mallory had always wondered over that whole concept. Women tended to gather at a vanity, which seemed much more civilized. “You have your own private bathroom, Whit. Besides, you shouldn’t be so worried about what other people think. I personally think they’re precious.”

His face screwed up into a scowl. “I don’t do precious. And I don’t do boxers, either.”

Mallory placed the black cloth napkin on her lap and smoothed it with one hand. “Relax. I bought you a few more. Plain ones. Navy, your favorite color, made of silk for those moments you feel really sexy.” Her insides did a little jig just thinking about him in those.

Whit yanked back the cushioned chair and slumped into it, followed by a sigh. “Where are these sexy boxers?” His tone held a note of suspicion.

“In the laundry room. I washed them so they wouldn’t irritate you.”

He looked incredibly irritated at the moment. “Thanks for being so thoughtful.” He looked down again. “But a happy face?”

“Yes. A happy face for Mr. Happy.”

He leaned forward and clasped his hands before him. “Mr. Happy isn’t so happy right now.” He sent her a crooked smile. “But you know what would make him happy?”

Mallory gestured toward his plate before he formed the words. “Time to eat.”

“Mr. Happy would really like to come out and play.”

Dear heavens, another grand visual, one Mallory thought best to ignore for now. Besides, she could only rely on her imagination, for now. “Your food’s getting cold.” In contrast, she was quite hot.

Whit’s dark eyes took on that flaming quality, intense and captivating. “I’m not that hungry right now. At least not for any kind of food.”

She sent him a frustrated look. “Two more days, Whit. And believe me, you’re going to need your strength.” So would she, a lot of strength to get through another forty-eight hours of his continued innuendo.

“Oh, yeah?”

“Oh, yeah. Making a baby takes a lot out of a man.”

“I’m up for it.”

If the table hadn’t been in the way, Mallory might have tried to confirm that fact. Not that she really needed to. “Great. Right now, let’s have some dinner.”

He stared at his plate with a look of disdain. “I’m not going to like it.”

“You won’t know unless you try it.”

He met her gaze, his dark eyes leveled on hers. “That’s true in some instances. But I have good instincts about these things. Sometimes you just know when you’re going to enjoy something. And when you’re not.”

She wanted to ask for examples, but that damnable smoldering look on his face, the suggestion in his voice, told her exactly what he meant. “Just take one little bite. If you find it totally unpalatable, you can make a ham sandwich.”

When he reached for the salt, Mallory grabbed it up and played keep-away. “No you don’t.”

Now he looked confused, understandably so. “Why not?”

“I’ve already seasoned it. And too much salt isn’t good for you.” Too much wasn’t conducive to having a girl, according to the list, a detail she wouldn’t reveal.

He took a bite, grumbled, then took another bite while Mallory began to eat, too, not tasting much of anything. Before she knew it, he was completely through with every scrap on his plate. On the other hand, she had a hard time swallowing more than a few bites.

She sent him a satisfied smile. “Guess it wasn’t so bad after all.”

After pushing his plate aside, he sat back and propped his hands behind his head. “Not too bad. Now what’s for dessert?”

Oh, Mallory could think of several sweet things to offer, if she had the guts to serve herself up on a plate. “There’s some ice cream in the fridge.”

“Got any mint chocolate chip?”

“Yes, but I only bought a pint since you don’t usually eat that.”

He grinned. “I don’t usually imagine my roommate naked, either. And mint comes in handy when you plan to occupy your mouth later with something other than ice cream.”

Mallory shivered as if she’d joined the ice cream in the freezer. “Just two more days, Whit,” she reminded him again.

“Two more days until we consummate. Nothing says we can’t get to know each other better in the interim.”

Good sense told Mallory that might be hazardous and that Whit was somehow testing her. She chafed her palms down her arms, now covered in goose bumps. “I believe we should probably hold off until the appropriate time.”

“Sure thing. If you really think you can.” He came to his feet and rounded the table with a slow, determined gait. After pulling her chair at an angle away from the table, he leaned over and braced both hands on the arms. “Come to the den.”

“I have to take a shower.”

He brushed his hand over his groin. “Can I join you?”

Mallory hopped up and nudged him aside to clear the plates. “I swear, Whit, if this is how you seduce your girlfriends, I’m surprised you’re so successful. I can hear it now. Hi, I’m Whit, let’s have dinner, and afterward I’ll introduce you to Mr. Happy.”

His smile appeared again, a teasing one. “Sometimes I bring flowers first.”

Jerry had always given her flowers after he’d been out all night. The only thing he’d given her during their brief marriage aside from grief. Aside from the baby that wasn’t meant to be. “Does that automatically send them straight into your bed?”

A pall crossed over his face. “I’m just kidding, Mallory. I’m not totally crass and not always on the make. And if you’ll remember, this pregnancy thing was your idea.”

True, Mallory thought. Still, she suddenly felt like a means to an end, and in a way she was. So why did that bother her so much?

With both plates balanced in her hands, she turned to him and tried to smile. “I know you’re kidding. You’ve always kidded me mercilessly.”

“That’s because you’ve always been like one of the…” His words trailed off and so did his gaze.

“One of the guys?” Admittedly, that stung her more than a little. “I realize that. But you’re not going to have a baby with one of the guys.”

He looked highly frustrated. “You don’t think I realize that, Mallory? Believe me, when I imagine what’s going to happen two days from now, the guys are the last thing I think about.” He took a couple of steps toward her. “And you know something else? This is going to be one of those instances where you won’t have to try it to know if you’re going to like it. I guarantee you will, whether you want to or not.”

If only she had his brand of confidence in the bedroom. “It doesn’t matter whether I like it or not. I just want you to make me pregnant.”

“And I’m going to make sure you like it.” He moved forward until he was standing right before her. “One taste, and you’ll want more.”

Her breath caught in her chest. “I want a baby, Whit. That’s all.”

“Sure you do, Mallory. But I’m going to give you that, and more.”

After taking his own plate from her, Whit left Mallory standing alone, her thoughts in a jumble as a few untouched peas rolled onto the deck.

Whit Manning was proving to be a real challenge for Mallory O’Brien. One she hoped she would survive.

Three

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.

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