The Pregnancy Negotiation

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.”