Nobody's Baby But Mine Part 16

As quickly at that, his affability vanished. He rose from the table and walked out of the kitchen, putting an end to the discussion.

But she wasn't nearly done, and she followed him across the cavernous family room toward the study. "I'm used to my independence. I need my own car." And then, waspishly, "I promise I won't wave at your friends when I drive through town."

"No car, Professor. That's the way it's going to be." Once again, he walked away from her, this time disappearing into the study. She compressed her lips and marched forward. This was ridiculous. Cal seemed to have forgotten they lived in the twentieth century. And that she had her own money.

She stopped in the doorway. "Unlike your girlfriends, I'm old enough to have my driver's license."

"The joke's wearing thin."

"Except it's not exactly a joke, is it?" She regarded him thoughtfully. "Are you sure all this has to do with protecting your parents? Are you sure it isn't more about keeping me locked up so my advanced age and general lack of bimbo qualities don't embarra.s.s you in front of your friends?"

"You have no idea what you're talking about." He sprawled down behind the ma.s.sive wooden desk.

She regarded him dispa.s.sionately. "I'm not even close to being the kind of woman all your buddies expected you to marry, am I? I'm not pretty enough to be your wife, my b.r.e.a.s.t.s aren't big enough, and I'm too old. Big time embarra.s.sment for the Bomber."

He crossed his ankles and propped his boots on the desk. "If you say so."

"I don't need your permission to buy a car, Cal. I intend to do it whether you like it or not."

He hit her dead on with those scorched-earth eyes. "Like h.e.l.l."

Completely exasperated and in no mood to enter into a full-fledged battle, she turned toward the door. Tomorrow she'd do as she liked, and he could just live with it. "I've had all of you I can take for right now. Good night."

"Don't you walk away from me!" He moved so quickly that she didn't see him coming, and before she could get through the doorway, he'd blocked it. "Did you hear me?"

She splayed her hands on her hips and glared up at him. "Back off, buster!"

Seconds ticked away, each one crackling with tension. His forehead wrinkled and his lips tightened, but at the same time, she detected something that seemed almost like antic.i.p.ation in his eyes, as if he wanted to fight with her. It was the most astonishing thing. She was used to people who avoided conflict, but Cal seemed to enjoy it, and, to her surprise, she was more than willing to join in.

Before she got a chance, however, he dropped his gaze and the corner of his mouth curled. "Goofy."

She'd been called many things, but never that, and her temper flared. "What did you say?" did you say?"

"Your nightshirt." He reached down and, with the tip of his finger, traced the cartoon applique that lay on the upper slope of her breast. "Goofy."

"Oh." Her anger deflated.

He smiled and began using his fingernail, running it back and forth over the outline of the figure. The skin of her breast tightened, and her nipple hardened in response. She hated reacting to something that was obviously a calculated move on his part. No wonder he had a big ego; he could probably turn women on in his sleep.

"I hope you're arousing yourself because you're not doing a thing to me."

"Is that so?" He glanced down at the front of her nightshirt where the evidence clearly pointed to the contrary.

He was so arrogant; so sure of himself. She needed some small measure of revenge, so she shook her head and regarded him sadly. "You haven't figured it out yet, have you, Cal?"

"Figured what out?"

"Never mind." She sighed. "I guess you're probably a fairly nice guy underneath all that bl.u.s.ter, and I don't want to hurt your feelings."

An edge of belligerence crept into his voice. "Don't you worry about my feelings. What haven't I figured out yet?"

She made a helpless, fluttery gesture that was surprisingly effective considering the fact that she'd never done anything like that before. "This is silly. I really don't want to talk about it."

"Talk!"

"All right, then. To be blunt, the thing you don't seem to be able to grasp is the fact that you're not my type. You just don't turn me on." Liar, Liar, pants on fire. Liar, Liar, pants on fire.

He dropped his hand. "I don't turn you on?"

"Now I've made you angry, haven't I?"

"Angry? Why the h.e.l.l should I be angry?"

"You look angry."

"Well, that just goes to show that you're not as perceptive as you think."

"Good. Besides, I'm sure my lack of response to you is simply a problem with my perception. It probably doesn't have anything to do with you."

"d.a.m.n right."

A little shrug. "I've just always preferred a different type of man."

"What type is that?"

"Oh, men who aren't quite as large. Not quite as loud. Gentle men. Scholarly men."

"Like Dr. Craig Elkhart?" He spit out the name.

"What do you know about Craig?"

"I know he dumped you for a twenty-year-old secretary."

"She wasn't a secretary. She was a data-entry clerk. And he didn't dump me."

"That's not the way I heard it. The guy dumped you like a load of wet cement."

"He most certainly did not. We parted by mutual agreement."

"Mutual, my a.s.s."

"You're just throwing up a smoke screen because I wounded your pride when I said I wasn't attracted to you."

"I've met a lot of women who were liars, but you take the cake. Admit it, Professor. I turn you on so much you can hardly stand it. If I put my mind to it, I could have you naked and begging in thirty seconds flat."

"There's nothing more pathetic than an aging man boasting of his flagging s.e.xual prowess."

"Flagging!"

She watched a slow flush spread across his cheekbones and knew she'd really done it. She'd pushed him past his limit, and now she absolutely had to shut up. "Don't worry, Cal. Somewhere there's a woman who'll care enough to take her time with you."

The flush spread to his ears.

She patted his chest. "And if that doesn't work, I've heard they're doing wonders with implants."

Those pale eyes widened, almost as if he couldn't believe what he was hearing.

"I think there are also some nonsurgical devices based on air pressure and vacuum. I could probably even design something for you, if it came to that."

"That's it!" The flush receded, and before she knew what was happening, he'd dropped his shoulder, pushed it not ungently against her stomach, and upended her.

"Upsey-daisy, sweetheart."

She found herself staring at the seat of his jeans. Faded denim stretched tight over slim, hard-muscled hips. She began to feel dizzy and wasn't certain she could entirely blame it on the blood rushing to her head. "Cal?"

"Uh-huh?"

"Please put me down."

"In a minute." He headed out into the foyer, moving carefully in deference to her pregnancy. He'd hooked one of his arms behind her knees to hold her in place, and he patted the back of one bare thigh as he mounted the stairs. "Just stay real still, now, and everything'll be fine."

"Where are we going?"

"We're paying the Evil Queen a visit."

"Evil queen? What are you talking about? Put me down!"

They reached the top of the stairs. "Quiet, now. I have to concentrate real hard so I don't turn too fast and slam that head of yours right into the wall, givin' you a nasty concussion that would lower your IQ to somewhere in the vicinity of human and make you behave like a reasonable human being."

"My bedroom's over there."

"The Evil Queen's this way." He marched toward his own bedroom.

"What evil queen? What are you talking about? And put me down right this minute or I'll scream b.l.o.o.d.y murder, then do the job for real!" evil queen? What are you talking about? And put me down right this minute or I'll scream b.l.o.o.d.y murder, then do the job for real!"

"I already hid all the electrical appliances, and I'm not taking a shower without locking you in the closet first." He dropped his shoulder, and she found herself being lowered onto something soft. She looked up into her own reflection.

Her hair was tousled, her nightshirt twisted around her thighs, and her skin rosy. Cal stood next to the bed. He leaned forward and gazed up at the mirror mounted above the bed.

"Mirror, mirror, on the wall, who's gonna be the most naked lady of all?"

The Evil Queen! She s.n.a.t.c.hed a pillow and threw it at him. "Oh, no, you don't." She vaulted toward the other side of the bed, only to have him grab her nightshirt and pull her back down. She s.n.a.t.c.hed a pillow and threw it at him. "Oh, no, you don't." She vaulted toward the other side of the bed, only to have him grab her nightshirt and pull her back down.

"Time for good ol' Goofy to make himself scarce so the grown-ups can play."

"I don't want to play with you, and don't you dare try to pull off my nightshirt, you arrogant a.s.s!"

The mattress sagged as he straddled her thighs. "And you've got a very nice one yourself, I couldn't help but notice. What say we take a closer look?" He reached for the hem of the nightshirt.

"Don't, Cal." She slapped her hands down, but even as she pressed the garment to her thighs, she knew she wanted to let him take it off her. Why couldn't she? They were married, weren't they?

Still straddling her, he leaned back on his right calf. "You don't seriously think we're going to live here for three months without getting intimate."

Her heart pounded, her body pulsed with need, and her brain cried out the truth. He didn't have the slightest bit of affection for her. She was nothing more than a s.e.xual convenience. She gritted her teeth. "Have you forgotten that you don't like me?"

"True, but one thing doesn't necessarily have anything to do with the other. You don't like me, either."

"That's not exactly so."

"You do like me?"

"I don't dislike dislike you. You're probably a decent person. In your own twisted way, I know you think you're doing the right thing about all this, but I just wish you were different." you. You're probably a decent person. In your own twisted way, I know you think you're doing the right thing about all this, but I just wish you were different."

"Dumber."

"That. And not so big. Everything about you is too big for me-not just your body, but your personality, your bank account, your temper, and, definitely, your ego."

"Don't you talk to me about temper! I'm not the one going around trying to electrocute people. And if we're throwing out things that are too big, what about that gargantuan brain of yours?" He drew his leg over her and resettled himself at the end of the bed, where he leaned against the bedpost.

She knew she'd done the right thing, but it was still painful. She pointed out the obvious. "To you, I'm just an available body."

"You're my wife."

"A technicality." She sat up so she was leaning against the headboard. "You want me to be unpleasant to your parents and stay away from your friends but, at the same time, you expect me to make love with you. Can't you understand how I might find that a little demeaning?"

"No." He gazed at her, and his flared nostrils and tight lips dared her to argue with him. He was going to take his stand, even though he knew it was indefensible.

"I guess I shouldn't be surprised you feel like that since it's typical of the way celebrity athletes traditionally treat their groupies. Women are good enough for a quick romp in bed, but not good enough to be part of a big shot's life."

"Are you saying you want to be part of my life? That's pretty hard to believe, Professor, considering the fact that you don't seem to like anything about me."

"You're deliberately misinterpreting. I'm merely saying that I refuse to sleep with you at night knowing you don't like me, especially when you want to keep me locked up during the day. Don't deny that you'd behave differently if one of your bimbos had done what I did."

"None of my bimbos is smart enough to plan what you did! And I don't have any bimbos!"

She lifted one eyebrow. "A man like you wants his wife to be a reflection of himself. You want youth and beauty standing next to you because that's how you want everyone to see you, as young and healthy, a perfect physical specimen who doesn't have a worry about anything, certainly not about Kevin Tucker taking away your job."

He threw his leg over the side of the bed and stood. "This is the most boring conversation I ever had."

"Just another sign of how incompatible we are because I think the conversation's pretty fascinating. What are you going to do when your playing days are over, Cal?"

"I don't have to worry about that for a long time."

"I've seen you limp when you get out of the car after you've been sitting for a long time, and I have a feeling those thirty-minute showers I hear you take in the morning aren't about personal cleanliness. Your body has taken a beating, and it's not going to do it much longer."

"Now you're an expert on orthopedics."

"I know what I see."