Nobody's Baby But Mine Part 5

Despite his words, he didn't move, and as she felt him pressed hard against her thigh, she knew why. "But you won't."

For a long moment, he said nothing. Then he reared back, releasing her shoulders. "You're right. I guess I'm drunk enough to forget that I gave up groupies years ago."

He moved to the side of the bed and shucked his jeans. With the bars of moonlight falling across his body, there was something primitive about him and elementally male. She looked away as he tugged on the sabotaged condom. This was it, then.

Her mouth went dry as he turned back and reached for the snap that held her jacket together. She flinched and made an instinctive grab for his hand.

He clenched his teeth in something that resembled a snarl. "Make up your mind, Rosebud, and do it fast."

"I want to ... I want to keep my clothes on." Before he could respond, she gripped his wrist and shoved his hand under her skirt. Once she'd done that, she released him, because if he couldn't take it from there by himself, she was doomed.

She needn't have worried.

"You sure are full of surprises, Rosebud." He stroked up the length of her stocking, then moved higher, tracing the path of the garter to the point where it met the lacy belt. Now he knew exactly how little she had on beneath her skirt.

"You don't believe in wasting any time, do you?"

She could barely force the words through the constriction in her throat. "I want you. Now."

She willed herself to open her legs, but the muscles in her thighs were so rigid, she could barely force them apart. He stroked them, soothing her as if she were a cat with an arched back.

"Relax, Rosebud. For somebody who wants it so bad, you sure are tense."

"An-antic.i.p.ation." Please give me my baby. Just give me my baby and let me out of here. Please give me my baby. Just give me my baby and let me out of here.

His fingers brushed the soft hair at the juncture of her thighs, and she wanted to die from the embarra.s.sment of it. She winced as his touch grew more intimate, then tried to turn the sound into a moan of pa.s.sion. She had to relax. How could she possibly conceive when she was so tense?

"Am I hurting you?"

"No. Of course not. I've never been more aroused."

He gave a snort of disbelief and began to push her skirt to her waist, only to have her grab it at the top of her thighs. "Please don't do that."

"I'm startin' to feel like a sixteen-year-old again, makin' out in the alley behind Delafield's Drugstore." His voice had a husky sound to it she hadn't heard before, giving her the impression that he didn't find that particular fantasy entirely unpleasant.

What would it have been like, she wondered, to be the teenage girl making out with the town football hero in the alley behind the drugstore? When she had been sixteen, she was in college. At best, her male cla.s.smates had treated her as a kid sister; at worst, they had made snide remarks about "the little b.i.t.c.h who broke the grade curve."

He trailed his mouth over the bodice of her jacket. She felt the moist heat of his breath on her breast, and she nearly leaped off the bed as his lips found the b.u.mp of her nipple.

A hot rush of desire, as unexpected as it was overwhelming, rushed through her. He closed his mouth over her nipple and teased it through the silk with the tip of his tongue. Sensation flooded through her body, waves of it, crashing in on her.

She fought against what was happening. If she permitted herself to derive even a moment's pleasure from his caress, she would be no better than the prost.i.tute she was impersonating. This had to be a sacrifice, or she could never live with herself.

But Craig had always ignored her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, and the sensations were so sweet.

"Oh, please ... Please don't do that." Desperately, she reached out for him and tried to draw him on top of her.

"You're mighty hard to please, Rosebud."

"Just do it. Do it, will you!"

She heard something that sounded like anger in his voice. "Whatever the lady wants."

His fingers opened her. And then she felt an awful pressure as he pushed himself inside. She turned her cheek into the pillow and tried not to cry.

He cursed and began to pull away.

"No!" She clutched at his hips and dug her fingernails into those hard b.u.t.tocks. "No, please don't!"

He went still. "Then wrap your legs around me."

She did as he said.

"Tighter, dammit!"

She tightened her grip, then squeezed her eyes shut as he began to move slowly inside her.

The stretch hurt, but she had expected his brutal warrior's strength to inflict pain. What she hadn't expected was how quickly the pain changed to warmth. His movements were unhurried-deep, slow thrusts of silk and steel that unfurled ribbons of pleasure inside her.

Sweat from his body dampened the fragile barrier of her clothing. He reached under her and caught her hips in his hands. He tilted them up, angling his own body in such a way that hot spasms licked at her. Her excitement grew even as she fought to suppress it. Why couldn't Craig have loved her like this just once?

The fact that she was finding pleasure in having s.e.x with a stranger shamed her, and as the sensations intensified, she tried to concentrate on her research by conjuring up thoughts of the top quark that obsessed her. But her mind refused to focus on subatomic particles, and she knew she had to act or he would push her to o.r.g.a.s.m, something that would be unforgivable. She steeled herself, even as her brain warned her of the danger of inciting a warrior.

"Are you ... going to take all day?"

He went absolutely still. "What did you say?"

She gulped, and her voice held a soft croak. "You heard me. I thought you were supposed to be a great lover? Why is it taking you so long?"

"So long?" He drew back far enough to glare down at her. "You know something, lady? You're crazy!" And then he lunged.

She bit her lip to keep from crying out as he drove deep. Again and again.

She clung to him with her thighs and her arms, meeting his fierce thrusts with a grim determination. She would stay with him, and she would feel nothing.

But her body rebelled. Those intolerable pleasure waves grew strong. She gasped. Climbed.

And then his muscles stiffened. Every part of him went rigid, and she felt the moment when he spilled himself inside her.

She clutched her hands into fists, her own pleasure forgotten. Swim! Swim, all you warrior babymakers! Swim, all you sweet little brainless babymakers! Swim! Swim, all you warrior babymakers! Swim, all you sweet little brainless babymakers! With a rush of tenderness for the gift he was giving her, she turned her lips to his damp shoulder and gave him a soft kiss of grat.i.tude. With a rush of tenderness for the gift he was giving her, she turned her lips to his damp shoulder and gave him a soft kiss of grat.i.tude.

He slumped forward, his weight heavy on her.

She kept her thighs clutched around his hips, not letting him go even as she felt him begin to withdraw. Just a little longer. Not yet.

The power of her will was no match for his strength. He pulled away and sat up on the edge of the bed. Bracing his elbows on his knees, he stayed there, staring into s.p.a.ce and breathing deeply. The bow that had been fastened around her neck had come untied, and, as she moved, it slipped onto the pillow.

Bars of moonlight slashed across his back, and she thought she had never seen anyone who looked so lonely. She wanted to reach out and touch him, but she couldn't intrude on his privacy. The wrongness of what she had done struck her like a blow. She was a liar and a thief.

He rose and headed for the bathroom. "I want you gone when I come out."

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As Cal stood under the locker-room shower, he found himself thinking about Rosebud instead of the grueling practice he had just completed or the fact that his shoulder ached, his ankle throbbed, and nothing on him seemed to be recovering as quickly as it used to. It wasn't the first time he'd thought about Rosebud since his birthday night two weeks ago, but he couldn't explain why she kept popping into his mind or why he'd been so immediately attracted to her. He only knew that the instant she had walked into his living room with that fat pink bow around her neck, he'd wanted her.

Her appeal confounded him because she wasn't his type. Although she was attractive with her blond hair and those light green eyes, she wasn't in the same league with the beautiful girls he'd been dating. Her skin was outstanding, he'd give her that, sort of like French vanilla ice cream, but she was too tall, too flat-chested, and too d.a.m.ned old.

He ducked his head and let the shower water splash over him. Maybe he'd been drawn in by all her contradictions: the intelligence in those green eyes that fought the c.o.c.kamamie story she'd told him, a funny aloofness in her manner that kept running headlong into her clumsy attempts to seduce him.

He'd quickly figured out that she was an upper-crust groupie looking for a cheap thrill by pretending to be a hooker, and he hadn't liked the idea that he was attracted to a woman like that, so he'd told her to leave. But he hadn't put any real energy behind it. Instead of being irritated by her lies, he'd mainly been amused by her desperate earnestness as she'd spun out one story after another.

But it was what had happened in his bedroom that he couldn't forget. Something had been very wrong. Why had she refused to take off her clothes? Even when they were going at it, she wouldn't let him undress her. It had been strange, and so d.a.m.ned erotic he couldn't quit thinking about it.

He frowned, remembering that she hadn't let him make her come. That bothered him. He could read people pretty well, and although he'd known she was a liar, he'd figured she was essentially harmless. Now he wasn't so sure. It was almost as if she had some hidden agenda, but he couldn't imagine what it was beyond putting a check mark in front of his name before she moved on to her next celebrity jock.

Just as Cal was rinsing the shampoo out of his hair, Junior yelled into the shower room. "Hey, Bomber, Bobby Tom's on the phone. He wants to talk to you."

Cal slapped a towel around his hips and hurried to the telephone. If it had been anybody else in the football world from the NFL commissioner to John Madden, he'd have told Junior he'd call back. But not Bobby Tom Denton. They hadn't played together until the last few years of B.T.'s career, but that made no difference. If B.T. wanted his right arm, Cal figured he'd probably give it to him. That's how much respect he had for the former Stars' player who, in his opinion, had been the best wide receiver in NFL history.

Cal smiled as that familiar Texas drawl came over the phone lines. "Hey, Cal, you comin' down to Telarosa for my charity golf tournament in May? Consider this your personal engraved invitation. Got a big barbeque in the works and more beautiful women than even you're gonna know what to do with. 'Course, with Gracie lookin' on, I'll have to leave it up to you to entertain them. That wife of mine keeps me on a real tight leash."

Since injuries had prevented Cal from playing in B.T.'s last few tournaments, he hadn't met Gracie Denton, but he knew Bobby Tom well enough to realize there was no woman in the world who could keep him on a leash.

"I promise to do my part, B.T."

"That'll make Gracie real happy. Did you know she got herself elected mayor of Telarosa right before Wendy was born?"

"I'd heard."

Bobby Tom went on to talk about his wife and new baby girl. Cal wasn't too interested in either, but he pretended to be because he knew it was important to B.T. to act as if his family was the center of his life now that he was retired, and that he didn't miss football at all. Bobby Tom never complained about being forced from the game by blowing out his knee, but Cal knew it still had to be ripping his guts apart. Football had been B.T.'s life, just like it was Cal's, and without those games to look forward to, Cal knew his former teammate's existence was as empty as a Tuesday night stadium.

Poor B.T. Cal gave the former wide-out high marks for not whining about the injustice of being forced out of the game, even as he promised himself he wouldn't let anything in the world push him into retirement until he was ready. Football was his life, and nothing would ever change that. Not age. Not injuries. Nothing.

He finished his conversation, then went to his locker to dress. As he pulled on his clothes, his thoughts drifted away from Bobby Tom Denton and back to his birthday night. Who was she, d.a.m.n it? And why couldn't he get her off his mind?

"You made me come all the way over here today just so you could ask me about my transportation expenses to the Denver conference?" Jane never lost control in professional situations, but as she looked at the man who governed her day-to-day activities at Preeze Laboratories, she wanted to scream.

Dr. Jerry Miles lifted his head from the papers he'd been studying on his desk. "You may regard these kinds of details as minor annoyances, Jane, but as the director of Preeze Laboratories, I a.s.sure you they're not minor to me."

He thrust his hand back through his limp, too-long graying hair as if she'd frustrated him beyond bearing. The gesture seemed as studied as his appearance. Today Jerry's uniform consisted of a snagged, yellow polyester turtleneck sweater, threadbare navy jacket with a dandruff-flecked collar, and rusty corduroy slacks now mercifully concealed by the desk.

It wasn't Jane's habit to judge people by their clothing-most of the time she was too preoccupied even to notice-but she suspected Jerry's unkempt appearance was deliberately cultivated to conform to the image of the eccentric physicist, a stereotype that had died out a good decade earlier, but which Jerry must believe would camouflage the fact that he could no longer keep up with the exploding body of knowledge that made up modern physics.

String theories mystified him, supersymmetry left him baffled, and, unlike Jane, he couldn't handle the complex new mathematics that scientists such as she were practically inventing on a daily basis. But despite his shortcomings, Jerry had been appointed director of Preeze two years ago, a maneuver engineered by the older and more conservative members of the scientific establishment, who wanted one of their own to head such a prestigious inst.i.tution. Jane's a.s.sociation with Preeze had been a h.e.l.lish snarl of bureaucracy ever since. By contrast, her position on the Newberry College faculty seemed remarkably uncomplicated.

"In the future," Jerry said, "we're going to need more doc.u.mentation from you to justify this sort of expense. Your cab fare from the airport, for example. Outrageous."

She found it mind-boggling that a man in his position could find nothing better to do than harra.s.s her about something so inconsequential. "The Denver airport is quite far from the city."

"In that case, you should have used the hotel shuttle."

She could barely swallow her frustration. Not only was Jerry scientifically incompetent, but he was a s.e.xist, since her male colleagues didn't have to undergo this kind of scrutiny. Of course, they hadn't made Jerry look like a fool either.

When Jane had been in her early twenties and still operating in a fog of idealistic zeal, she had written a paper that had patently disproved one of Jerry's pet theories, which had been a slapdash piece of work that had nonetheless garnered him accolades. His stock within the scientific community had never been the same, and he'd neither forgotten nor forgiven her.

Now, his brow furrowed, and he launched into an a.s.sault on her work, not a simple thing since he comprehended so little of it. As he pontificated, the depression that had dogged her ever since her failed attempt to get pregnant two months earlier, settled in deeper. If only she were carrying a child now, everything might not seem so bleak.

As a fierce seeker of the truth, she knew what she had done that night was morally wrong, but she was confused by the fact that something about it had seemed so right, maybe the fact that she could not have chosen a better candidate to be her baby's father. Cal Bonner was warrior, a man of aggression and brute strength, all qualities she lacked. But there was something more, something she couldn't entirely explain, that spoke of his absolute suitability. An internal female voice, ancient and wise, told her what logic couldn't explain. It would be Cal Bonner or no one.

Unfortunately that internal voice didn't tell her how she was to find the courage to approach him again. Christmas had come and gone, but as desperately as she wanted a baby, she couldn't imagine arranging another s.e.xual coupling.

The sight of Jerry Miles's lips thinning into a cat-that-ate-the-canary smile yanked her back to the present. "... tried to avoid this, Jane, but in view of the difficulties we've been having over the past few years, I don't seem to have a choice. As of now, I'm requiring that you submit a report to me by the last day of each and every month detailing your activities and bringing me up to date on your work."

"A report? I don't understand."

As he began to elaborate on what he wanted from her, she couldn't hide her shock. No one else was required to do anything like this. It was bureaucratic busywork, and the very idea went against the essense of everything Preeze stood for.

"I won't do it. This is blatantly unfair."

He regarded her with a faintly pitying look. "I'm sure the Board will be unhappy to hear that, especially since your fellowship is up for review this year."

She was so outraged, she could barely speak. "I've been doing excellent work, Jerry."

"Then you shouldn't mind preparing these reports for me each month so I can share your enthusiasm."

"No one else has to do this."

"You're quite young, Jane, and not as well established as the others."

She was also a woman, and he was a s.e.xist jerk. Years of self-discipline prevented her from saying any of this out loud, especially since she would end up hurting herself more than him. Instead, she rose to her feet, and, without a word, marched from his office.

She fumed as she rode down to the main floor in the elevator and stalked across the lobby. How much longer was she going to have to put up with this? Once again, she regretted the fact that her friend Caroline was out of the country. She very much needed a sympathetic ear.

The gray January afternoon held that ugly hint of permanence that always seemed to hang over northern Illinois at this time of year. She shivered as she climbed into her Saturn and sped toward the elementary school in Aurora where she was scheduled to do a science program for the third graders.

Some of her colleagues teased her about her volunteer work there. They said that having a world-renowned theoretical physicist teaching elementary-school children, especially disadvantaged ones, was like having Itzhak Perlman teaching beginning violin. But the state of science education in the elementary schools disturbed her, and she was doing her small part to change it.

As she hurried into the a.s.sembly room where the third graders were waiting and set down the supplies she'd brought with her for the experiments, she forced herself to put aside thoughts of Jerry's newest act of bureacratic sadism.

"Dr. Darling! Dr. Darling!"

She smiled at the way the third graders had corrupted her last name. It had happened during her first visit two years ago, and since she hadn't bothered to set them straight, the appellation had stuck. As she returned their greetings and gazed into their eager, mischievous faces, her heart twisted. How she wanted a child of her own.

She felt an unexpected rush of disgust directed entirely at herself. Was she going to spend the rest of her life filled with self-pity because she didn't have a child, but not doing anything to correct the situation? It was no wonder she hadn't been able to conceive a warrior's baby. She didn't have a backbone!