The Pregnancy Negotiation. Kristi Gold

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СКАЧАТЬ 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, СКАЧАТЬ