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LENGTH:
SENSUALITY: Carnal

Cover art (c) Kat Richards 2008

Trade Paperback ISBN 978-1-60394-145-7
Retail price $11.99
Our Price $9.59
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The hormones win.

Chloe opts out of the marriage proposal, but opts in for a trip to his mountain cabin for the promised mind-blowing sex.

Rating: Carnal

Fulfillment: The Hawaiian conference was the ideal setting to implement Christian’s ‘just slightly odd’ plan. It coincided fortuitously with the peak of Carly’s fertility cycle. They could do the deed, protect both their reputations and their jobs, and no one would be the wiser—Carly would have the baby she wanted, and her ‘anonymous’ donor could remain unknown.

Carly had doubts the plan would work, but she had no inkling just how bizarre a turn her quest for a gene donor could take. She certainly hadn’t anticipated that she would end up in the bed of the one man she most definitely didn’t want to know about her plans—her boss.

Rating: Spicy/Carnal. Adult situations and language.

CHLOE'S DONOR

By

Sabine Ferruci

Chapter One

“Sending me the wrong sperm sample is not a minor customer satisfaction problem, Dr. Ashtar.” Clasping her palms across her pregnant belly, Chloe Simon willed her stomach to stay calm.

“I’m not minimizing the complexity of the situation, Miss Simon.” The physician looked down at the open chart on the conference table in front of him, then hit her with a high wattage surely-we-can-solve-this smile. “I’m merely trying to assure you that your actual donor, Sergeant, uh ….”

“Gallagher. B.D.” Those were the first words that Chloe’s donor had uttered since his arrival in the clinic’s conference room. “Broderick Devlin,” he added, his clear green eyes giving nothing away as they observed her. By his unconcerned demeanor, he could have been sitting in a clubhouse waiting for his tee time.

“I assure you,” Ashtar continued, “Sgt. Gallagher provided a specimen of the highest quality. He’s in excellent health.” Dr. Ashtar beamed with pride as he gestured to Gallagher. “No family history of inherited disease. Meets—in fact, exceeds—our extremely rigid donor standards. Had he appeared in our catalogue, he would have been very popular with our clients.”

Chloe conceded that the hunk sitting across the table was as perfect a physical specimen as a man in his mid-thirties could be. A moss green sport shirt accentuated his tanned forearms, well-muscled arms, and wide shoulders. The short cut of his light brown hair emphasized the square jaw and the shadow from his clean shave. His nose was a little big for his face and his eyebrows a little too heavy, but B.D. Gallagher would never be voted off the island, at least by any of the women.

“I’m sure the Essence of Sgt. Gallagher would have been a sell-out, Doc.” Chloe was satisfied to see a flash in Gallagher’s suspiciously bland eyes, but her satisfaction was short lived. Nausea that had been simmering just below the surface since this morning’s phone call was beginning to churn in earnest. Breathe in. Breathe out.

“Another positive attribute you should not discount, Miss Simon, is the superior strength and quality of the sperm you received.”

Trailing her fingertips lightly over the swell of her belly, Chloe took a deep breath and tried not to hyperventilate.

“In order to achieve success, our average client inseminates over a period of at least three cycles, using as many as six vials at each setting.” The little man in the starched white coat could hardly contain his excitement as he leaned forward on the table to touch her arm. “You merely used one vial and became pregnant on your first try. Superb results, really.”

Chloe swiveled her chair away from the contact and watched Gallagher closely. If he moved so much as an eyelash to display macho pride, she would purposely lose her breakfast all over his crisp khaki slacks. She was almost disappointed when not so much as a facial twitch occurred. It was smooth sailing in the ocean of those green eyes, no victory flags flapping in the breeze.

“Dr. Ashtar.” Chloe was tired of hearing about the upside of this little glitch. “I selected donor attributes that were of more importance than Olympic caliber sperm.”

“Such as what, Ms. Simon?” asked Gallagher. Of course, his voice would be radio announcer deep. It made the hair on her arms vibrate to attention.

“Certain talents and interests.” She was not about to explain her desire to insure the family artistic gene, the one that had managed to skip over Chloe.

Gallagher leaned back in his chair. “I would have thought the goal would be a healthy baby.” Before she could answer, he placed his folded hands on the table. Those fingers were long and sure and capable of palming a basketball. “Never mind,” he muttered. “There’s another issue you’re overlooking.”

Ashtar cleared his throat. “I really think we ought to give Miss Simon time to digest this news before we explore further ramifications.”

Chloe stared straight at Gallagher with icy dread. “What ramifications?”

“I banked my sperm here. I never gave permission for its use as an anonymous donation.”

Chloe smoothed back the damp hair that had escaped the heavy braid down her back. The air conditioning in the building seemed to suddenly lose its battle with the outside Atlanta heat. “Well I didn’t give permission for the clinic to overnight your sperm instead of the donor’s I selected. So we’re even. ”

“The only way things will be even, Miss Simon, is if you agree that the child you’re carrying is just as much mine as yours.”

Chloe put both hands on her womb and felt the blood drain from her face. “No.”

“And while we’re at it,” he continued, unclasping his hands, leaning back in his chair with almost certain feigned relaxation, “I’m not delighted at all -- as in, no fucking way -- with the prospect of my child being born a bastard without the Gallagher name.”

That did it. The churning in her belly percolated to the surface. She covered her mouth and scrambled from her chair, knowing she wasn’t going to make it as far as the door, much less the hallway restroom.

Like magic, an empty wastebasket appeared before her and a strong arm supported her chest. Chloe knelt down and emptied her stomach. Gut wrenching heaves that were far too loud racked Chloe’s body for what seemed like hours. When she started to calm and begin to hope that it was over, she vaguely became aware of her hair being lifted off her neck and soothing murmurs.

It was unbelievable that anyone had stayed in the room, much less right next to her. And it was, of course, inevitable that the someone was unquestionably the Sergeant. Gallagher sat down on the floor and eased her back until her head rested against his chest. “Doc. Do you think you could help me out here?” He pushed the wastebasket into Ashtar’s hands. “Get me an ice cold towel, some mouthwash and a glass of water.”

Chloe just kept her eyes closed, not wanting to move. She heard furious scrambling out the door and quick orders being issued.

“Useless asshole,” Gallagher muttered.

“There goes my hope for a child with eloquent verbal skills.”

He stroked back the hair from her face. “You’ll have to settle for concise. And effective.”

Chloe heard the nurse bustle in. “I’ll take over, sir.”

“No,” he answered. “Just give me the stuff and leave us.”

“Miss Simon?” the nurse asked.

Chloe didn’t want to move a muscle from where she was sprawled. It felt cooler down here on the floor and nice to be taken care of for a change. His chest was solid and reassuring against her back. She didn’t open her eyes or even think twice. “I’ll be fine.” Any year now.

The wet cloth on her forehead and neck felt like heaven, as did the mouthwash and sips of water. She gradually felt her strength returning and sighed. This unpleasant interlude had not erased the problems she faced. “I need to get up.”

“Wait a second.” He looked down at her. “It may have slipped by you. Or maybe the urge to vomit was your reaction. But bringing up the Gallagher name for our baby was kind of a marriage proposal.”

“Noooooo.” She wanted to scream. “Anonymous was supposed to be just that. It was supposed to be just me and my baby.” She scowled at him. “No overbearing father. No in-laws. No custody battles.”

His green eyes narrowed. “I have two questions for you. Are you married?”

“No.”

“Are you a lesbian?”

“NO!”

“Then anything else can be dealt with. I have a plan.” He lifted her easily to her feet as if she was some elfin sprite instead of a pregnant woman who hadn’t been called petite since, well, ever. He was still supporting her forearms, standing right in front of her when he showed perfect white teeth in a traffic-stopping smile. “You’ll find that I’m very good at planning.”

****

All in all, Dev Gallagher thought that Chloe had taken the news rather well. She was still a bit shaky, but that was to be expected, and her unsettled state provided a benefit he was quick to exploit. She’d agreed to let him drive her home.

Fingers tapping on the steering wheel, Dev drifted forward in the slow line exiting the clinic complex. He glanced at her from time to time as he drove. Her face wasn’t three shades of green anymore. Her warm olive skin peeked through strands of glossy black hair that had escaped the thick braid over her shoulder.

He pegged her at five ten, which was a nice fit for his six foot and a quarter. While she was by no means too heavy for her height, she was solid, healthy, and very much all woman. Even while Chloe retched her guts out, Dev had enjoyed the feel of her generous breasts pillowed above his arm as he supported her. He’d felt the unbelievable softness of her skin as he soothed her hair back from her face and couldn’t resist nuzzling her hair and kissing the back of her neck. He’d even gotten half hard.

So sue him for being a crass bastard. He was just a guy, damn lucky to be alive. Not to mention currently driving down an American avenue that had only one in a million chance of hiding a roadside bomb. Yes-siree-bob. This was IED-less paradise.

When he hit the interstate, it was mercifully empty by Atlanta standards, so Dev was able to enjoy the scenery inside the car. A gauzy black skirt covered most of Chloe’s long legs. A sleeveless top of the same material hugged her breasts and stretched across the bulge on her lower belly. Instead of detracting from her figure, her pregnancy only served to make her look like some kind of fertility goddess.

The clunky sandals on her narrow feet drew his eyes to toes painted the color of ripe mangoes. And then there were the earrings, lots and lots of jingling earrings. Those intricate strands of silver would make an enchanting jingle of a Siren’s song every time she sank down on his cock, head thrown back in exquisite, desperate passion, striving for release that was just out of ....

“Broderick Devlin, don’t you think you should keep your eyes on the road?” she asked.

“Busted.” He had exited the freeway and was headed down a small thoroughfare toward her neighborhood. “I thought you were asleep. And ...."

“What?”

He’d been visualizing the look on her face as she screamed out her climax above him. He grinned. “I was thinking about how much I like your earrings.”

“Oh. Thanks. They’re one of my weaknesses.” Chloe pulled her braid up on top of her head and did some kind of magical woman-thing with her fingers to make it stay put. “I dozed off for a few minutes.” She pushed the seat back up and looked around. “Turn left here and then a right three blocks down.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He followed the rest of her directions and pulled his battered Land Cruiser into a parking space on the street. Tall oaks and pines shaded the entire block. “By the way, most people call me Dev.”

“Well. Okay.” Without looking at him, she gathered her carpetbag purse and unbuckled her seatbelt. “Um, Dev. Yeah. Thanks for the ride.”

Dev turned off the engine and stepped out of the car, uncurling his right knee, which was always a treat. He marveled at her notion that he was just going to roll her onto the curb and burn rubber as he peeled off down the street. When he helped her out of the car seat, he touched her chin and made sure he had the attention of those golden brown eyes. “I’m not going to go away, Chloe. Not until we’ve talked.”

“I don’t suppose you’d be amenable to coming back tomorrow?”

He supported her elbow as they made their way up the sidewalk to the small brick bungalow. “Only if I lock a GPS tracking device around your ankle before I go.”

“Stubborn.” She shook her head and sighed. “Not on my list of desirable qualities in a child.”

He snorted. “Think of it as goal-oriented.”

Her white-brick home looked like a gingerbread house. It had a narrow front yard that was mostly plants, trees, and wildflowers. The shutters were painted sky blue and there was a colorful striped awning over a large picture window.

When they stepped inside, refinished hardwood floors and white walls were the only neutral colors. The sofa was bright red, and the surrounding chairs and pillows were variations on the theme. Colorful artwork leaped off the walls, making the room come alive with dancing images of paint, woven cloth, and bent metal.

“Wow.”

“It’s too much for most people.”

“Is this your work?”

“Unfortunately, no. But artistic talent does run through my family.”

He led her over to the couch. “Sit down, put your feet up and let me get you something to drink.” Before she could object, he propped a pillow under her legs and wandered into her kitchen. He rummaged for a couple of glasses and fixed some ice water. There was a packet of crackers on the counter that he snagged on the way back to the living room.

She eyed him warily, but accepted the drink and crackers. Dev pulled a chair close to her head and leaned his elbows on his knees. His folded hands could reach over and stroke her face if he wanted. More like if she’d let him. “I’m not going to insist on marriage right away .…”

“What a relief.”

“—but I want you to consider it.”

She took a sip of her drink. “Okay. On the one hand, we have maintaining my balanced life and raising my child on my own, without interference. Hmmmmm.” She looked thoughtful while she took another drink of water, then rested the cold glass against her cheek for a moment and closed her eyes.

“On the other hand, we have marriage to a stranger, who admittedly exceeds the clinic’s and most other people’s physical standards. But he’s stubbornly goal-oriented, especially when it’s his goal that he’s after.” She opened her eyes. “I’ve considered it. I’m not interested.”

“You forgot to mention my high-performance sperm.” He couldn’t help the grin that slipped out. It was totally immature for a man of his years and experience to be proud of his mating prowess, but there you go. The surge of pride shot all the way to his cock. This was a first time deal for him and a saint he was not.

“I don’t need any more of your sperm,” she said hotly, placing a hand on her belly.

Too true. This might not be as easy as he’d anticipated. “You’d rather have a drawn out legal battle for custody?”

“Why are you doing this?” she asked with obvious exasperation. “It’s not as if you had any immediate plans for fatherhood. Why can’t you just let it go?”

She knew jack-shit about his fatherhood plans and he was going to keep it that way. “Look, Chloe. My motto’s always been, ‘leave no sperm behind.’ Now I find that a whole shit load of the suckers got shipped to you in a miracle vile. I’m damn sorry you think it’s in-con-ven-ient, but no child of mine is going to wonder who the hell his father is and why the bastard couldn’t be bothered to know him.”

“Great. I draw the one man in the universe who wants to assume responsibility for conception, when he didn’t get any, much less good sex in the process. This has to be some sort of cosmic joke.”

He leaned forward so that he could whisper into her ear. “It would have been hot, no holds-barred, mind-blowing sex.” Satisfied with her quick little intake of breath, he backed away. “Look. I’ve got the next couple of weeks off. I’d like to spend it together and get to know each other.”

She stared down at her glass and absently stirred the ice with a tip of her fingernail. “All right. Why don’t you come to dinner next week?”

In her dreams. “That wasn’t exactly my plan.”

“I’m afraid to ask.”

He took her hand between both of his. “I’ve got a small cabin and some land about fifty miles north of here. Come stay with me for a few weeks.”

“Why should I?”

“We can work this out, Chloe. Marriage would be the easiest solution for the baby. It won’t have to be forever.” No point setting himself up for another gut-wrenching disaster. “In fact, I’d want a divorce after the baby’s born.”

She looked thoughtful. “I’m willing to discuss the merits of marriage on paper, but we can do that without a scenic road trip.”

A name-only marriage had been his plan until he’d met her. Now he didn’t want to miss out on feeling the baby romp around inside of her, not to mention a lot of romping of his own beneath the sheets with Miss Chloe. In fact, tied up in the sheets would be even better. He wanted to tie her down and pleasure her until she didn’t know her own name. Until she’d be willing to take his.

Instead, he took the reasoned approach. “If we’re going to be raising this child together, then it will be easier if we get closer to each other.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Just how close did you have in mind?”

Somehow he didn’t think ‘buried to the hilt’ was the answer she was looking for. “Husband-and-wife close.”

“You want to have sex with me.”

Oh, yeah. “The thought’s crossed my mind.” He raised his hand and interrupted her before she could object. “I believe in vows, Chloe. While we’re married, I have no intention of seeing other women.”

“I’m five months pregnant. It won’t be that long until the baby is born. Surely you can ...,” A nice warm glow appeared on her face. “... can handle things by yourself until then.”

“That might have been acceptable until today, but once I saw you walk into that conference room, I jettisoned Plan A.” When she looked confused, he elaborated. “The Jerking-Off-for-Four-Months Plan.”

She swallowed visibly. “And Plan B?”

“That would be the Worship-a-Fertility-Goddess Plan.”

Interestingly, the warm glow on her face and neck grew brighter, and she didn’t meet his eyes. “What makes you so sure I want to be worshiped by you?”

The flush on her skin and the soft intake of breath when he drew close were just a few of the clues. Chloe wanted him, all right. Maybe not as much as he ached to lose himself in her hot mama body, but it was enough to take a gamble. His buddies didn’t call him Big Dick Gallagher for nothing. “If you really give the relationship an honest shot while we’re away, and it doesn’t work out, I’ll back off the sex issue and come to some kind of reasonable custody arrangement with you.”

She studied him suspiciously. “You’re making a major concession without me risking much of anything.”

He brought her hand to his mouth and brushed his lips across the delicate skin of her wrist. Her pulse jumped a satisfying notch. “Your risk is that you’ll decide that sex will be a good thing.” He’d make sure of it.

He took the glass from her hand and set it on the end table. She didn’t balk when he touched her cheek with his hand. In fact, as he eyed her wide mouth and leaned closer, her breath caught and her golden eyes widened. “I think if you’re honest, you’ll admit that we don’t seem to be immune to each other.”

He gave her a chance to object and felt a surge of satisfaction when she allowed him to brush his lips across hers. He cradled her face in his hands while he nibbled and sucked on her lower lip, gratified to hear a soft moan. When he felt her fingers touch his chest, he lowered one hand to explore her ear, delighted to hear the tinkle of her earrings before he stroked her neck over her rapid pulse.

Chloe’s hand moved up his chest and around his neck. Dev had to rein himself in as he deepened the kiss, dueling with her tongue. What he really wanted to do was scoop her luscious body onto his lap and pull her onto his rock-hard cock.

He restrained himself from that primitive instinct, but he couldn’t resist something else he’d craved from the moment he’d seen her walk into that conference room. He placed his hand softly over her lower abdomen. It was incredible that his baby – his flesh and blood – was growing inside this gorgeous woman.

Chloe sucked in a breath and leaned back from him, misty eyed and flushed. “Um, that’s not the usual progression of a man’s hand.”

He kissed her lips again. “It makes you unbelievably sexy.”

She wrinkled her nose. “I feel like a mobile home and I look like a blimp.”

“You are so, so wrong.” Dev lifted up her shirt to expose the soft skin of her belly. Her skin sparkled with some kind of faint glitter that was specially designed to suck the blood straight to a man’s cock. He placed both hands on her abdomen before lowering his head to kiss and nuzzle her skin with his face. She smelled like lavender and lemon and sin. When her hand touched his hair, he growled his approval and slid his fingers beneath the elastic waistband of her skirt

His tongue followed his fingers as he pushed the elastic down to expose her entire lower belly, making himself stop at the first glossy curl he unveiled. His baby made a soft mound below her belly button that he could easily encase in two of his hands. He settled soft kisses over her lush, fertile belly while she ran both hands over his short hair. He could smell her arousal.

“God, I didn’t know I could feel like this,” he murmured, a little shaken by the intensity of his need. Jesus H. Christ. His fingers were actually trembling. His erection was pounding with impatience. He had to keep it together if he hoped to bind this woman the only way he knew how -- with passion.

And passionate she was. As he turned his head to look at her, he was dazzled by her responsiveness. Her head was thrown back with eyes closed, lips parted, a delicate flush traveling from her face to the exposed skin of her chest. He knew that if he brushed the swollen nipples pushing against the gauzy blouse, or if he slid his fingers a few inches further south, she would come apart.

He reached for her face with his hands. “You are so beautiful, Chloe.”

She opened her eyes and blushed as she realized how far he’d taken her. “You’ve made your point.”

He scooped her over onto his lap and pulled her to his chest, making sure she could feel his throbbing cock. “For both of us.”

After a few minutes, he pulled back and met her wary gaze. “Will you come stay with me? It’s quiet and secluded – a good place for two people to just be.” Please, God.

“You take a lot of your pregnant women there?”

He tapped her nose. “You’ll be the first female to cross the threshold.” He put his hand back on her warm belly. “Do you know if it’s a girl or boy?”

“Not yet. Do you care?”

“Nope. Healthy is what I want.”

He lifted her back on to the couch and gave her a quick kiss. “I’ve got a few things I need to go take care of. Give me your keys so I can get your car back to you. I’ll come by and get you around ten tomorrow morning.”

“I’m not going to travel with a perfect stranger into the hills of North Georgia without a mile-wide trail of breadcrumbs.” She bit her lip while she rummaged in her bag for her keys. “As much as I hate to tell anybody about this crazy situation, I’m going to ask my brother to be here tomorrow to meet you. He’ll need the address and phone number of your cabin.” She shook her head. “Knowing Jay, he’s also going to want to see two forms of identification and take your fingerprints.”

“No problem.” He was gong to be fucking busy for the next eighteen hours.

FULFILLMENT

By

Kimberly Zant

This is a work of fiction. All characters, events, and places are of the author’s imagination and not to be confused with fact. Any resemblance to living persons or events is merely coincidence.

Chapter One

I suspected my belly was beginning to look like origami. It tied itself into another knot as I watched Christian ‘Chris’ Jones weave his way to the bar for yet another drink. He wasn’t a drinker, ordinarily, which made it abundantly clear that he was even more disturbed by our plans than I was.

Or maybe not. I was pretty stressed about it myself.

He was my best friend, but we hadn’t exactly hit it off when I’d first gone to work for Mueller Enterprises the year before. Chris suffered from what I called optical-rectumitus—he had a shitty outlook on life—worse even than mine. I supposed, once I got to know him better, that he had every reason to. He was gay. Life had been hell for him just because he was ‘different’. It didn’t help that his life partner, whom he’d been with since college, had just recently dumped him for a younger man.

Oddly enough, it was his jaded view of people in general that had drawn me to him. He was critical of everyone and that just aroused a need in me for his approval. I supposed part of it was because he reminded me of my favorite uncle, the one person in the world I adored more than anyone else. A person had to be exceptional to earn his approval and I wanted to be exceptional.

Chris also had a viper tongue—another similarity to my uncle—and a rapier wit.

He could cut you to pieces without breaking a sweat and I admired that in a man—as long as it wasn’t directed at me, which was another reason I desperately wanted his approval. I wanted to stand behind him and watch in admiration while he cut other people to the quick—not me.

Anyway, I did eventually earn his respect and once I had we’d become best friends. He was actually the best friend I’d ever had. I could talk to him about anything—anything—without worrying that he would look down on me. He might not always approve, but he always accepted me for what I was.

It was his willingness to listen that had led me, in a moment of weakness, to confess just how devastated I was that I’d never had children and how frightened I was that I’d missed my chance and never would.

I’d met my husband in college and fallen truly, madly, deeply—So truly, madly, and deeply that I was content for a long time just to worship and follow him around like a hopeful puppy. He didn’t want children—not right away. He was ambitious. He wanted to build his career. He wanted to have me all to himself.

He didn’t want to have to pay child support when he dumped me.

I don’t think I ever tumbled to the fact that I was ‘career building love slave’ until I found myself staring at the divorce papers. I might not have wised up then except that Todd already had wife number two—younger and better connected—waiting in the wings for the ink to dry on the divorce papers. He threw the usual at me—I’d ‘let myself go’. We’d grown apart. I didn’t want the same things he did, etc., etc. but the unpalatable truth was that he’d never intended to do anything but use me to pay the bills, cook, clean, and provide sex on demand until something better came along, and he’d known better would just as soon as he had his career on track.

The prick had married a debutante fresh out of college.

She was already pregnant when they got married.

I thought about killing him for a while. I really wasn’t a violent person per se, but he brought out the killer instinct in me like no one else. I finally decided, though, that I couldn’t just throw my entire life away on the prick. I’d already wasted more time on him than I could afford. Spending the rest of my life in jail, or going to the electric chair, wasn’t going to appease my need for revenge.

I had to show him that what he’d thrown away was better than what he’d ended up with.

As motivations went, it wasn’t the healthiest I could’ve come up with, but it was all I could muster at first. I’d ‘let myself go’ because I was too busy working to support the bastard and slaving for him when I got home to spend time on myself. I ate on the run, and it stayed with me.

Picking my trampled pride up out of the dirt, I dusted it off and focused on ‘showing’ him. By the time I’d managed to get back in shape and gotten a start on my own career, which I’d neglected trying to support him, I’d managed to put most of my rage and hurt to the back of my mind and go on with my life.

There was one vital part of my goal that seemed out of reach, though. I was in my late twenties by the time Todd dumped me. That didn’t give me much time to get on my feet financially—yes, the bastard got half of everything even though I’d actually paid for almost everything we had—find a new husband, and conceive. I tried marathon dating. I allowed anyone that would to try their hand at matchmaking.

None of it worked and I finally realized it was because I had developed a deep hatred and distrust of men in general because of what Todd had done. The right man could’ve knocked that wariness right out of me and I would’ve been just as gullible and vulnerable as I had been with Todd, but the right man didn’t come along.

I didn’t have time for the right man to come along!

Every time I managed to convince myself I’d just take what I could get and get what I really wanted—a baby—I realized I just couldn’t stomach marrying someone I didn’t care two cents about. I looked at every man that I dated like someone shopping on the sales rack—trying him on for size, but none of them ‘fit’—in bed or outside of it. This one was great in the sack—everybody said so because he’d already fucked everybody and was still looking for new territory to conquer. That one was steady and reliable but stunk in the bedroom. This one had a seriously weak chin that I didn’t want to pass on to my offspring. That one had a name that would bring torment down on any child we had. This one kissed like a vacuum cleaner and I didn’t think I could stand much of that, and on and on.

Deciding I was being too picky, I tried harder, but I finally realized that if I couldn’t stand to date them I sure as hell couldn’t live with them.

Option number two came to mind—artificial insemination.

That was a bust because I just couldn’t afford it.

It was along about the time I reached an all time low—and had a few too many drinks—that I finally wept all over Chris and told him I was never going to be a mother and my life was meaningless.

That was when Chris, who’d also had a few too many drinks, decided to be my very best friend and offered to be my gene donor.

Drunk or not, I immediately saw a LOT of problems with that very kind and sympathetic offer. Next to my uncle, I loved him better than anybody else in the world, but it would be like screwing my sister. Alright, my brother. I didn’t love him that way. He snorted his mixed drink through his nose when I pointed out that I didn’t think I could get a ‘hard on’ for him, told me I didn’t need to. I could just lay there and ‘receive’.

The second problem was that Chris was gay. He wasn’t the kind of guy that went both ways. He was strictly gay. He didn’t ‘do’ females.

The third problem was that we worked together and aside from the fact that I didn’t want to wreck the best friendship I’d ever had, I also didn’t want to have problems with a fellow worker—particularly since Mueller Enterprises was very strict about inner office relationships. Becoming intimate with Chris could, potentially, wreck both of our careers, especially if it got out, and things had a way of doing that in the office.

Contrary to what I’d expected, Chris didn’t pretend amnesia about the discussion once he’d sobered up. It seemed, in point of fact, to have planted a seed in his mind that had taken root and grown like wild fire. He reminded me of a movie where two friends, a gay guy and a straight woman, had had a child together. I reminded him that it had not only ruined their friendship, but it turned out that it wasn’t the gay guy’s baby at all.

He dismissed the small details. That wouldn’t happen to us because we wouldn’t let it. He actually liked the idea of fathering a child, but he didn’t consider himself parent material. He’d continue to be my buddy and be content to let me be the parent all by myself. Changing diapers and wiping snotty noses just weren’t his ‘thing’.

He got so ‘in’ to the project, he was following my cycle more closely than I was, had developed his own chart of my peak fertility periods by stuffing a thermometer in my mouth whenever he got the chance.

This was when he’d come up with the wild scheme that was currently driving him to drink and tying my stomach in knots.

‘Fate’, he decided, was smiling upon us. My peak fertility period coincided with the conference we were both scheduled to attend and that would be the time to shoot for the goal. Everyone, he assured me, would be so busy with their own rendezvous they wouldn’t notice us. We could do ‘it’ away from the office, pretend we were just two strangers scratching an itch, and then go about our business.

We hadn’t discussed what we would do if it didn’t ‘take’.

I wasn’t sure what the conference had to do with it, but I’d begun to realize that what appealed to Chris about it was that he could pretend it wasn’t me in his bed, and he thought he could go through with it.

I wasn’t sure I could. It was all very well to say we could pretend, but once it got down to business, could we really?

The scheme was crazy—and right up Chris’ alley.

He’d given me his room number. The two of us had split the additional expense to pay for him to have a room all to himself—a bungalow actually, which was a good bit more expensive than a room in the hotel proper, which was what the company had paid for. We would attend the welcome mixer and then he would leave after an appropriate amount of time and go back to wait for me. I would stay long enough to lull suspicions and then follow.

I’d thought it was an insane plan when Chris hatched it. The more I watched him, the more certain I was that it wasn’t going to work.

If nothing else, he was going to be too drunk to perform.

How the hell was I supposed to just ‘lay there’ and receive when he could hardly walk already?

“Your boss?”

I glanced distractedly at the woman who’d walked up to me. “I beg your pardon?”

The woman settled in the chair across from me, nudging her chin in the direction of the bar. I glanced that way obediently, discovering in the process that the woman was right—sort of. Nicholas Mueller, my boss, was at the bar, and he was now staring directly at the two of us or, more likely, the woman who’d addressed me. Horror washed through me in a cold wave as it occurred to me that, if the woman had been observing me staring at the bar and thought my interest was focused on my boss, she might not be the only one who’d had that thought.

Nothing good could come of a personal interest in Nick Mueller, as proven by the women who’d been dismissed over the years. He didn’t put up with any kind of hanky panky going on in the office, and he wasn’t the sort of person who believed in ‘do as I say, not as I do’—either that or he just had no interest in his female employees.

Rumor had it—according to my ‘source’, Jane the receptionist who was also his personal secretary—that ‘Nicky’ was something of a playboy outside the office. It stood to reason. The guy had a drool factor of ten on a scale of one to ten. He was not only handsome, the fit of his suits made it obvious he was built like a god. He was wealthy, single since his divorce three years earlier, and above and beyond all that, he had a sexy voice, and he was James Bond debonair.

I wasn’t blind or dead from the neck down. I’d noticed. I’d been damned careful, though, not to appear to notice because I’d been informed right off that the surest way to leave Mueller Enterprises under a cloud was to make eyes at the boss or even to appear to be flirting.

I thought his standoffishness was probably self-defense, even though most of the women in the office just considered him a prick. His wife had been insanely jealous, though, also according to rumors, and despite his efforts to pacify her by being a total, cold asshole to the women who worked for him, she couldn’t be convinced that he wasn’t cheating on her and she’d finally divorced him, nearly breaking him—financially, at least. I had no idea how it had affected him emotionally. No one knew him well enough to even guess at that—though they speculated that he was too cold blooded to have been effected by the divorce in that way.

Beyond that, though, his divorce settlement had made it clear he couldn’t afford a lawsuit for sexual harassment. It had taken all he could do to hold the business together and build it up again after his ex had walked off with half his assets.

Maybe I’d read him wrong, but that was what I thought anyway.

“What’s it like working for him?” the woman asked, obviously taking my silence as a confirmation that I had been staring at my boss.

Thrown for a loop, mostly because of the woman’s blatant sexual interest, I blinked rapidly at the question. Before I thought better of it, I followed the direction of the woman’s gaze and turned to glance at my boss again, Nicholas Mueller—Mr. Mueller to his employees, Nick or Nicky to the women whose calls filtered through the receptionist at Mueller Enterprises. Almost as if he felt my interest, he looked my way again at just that moment, the easy smile curling his sensual lips slowly dying as our gazes locked across the room.

I felt my face heat, felt my heart skip a beat and then execute a little two-step as it tried to catch up its normal rate. With an effort, I dragged my gaze from his and tried to pretend I’d just glanced toward the elevators. Stalling for time, I cleared my throat, trying to think of an acceptable comment. “Good,” I managed finally. “He’s very fair, and the benefits at Mueller are better than average. You looking for a new position?”

The woman grinned. “If it’s under him, yeah.”

I felt my color fluctuate again. I was fairly certain the comment had been deliberately suggestive but couldn’t decide whether to respond in kind or pretend I hadn’t caught the double meaning. “He is the CEO, now. His father retired last year.”

The woman stared at me for a long moment and finally chuckled. “I meant under him,” she clarified. “Is he as good in bed as he looks? They so rarely are when they look that good, but one can always dream.”

I was abruptly sorry I’d eschewed alcoholic beverages for the duration. Not that I drank very often anyway, but if the circumstances had been different I would’ve allowed myself at least one to calm my nerves. The conference had a relaxed air about it given the setting—Hawaii—and everyone was working hard to combine vacation with work. Unfortunately, I had a date with destiny—I hoped—and allowing myself even a small drink wasn’t an option.

I wasn’t offended by the suggestion, but it made me uncomfortable. It wasn’t as if I hadn’t noticed the boss was drop dead gorgeous, but I liked my job.

On the other hand, plenty of women called the boss about anything but business. He was catnip for the female of the species. And maybe the boss was open to a little flirtation away from the office, business or not? I wasn’t about to ‘pimp’ for him—not that he needed any help—but I also didn’t want to say anything that would sound as if I was ‘guarding’ him. I didn’t want comments I’d made that sounded even vaguely personal to get back to him. I smiled with an effort, forced a chuckle that held little amusement. “I wouldn’t know personally. He’s a stick ….”

I nearly jumped out of my skin when a hand settled on my shoulder—a male hand. My head snapped to the side in a guilty jerk. I eyed the hand on my shoulder and then looked upward to identify the owner of the hand.

Mr. Mueller was standing over me. My mind went blank.

“Stick?” the woman asked, her eyes dancing with suppressed laughter. “Stick in the mud? Somehow, I find that hard to believe.”

I could’ve cheerfully strangled the woman. Obviously, Mueller had realized we were discussing him, although he might have decided that glance I’d exchanged with him was a plea for help—business-wise. “Mr. Mueller!” I exclaimed, trying to hide my acute discomfort. “I was just about to explain to Ms. … uh …,” I glanced quickly at the woman’s name badge, “Chancellor about the services the company offers. She’s with Dillon and Sons.”

They exchanged greetings. Betty Chancellor made no attempt to hide the fact that she was summing him up, and she didn’t have business on her mind at all. The woman grinned. An icy finger of fear sliced through me when I saw her amused expression and it occurred to me that she might tell him what we actually were discussing.

“Actually, I was trying to steer her away from business talk and into a bit of ‘girl’ talk.”

He lifted one dark brow, but although that was generally accompanied by a stony look that could freeze an employee in their tracks and turn them into a blithering idiot, a touch of humor gleamed in the depths of his green eyes and his lips curled faintly. My heart did a little flip flop despite the fact that I knew that look hadn’t been intended for me at all.

“Should I leave?”

The woman chuckled. “I hope not. You were the subject under discussion.”

I felt my face redden again when he sent me an indecipherable look.

“I was wondering if you were as good in the sack as you looked and she explained that men who look as good as you do rarely are.”

I felt my eyes widen with pure horror at that ‘artless’ comment. Repressed laughter danced in the woman’s eyes, but it was impossible to decide whether her teasing was intentionally malicious or not. I thought not. On the other hand, it put me in a difficult position. Mr. Mueller sure as hell didn’t encourage that sort of familiarity with employees. Glancing at my boss, I sent him a weak, apologetic smile.

“Did she?”

Again, his expression was completely unreadable, but there was a deep note to his voice that sent a shiver along my spine and made warmth blossom in my belly.

The woman laughed. “No, actually, she didn’t. I just couldn’t resist teasing her. She was struggling so hard to talk shop in spite of my curiosity. I believe she was about to tell me you were a stick in the mud.”

This was getting worse and worse. I gritted my teeth and tried to smile. “I was going to say you were a stickler for business—very professional at all times, Mr. Mueller. We don’t discuss private matters at work—so I wouldn’t know. Or want to ….”

He looked at me again. This time, though, his gaze flickered over me assessingly.

“If you’ll excuse me?” I added hurriedly, miserably aware that I was just getting myself in deeper the longer I babbled. “I just remembered something I forgot to tell Chris earlier.”

I didn’t wait to see how either had taken my abrupt departure. Instead, I hopped up and headed straight for Chris, trying not to appear as if I was fleeing. Chris looked up, saw me bearing down on him, and paled. Gritting my teeth, I continued until I reached him. “Just nod your head, Chris.”

He stared at me, but finally nodded. “What’s this about?”

“Never mind,” I said. “I need a drink.”

His brows rose. “I thought you said …?”

“We’re not going to talk about that, though, are we?” I reminded him. Straightening, I turned and headed toward the bar. “I’ll have a strawberry daiquiri—Shirley Temple,” I said with a sigh when the bartender gave me his attention.

The man seated on the barstool beside me glanced my way. “That takes all the fun out of it,” he murmured.

I smiled wryly, but shrugged. “I’m not here on vacation, though,” I responded easily.

He glanced at my badge. “Me either. I’m with Trinity.”

I focused on paying for my drink, but my heart had given an uncomfortable leap at the name. It was one of the accounts I’d earmarked. I smiled at him easily as I turned with my drink in my hand, resisting the urge to try to get a better look at his name badge. He didn’t make any bones about studying mine—although it was debatable whether he was actually looking at my name tag or my boobs. “So—you’re here with the trade show, too?” I asked as casually as I could.

He nodded but flicked a hand dismissively. “No shop talk. I’m all talked out after today.”

Disappointment filled me, but I kept my smile in place. “I’m not sure I’d know how to carry on a conversation that didn’t include that,” I said jokingly.

He studied me for a long moment, seemed to search his mind, and finally grinned. “Nice weather,” he said.

Caught off guard, I laughed. “Is it? I haven’t been outside all day.”

He grinned at me. “I got a glimpse from the window.”

As disheartening as it was that he wouldn’t allow me to lead him into a discussion that might end in me landing a much coveted new account, it was a relief that it wasn’t too much of a struggle to keep a light, friendly conversation going. The tricky part was steering clear of anything too personal.

He was obviously interested in me sexually. I could see that in the way he looked at me, but he was intelligent, and not drunk enough to be blatant. It was just as well. He wasn’t a particularly attractive man—not too hard on the eyes, but nothing to give me even a slightly accelerated heartbeat. Even if he had been, I wasn’t interested.

The lighter skin on his ring finger might mean he was recently divorced, and it might mean he’d just decided to be single for the conference.

I had an agenda that wasn’t strictly business, but it wasn’t getting laid—not per se anyway—and I sure as hell wasn’t interested in using sex to land a new account, no matter how sexy the account was.

The conversation actually soothed my nerves a bit—and I needed it—keeping my mind occupied enough that I was able to beat back the issue that had been preying on me.

I’d thought it was a bad idea to start with—Chris was the one who’d suggested it—and now it seemed painfully obvious he was having problems dealing with it.

Maybe I should just forget it?

Reluctance settled in the pit of my stomach the moment I thought about it.

The sad truth was that I was teetering on the brink of being too old to safely try to have a baby or I wouldn’t have considered the plan to begin with. I adored Chris, strictly as friend, but I was desperate or I wouldn’t have entertained the idea for a moment. Now that I had, now that we’d made all the plans, I was so fixated on the possibility of having a baby I was reluctant to give up the idea for any reason.

Jittery nerves were to be expected, on both sides. Chris hadn’t said he just couldn’t go through with it, and I was by damned going to give it a shot!

* * * *

Nick was annoyed. He wasn’t in the mood to pinpoint why he was annoyed when he certainly shouldn’t have been, but he was definitely aware of a knot of conflicting emotions in the pit of his belly as he surreptitiously watched Carly Nelson with the CEO from Trinity.

He was certain of one thing. He didn’t like the way Bill Trinity was looking her over as if she was a choice piece of steak.

The thought made it hard to dismiss the fact that at least part of his resentment was the sense that the man was poaching on his preserves. Carly Nelson not only wasn’t ‘his’, though, she was an employee, and he made it a policy to steer clear of involvement with anyone around the office for a lot of damned good reasons.

Obviously, he thought wryly, he’d already imbibed more than he should have and his judgment was impaired. It wasn’t as if he’d never noticed Carly. He had tried hard not to, but it took an effort—a constant effort—to keep his mind on business whenever she was around.

It had piqued him, he realized, that she’d shot up from her chair and took off almost the moment he’d settled—almost as much as the comments had irritated him.

There was something wrong with being professional? He was a prick because he behaved himself around the office instead of chasing every ‘skirt’ in his employ?

Not that his ex-wife had believed he knew how to keep his dick in his pants. If she had, she wouldn’t be his ex now.

Betty Chancelor ‘accidentally’ stroked her leg along his, dragging his attention back to her.

He allowed a half smile to curl his lips, wondering whether it was her that had made the comment about his supposed prowess in bed—or rather lack of it—or Carly. He didn’t know what irritated him more—the implication that he was too conceited about his appearance to spare the time to please his partner, or the fact that the comment made him feel defensive when he knew damned well he had no reason to be … because he thought it might be Carly’s opinion of him, he realized, and that was what really bothered the hell out of him. He didn’t particularly give a damn what Betty Chancelor believed.

“So …,” Betty said conversationally. “Want to fool around?”

A jolt of surprise went through Nicholas even though she’d been pretty blatant about her interest. No mixed signals here, he thought wryly. “Is that a trick question?” he asked, sparing for wind while trying to think how to respond.

She chuckled. It was a pleasant sound, husky. She wasn’t a bad looking woman.

He didn’t know why he wasn’t particularly interested aside from the fact that he wasn’t really thrilled about women who took the initiative, especially when they didn’t bother with any of the niceties, like flirtation, first. Maybe he was old fashioned, but he liked the game.

On the other hand, she was from Dillon and Sons and he had no clue of her position in the company.

She blushed faintly, enough to tell him she wasn’t ordinarily quite as forward. Maybe the drink she was nursing had given her a little false courage?

“I take it that’s a no?”

“I didn’t say that,” he drawled.

“You didn’t say you were interested either,” she said, obviously piqued, although she made a of show of pretending to pout, as if she didn’t care one way or the other.

He studied her through narrowed eyes. “Maybe I’m just not used to women being so frank.”

She settled back in her seat, studying him in turn. “I think you are. You just don’t like it when a woman foils your hunt.”

He grinned. “Perceptive.”

She shrugged. “We’re only going to be here a few days. I figured, what the hell? It isn’t like there’s time for a lot of beating around the bush when I already know what I want.”

Nicolas held his smile with an effort. “And what, exactly, is it that you want?”

She took a healthy draught of her drink. “A good fuck. You game for a little bareback riding? I got the old tubes tied.”

Warning bells were ringing in Nicholas’ head, but part of his uneasiness was the possibility that if he slighted her he was liable to have problems with landing the Dillon and Sons account. Another part was the uneasy feeling that she might be more closely connected to Dillion or sons than her name implied and he could be looking at worse than losing the chance at the account.

That was the problem with women hanging on to their maiden name. A man never knew when he was fooling around with dynamite. He frowned at his own drink, idly turning the glass on the table top. “That depends on what’s at stake,” he said finally. “I’m a little old to enjoy the ‘excitement’ of diving out windows at the discovery of a husband, or boyfriend, beating at the door just when things are getting interesting.”

She stared at him a long moment and began laughing. “There’s an image.”

Annoyance flickered through him when she didn’t bother to respond to the question he’d so tactfully asked. “Is there a husband or boyfriend in the picture?” he asked bluntly.

She met his gaze, smiling in a way that made him distinctly uneasy. “Nope.”

God! He hated women that could look a man in the eyes and lie, and he had a bad feeling she was one of those women.

He felt his gut tighten—and not with pleasurable expectation. “So … your place or mine?”

She relaxed fractionally. “Are you in the main hotel? Or in one of the bungalows?”

“Bungalow.”

“I guess it’s your place then.”

That didn’t make him feel a hell of a lot better. It had definite vibes of she didn’t want to get caught. It could just be a matter of discretion, despite her ‘straight for the jugular’ approach, but it could also mean serious trouble. He glanced as casually around the room as possible, trying to discover if there was a man somewhere in the room studying him with death in his eyes. He didn’t see one, but that didn’t mean there wasn’t a Mr. Betty somewhere around … maybe waiting upstairs in the room she didn’t want to take him to.

He pushed away from the table and got up. “Shall we, then?”

She smiled up at him. “I’d just as soon not be the main menu of the office gossip when we get home. Why don’t I follow you?”

He felt his uneasiness increase. “Good thought. I’ll see you in a little, then.”

She nodded. “What number?”

“Fifty two,” he threw over his shoulder, turning and heading toward the doors that led out of the hotel to the beach path.

It wasn’t until he was halfway to his bungalow that it suddenly dawned on him that he’d given her the wrong bungalow number. He’d traded with Christian Jones after they’d arrived and discovered that the bungalow he’d been assigned was further back from the beach than he liked.

He paused, considered going back, and finally dismissed it. Chris could set her straight—or not. He thought he’d be just as happy if she discovered he’d sent her to the wrong bungalow and was too pissed off about it to meet him.