the bottle on a tissue on the chrome end table. “Well?”
He raked a long glance down her body and centered his gaze on her toes. “Hot pink looks good on you. Makes your feet look sexy.”
Mallory wanted to laugh over that one considering her feet were much too big—size ten. “I’m not asking advice about nail polish. I want to know if you’ve thought any more about my proposal.”
He leaned forward, rested his elbows on his thighs and clasped his hands together between his parted knees. “That’s all I’ve been thinking about. And I’m also thinking you’re leaving something out. So spill it.”
Mallory laid a palm on her chest and tried to look innocent. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Yes, you do. I can see it in your eyes.”
Darn, he was good. Mallory imagined he was good at everything. She could probably find plenty of female references to attest to that fact, if only she could find his little black book. But his prowess in bed shouldn’t matter to her, as long as he got the job done and got her pregnant. If she could convince him to agree.
She stiffened her frame and resolve and brought out all the well-rehearsed reasons for her decision, minus the most compelling one. “First of all, my parents are in their seventies, I’m the baby and the only girl. I’m not sure how much longer they’ll be around and I want my child to know them.”
“In this day and time, they could be around twenty or even thirty more years.”
Strike one. “If I’m lucky, but I’m not sure I’ll find the right guy in twenty or thirty years. Prospects are at a premium. Not to mention, I don’t have time to date.”
He looked altogether skeptical. “But you will have time to have a baby.”
“I’ll make the time.”
“What about your goals to become full partner?”
She pulled the cotton from between her toes on the foot she had finished and balled them in her fist. “I can still do that. If I have a baby now, then I can concentrate on my career by the time he or she starts to school.”
“What about artificial insemination? That seems to be the norm these days for women who don’t want partners.”
She tossed the discarded cotton onto the table next to the polish. “I’ve considered that, but I don’t want a stranger fathering my child. Plus, that’s one shot once a month and hormone treatments. And it can be expensive. I personally believe nature is the best way to handle this, unless that doesn’t work. Then I’ll explore other options.”
He frowned. “Are you saying if I agree to do this, you want to handle it the natural way?”
She countered his scowl with a grin. “Unless I buy a supersize syringe.”
Without cracking a smile, Whit stood and began to pace the length of the room. “You don’t want the marriage and the proverbial picket fence first?”
“That sounds nice and all, but I’ve been the marriage route before. Remember?”
“Yeah, I remember. Gary.”
“Jerry.” The jerk.
Whit faced her and streaked one hand through his hair. “Oh, yeah. I never liked that guy.”
“As it turned out, neither did I. I expected more than a year of marital bliss. What I got was a year of an immature male who spent most of his time finding ways to get out of the marriage. And he was successful when the sorority girl showed up at my door with her large, um, knockers.”
He hinted at a smile. “I still don’t understand why the hurry to marry him.”
As always, most everyone believed that she and Jerry had rushed to the altar at age twenty because of an unplanned pregnancy. That unplanned pregnancy hadn’t happened until later. “If you must know, my upbringing dictated you didn’t do the deed unless you were properly wed.”
“You were a virgin?”
“Oh, yes. As pure as homemade soap. My mother was so proud.” And that experience had been less than gratifying. In fact, her whole married sex life had been less than gratifying.
Whit pointed at her. “Which brings me back to your parents. I don’t think they’re going to approve of you having a baby out of wedlock.”
“Maybe so, but I don’t intend to tell them.”
Now he really looked perplexed. “Are you just going to hide the pregnancy then show up for a family dinner with a baby? Surprise, Mom and Dad, look what I found on my doorstep.”
“Of course not. I’m not going to tell them until I do get pregnant. If I get pregnant. It could take a while.”
“Why would you think that? You’re young and healthy.”
Now was the time to tell him the truth, at least most of it. She didn’t have the strength to tell him about the baby she’d lost five months into her doomed marriage; not even her family knew about that. And she couldn’t even begin to explain the soul-deep cavern she’d carried around since the day she’d miscarried, though she hadn’t been ready to be a mother back then. Now she was ready. More than ready.
She patted the cushion beside her. “Come and sit.”
He complied, dropping down on the opposite end of the sofa, leaving a good two feet between them. Mallory twisted her pinkie ring round and round, the one her parents had given her upon her graduation from law school. Plain gold with a tiny diamond chip, and presented with much love. The same love she wanted to give to her own child, if she ever had her own child.
Drawing in a deep breath, she prepared to explain as best she could. “I went to the family doctor for my annual checkup a couple of weeks ago, and when I told him I was considering pregnancy, he sent me to a fertility specialist.”
He looked more than a little worried. “Why?”
“Because when I was younger, I had a minor infection that he believes damaged one fallopian tube and ovary. That means I’m basically running on one cylinder.”
“I’m sorry, Mallory.” His tone and expression indicated he truly was. “Is it painful?”
“No, but it could make timing the conception a little more difficult. I’m prone to having irregular periods.”
“Oh.”
Mallory rolled her eyes over Whit’s obvious chagrin. “Come on now, Manning. You can’t be that embarrassed, talking about the monthly curse with me.”
“It’s not something that usually comes up in our conversations.”
“Not now, but it did when you used to hang out with my brothers. Don’t you remember that Irish slang they used to torment me with? ‘Mallory, you’re in a foul mood. You wouldn’t be jammin’, would you?’”
Whit grinned. “Oh, yeah. And I also remember what you used to say
