did her voice sound so shrill? In the courtroom, she never let anything throw her off course. But she’d never faced Whit Manning, and all his masculine arrogance, in a courtroom. Eventually she would have to face him in the bedroom, and she doubted she would have the strength to object to anything he might ask of her.
“Do we begin the breeding process tonight?” he asked in a low, compelling voice.
“No. In three days.”
His arms dropped to his sides and his smile dropped from his face. “Three days? Why?”
“Because I should be ovulating then.” If she was lucky. Mallory grabbed up the polish and started away before she decided to kiss him again. “I’m going to finish my toenails then work for a while in my bedroom.”
He was on her fast, taking her arms and turning her around. “After I’ve gone out on a limb to agree to this, you’re really going to make me wait? What am I supposed to do in the meantime?”
“Build up sperm.”
He narrowed his eyes. “You’re kidding, right?”
“No, I’m not. Normally I’d tell you to get a handle on it, but that’s not an option this time. I’m sure you’ll manage. Think of it as preparation, sort of like a boxer training for the big fight.”
“Just so you know, I’m going to be walking funny for the next three days in anticipation.”
As she headed toward the chrome stairs leading to the bedrooms, Mallory couldn’t stop her laughter though it was more nervous than jovial. She also couldn’t stop the tiny bite of fear over the decision they had made.
She was going to have a baby with her roommate. At least she was going to try. And the “trying” part thrilled her and frightened her.
Whit Manning wasn’t a man who did anything halfway. If that kiss was any indication, she suspected that would hold true when it came to lovemaking. One thing she had to remember—no love would enter into the equation, aside from brotherly love. Only sex for the sake of a child, no more than three days at a time, once a month. No great expectations. No emotional entanglement beyond friendship. Otherwise, she could very well begin wanting more from him than a baby.
Yet another thought kept nagging at Mallory’s cluttered mind. Where she had agonized over the decision for weeks, Whit had agreed to the plan in less than an hour. And although he was well known for his spontaneity, Mallory still worried that come morning he might change his mind.
Two
He must be out of his mind. He sure as hell was out of his element, at least when it came to fathering a child. After all, what did he know about raising a kid? Not a thing.
At the moment, he tried to immerse himself in the familiar—his job as head architect and vice president at Manning Development Corporation. But he couldn’t concentrate on much of anything, so he sat at his desk in his cushy downtown office, his skull gripped firmly in his hands. He had a meeting with the design team in twenty minutes and a headache pounding his temples as if he’d been on a four-day drinking binge. But he hadn’t had a drop to drink. He had spent one restless night tossing and turning and worrying that agreeing to Mallory’s pregnancy plan had been a huge mistake.
One thing he did know, Mallory was right about his commitment phobia. So far his marriage examples had fallen short. His father had two failed marriages on his resume and a third that didn’t look promising, and his mother had left her only child behind. One year after the divorce, Julia Manning had taken off for parts unknown with only the excuse that she needed to “find herself.” He’d gone to live with his dad after that and had befriended the O’Brien family. The O’Briens had been great, his proverbial port in the storm, but he’d never gotten over his mother’s abrupt departure, or the fact that she’d stopped all communication beyond an occasional birthday card. No congratulatory phone calls after his graduation from high school or college. Not even a “Hi, I’m still alive and kicking and I think about you often.”
In a way he’d blamed his father’s need for control for his mother’s quick exit. Yet Whit had to admit that his dad had taught him everything he knew about architecture, even if he did have the temperament of a demonic drill sergeant. Taught him every facet of building—from design to construction—as a matter of fact. Since that time, Whit had felt he owed his father a debt. But that debt was costing him his dreams. Someday soon, it would have to end.
Too bad it wasn’t today, Whit decided when Field breezed into the room, looking golf-tanned and prosperous, his hair silver sleek, his expression royally pissed off.
When his father shoved his hands into his pockets and strolled toward the desk, Whit braced for the usual weekly lecture. “You’ve screwed up, son.”
Hadn’t he heard that before? “Good Monday morning to you, too, Dad. What did I supposedly screw up this time?”
“Barclay told me last week you only incorporated three conference rooms into the design instead of four. That kind of mistake is unacceptable.”
Whit clung tightly to his anger but kept it secreted away for the moment. “Actually, old man Barclay changed his mind after the initial design was complete. And I fixed it while you were off on your little weekend getaway with the new wife.” Whit’s new stepmother, Rebecca, who was all of six years Whit’s senior.
Whit enjoyed these moments the most, when Field Manning knew he’d been bested. But as always, his father recovered quickly in order to get in another dig. Today it came in record time.
“You look like hell, Whit. Obviously you’ve been spending a lot of time bed-hopping. That’s a distraction you can’t afford, especially during this particular project.”
Whit held back the string of curse words clamoring to climb out of his mouth. “You know something, Dad. What I do in my off time is none of your business. But for your information, I’m not involved with anyone right now. If that changes, rest assured you’ll be the last to know.”
Field’s jaw went as rigid as his frame. “I’m glad you’re not involved with anyone. You’re not ready to settle down.”
Whit shoved aside the latest issue of an architectural magazine and clamped his hands together on the desk. “You’re right, I’m not ready to settle down. Considering the example I’ve had, I may never be ready.”
Anger flashed in Field’s dark eyes, the only true sign of his slipping composure. “I’m not even going to justify that with a response. I had valid reasons for ending my marriages. I just happened to spare you the dirty details.”
“Details as in your need to keep a tight rein on everyone in your life and if they dare challenge you, they’re history?”
“Believe what you will, Whit, but at least I’ve had relationships that lasted longer than a few weeks.”
In other words, it wasn’t Field Manning’s fault. It never was. Whit made an exaggerated show of checking his watch before turning his attention back to his father. “Anything else you’d like to criticize, Dad? I’ve got a full schedule today. But I could mark off a few hours for you tomorrow. You might want to bring a complete list of my shortcomings.”
“Sarcasm is unbecoming, Whit.”
“You
