started well but it was going to end brilliantly. And when this was all over and her pregnancy was confirmed, she’d tell Barb Friday night’s Big Lesson.
If you had to weigh the benefits of a man against a test tube, the test tube would win, every time.
No one at FutureBorn knew this was not going to be an ordinary day.
Madison, of course, was the sole exception.
How could she keep her mind on work when something so important was going to happen at two o’clock?
She watched the hands of her watch creep from nine to ten, from ten to eleven, then—was it possible?—slow from a creep to a crawl.
At noon, she opened a container of yogurt, shut her office door, took the file folder that held the data about the donor she’d selected from her locked desk drawer.
She read as she spooned up yogurt.
Yes, absolutely, she’d chosen the right man.
Educated. Healthy. Nice-looking. Polite, soft-spoken and modest. The file didn’t mention anything but education and health but she knew the rest would be true.
Excellent traits for fatherhood.
The stranger had been none of those things. He’d been a walking, talking ad for self-centered arrogance, passionate intensity and macho attitude.
In other words, he’d been sexy as hell.
Madison rolled her eyes, dumped the yogurt in the trash and put away the file.
“Are you crazy?” she muttered.
She had to be.
So what if being in his arms had been like nothing she’d ever experienced in her life?
His touch. His kisses. His hunger … and, oh, the hunger that had blazed inside her. She’d wanted him. Needed him. Another few seconds, she’d have let him take her right there, in the garden where anyone might have stumbled across them.
Let him tear aside her panties. Her thong—and what had made her wear a thong, anyway? A thong and no panty hose. A good thing, because panty hose would have gotten in his way, delayed that incredible minute when he’d put his hand between her thighs.
Madison shot to her feet.
It was barely one o’clock. Her OB-GYN’s office was only a short cab ride away but there was no harm in getting there early. She was nervous and edgy. No wonder she was thinking crazy thoughts.
“Get moving, kid,” she said.
And she did.
It was amazing, how something a man had dreaded could turn out to be the very thing that restored his equilibrium.
At seven that evening, Tariq stepped into the foyer of his penthouse, tossed his keys on the marquetry-topped table near the door and shrugged off his suit jacket.
He’d been so hung up in disliking what he’d had to do this morning that he’d almost forgotten the reason for doing it.
Yes, he still had to find a wife but now he could give the project the time it deserved. Choosing a woman to wed was not like choosing a date for a party. It would require planning, something he had not initially considered.
Tariq undid his tie as he climbed the stairs to his bedroom.
He would draw up a list of qualities he demanded in a wife and a list of women he already knew. Cross-reference the two. He had not considered doing that until now, either.
To solve a problem, any problem, one needed to develop a method that would lead to a solution. It was the way he conducted business; why had he not also realized it was the way to search out a suitable wife?
But not tonight.
Tariq smiled as he stripped off his clothes.
Tonight, he would take a break from his wife-search. A shower. A drink. A meal.
And a woman.
He stepped into the glass shower stall, turned his face up to the spray, turned again and let the water beat down on his neck and shoulders.
Definitely, a woman.
He’d check the names in his BlackBerry, make a call …
Madison Whitney was not in his BlackBerry.
Tariq frowned as he worked a dollop of shampoo through his hair.
Damn right, she wasn’t. What man in his right mind would want to be with a female who could turn on and off like a lightbulb?
She was a cold piece of work … except, she had been hot with passion when he’d held her in his arms and kissed her, hot with passion when he’d dreamed of her, and this morning, when he’d conjured her up, imagined taking her, entering her, hearing her cry out as he brought her to completion. “Hell!”
Tariq turned the water to cold, shivered under the icy needles, then shut off the shower and stepped out of it.
Was he crazy, getting turned on by a memory? By a woman who had teased him almost to the point of no return?
No. He was just frustrated. A healthy male who went without sex for too long was asking for trouble—and nobody could call this morning’s medical exercise “sex.” Fine. He was going to change that right—The telephone rang as he was zipping up a pair of chinos. Let his voice mail take it. But the caller disconnected; in seconds, the phone rang again. And again. Tariq cursed and grabbed for it. “Hello,” he barked, and this had better be—” “Your highness!”
The attorney. Tariq sighed. “What is it, Strickland? Did you think of another fifty pages I should have signed this morning?”
“Not that, your … I … with … twenty minutes ago—knew that—and so—”
“Strickland, are you on your cell? You’re breaking up.” “—yes—t-tunnel—spoke with—and nobody can explain—” “Damn it, John, I can’t hear you. Call me when you get home. Better still, wait until tomorrow and phone me at my—” Suddenly the transmission cleared.
“Something went wrong with your donation,” Strickland said, his voice as clear as if he were in the room.
Tariq sat down on the bed.
“Don’t tell me I have to undergo that procedure all over again.”
“No, sir. It’s nothing like that. The problem wasn’t with the procedure.”
“What, then?”
There was a silence. Had the connection been lost again? No. He could hear Strickland breathing.
“Damn it, man, speak up!”
“Your donation was couriered to the FutureBorn laboratory, sir. Exactly as planned.”
“And?”
