The Pregnancy Negotiation. KRISTI GOLD
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to come, in slow increments, until by the time they finally made it to the bed, she would want him more than she’d wanted any man. Whit definitely wanted her more than he’d wanted any woman in ages, if ever. Reaping the end rewards would definitely be worth the wait.
Mallory glanced at his fly then her gaze zipped to the clock on the wall. “It’s only 9:00 p.m.,” she said, her voice unsteady and hoarse. “Since when do you go to bed before the end of the game?”
“Since I’ve decided that in about thirty seconds, I’m going to bypass second base and head straight for a home run.”
She pulled her legs beneath her and leaned back on the sofa, thrusting her breasts forward. “Fine, go to bed then. I’m going to watch the game.”
“You do that.” He leaned down and planted another kiss on her mouth, a little deeper than intended, but he wanted to get his point across. “And when you go to bed, remember how you felt tonight, and magnify that ten times. That’s how you’re going to feel in two nights.”
“Promises, promises.”
“You can count on it, Mallory. So be prepared.”
Mallory had not been prepared for last night, not in the least. She hadn’t been prepared for the impact on her sleep, or the fact she’d been thinking about Whit’s mouth, Whit’s body, Whit’s promise, all morning long.
She also couldn’t forget the last thing that Jerry had told her when she’d confronted him on his cheating.
Face it, Mallory, you’re lousy in bed.
Logically, she had to remember she’d only been twenty, and he’d been the only man she’d made love with to that point. But logic couldn’t supercede her continued insecurities about her own sexuality. In her job, she was all cool confidence and control. But when it came to lovemaking, she was anything but self-assured.
Maybe Whit had been right. Maybe she hadn’t found the right man, and he could very well be that man. Yet that presented another problem. He was a master of seduction and, she suspected, an expert lover. Even though making love with him was supposed to solely lead to pregnancy, she still hated the thought that she might not meet his expectations or realize her own. Again.
The door jerked open, in turn jerking Mallory out of her musings. Enter Rosalyn “Roz” Johnson, Mallory’s fifty-something paralegal and a perpetual fixture at Cramer, Collins and Fox for over twenty years. With the silver streak cutting a wide berth in her jet-black bob, she looked like a cartoon villainess. Mallory loved her dearly, despite her penchant for spewing cutting comments from her permanently pinched mouth.
Considering the way Roz slapped the file on the desk, Mallory braced for one of those verbal acid attacks now. “The proposed agreement from opposing council on the McMillan divorce,” she said. “You’re not going to like it.”
Sliding the folder closer, Mallory flipped through the document and scanned the wording. “Looks like it’s in accordance to the prenup.”
Roz pointed a bony finger at one section. “Not when it comes to the kid.”
Mallory’s eyes widened when she came to the terms. “He wants custody of their child?” She snapped the file closed. “That’s absurd. According to Anna McMillan, he never wanted the baby in the first place.”
“Obviously he does now.”
This was all Mallory needed, going to battle with a well-heeled bastard. “Does Mrs. McMillan know?”
Roz picked up the phone and offered it to Mallory. “Thought it would be best coming from you.”
Mallory took the receiver and placed it back onto the cradle. “She’s out of town with her son for a couple of weeks. I’ll call her when she returns. Better still, I’ll tell her face-to-face. This will devastate her, especially since her sorry husband could very well win.”
Roz clucked her tongue. “I won’t tolerate that kind of talk, counselor. You’re good and you can beat him.”
“You’re right. I can and I will.” She saw it as her duty to keep mother and child together, as it should be.
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