His shoes hit the floor. “Rosebud?”
“Yes?”
“Leave the bow on.”
She clutched the back of the chair for support.
He turned to her and, with a flick of his fingers, opened the button on his jeans. Bars of moonlight fell across his naked chest and down over his hips. His arousal was so pronounced she couldn’t tear her eyes away from it. Had she done that?
He spoiled her view by sitting on the edge of the bed to pull off his socks. His bare feet were straight and narrow, much longer than Craig’s had been. So far everything about him was larger than Craig. She took a long, steadying breath and slipped out of her heels.
Wearing only his unbuttoned jeans, he lay down on the bed and leaned against the pillows. She reached for the snap at the side of her jacket. He crossed his arms behind his head and watched.
As her fingers touched the snap, ripples of panic turned her skin to gooseflesh, and she fought to reassure herself. What difference did it make if he saw her naked? It wasn’t as if she had anything unusual beneath her clothes, and she needed him so desperately. Now that she had seen him, she couldn’t imagine anyone else siring her child.
But her hand felt as if it were paralyzed. She noticed that his zipper had crept down, revealing a narrow blade of hair bisecting a flat abdomen.
Do it! her brain screamed. Let him see you! But her fingers wouldn’t move.
He watched her, saying nothing. There was no kindness in that hard-eyed gaze. No gentleness. Nothing to reassure her.
As she tried to shake off her paralysis, she remembered that Craig hadn’t liked sexual foreplay. He’d told her that with men, the end result was all that mattered. Cal would probably appreciate it if she simply let him get to it. She began walking toward the bed.
“I got some rubbers in the top drawer in the bathroom, Rosebud. Go get ’em.”
Even though his request made everything more complicated, she was pleased with this evidence of his survival skills. He might not be book smart, but he had street smarts, a valuable asset to pass on to a child.
“No need,” she said softly. “I came prepared.”
She extended her leg slightly, then tugge
d on her skirt with her left hand. The white silk crept up to her thigh. She reached underneath, and as she withdrew the condom she had tucked in the top of her stocking, she was hit full force by the moral implications of what she was doing. She had deliberately sabotaged the condom, and this was thievery.
Studying particle physics either distanced people from God or brought them closer. For her, the latter had happened, and she was defying everything she believed in. At the same time, she began to rationalize. He had no use for what she wanted, and she wasn’t harming him in any way by taking it. He was merely a device. This would have absolutely no negative effect on him.
Setting aside her qualms, she peeled apart the package and handed the condom to him. Even in the dim light, she wasn’t taking any chances that he would notice the package had been tampered with.
“Well, now, aren’t you an efficient little thing.”
“Very efficient.” Drawing a steadying breath, she tugged her skirt just high enough so that she could kneel on the edge of the mattress. Then she straddled his thighs, determined to get this over with as quickly as she could.
He gazed up at her, his arms crossed behind his head, the condom between his fingers. Staying on her knees, she garnered her courage and reached for the open waistband of his jeans. Her fingertips brushed the taut skin of his abdomen, and the next thing she knew, she was flat on her back.
With a hiss of alarm, she gazed up at him. His weight pressed her into the mattress, and the heels of his hands pinioned her shoulders so she couldn’t move. “Wh-what are you doing?”
His mouth tightened into a hard, thin line. “The game’s over, lady. Who the hell are you?”
She gasped for breath. She didn’t know whether it was his weight or her own fear, but her lungs felt as if they’d collapsed. “I—I don’t know what you mean.”
“I want the truth, and I want it now. Who are you?”
She’d underestimated his street smarts, and she knew she couldn’t afford another convoluted explanation. Her only chance to salvage this situation lay in simplicity. She thought of Jodie Pulanski and forced herself to look directly into his eyes.
“I’m a big fan.”
He regarded her with disgust. “That’s what I figured. A bored society bimbo with a hankerin’ for football jerseys.”
Bimbo! He thought she was a bimbo! The novelty of it distracted her, and it took a moment to recover. “Not all jerseys,” she said hastily. “Just yours.”