Her Leading Man (27 page)

It was as if Martin were driving her body up to
some pinnacle.
Pressure within her built with every
one of his thrusts, until she couldn’t
endure another
second longer, and everything in her seemed to
explode.
With
a cry, her body convulsed under his, and
she tumbled over the edge of pressure
into a perfectly
delicious sea of satisfaction.

Martin stiffened for a moment, and then with one
last series of wild
plunges he, too, achieved release.
It was, Christina decided after her mind
resumed
functioning, the most thrilling and wonderful
experience
of
her entire life. She hoped she’d be able to
persuade Martin into many more such
experiences.

Dear God, what
had he done?

Martin lay gasping for breath at Christina’s side
and
wished he could do it all again. And again and
again
and—

No, no, no.

That was the wrong attitude. He was supposed to
have
resisted
.
He’d always resisted before when
actresses
had
tied to seduce him
.
Why had he succumbed
to Christina, when
she meant more to him
than
any of the others,
and she, above all others, he
wanted to honor, not despoil?

He was a cad. A
brute. A beast

“
Oh, Martin, you’re
wonderful.”

As he’d been in the middle of an orgy of
self-recrimination,
Martin was shocked by Christina’s tone
of
rapture. And her words. He dared to open his eyes,
turn
his head on the pillow, and look at her. He
didn’t
know
what he’d expected to see, but he was pretty
sure
he
hadn’t expected her to look as though she
were happier than she ever been in
her life.

He said
tentatively, “Um, I am?”

She shocked him again when she fairly leaped
from
her pose of magnificent
repletion and threw her
arms around him He
was so weakened by their recent
joint exercise that he could hardly lift
his arms,
but
he managed to do so, and to wrap them around
her beautiful, supple, slender
body. She was so splendid.
So perfect. So—

“
I’ve never felt anything so amazing in my
life!”
she cried.

He hadn’t, either. After hesitating for a moment,
wondering if it
would be wise to say so, he decided
he’d already done his worst. He might as
well tell
the
truth. “M
e
neither. You—you were—” Aw, hell,
he didn’t know what
to say that didn’t sound stupid.
“It was perfect.” There.
That was the truth,
and it
didn’t
sound silly
.

“
Was it?” Her huge eyes gazed down at him;
she
seemed to be studying his expression for signs of
deceit. She smoothed
her fingers over the planes of
his face. “Was it really, Martin? It was my first
time
.
I was afraid you wouldn’t enjoy it with someone
who
didn’t
know what she was doing.”

Didn’t know what she was doing? Was she
trying
to kid him?

But no
.
He inspected her beautiful face
closely and
decided she’d really meant it. He nodded.
“Absolutely.
You’re perfect. Wonderful.” Because he was
feeling a trifle
nervous talking about it, he kissed her,
hoping to stifle any more
declarations, confessions,
or questions.

Martin’s sexual experiences weren’t vast, but they’d
always before been
carried out with females who had
a lot of miles on them. They’d been
pleasant, happy
experiences, with no expectations on either side
except
that
of momentary pleasure.

He wasn’t sure what this liaison with Christina
meant. If she were
to be believed, she wanted only
a temporary sexual affair with him. He
feared he
wanted much more than that from her. In fact—and
Martin had never
seriously considered this possibility
before—he wouldn’t mind setting up
permanent
housekeeping with
Christina Mayhew.

Good Lord, did
he mean that?

By God, he did. Martin had eschewed getting involved
with pretty young
actresses from his first association
with motion pictures, because for the
most
part
he’d found them insecure and desperate. He
didn’t need that sort of female in
his life on a permanent
basis. Actresses were difficult enough to
work
with,
with their egos and their tender feelings and
their maniacal tendencies;
marriage to someone like
that would be pure hell.

But Christina wasn’t a typical young actress
desperate
to
make a name for herself in the new picture
industry
.
She
was about as different from the majority
of the young actresses he’d met as a
lioness was from
a tadpole.

Because his heart was full, and because he suspected
he loved her, and
because he felt guilty, he
said softly, “Will you marry me, Christina?”
Then
he could
have bitten his tongue.

Still, it was the gallant thing to have done. It was
the gentlemanly
thing to have done. It was proper.
It was good. It was—

“
Oh, Martin, thank you, but you don’t have to
do
that. No, I won’t marry you.”

He jerked to attention instantly
.
What
had she said?
“Urn, I beg your pardon?”

She stopped hugging him, which left his chest area
cold and lonesome, a
sensation that started creeping
from his skin into his heart. Picking up a
pillow and
fluffing it vigorously, she set it against the
headboard
of
his bed, sat against it, and hugged her knees. Her
skin glowed, and her
face held a radiance the likes
of which Martin had never seen. She was so
perfect.
So
beautiful. She made him want to cry with pure
emotion. He’d never do such a
stupid thing.

“
Thank you very much, Martin, but that’s not
what
I
want, so you needn’t feel obliged.”

“
Obliged?” He was offended. “Now, see
here,
Christina, I—”

Her smile was so sweet, Martin felt as though he
might drown in
treacle if she kept it up. “Oh, Martin,
you’re so nice. You’re the nicest man
I’ve ever met
in my life. And the most honorable and sensible
and—oh, everything.
You’re perfect.”

No, he wasn’t. Too befuddled to formulate a
response,
Martin continued to listen, the coldness in
his heart deepening
with every word Christina spoke.
“But I’m not interested in
marriage.”

He blinked at her. “You’re not?” He’d never heard
of such a thing as a
young woman not being interested
in marriage. It was absurd.
Incomprehensible.
Very unlikely. Yet Christina Mayhew, of all the
women in the world,
didn’t seem inclined to utter
falsehoods.

She shook her head. “Nope. I’ve got plans for my
life, and they don’t
include marriage.”

Good God. Feeling chillier and chillier with each
passing second,
Martin dared to ask, “
Um
, and what
sorts of plans do you
have?”

She looked like a goddess propped against the
pillows
that
way, serene and happy, overflowing with
sexual satisfaction, almost smug in
her happiness.
Martin didn’t understand why he didn’t feel as good
as she looked. Oh,
physically—emotionally, even—he’d never experienced such a grand
sexual encounter.
But his heart now felt strange and icy, and fear
had begun to nibble
away at his confidence.

Giving him a slantwise look and a somewhat secretive
grin, Christina
said, “Well, I don’t tell most
people
this
, because
nobody understands except my
family, but”—she took a deep
breath—
“
I’m going
to be a doctor.”

Martin continued to stare at her blankly, his mind
unable to take in
the significance of her statement.
It penetrated gradually, and when he
finally understood
what she’d just told him, he had to hold back
a snort of
disbelief.

But—a doctor? Women didn’t become doctors. It
was flat impossible
for a female to be a physician.
Martin knew it. Everyone knew
it.

Everyone except Christina. Unwilling to spoil the
moment entirely,
Martin didn’t say any of that
.
Heck,
he might honestly
love this woman; he didn’t want
to scoff at her now, of all
times.

“
Um,” he
said after a pregnant pause, “is that so?”

Her grin vanished. Her eyebrows lowered. Her air
of happiness
dimmed
.
“You don’t believe me, do
you?”

Aw, hell. She would have to ask him that, wouldn’t
she? He scrambled
for something to say that wouldn’t
get her riled. “Well, a
h
, it’s
only that—that—” That
what? Oh, yes. “It’s only that I’ve never heard of
a
woman
becoming a doctor.” A thought struck him.
“You are talking medical doctor here?
Or were you
planning to obtain a doctorate in some other field?”
A faint hope
flickered. It died with her next words.

“
Yes.” Her voice had gone cold. “I am
going to
attend medical school in Los Angeles and become a
physician.”

Deciding the idyll was over and hoping it wouldn’t
be forever gone,
Martin sat up, edged to the side of
the bed, and looked around the room for
his clothes. His back to her, he murmured, “I see. That’s
. . .
interesting.”

He felt, rather than saw, her flounce as she maneuvered to
the other side of the bed and sat up
straighter
.

“
You
think I’m crazy, don’t you?”

“
Crazy?” He glanced at her over his shoulder,
even
as he reached for his socks. “No. You’re far from
crazy, Christina.
But . . . well . . .”

Dash it, Martin Tafft had always been an honest
m
an; he hated that his honesty in this instance might
lose him
Christina
, whom he hadn’t even won yet.
Not really. Not permanently.
Nevertheless, he spoke
the truth as he saw it. “It’s just
. . .
well,
women don’t
become physicians, Christina.” He gestured
feebly,
wishing he could think of better, more ennobling
words. “I mean, look
around you. Do you see any
female doctors anywhere?”

The bed dipped as she got out of it and stood up.
“Not
yet.”

He heard the whisk of a garment as she snatched
it from the floor
and ventured tentatively,
“Not yet?”
He stood, too, feeling lost and deflated. Only
moments
earlier he’d been basking in a haze of ethereal
delight.

Damnation, why
had this subject come up, anyhow?

Oh, yes, he remembered. He’d asked her to
marry him and she’d
refused his proposal. Because
she wanted to be a doctor.

God save me from this impossible woman
, he
thought uncharitably. Then he took
himself to task
for the thought. He knew full well that most women
had as much in the
way of brain power as most men
since most of both genders were stupid. But
. . .
a doctor?
He simply couldn’t get a handle on that
one.