Shameless (11 page)

She nodded and paced the room, obviously nervous about something. Damn. The way she looked made
him
nervous.

“Look, Samantha,” he said, wiping sweat from his brow. “About the other night. I owe you an apology—”

She fluttered her hand, waving off his words. “No. It was my fault you got the wrong idea, but it doesn’t matter.” Were her hands shaking? “Okay, I’m just going to say it.” She smoothed the short vinyl skirt over her thighs then met his gaze. “I want you to help me have a baby.”

Thud to the solar plexus. “Excuse me?”

She sighed. “I said, I want you to—”

He held up his hand. “I know what you said, I’m just a little—” He cleared his throat. “Wow.” Then, “Shit. You’re not a lesbian, are you?”

Her brow crinkled. “What? No.”

Well, that was a relief. He’d never have forgiven himself if he thought the incident twenty years ago might have in any way turned her off men
that
much. “Hmm. Okay. When you say ‘help,’ what exactly do you mean—”

Another impatient sigh. He wouldn’t have been surprised if she’d stomped her foot. “I mean I want your sperm, John Everest, if I may be so blunt. I want to have a baby and unfortunately I can’t do it without a man’s help.”

He scratched the area behind his ear and crossed over to the couch and sat, elbows on knees. “In other words, you’re asking me to donate—”

“Yes, I’m asking you to donate! You’ll have a little plastic cup, a dimly lit room, dirty magazines, whatever else it takes.” Her expression was straight and hard — not a hint of embarrassment. Then, suddenly, her face softened. “I’m sorry. That was rude. This isn’t an easy subject to bring up.”

As her request sunk in, an adamant, “Hell, no!” was on the tip of his tongue, but he held it back. If she was anyone else, he’d turn her down flat.

A jumble of emotions roiled through him as he pushed aside the nightmare of that long ago tragedy — it wasn’t often he let those images out, and right now definitely wasn’t a good time. He forced his mind to the present, effectively trapping those memories safe within the dark recesses of his soul. For now.

Sammy Jo wanted him to father her child. No.
Sam
wanted his help. He had to stop thinking of her as Sammy Jo or this guilt would eat him alive.

No. He couldn’t separate the two. They were one and the same. Sam was Sammy Jo, who was an intrinsic part of the night that forever changed his life, and most likely changed hers, too. He couldn’t ignore that. He owed it to her to at least hear her out. Even though he knew what his answer would be, what it
had
to be. “I didn’t think you had any interest in starting a family. At least that’s what you led me to believe.”

“No, I told you I didn’t want a
husband
. I never said anything about not wanting kids.” Her expression softened further. “Listen, I’m not looking for an emotional or financial commitment from you — I know you don’t want children. That’s one of the reasons I’m asking you and not some other man. If you agree to help me, you’d relinquish all parental rights to any child we might conceive together. You’d have no commitment to me or the baby whatsoever.”

A baby. The very thought of a woman having his child made him cringe all over, his gut constricting like a closed-up sea anemone. Memories of Kate, his second wife, pushed through his mental barrier. He turned away so Sam wouldn’t see the raw emotion he knew was written all over his face, emotion he was usually able to disguise.

“Hello?” Sam said, breaking into his torment. “Are you listening to me?”

He jerked his head toward her. “Yes,” he said, his voice sounding scratchy. He cleared his throat. “Yes, I’m listening.”

“Well?”

The memories receded and he felt in control again.
For the moment, just think of her as Samantha Rossi, a siren you met at the Extravaganza. Keep it light
. “Does Frederick’s of Hollywood even sell maternity clothes?” he quipped.

“Look, if you’re not going to take me seriously, then you can—”

“No, no. I’m taking you seriously.” At least as much as was possible with her standing before him shrink-wrapped in red vinyl. “Boy, you really know how to catch a man off guard, don’t you? Why me?”

“You’re intelligent and attractive. Chances are good you’d produce intelligent and attractive children.”

He moved to his desk and sat on the edge of the polished mahogany surface, crossing his arms over his chest. “Why not just use a sperm bank?”

“I tried that six times. It obviously didn’t work out, but it’s just as well. I want more control in choosing the father of my child.”

He inhaled deeply.
Keep it light
. “What would be in it for me?”

“What do you mean?” she asked with a snit.

“I mean, what would I get out of the deal?”

Sam blinked fast a couple of times, as if he’d just called her bluff. “Well, I’d pay you, of course.”

His eyebrows lifted. “You’d
pay
me?” This was getting weirder by the minute.

She nodded. “Money makes it legal. How much would you—?”

He held up his hand, halting her words. “Any payment I’d have in mind—” he raked his eyes slowly over her, from the tips of her spiked black heels, over her vinyl-wrapped curves, to her shining mane of hair, “—wouldn’t cost you a dime.”

Her expression remained blank a moment, then a furious light dawned in her eyes. He knew that would get her. Her chest heaved so dramatically the vinyl over her breasts squeaked. “You’ll help me out in exchange for sex?” The words were soft and ominously spoken.

He moved off the desk and met her in the middle of the room where she stood frozen in place, glaring at him in anger and disbelief. “Not quite, beautiful. I’m saying the only way I would help you get pregnant is if we did it the old-fashioned way, and the last time I checked, that involved sex.”

Her hands clenched into fists at her sides and John half expected her to slug him. “You’d help me if I agree to sleep with you?”

“No. Then I’d
think
about it.”

She took a step backward and planted her hands on her hips. “No way, Everest. I wouldn’t even
consider
sleeping with you.”

“Then I wouldn’t even
consider
helping you. Shoot. You got all dressed up for nothing.” He felt bad playing her like this, but this issue was too difficult to face head on right now. “What’s with that outfit anyway? It
can’t
be comfortable.”

She stared hard at him, as if she couldn’t quite believe he wasn’t willing to jump through hoops for her. “You really won’t even think about it?” she asked. She obviously wasn’t used to not getting her way.

“Not if you won’t.”

She glared at him a few long moments, then crossed to the windows overlooking the weight rooms and peered out, her face set and deep in thought. Slowly, she swung back his way, staring at the carpet as if lost in thought. “We’d have to get together several times a month, and it could take several months…” she murmured.

Shit
. She was actually considering it. He’d thrown it out as a joke, to keep his mind on an even keel. But it had backfired. Although he had to admit the thought of burying himself deep inside her had his body heating like a nuclear reactor.

Finally, she shook her head and frowned. “No way, Everest.” She marched out of the office.

John released a long breath of relief as the echo of her clicking heels in the hallway grew fainter and fainter until it faded altogether.

Sam didn’t slow or soften her stride until she’d shoved through the swinging glass doors and stood on Fourth Avenue. Heavy strings of rain pounded her head like hundreds of water pistols. She pulled an umbrella out of her tote.

“Sleep with him, my ass,” she muttered aloud, watching the traffic crawl through the downpour. City lights reflected like a Picasso painting on the wet pavement. A Metro bus came too close to the curb and sprayed water on the unfortunate people who walked on the outer edge of the sidewalk.

“Who does he think he is?” Her breath steamed and swirled in front of her. “Like I’d even consider going to bed with him.” She ignored the tiny thrill that shot through.

She glanced at her watch. A quick scan of the bus sign told her the one she needed wouldn’t be there for twenty minutes. Why didn’t she drive today?

She shivered and shrugged into her coat. It didn’t help. She could take cover inside Gym Everest, but didn’t want to chance running into
him
. She’d rather be hit by a bus.

Sam had met men of his caliber before, and never had she felt such a strong and lingering animosity toward them as she had for John. Usually, she just put them in their place. But with him, it was different. He just rubbed her the wrong way. The time he’d rubbed her the
right
way during that kiss flashed in her memory, sending a heatwave through her body all the way to her toes. So what, so what? She’d enjoyed kissing him. Big frickin’ deal.

She’d figured John would jump to help her out, especially dressed like she was in this damn uncomfortable outfit. But he hadn’t behaved as she’d expected. At all. Apparently, he was of higher character than she’d given him credit for.

That pissed her off.

Frustration welled inside her like helium in a party balloon. She thought she’d finally found a way to bring her dreams of having a baby to fruition, and now she would have to start all over at square one. As if she were desperate enough for a baby that she’d have sex with John Everest.
Right
. She just didn’t like him. Much. She breathed out a long sigh, her breath steaming and vaporizing in front of her face.

Desperate
. Her mind repeated the word over and over. She was thirty-eight years old. What if she didn’t have time to start over at square one? Raindrops pattered the taut fabric of the black umbrella, the rhythmic sound echoing loudly in her domed shelter.

After a few more minutes of thought, she headed back into John’s club with an angrily muttered “Double dammit,” under her breath. She was about to climb the stairs when she was hailed from behind. She turned to see John’s friend, the huge black guy he’d been working out with, the same man from the Extravaganza, waving her over from the front desk.

“Are you looking for John?” the man asked. She nodded. “He just went into the locker room. I can get him for you.”

Sam gave a thin smile. “Thanks.”

“Alex Drake,” he said, extending his hand.

Her pale fingers disappeared beneath his dark ones. “Sam Rossi.”

He grinned. “I know.” He had taken a few steps toward the locker room when the receptionist called after him, saying he had a phone call. He circled the desk to take it and met Sam’s gaze. He covered the mouthpiece with his hand. “This might take a minute.” She nodded, hoping her impatience didn’t show.

One minute turned into five. Finally, Alex mouthed the word, “Sorry,” while continuing to listen to whomever was on the other line.

Sam made a quick decision and marched toward the men’s locker room. She would just go in there before she changed her mind again.

Sam ignored shocked expressions and bare bodies as she walked past the rows of lockers and wooden benches. The smell of sweat mingled with the clean scent of soap and deodorant. As she moved through the large room, her shoes clicking on the wet tiles, some men openly gawked while others scampered to cover themselves.

The showers were at the opposite end of the room and that’s where she found John. He stepped over the threshold separating the shower facilities from the dressing area, his head down. He was wrapping a white club-issue towel around himself, looped low over his hips. Had she been a second earlier, she would have seen—

“Sam?”

Her gaze darted up from where she’d been staring. She resisted the urge to lick her lips.

“You’re in the men’s locker room,” John said, his voice colored with amusement.

“Gee, I hadn’t noticed. Do you have a minute?”

He spread his arms wide and the towel shifted on his hips, and for a moment — a hold-your-breath kind of moment — she thought it might fall to the floor. “I’m all yours,” he said with a grin.