The Misconception (16 page)

His lips were as soft as she remembered, and they tasted as richly sinful as the chocolate cheesecake she had stashed at the back of the freezer. She leaned into the kiss, playing with his lips, smiling against them at the pleasure of it all.

She started to slide down his body so she wrapped her arms around his neck to prolong the contact, tangling her fingers in his thick, dark hair. He was hard and warm, like living, breathing, pliable rock. Her toes touched the floor just as his tongue slipped into her mouth, circling her tongue with slow erotic strokes.

Shivers did a jig over her skin, invaded her pores, radiated inside of her. The river of lust that had begun to flow when she’d seen him at her door was raging now, like whitewater rapids. She tilted her head back to give him better access to her mouth, and she kissed him back, matching his thrusts with her own tongue.

One of his hands cupped her bottom while the other traveled up her side, tracing slow, dizzying circles near her breasts. She felt herself grow damp and rubbed against him, feeling the hard outline of his sex against her body. He groaned, kissing and stroking for moments that were all too brief. Then he lifted his head. Still clinging to him, she opened her eyes, so blind with lust she couldn’t see anything for long moments. Until her vision cleared enough to notice that her glasses had fogged up and his eyes were twinkling.

“If I didn’t have business,” he said, tracing the lips he’d just kissed with gentle fingers, “I’d talk you into taking me to New York and booking a room with a king-sized bed.”

Like the one in the Hotel Grande where they’d had sex until her muscles were weak from pleasure overload. Where she’d made the biggest mistake of her life. She forced herself to disentangle her fingers from his hair, but her body still sizzled where it touched his.

“That would never happen,” she said, her voice shaking with the aftereffects of his sensual pull.

“That’s okay.” He stroked her face. “We don’t need to go all the way to New York to indulge ourselves. We can do it right here.”

“You deliberately misunderstood me.” Because her body seemed to have developed an insatiable craving for his, stepping back from him was one of the hardest things Marietta had ever done. “I meant it’s not going to happen at all.”

“Don’t lie to me, Marietta.” He tipped up her chin so she had to look at him, and she saw his eyes were still burning. “You can’t deny that you’re attracted to me. Not after that kiss. Not after that afternoon we spent in bed. Weren’t you the one who said I had a talent for sex?”

“I wouldn’t think of denying it.” Marietta stepped back so his finger fell from her face. “Of course I’m attracted to you. I’m as attracted to you as I would be to any man with your outstanding muscle tone and superior facial symmetry. But that doesn’t mean I’ll succumb to instincts shaped millions of years ago and mate with you.”

“You’ve already mated with me,” he said, stepping forward to pat her belly.

Her expression was so confused and miserable that he took pity on her and backed off. He could press his advantage and kiss away any doubts she had of going to bed with him again. He resisted because sex wouldn’t get him any nearer to his goal of marrying her. Especially while she continued to maintain that making love to him had more to do with million-year-old instincts than present-day chemistry.

“I have no intention of having a platonic marriage,” he said softly.

She still wouldn’t look at him. “I have no intention of having a marriage of any kind.”

If she hadn’t been pregnant, he would have argued with her. But the dark half moons under her eyes and her snowy pallor told him she was tired. And probably hungry, too.

He frowned, remembering her dry heaves earlier that day and the bland frozen meal thawing in the microwave. She needed somebody to take care of her, too. Since he was the man for the job, he might as well get started on it.

“Sit down,” he ordered, more than a little surprised when she obeyed. She must be more tired than he thought.

He opened one of the kitchen cupboards in search of dinner plates, and hit pay dirt the first time. He took one out and dumped some of the food from the containers on it. Then he went to the refrigerator, extracted a jug of milk and poured some into a glass he found in another cupboard.

“What are you doing now?” she asked.

“Getting your dinner ready.” He walked to the kitchen table and set the plate of food in front of her. “Now that you’re eating for two, you need to keep up your strength.”

They both looked down at the food on the plate. It not only smelled unappetizing, it looked the part. Everything was either brown or beige, except the bean curds, which were a rather sickly green. Jax didn’t blame her when she made a face. “Do you really expect me to eat this?”

“Are you going to argue with me about everything?” he asked.

She sent him a hint of a smile. “Well, now that you ask, yes.”

He laughed. “Listen, I’ll make you a deal. You promise to eat this, and I’ll get out of here. You need time to get used to the idea of marrying me anyway.”

She waved a fork at him. “I’ll never get used to the idea.”

“I couldn’t stay more than another hour anyway,” he continued, “or I’ll miss my flight.”

The fork froze in mid-air, and the corners of her mouth drooped. “You’re leaving?”

“You sound almost disappointed,” Jax said, and she immediately shook her head, disappointing him.

“Not disappointed. Surprised. I thought you were going to stick around here and make my life miserable.”

“I’d love to stay, but I can’t. I told you. I have business.”

She set down her fork and wrinkled her brow. “You never told me what kind of business you’re in. You are a professional, aren’t you?”

“Of course, I’m a professional.” Jax thought that, at least, was true. Now, however, was not the time for confessions, especially one that wouldn’t win any points with her. “I’m a professional with important business. Now, is it a deal? Will you eat your dinner if I leave?”

She seemed to think about it long and hard before she answered. “Yes,” she said finally.

Before she could object, he bent down and planted a swift kiss on her lips. Even that brief contact caused something inside of him to ping.

“Don’t look so smug,” she groused. “Agreeing to eat bean curds is a far sight from agreeing to marry you.”

She took a bite of the curds, swallowed and made a face. He figured that was his signal to leave. He was halfway to her front door when he muttered the thought that was in his mind. “If I can talk you into eating bean curds, I can talk you into anything.”

“I heard that,” she shouted. “You’re dreaming, pal. I’ll never be your wife.”

His only reply was to shut the door, but he heard her before it was all the way closed.

“Did you hear me?” she called. “I won’t marry you.”

“Oh, yes,” Jax said to himself so softly that his words were swallowed in the night breeze, “you will.”

He knifed his fingers through his hair. That is, if he could manage to get a ring on her finger before she figured out what sort of ring he worked in for a living.

Chapter 11

Every one of the twenty thousand people inside the St. Pete Times Forum seemed to be talking, cheering or just plain shouting. Some of them waved homemade signs with messages like “Destroy Demolition Dan” and “Crack some bones, CrackerJack.” Excitement buzzed through the crowd like giant, mutant bees.

The Ultimate Wrestling Alliance was in town.

“Uwa, uwa, uwa!” somebody in the crowd shouted, making a word with a catchy, jungle-like beat from the UWA acronym.

“Uwa, uwa, uwa!” A few hundred other professional wrestling fans joined in the chant, which spread through the arena until the crowd was reciting it as one. “Uwa, uwa, uwa!”

An emcee crawled into the ring, and stood at its center as the rafters of the arena fairly shook with the chant. In his black suit, crisp white shirt and black bow tie, the emcee looked ready for a cocktail party instead of a night of ferocious brawling. Strobe lights in hues of orange, green and yellow danced over the crowd like fireflies gone mad.

Jax stood in the wings, watching the excitement build, feeling it spread through him. His body tensed when the emcee began to talk, because it meant that the start of the show was moments away.

“Ladies and gentleman,” the emcee began in a booming voice and waited for the chorus of “uwa’s” to subside. When the din was more manageable, he continued. “Tonight we are proud to bring you the thrill-a-minute ultimate in bone-crushing, mind-numbing enjoyment: The unparalleled Ultimate Wrestling Alliance! Are you ready? Are you rrrrready? Are you ready to rock ’n roll?”

The crowd erupted into cheers, resumed their “uwa” chant and sent Jax’s pulse to pounding even faster. He waited, along with the emcee, for the cries to once again die down.

“We begin the festivities with an unbeatable opening act. Tonight we have another match up that is the ultimate in UWA entertainment. Tonight, in one corner, we have the dastardly demon, the one, the only Smashingggg Headhunterrrrr.”

The spotlight swung away from the emcee and toward the top of the pathway leading to the ring. A bare-chested Goliath of a man, weighing at least three hundred pounds and wearing long tattered trousers with combat boots, appeared. He waved a stick from which dangled three shrunken heads he insisted were authentic. The crowd booed lustily.

“Smash your own head, Headhunter!” someone yelled from the cover of darkness.

Smashing Headhunter brayed long and loud, pounded on his own shaggy-haired head with his free hand and sprinted for the ring with long strides. A child of seven or eight stepped in front of him, holding out a piece of paper for the Headhunter to autograph. The wrestler snatched it from the kid’s hands, crumbled it into a ball, popped it into his mouth and swallowed.

Fresh outrage spread through the audience, but it only seemed to fuel the Headhunter. He sprinted past the sobbing kid and vaulted over the ropes. He paced like a big cat, waving the miniature heads, looking like he was ready to smash anything in sight.

Adrenaline shot through Jax like a river of blood.

“In the other corner,” the emcee announced, sending fearful glances at the pacing Headhunter, “is a man who makes Don Juan look like Don Knotts. Yes. It’s the ultimate lover boy, and one of your favorites: the Secret Stuuuuud.”

The spotlight swung again, and this time it hit Jax full in the face. Music with an energetic beat blared from loudspeakers positioned in various spots throughout the arena. The lyrics were so familiar Jax knew them by heart, but the fans cheered so loudly all he could make out was the chorus:
He’s a studmuffin, he’s a studmuffin, he’s a studmuffin.

Jax took in a deep, bracing breath, because this was the part of the act he could do without. He focused on the ring through the slits in his black mask and affected the walk his manager, the self-named Star Bright, called the studly boy strut.

“You go, Stud,” a female voice shouted before screaming in what sounded like ecstasy.

The Studettes — a brunette, a blond and a redhead dressed in shimmering gold halters and matching micro-shorts — followed him to the ring, swaying to the music. The brunette hung on his arm, staring at him with goo-goo eyes. The blond stroked his chest, squeaking with pleasure. The redhead put her palm to her forehead, as though about to swoon.

Jax could relate. Every time he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror wearing the sleeveless ruby-red singlet that clung to him like skin, he felt like passing out himself. He looked like one of those preening, muscular contestants in a Mr. America contest.

He’s a studmuffin, he’s a studmuffin, he’s a studmuffin
.

The fervent voices over the loudspeaker sang on as his quartet reached the ring. The three women, who had even more skin showing than Jax, stood in line. They fanned their hands back and forth across their faces.

Not for the first time, Jax thanked God for the mask that hid his identity. He already knew how the people in his life would react to his secret. His mother would be embarrassed; his brothers, especially Drew, appalled. The male-bashing professor pregnant with his child would stand firm on her ridiculous assertion that she wouldn’t marry him.