Cat allowed herself a wry grin, amused by the fact that she actually missed that scruffy razor stubble. She leaned back in her chair, watching Brody work. He'd made every effort to tidy himself up, but nothing could make his short, dark hair lie flat on top. She was gratified to see he still had something of the lost boy about him.
This train of thought was both surprising and sobering. Before she'd met Brody, Cat never would have suspected that less-than-meticulous grooming habits could hold any sort of appeal. A shrill inner voice sounded the alert: there she went again, turning faults into virtues, recasting the father of her child into something he wasn't. At the same time, another inner voice, faint yet persistent, urged her to strip away her preconceived notions and heed her gut instinct.
Her list of requirements for a potential mate was exhaustive, but they boiled down to a few crucial qualities: dependability, integrity, steadfastness and solid values. She'd always considered certain life-style indicators a positive sign, among them a well-respected career, ambition, a neat appearance, gentlemanly manners, self-restraint and punctuality.
Unfortunately, this system was fallible. How many fastidious, well-mannered, temperate, punctual, successful professional men had she gone through during the past two decades? They'd all seemed perfect at first, but when she'd scratched the surface, she'd discovered such charming traits as insensitivity, faithlessness, narcissism, stinginess, a high-maintenance ego, and worst, a low regard for women in general and herself in particular. Outward appearances, she'd learned, were deceiving.
But the greatest roadblock to happily-ever-after wasn't the guys she'd been dating, it was her own warped expectations. Cat could no longer deny the obvious: she was impossible to please. In those rare cases when a man actually lived up to her exacting standards, she went to great lengths to find some disqualifying feature. He spent too many hours at work. He had an overbearing mother. His kids from his first marriage were a handful. In one case she'd dumped a boyfriend because he'd overtipped an attractive, flirtatious waitress.
Brody was right. She was afraid of marriage. Why else would she have spent twenty years subverting her relationships?
A few days ago Brody had undergone a metamorphosis. He'd overhauled his career, his home and his personal habits, as if checking them off one by one on her master list. Yet beneath the skin, he was the same man.
As for the fundamental qualities of dependability, integrity, all of that, she'd be lying if she claimed Brody fell short. In his own inimitable way, he exemplified those virtues, plus a few that had never made it to her list but probably should have: emotional supportiveness, generosity, selflessness, loyalty and a sense of humor. And without a doubt, he respected her.
Just last night he'd claimed he wasn't averse to having children. Even as she wondered what prompted such a dramatic change of heart, she didn't doubt he'd be a fierce defender and provider of any child he was responsible for, particularly in view of what he himself had gone through as a kid.
Brody thought the baby she carried belonged to another man. Yet he'd been actively wooing her since last Friday, with that romantic dinner, yesterday's date in the city, even his campaign of self-improvement. Cat found herself at the center of an elaborate courtship ritual, and she was touched. It wasn't as if he needed to wine and dine her to get her into bed! Nevertheless, as it stood now, they'd never see each other again after tomorrow. Neither of them had made any mention of a serious involvement.
And if he broached the subject, how would she respond? So much had changed during the past two months. She found herself questioning personal convictions she'd once considered carved in stone. Was it the pregnancy? Hormonal upheaval? Could she even trust her judgment at this point?
Brody muttered, "What the hell…?" and pawed through the folders in front of him. He was wearing an old T-shirt, frayed around the neckhole, with a tiny rip in one shoulder seam. The white shirt featured a design of chili peppers in faded green and red, along with the name of a Dallas Tex-Mex restaurant. Every movement he made, no matter how slight, caused those audacious shoulders to shift and bunch under the thin, worn fabric.
"Brody?"
"Yeah?" He flipped a folder open, scowling at the contents.
"Make love with me."
It took two or three heartbeats for her words to register, then his head snapped up. If she'd known how adorable he looked when he was surprised, she'd have done it more often.
He sat back in his chair. Slowly he removed the glasses and set them aside, never taking his eyes off her. Cat became hyperaware of her accelerated breathing, her thudding heart, a voluptuous heaviness where she needed him most.
She rose and walked around the new computer desk, until she stood directly in front of the worktable where he was seated. The windows were bare; sunlight flooded the room. She started to unbutton her sleeveless pink oxford-cloth blouse.
Brody's eyes tracked her every movement as she shrugged out of the blouse, folded it neatly and laid it on the worktable. He stared at her breasts, fuller now with her pregnancy, practically bursting out of the demi cups of her white lace bra.
Cat reached behind her with both hands. She unhooked the bra and placed it on top of her blouse. Brody's chest rose and fell a little faster. His gaze was a hot velvet caress, coaxing her nipples into stiff peaks, stroking her intimate flesh until it hummed.
She slipped off her tan fisherman sandals. She unfastened her beige linen slacks, stepped out of them and folded them meticulously, adding them to the pile of clothing. Brody surveyed her brazenly from head to toe. His penetrating gaze lingered on the white lace bikini panties. "Take them off."
"I don't think so."
"I thought you wanted a little afternoon delight."
"Maybe I changed my mind." Ha ha ha.
She reached for her clothes. Brody moved with astonishing speed, snatching them up and tossing them in a corner, out of reach. He settled back in his chair and said with quiet authority, "Come here."
Her body buzzed with anticipation, yet she made herself take a step backward. She clasped her hands demurely at her waist. "I wouldn't blame you for thinking I'm too aggressive. I just can't seem to help myself, with you sitting there looking so…" She sighed. "I really should get back to work."
Cat turned and resumed her seat behind the computer. The monitor was placed to the side, affording Brody an unimpeded view of her nude torso. Her fingernails clicked on the keyboard as she continued to transcribe Harry's recipe.
Plain cast-iron fry pans are okay, but segmented cornbread pans are best—more crust.
She didn't look at Brody, even when she heard his deep-throated chuckle and "You little tease."
Grease a couple of pans and shore them in a HOT oven. The batter's got to sizzle when it goes in!
Cat heard Brody rise and slowly come around the worktable. Her heart shimmied up her throat. She typed: Bak until gikden barown, backspaced over it and struggled to concentrate on the keys.
Brody circled behind her chair. His warm, humid breath curled over her. Cat slowed down her typing, yet she still made a host of mistakes.
Big, hot hands settled on her shoulders. She sat straighter, trying not to squirm, and typed:
This cornbread is great with red-hot chili and ice-cold—
He seized her nipples.
—beeeeeeeeer
Casually he asked, "So you don't think you've put in a full day's work?"
As if she could answer with his callused fingers fondling her, gently tugging, exciting her tender breasts just enough to melt her brain.
"Maybe you're right," he said. "You'd better just sit right here until I decide you can get up."
Brody leaned over her shoulder, ostensibly to get a better look at the computer screen. "Bacon bits, huh? I've got to try that." One hand slid lower, over her rib cage and waist. He caressed the bare skin above her panties. His fingertip teased her navel and she quivered. Cat gave up on trying to sit still. It was all she could do not to leap out
of the chair and drag him to the floor.
He said, "Has your belly button always been so sensitive?"
She managed to answer, "I don't know. You're the first one who's ever paid any real attention to it."
"Listen, Cat, here's what you're going to do." Her hands were still poised over the keyboard. He lifted them and pulled her to her feet. "You're going to go into my bedroom and wait for me on the bed."
"Wait for you? Where will you be?"
"In here, finishing up my work. I'll join you when I'm ready."
Cat stared at him. "You're very good," she breathed, awed by how smoothly he'd trapped her in her own teasing game. The thought of waiting even one more minute was sensual agony, as he no doubt knew.
"Funny. I've always been told I'm very bad." He placed a palm on her back and gave her a little shove toward the door.
"When will you be in?"
He returned to his seat behind the worktable and put on his reading glasses. His devilish smile said it all. "Patience is a virtue."
* * *
Patience was overrated. Cat lay on Brody's high four-poster bed, on top of the biscuit brown, raw silk bedspread. The glowing red numbers on his new digital alarm clock advanced sluggishly: 3:44 … 3:45 … 3:46…
There were no longer any magazines or books on the new-and-improved nightstand, nothing with which to distract herself as she lay there thinking about what he was going to do when he joined her. The mild breeze wafting through the open window teased every square inch of bare skin. The tips of her breasts were achingly erect; Brody's phantom fingers tormented them still. The molten fullness between her legs seemed to take on a life of its own, fed by her rioting imagination.
At 3:59 she heard Brody's muffled voice in conversation. He had to be on the phone. At 4:03 his booming laugh carried through the wall separating them. She heard what sounded like a jovial goodbye as he hung up. Silence.
Come to me now. Please come to me.
Cat heard his chair scrape back. Yes! Her fingers clutched handfuls of the soft bedspread as his sneakered footfalls crossed the computer room, proceeded into the hallway and approached the bedroom. Suddenly conscious of her appearance, she fluffed her hair around her face, flung an arm artfully over her head and raised one knee in a pose calculated to be both nonchalant and seductive. She stared at the closed door, shivering with anticipation.
Brody's footfalls never slowed as he passed the door and descended the stairs. "Spot!" he called. "Want to go for a walk, boy?"
Cat bolted up and swung her legs off the bed, calling Spot's master every vile name in the book. She stalked to the door, and hesitated with her hand on the knob. If she stayed there and waited like a good little girl, he'd come to her. Eventually. He'd said he would. But if she charged after him like some sex-starved Amazon, what then?
Downstairs, Spot yipped with excitement. She pictured Brody clipping the leash onto his collar. After a minute she heard the front door open and close.
Cat released the doorknob with one last ripe curse, torn between outrage and giddy laughter. She resumed her place on the bed, occupied by sweet thoughts of revenge, which inevitably took a carnal turn as the minutes ticked by.
By 4:17 she was so aroused that the sound of Brody reentering the house sent a violent tremor through her. After a couple of minutes she heard the staircase creak under his weight. Her breasts quivered with each ragged breath as his footfalls grew louder and finally paused at the closed bedroom door.
Cat stopped breathing. She watched the knob turn. She didn't bother with the provocative pose but simply lay there like some sacrificial victim—waiting to be impaled by the high priest's imperial scepter, she thought, biting her lip against both a hysterical giggle and her remorseless hunger.
The door swung open and Brody entered. Casually he surveyed her form, as if assessing her level of compliance. Cat resisted the impulse to vent her fury. Judging by his droll expression, he was already well aware of her state of mind.
He kicked off his sneakers. "I wouldn't have pegged you as the submissive type." Lazily he pulled off his T-shirt and tossed it onto the floor. "Opens up whole new possibilities I hadn't considered before." He undid his belt buckle. "If you ever get tired of being an office mom, you could always rent yourself out as a love slave."
His heavy-lidded smile and that one arched eyebrow turned the bantering words into an invitation. Cat had no experience with sexual role-playing—her short stint as Delilah notwithstanding. But if she'd learned anything during the last interminable forty-five minutes, it was that being at the mercy of your lover's whims could be an incredible turn-on.
She felt a little foolish as she played along with the love-slave fantasy. "I'm yours to do with as you will." But then Brody dropped his jeans and briefs, and she forgot to be self-conscious. His extravagant state of arousal mirrored her own. She swallowed hard, unable to tear her gaze from his flagpole erection.
The mattress dipped under his weight as he sat next to her. He leaned over and nudged one puckered nipple with the tip of his tongue. Cat's breath fled in a rush. Her hips rocked. Brody smiled. He continued to lick her with short, searing strokes, as if savoring the taste of her.
"I like this new obedient you," he murmured, switching his attention to the other nipple. He licked it, circled it, drew it into his scalding mouth and lightly bit it, stinging little nips that sent spears of pleasure straight down through her body. Cat was moaning helplessly by the time he raised his head.
Brody cupped his palm over the dark triangle visible through the white lace of her panties. His fingertips fondled the saturated fabric. "You must've been thinking of some very naughty things while you were waiting for me."
"Does that displease you?" she asked meekly.
His roguish smile told her he was enjoying this fantasy play as much as she was. "On the contrary, I expect it. As my love slave, you're required to remain in a state of readiness at all times."
Brody moved to the foot of the bed. Kneeling, he grabbed her thighs and abruptly yanked her down so her feet dangled off the high mattress on either side of him. He bent his head. Cat gasped when she felt his hot breath through the lace—and cried out as his mouth closed over her. Her hips jerked up and she lost the battle to salvage her pride.
"Brody … oh, please, now. Now!"
He pinched her bottom, just sharply enough to make her gasp. "Such impertinence will not be tolerated. Your only purpose is to serve my pleasure."
Sure thing, my lord and master. Just you wait until it's my turn to call the shots.
He took his time, nibbling and kissing her through the lace, humming hotly as her body bowed under his mouth. Finally, when she felt ready to explode, Brody hooked his fingers in the bikini panties and pulled them off her.
If she weren't playing the passive love slave, Cat would have locked her legs around him and impaled herself on his imperial scepter without delay. As it was, all she could do was lie there trembling with unappeased need as his fingers parted her and his mouth claimed her once again.
She bucked and twisted under the erotic assault. Her hoarse cries rang in her ears. His lithe tongue licked and flicked and speared her. His mobile mouth captured the ultrasensitive bud with dizzying suction that propelled her hips off the bed.
His hands slid under her bottom, raising her farther as he reared up and drove into her, slowly, a steady, relentless invasion that opened her, stretched her to the point of pain. It was a delicious, welcome pain. He was huge and he was hard and he was just where she needed him to be.
Brody's midnight eyes caught and held her, glittering with a feral light, as if the veneer of civilization had been stripped away to lay bare the primitive male animal within. His face was dark; veins stood out in his neck.
He tilted her hips and thrust home the final distance. Cat screamed as her orgasm struck, a blinding maelstrom of pure, pounding sensation that left her limp and breathless, cocooned in the haven of Brody's strong arms. He pressed kisses to he
r face, coaxing her back to awareness.
Their legs still hung off the mattress; together they wriggled higher on the bed. Brody smiled at her, a tender smile that she returned as they began to move and found their rhythm. No words were needed to affirm the simple rightness of the moment. It was as if they'd known each other always, been lovers always. It had been that way the first time, and it was that way now.
As their movements grew more frenzied, Brody doubled a pillow and shoved it under Cat's bottom, bracing himself over her. She clung to his arms, corded with hard muscle, and wrapped her legs around his pistoning hips. She met his deep, powerful thrusts as her pleasure spiraled and peaked. Brody was pacing her, she knew, waiting for her.
"Now…" she breathed, as her climax crested. "Now, oh, now…"
He let himself go then, lunging for his own release, shuddering with it even as she toppled over the edge once more.
They collapsed together. Brody immediately lifted his weight off her and rolled to the side. "It's all right," she mumbled, loving the feel of him pressing her into the mattress.
He placed his palm on her belly. "We have to be careful."
She couldn't suppress a wry grin as she tugged the pillow out from under her. "Now you want to be careful?"
He leaned up on his elbow. "Did I hurt you?"
"No! Of course not."
He appeared unconvinced. "Did Dr. Jackson mention any, you know, restrictions?"
"Yes. She said no swinging from the chandeliers."
"She did not."
"Cross my heart. What she meant was nothing too rough." Cat pressed her finger to his lips. "And before you ask, no, you weren't too rough."
Brody swept his gaze over her as if looking for damage. She grabbed the pillow and hurled it into his face.
"Hey!" he bellowed.
"You can't retaliate, I'm pregnant."
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