SUN GOD SEEKS...SURROGATE?

by Mimi Jean Pamfiloff

  I lifted my chin a little higher then; he’d taken a detailed inventory.

  “What would you like to drink?” he asked, wedging himself sideways in the space between me and the man next to us talking to his date.

  The warmth of his touch made my insides light up and spin like disco ball, but I played it cool. “I’ll have a double, extra-dirty vodka martini.”

  He raised one brow.

  Well, jeez. I’m not pregnant.

  Yet.

  Oh stop that!

  But we want him! We want him! My tiny eggs cheered in unison.

  It was then that I noticed how his dark, tailored pants and gray sweater displayed every masculine bulge of his insanely ripped body. To be clear, he wasn’t overbuilt like those artificially enhanced TV wrestlers who spend every waking moment pumping iron. No. This man was all hard, lean muscle, more like a champion stallion or a jaguar. Raw power draped in fine, expensive fabric. Speaking of, where did a man of his girth and stature find clothes? Well, whoever was responsible for clothing him should be shot; he looked too perfect.

  But he’d get cold if no one sold him clothes.

  I’d warm him up.

  Just like he was doing to me. He was so darn tall that from a sitting position, I was at eye level with his nipples. No, I couldn’t see them, but I knew they were there. Did they want to meet me as much as I wanted to meet them?

  I cleared my throat. “I like a good stiff nipple”—gasp!—“I mean…drink! I like a stiff drink every once in a while, but I’m not a big drinker if that worries you.”

  Ignoring my mental blip, he leaned over and planted his elbows on the bar. “And why would that worry me?”

  Okay. Because I’m sure you don’t want the mother of your child to be a lush.

  Pen! You’re not on a job interview…

  “I don’t want people getting the wrong impression, that’s all,” I clarified.

  He ordered from the bartender who apparently knew him well because he scrambled to bring us our order ahead of everyone else.

  “So,” he said, his face a brick wall of seriousness, “what brought you here?”

  Wow. It was such a complex question to answer straight out of the gate. My mother’s life? A nagging little voice that told me I had to see him again? My awe-inspiring ability to ignore the weirdness of the situation? Take your pick. But something told me we weren’t yet ready for a deep dive into Honesty Land.

  I gave him my brightest smile. “They make the best dirty martinis in town. And you?”

  I still couldn’t understand why a man of his caliber needed a surrogate. Unless…unless he was the kind of man who was afraid of commitment.

  Then why have a child? Isn’t that the biggest commitment there is?

  I mentally gasped. Oh no! He’s gay! Dammit. No!

  It all started to make sense. He was beyond gorgeous. He was also well dressed and wealthy.

  Yep. Totally gay. The best ones always are, Pen.

  Gravity gripped hard and pulled me crashing toward Earth while my secret little fantasy of making him all mine deflated with a whiz.

  He gave a little chuckle. “Why am I here? I am staying here, of course.” He raised his wineglass toward me and then took a sip.

  “How long are you and your…”—I mustered a polite smile—“your boyfriend in town for?” And where is he? I’ll scratch the bitch’s eyes out!

  He hacked on his wine, but managed not to spit any out.

  “I am…alone,” he finally said. “And while I appreciate humanity in all its shapes and sizes, I place infinitely more value on the female form.” His eyes traveled down to my breasts and lingered for several shocking, yet exhilarating moments.

  He’s not gay! He’s not gay! Glory be thy name! And he just looked at my tatas!

  Penelope. Focus. You’re here to listen. Then you should definitely leave. You don’t want to get mixed up with these people.

  Yes. What I needed was to get the conversation moving so I could get out of there. I’d promised to listen to his pitch, and I would. I’d even keep an open mind—I owed him that much—but in my heart of hearts, I knew he couldn’t do or say anything to convince me to move forward with this…transaction.

  Right. So let’s get this show on the road.

  But how could I? My swooning was getting in the way. Maybe I needed to remind myself that men like him didn’t go for girls like me. Any interest he might’ve shown was simply the male libido flashing its little tail feathers.

  Boooo! Booo! Quitter! screamed my eggs.

  Oh my God, I so needed to get out of there.

  But what could I say to get things rolling and break the ice? It wouldn’t be easy when Cimil had given me three very, very weird rules.

  One: I could not ask why they’d chosen me. That alone was a monumental sacrifice because the question burned in my gut like a festering ulcer. There had to be a reason. Perhaps something to do with the genetic testing I’d volunteered for when a group of specialists researched my mother’s illness? It was plausible that my information ended up in one of those databases.

  Two: I had to let her brother bring up the topic du jour first. He apparently felt very sensitive about the surrogate subject and found it difficult to discuss. She insisted I start out by getting to know him a little and waiting for him to open up.

  Then there was demand number three: Under no circumstances could I tell anyone about our arrangement. Doing so would land me in…“a very hot and dark place,” she’d said.

  Cuckoo. Cuckoo.

  I cleared my throat and rallied my determination to see this meeting through. “So, you live here? All alone?” I asked the beautiful man whose name I still couldn’t recall.

  “No. I am here for several weeks on business. My summer home is in Arizona. My winter home is in southern Mexico. I’m a sunshine kind of guy.”

  Well that explained the killer tan. But having a summer home in Arizona? Wasn’t that where people usually had winter retreats? He must really like hot weather.

  Who cares? Get him to start talking. Ask him something personal. But not too personal…

  I bit my lower lip. “Listen. I hope you’re not insulted, but…”

  He seemed surprised. Maybe a little suspicious, too. “Yes?”

  “What’s your name? Cimil told me, but I can’t remember.”

  He tilted his head to one side. “Kinich. Kinich Ahau. My friends call me Nick. You may call me whichever you like.”

  Now it was official; I was gaga over everything about this man, even his two names. One was exotic. The other masculine and strong. “Those are…um…nice names.”

  He slid back the sleeve of his sweater and glanced at his watch.

  Hmm. Was that a hint that he wanted me to leave? Or maybe he had a date later? And was that a Hublot?

  Crispy crackers! That watch is a year’s worth of rent. The only reason I knew was because it had been in the news recently, and I’d wondered what sort of man actually bought a watch like that. Well, now I knew. A really, really sexy man who wants a baby. With me…

  Listen! You. Are. Here. To listen!

  Okay. Now I really meant it; I needed to get out of there. Something about this man struck every irrational, horn-doggy note in my body.

  Perhaps if we went somewhere he felt more relaxed he’d get to the meat of the matter. There was a quiet café around the corner.

  “Kinich—um—Nick, do you want to go somewhere a little less crowded?”

  He blatantly glowered. But why? Why would he be annoyed with me?

  Then, as if I’d imagined his initial reaction, I watched his gaze travel from my face down to my toes and back again.

  “Yes. I think I’d like that.” His voice was above a whisper, but its depth made my girly parts quiver.

  Without warning, he reached out and ran his thumb over my lower lip. “Why don’t we go up to my suite.” It wasn’t a question.

  Sweet devil’s food cake. He hit on me?

&nb
sp; Me?

  For real?

  If he had, then I was sooo over my head. One touch, one look, and I was ready to agree to anything he might ask. Dye my hair electric blue? Suuure. Rob a bank armed with a Twinkie? Anyyything you want. Have your baby? Ten of them? You betcha!

  Oh, and his scent. It was an olfactory delight. I wanted someone to bottle it and put on my fabric softener sheets so I could wear it.

  I dipped my head slowly, meanwhile my mind swam in a lusty fog named Nick—um—Kinich.

  I removed myself from the barstool, and when I felt his toasty-warm palm brush across the base of my bare back, I was pretty darn sure I’d somehow acquired an addiction to him. And that meant I’d do almost anything to have him touch me again.

  ***

  An awkward silence filled the elevator ride to the penthouse while my mind did a few laps around the logic tree. It kept landing on the same exact branch: This man turned me into a ball of hormones, where logic had no clout. I wanted him. I wanted him in a way that defied rational thought or a need for self-esteem.

  Danger, Will Robinson. Danger.

  We entered the suite, and I tried to keep from gawking like the middle-class apartment dweller that I was. Expensive things, wealth, they never mattered much to me—I was too busy worrying about things that really mattered, I suppose—but this hotel was truly beyond the luxury I’d ever known. Gray and red modern furniture; expensive-looking paintings; large, open living room; and flat screen TV the size of my entire apartment. All overlooking the city.

  He proceeded to the bar in the corner. “Make yourself comfortable.”

  Got a Snuggie and some Old Navy UGG knockoffs?

  I made my way to the couch facing the panoramic window overlooking the shimmering city dusted with snow. With as much grace as I could muster, I sat and tried to hide how nervous he made me.

  He quickly returned and handed me another dirty martini. “Hope it’s to your standards.”

  I took a tiny sip. It was god-awful. “It’s perfect. Thanks.” I flashed a forced smile, thankful that I’d finally found at least one teeny-tiny flaw in the man.

  “So.” He sat down next to me, incredibly close. I felt my heart begin to thump wildly in my chest.

  “I sense I make you anxious, Penelope. Are you certain you wish to be here?”

  I took a large swig, feeling the vodka sear its way down my throat. I turned my body to more easily see his face.

  Mistake.

  He made me absolutely tongue-tied. And my reaction to him, simply put, was unknown territory for me.

  Yes. I’d dated men before. I’d even managed to have two relationships. One when I was seventeen and the other when I was twenty-two. Each lasted about a year, but even in the “I’m so into you” phases of those relationships, I’d never felt so lacking in control over my emotions. Maybe that’s what excited me about Kinich—Nick—still can’t decide—he made me feel like…like…not me.

  Escape.

  I craved it.

  “Yes,” I finally replied after several moments of silence. “I want to be here.”

  He reached out with his hand, but then jerked it away when the door buzzed. He made a little growl. It was so sexy, that my nipples instantly perked.

  He got up and headed for the door. I heard the low rumble of voices, then the door closing.

  Kinich returned with a bottle of Dom Pérignon in a silver wine bucket and placed it on the glass coffee table in front of us.

  “What’s the occasion?” I asked.

  “A debt being paid.”

  “Sorry?”

  “I bet my sister that she could not have a party without the police being called.”

  “You mean the party last night?” I recalled Cimil mentioning something about a policeman-Twister mishap.

  “Fifty arrests this time. She topped her record.”

  Somehow, I wasn’t so surprised. Nor did I really care for details; I didn’t want to talk about his crazy, scary sister.

  He gestured toward the bottle. “Would you like a glass?’

  Since his martini could melt the chrome off a bumper, I accepted. I’d actually never tried Dom Pérignon.

  He poured two glasses and took his spot next to me. Close. So very, very close. Once again his eyes set on my face and he stared.

  The intensity made me squirm. “Why do you keep looking at me like that?”

  He narrowed his eyes. “Like what?”

  “Like you can’t decide if you want to throw me out or kiss me.”

  Crap! I can’t believe I said that. Dork.

  He didn’t flinch. “Because, that is exactly what I am thinking.”

  A lump stuck in my throat. I looked away as I tried to clear it.

  I took a large sip of my champagne and then met his gaze, pound for pound, note for note, unspoken word for word. “So. What have you decided?”

  He sipped his champagne and nodded at the glass, approving its taste.

  My heart raced a million miles an hour.

  What would he say?

  Wait. What am I doing trying to seduce this man? I was Penelope Trudeau. A normal, everyday person, with normal everyday looks. I worked for minimum wage plus tips and lived in a world so different from his. Not to mention he was shopping for a “baby-mama.” This was silly.

  Suddenly, panic overtook me. I stood up. “I made a mistake coming here.”

  Within the space of a breath, his large body caged me, and his full, delicious lips were over mine. His hot, sweet tongue slipped in my mouth, instantly sending a delicious current of flutters and tingles straight down the center of my body, between my legs.

  I wanted this. I wanted this so badly. It was better than my dream. Every cell and nerve ending lit up with a tension I knew wouldn’t abate until I had this man deep inside me. It was primal and needy and liberating all rolled into one erotic mess.

  A tiny moan escaped my lips as my core did wild cartwheels. Image after image of how I wanted to explore his body, of how I wanted him to take me, pummeled my mind. It was so damn intense that I needed to catch my breath.

  I planted my palms on his hard chest and pulled away. “What was that?” I panted.

  He nuzzled my neck. “I believe it is what people call…chemistry.”

  He pulled me closer, and I had no doubt that the hardness jutting from his groin was anything but chemistry. It was the timeless, primal call of biology.

  His mouth, hot and demanding, returned to mine as the room began to spin.

  ***

  The next morning, I slowly stretched my deliciously sore body while luxuriating in the softness of the silky sheets beneath me and the warm, oh-so-very-naked, well-built man snuggled to my side.

  My heart fluttered when I opened my eyes and found Nick sleeping next to me, his bed-play-mussed, golden brown hair sweeping to one side across the pristine white pillow. His heavenly eyes were closed, allowing me to study the golden lashes fanning out against his bronzed face, looking like tiny threads of caramelized sugar. He was a picture of exquisite male perfection.

  I sighed and resisted the urge to kiss his exposed, chiseled chest—yes, yes, perfectly tanned like the rest of him (nude sunbather?)—and stroke the perfectly formed swells of his biceps, one of which was attached to the arm draped over my waist.

  Last night had been the most…the most…

  I sprang from the bed in horror. “Oh crap!”

  Nick’s eyes instantly popped open. A warm smile swept across his face. “Oh, you’re up.” His large frame stretched across the length of the extra-long, king-size bed.

  I stared at him, wondering what to say; somehow screaming, “Oh my God! Oh my God! Oh my God!” didn’t seem appropriate.

  Okay. Breathe, Penelope. Breathe. Just ask him what happened!

  But I didn’t want to insult the guy. Because from the look of his delectable body, it had to have been the best night of my life.

  That is…that is…if we did.

  Of course you did!
Look! Even your eggs are smoking a cigarette.

  No! Demon crackers, no!

  He rolled onto his side and propped his head up with his arm. “Why are you standing there, naked? Come back to bed.”

  I glanced down my body. Oh crappity! I was naked.

  I scrambled to the bathroom—a large, modern affair of stainless steel and glass—and grabbed a fluffy, white towel.

  Oh shit. Oh shit. What was going on? I needed to go out there and ask him, point blank, what happened. Not with your iguana breath. You might melt the man’s face off.

  As long as I get to keep his rockin’ body.

  Pen!

  I quickly found a bottle of mouthwash in the cabinet and swished. Then I checked the mirror and noticed I was wearing an odd-looking necklace with a large, shiny black stone dangling in the middle. Had he put it on me last night?

  Darn it! Why couldn’t I remember what had happened?

  Don’t be a child, Penelope. Just ask him.

  Yes. That’s what I would do.

  Again I glanced in the mirror. “Oh no,” I hissed at my reflection. My dark hair resembled a beehive, but without the symmetry. I ran my fingers through the mess a few times, but it was useless. I’d have to make a polite exit, go home, and ensure I looked hot enough on our next date to erase any memories of my current discombobulation. Is that even a word, Penelope? And do you really think he wants to date you? You’re a one-nighter for a guy like that.

  Christ. What had I gotten myself into?

  I took three quick breaths and opened the door. My heart ignited from the sight of him still propped up on one elbow and lying in bed with a smug, male smile stretched across his face. He looked frigging perfect, practically glowing. Dammit. So unfair!

  “Everything okay?” he asked.

  I smiled sheepishly. “Yeah, I needed to wrangle the tornado.” I pointed to my matted hair.

  “You look sexy as hell.” He patted the empty space next to him. “Come here.”

  Mischief sparkled in his eyes, and though I didn’t know him well, I knew what that look meant: Encore.

  I held up my hands. “Whoa. I think we need to talk.”

  His lower lip stuck out in a slight pout and his shimmering eyes seemed to glow against the backdrop of his toasty-almond-colored skin. Damn if he wasn’t the most irresistible man on the planet.