Practice Makes Pregnant

by Lois Faye Dyer

  Her gaze met his. Jorge felt the connection as surely as if an electrical current surged between them. He couldn’t tell what color her eyes were from this distance, but he saw them widen, saw her body go still.

  He bit off a curse as the crowd shifted, blocking his view of her, and he pushed away from the pillar to make his way across the crowded floor. Closer now, he realized that she’d left the group clustered around the lecturer. Swiftly he scanned the crowd, catching a glimpse of auburn hair as she slipped through the French doors onto the terrace. He quickly altered direction, moving around the perimeter of the room, briefly pausing to collect a nearly full bottle of champagne and two flutes from a friendly waiter before stepping out onto the terrace.

  He saw her immediately. She leaned against the balustrade, head tilted back, gazing up at the night sky. Standing just outside the soft circle of light cast by the French doors, the black of her gown nearly blended into the shadows. The fair skin of throat, shoulder, arms and face, however, gleamed pale against the darker night.

  Jorge moved slowly toward her, taking the opportunity to observe before being seen.

  “It’s too bad we can’t see the stars.”

  She went still. Then she turned her head, looking over her shoulder at him.

  Her eyes were amber, smoky as well-aged scotch, and filled with a wariness that belied the sophistication of the black lace gown and upswept hair.

  Jorge immediately abandoned any thought of glib pickup lines.

  Even before she looked over her shoulder and met his dark gaze, instinct told Allison that the deep drawl belonged to the man from the ballroom. For one moment, sheer panic threatened to engulf her. But then he smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkling, the nearly black irises reflecting the warmth of his smile, and the grip of fear that often accompanied her dealings with men eased.

  He moved closer, halting a decorous four feet away, and looked up at the sky.

  “Air pollution,” he commented.

  “Air pollution?”

  His gaze met hers briefly before returning to the dome of hazy, not-quite-dark sky. He gestured at the city below and around them, the soft glow of lamplight from inside the ballroom glinting briefly off the crystal flutes in his hand.

  “Maybe it’s more accurate to call it light pollution.” He took a step nearer, leaned one hip against the balustrade and handed her a flute, then filled it. “Did you know that the astronauts only see the darkness of night in the less populated sections of the United States, like North Dakota or Montana? On the east and west coasts the population is so dense and the use of electricity so high that astronauts see them lit up at night, not dark.”

  “Really?” Allison sipped her champagne, tense muscles slowly relaxing as he continued to lean casually against the low stone edge and made no attempt to close the distance between them. He was tall, well over six feet, his shoulders wide beneath the black jacket of his tuxedo.

  “Really.” He grinned, the corners of his mouth curving upward, his eyes laughing at her. “Are you interested in astronomy?”

  “Um…” Allison realized that she was staring in fascination at the curve of his lips and had no clue what he’d said. “I beg your pardon?”

  “Astronomy,” he said gently. “Are you an astronomy fan?”

  “I was as a child, but I haven’t had time for star-gazing since I moved to New York,” she responded absentmindedly, wondering if the golden tone of his skin was natural or if he spent a lot of time outdoors.

  “And how long ago was that?”

  “Several years.” Allison suddenly realized that he was asking questions and she was answering without thought because she was so fascinated by him. Each time he smiled at her, she was more aware of the slow, heavy throb of her pulse and the swift kick of sexual attraction. For the first time in her life, she found herself physically attracted to a man. Even more startling was her complete lack of fear. She felt oddly safe with him. He’s the perfect man to flirt with, she realized, remembering her earlier promise to the woman in the mirror. Tonight I’m going to flirt and have fun.

  She smiled in anticipation. He smiled back, his gaze narrowing, growing more intense.

  “I’m afraid I’ve forgotten to introduce myself,” she said politely, holding out her hand. “I’m Allison Baker.”

  “Pleased to meet you, Allison.” He took her hand in his and stepped closer. “I’m Jorge.”

  His hand engulfed hers, the fingers and palm faintly rough, his warmth and the touch of skin against skin sending prickles of awareness zinging through her body.

  “Hello.” Her voice was throaty, husky with the force of her emotions.

  His eyes darkened, his fingers tightening over hers.

  “So, tell me, Allison Baker.” He smoothed his thumb over the back of her hand. “What’s a nice girl like you doing in a place like this?”

  He quirked a dark eyebrow, his teeth flashing in a teasing grin, and Allison laughed.

  “You mean on this particular terrace, or at a save-the-whales fund-raiser?”

  “Whichever. Mostly, I’m just wondering if you have a particular affinity for whales.”

  “Ah, you’re wondering if I’m attracted to large mammals?”

  He chuckled, the sound a deep growl of amusement. Before he could respond, the French doors flew open behind them and a wave of chattering party guests spilled out onto the terrace. The orchestra music followed them, and several couples began to dance.

  Jorge glanced over his shoulder at the noisy crowd and the whirling couples. “I think the party has found us.” He took the flute from her hand and set both hers and his next to the nearly empty bottle of champagne on the balustrade. “It’s a shame to waste the music. Shall we?”

  Allison nodded, and he slipped an arm around her waist to tug her body gently against his. He folded his fingers around her right hand and swept her into the rhythm.

  She felt the same jolt of startled recognition that she’d felt in the ballroom earlier, when she’d looked up and found him watching her. The black silk of her bodice brushed against his pleated white shirt, her left hand lay against the black tux jacket covering his broad shoulder and only inches from the thick dark hair that gleamed in the light from the ballroom behind them. Each time she drew breath, she pulled in the subtle scent of his aftershave. Spicy and masculine, it mingled with an underlying hint of clean soap, starched shirt and a uniquely male scent in a potent, heady mix that went straight to her blood, making it race more swiftly through her veins.

  “Tell me, Allison Baker, what do you do when you’re not dazzling men at fund-raisers for large mammals?”

  She tilted her head back, her lips curving in response to his teasing smile. Should she tell him about her job at Manhattan Multiples? No, she decided, not tonight. Tonight, I’m not my everyday self. So she compromised. “I’m a student.”

  “Really? And what are you studying?”

  “Law.”

  “Yet another thing we have in common.” The music changed, switching to a slower tune. They swayed in time to the music, and he lifted her right hand to his shoulder so he could clasp her waist and draw her nearer.

  “You’re studying law, also?”

  “No. I did study law, now I practice law.”

  She beamed at him, delighted. “You’re an attorney? How lovely. What field do you specialize in?”

  “Criminal law.”

  “Then you must be very busy,” she said dryly. “The crime rate in America is a disgrace.”

  “Hey,” he laughed. “Not my fault. And I’m doing my part to improve the situation.”

  A waiter moved past them, circulating a tray of canapes, and Jorge skillfully avoided a collision by tucking Allison closer. Their bodies pressed together from shoulder to thigh and she caught her breath, blindsided by the surge of desire that had her slipping her arms around his neck to hold him closer. His arms tightened, crushing her against him.

  Allison was only vaguely aware that the s
ounds of music and laughter faded; she was too caught up in the feel of his hard body against her softer curves and in the driving need to have more. She tilted her head back to look up at him, her hair brushing against his throat and face, and found his eyes glittering down at her between lowered lashes.

  Then his mouth covered hers, and the sexual tension that had vibrated between them from the first, exploded. She was dizzy with it, her heart pounding frantically, heat exploding in her veins.

  The kiss quickly skipped all the tentative preliminaries of a first embrace and went straight to carnal. One big hand cradled the back of her head and his tongue thrust against hers as he ravaged her mouth. Delight raced through her veins and she met him eagerly, gasping with shock that quickly submerged beneath sheer pleasure as his hand covered the black silk over her breast and found the stiff peak of her nipple. He pushed her against the wall and shifted, pressing one hard thigh between her legs.

  She murmured frantically, twisting against him in an unsuccessful attempt to find release. For one heartstopping moment he surged against her, but then he stiffened, the muscles in his arms flexing with iron strength before he pulled his mouth from hers, breathing hard.

  “Allison, we can’t do this here. Come upstairs with me.”

  She stared at him, unable to think, the transition from total absorption in the physical to clear thought impossible.

  “I have a room upstairs. Ross booked it for himself and his wife—when he asked me to stand in for him tonight, he gave me the key in case I wanted to stay over. Come upstairs with me, sweetheart. Please.” His voice was nearly unrecognizable, roughened with the passion that vibrated between them.

  “I don’t do this sort of thing,” she finally managed to say, not sure why it was so important for him to know.

  The heat in his eyes flared, the pupils black with desire. “Neither do I.”

  Allison could barely think with his hard body pressed against hers and her own body screaming to continue. She’d never felt passion before, had never thought she would, not after being forced by a date when she was barely seventeen. Could she turn her back on what might be her one chance to make love?

  Just for tonight, she thought. Just this once.

  “Yes.”

  Fierce satisfaction blazed in his eyes. Without another word he stepped back, wrapping an arm around her when her legs wobbled.

  She hesitated, holding a hand to her hair. “Do we have to go through the ballroom?” she murmured, glancing about them and realizing for the first time that they stood in the shelter of a heavy stone column, out of sight of the other guests.

  “No.” He flicked an assessing glance over her and tugged her bodice higher over the swell of her breasts, his fingers reluctantly leaving the soft skin. “There’s a back way.”

  He took her through a nearly hidden door at the far end of the terrace that led to a service hallway behind the huge ballroom. Tucked against his side, Allison was soon confused by the maze of corridors they walked through to reach the elevator.

  “How do you know so much about this hotel?” she asked as the elevator rose.

  “They were robbed two years ago. I prosecuted the case and spent a lot of time walking the halls and studying the layout to understand the system the defendants used.”

  She nodded, barely listening to his words, her gaze focused on the movement of his lips as he spoke. She badly wanted his mouth on hers.

  “Stop it.” The growled words were thick. When her gaze met his, his eyes were hot. “I’m not going to touch you in here. If I do, we won’t make it to the room.”

  Her mouth formed a startled, rounded O. His arm tightened around her shoulder, tension thickening the air, the hard body she was tucked against strung taut with control.

  The elevator doors opened silently, and Jorge moved her out and down the hallway with swift purpose. One quick swipe of the card key opened the door, and within seconds they were inside. He backed her against the door and took her mouth, his hands making short work of the zipper at the back of her gown. Allison helped him, wiggling impatiently as he pushed the dress off her shoulders, his mouth leaving hers to find the peak of her breast as the dress pooled around her feet.

  She screamed when he tugged her nipple into the hot, wet cave of his mouth and sucked, her hips pressing urgently against his.

  He swore and picked her up, crossing to the bed. Within seconds he’d stripped both of them, donned protection and covered her. She welcomed the heavy, hot press of his weight, nearly mindless as he drove her higher with his hands and mouth.

  He lifted above her, going motionless, his dark hair tousled, the lines of his face fiercely possessive. “Are you safe?”

  Allison could barely understand his words, his voice thick and roughened. What had he said? Was she safe? The answer was yes; she felt safe with a male for the first time in her life. She nodded, unable to speak, and then she forgot all about safety for he surged inside her and sent them both over the edge.

  Allison frowned and flipped the page on her desk calendar again.

  This can’t be right.

  But there was no getting around the fact that the last time she’d scribbled red asterisks on her calendar to mark the beginning and end of her monthly period was over six weeks ago.

  Did I forget?

  No, she knew she hadn’t forgotten. She never forgot to jot down the dates of her period. She’d been jotting those little red marks on her calendars since the summer she turned thirteen.

  She quickly scanned the notations on the days between the last little red mark and today’s date. Halfway in between, she was stopped short by a date, circled in red but without an accompanying note; it was the Saturday night she’d gone to the party with Zoe and Jack—and left with Jorge Perez.

  Heat moved through her veins and flushed her face and she squeezed her eyes closed at the flood of memories. They’d spent hours together after leaving the party. I shouldn’t have slept with him. But sleeping had nothing to do with what the two of them had done in his bed.

  Allison dropped her face into her hands and groaned.

  I’m such an idiot. What was I thinking?

  She hadn’t been thinking, she admitted to herself. That was the problem. She hadn’t been able to think rationally from the moment she’d looked across the ballroom and found him watching her. And when he took her in his arms, their powerful sexual attraction drove everything but him from her mind.

  It wasn’t until she’d wakened in the gray pre-dawn that she asked herself what came next—and then she’d panicked, slipped from his bed and fled the hotel room. She hadn’t seen him since; but then, she hadn’t expected to. He didn’t know where she lived or worked and in a city as large as New York, it was unlikely that he would find her, even if he bothered to search, which she doubted he would.

  She flipped the calendar page to the current month, absentmindedly jotting “six weeks” on the square for today’s date.

  I hope I don’t start my period this weekend, she thought idly. She had too much homework to finish and she couldn’t afford to spend a day in bed with cramps.

  She stared at the red letters she’d just written on the white square. Six weeks? Of course, she thought, frowning. It had been six weeks. Something about the time frame niggled at the edge of her consciousness. But I’m never late.

  Her hand froze, the tip of the fountain pen bleeding a small spreading blob of red ink on to the pristine white paper of the calendar. Allison stared at the red blot without seeing it, horror widening her eyes and shortening her breath.

  Six weeks—my period is two weeks overdue. Could I be pregnant?

  A swift image of Jorge Perez’s compelling face and the muscled strength of his body pressing hers into rumpled sheets had her groaning with dawning apprehension and shock.

  Pregnancy was more than a possibility, she realized. She wasn’t on the pill, nor had she used a diaphragm or any other form of contraception. That night with Jorge was the first time
in her life she’d been carried away by passion, and she’d been completely unprepared.

  She knew that condoms had a risk factor. She couldn’t even blame Jorge if she’d conceived that night, because he’d used protection. She was the one who’d been irresponsible and failed to add backup birth control.

  She dropped the pen on the calendar and sat back, pushing trembling fingers through the thick fall of her hair.

  What am I going to do if I’m pregnant?

  Her hand pressed against her belly in an instinctive, protective gesture.

  Her one night of incredible passion with Jorge might have consequences that would alter her life forever. Not to mention her body.

  She tilted her chin down and stared assessingly at her torso. She couldn’t discern any changes—her abdomen was as flat as usual.

  But if she were pregnant, the shape of her body wouldn’t stay the same for long. She’d seen lots of pregnant women come and go through the doors of Manhattan Multiples, a care center for mothers expecting more than a single baby, and she had no illusions about what would happen to her now-slender body if she were carrying Jorge’s baby.

  Jorge. She blanched. Did she have to tell him?

  Of course I have to tell him. How can I not?

  On the other hand, how could she? Would he be happy? Angry? Would he want visitation rights, or God forbid, custody?

  Allison pressed a hand to her chest, felt the heavy thud of her racing heart, and took several deep breaths in an effort to calm herself.

  She had to be practical, she thought, forcing herself to think logically, when she really wanted to run screaming from the building. Before she considered all the many questions, she had to find out if she was really pregnant. On her lunch hour she would go to the pharmacy and buy a pregnancy kit.

  She glanced at her watch. Two hours until lunch.

  Resolutely she shifted her calendar to the corner of her desk and pulled a file toward her, flipping it open. She forced herself to focus, bringing up the appropriate data file on her computer and moving doggedly through the necessary action.