Shameless (17 page)

The way the pants encased her rounded rear end had John remembering how her bottom felt cupped in his hands as he’d thrust into her in that dingy motel room. His body tightened in response.
Get a grip, Everest. It ain’t gonna happen
.

Back in the kitchen, the ingredients for dinner were spread out on the counter. He pulled a knife from a drawer and reached for a green pepper.

“Can I help?” she asked, stepping beside him. She didn’t touch him, but the hairs on his arms stood as if she rubbed her body against his like a cat in heat.

“Nope. Got it covered. All you have to do is keep me company.”

She slid onto one of the barstools at the center island. “What are you making?”

He gave her a lopsided grin. “It’s my specialty — chicken jambalaya with shrimp and kielbasa. Very hot, very spicy, and very good, if I do say so myself.” He turned away to chop the peppers. When he turned back around, her head was in her hands.

He put down the knife and wiped his hands on a dish towel. “Sam?” She lifted her head. Dark circles shadowed her eyes. “Do you want to lie down while I finish here?”

Her cheeks flushed. “Oh, no. I’m fine. I go through this every month. I told you I’d be lousy company.”

A little later, when he was cutting the onion, a rattling sound behind him turned his attention back to her. Sam shaking some Motrin into her palm. He figured she was downplaying how crappy she felt. He frowned.

“Do you like hot tubs?” he asked.

Her head snapped up. “Excuse me?” Her expression was at once startled and accusatory.

“Hot tubs. Would the hot water help your cramps, do you think?” Her suspicious look gave way to one of relief. It bothered him she was so quick to think the worst of him. Why he cared, he hadn’t a clue.

“Oh. Well, it might. I know a hot bath sometimes helps. Why?”

He held up a finger indicating for her to be patient a moment as he washed and dried his hands. Then he motioned for her to follow him. He led her past the utility room and down a darkened hall to his bedroom. Without flipping on the lights, he crossed to French doors leading outside and nodded. She peered through the wood-wrapped panes to the covered hot tub on the patio.

“You’re welcome to a soak while I get dinner on,” he said.

“I didn’t bring anything to wear.”

He nudged her arm. “Who wears anything in a hot tub? But you can keep your panties on if that makes you more comfortable. You can borrow my robe so you won’t get cold from here to there. I’ll be in the kitchen, so you have it all to yourself.”

She hesitated, and again he was annoyed that the thought of doing anything even remotely intimate with him was so unappealing to her. Just when he thought she was going to refuse the offer, she said, “All right.”

After he left, Sam stripped to her undies and quickly climbed into the hot water. She lolled in bubbly water to her chin, her eyes closed.
Ah. This is heaven
. The cramps were barely noticeable with the hot water swirling around her abdomen, and her mild back ache felt immensely better with that jet spray pummeling against it.

She’d been unsure of what to expect in coming to John’s house — she’d half-expected him to bolt the doors and jump her, but he’d been nothing but a gentleman. All in all… it made her wish she’d stayed home tonight. Alone. She didn’t need to know she and John shared a passion for Joplin and old movies. She didn’t need to know he was an accomplished cook and he had pictures of his nieces and nephews on his mantle. She didn’t need to know there was a soft heart under that arrogant exterior.

What she needed was to keep an extensive emotional distance from John Everest. He was going to be the donor father of her child. It wouldn’t do for either of them to start feeling soft toward the other. His sole purpose in her life was to get her pregnant. End of story. Once that was accomplished, they would make a clean break from each other. But that would only be possible if there were no emotional attachments.

But a little voice reminded her how her pulse had raced at the mere thought of being alone with him here, how her belly fluttered as she listened to him play her favorite music on that gorgeous piano, and how she’d been thinking about him nonstop since their trysts in Room 42.

Although the bubbling water was plenty warm, goose bumps rose on her skin. She rubbed her hands furiously over her arms, as if to scrub off those memories. It didn’t help. She could recall almost every second of their time together, from the brush of his fingers as he’d handed her the rose upon his arrival, to the play of his breath along her shoulders, to the feel of him inside her. Her lower belly throbbed with the memory.

She rose out of the water, suddenly overheated. Resting her arms in a T along the sides of the tub, she let the cold night air wash over her. Steam swirled about 10 inches above the water.

Why couldn’t she have chosen a man who was a pussycat in bed rather than a tiger? Of course, with any other man she would have been going about this the way she’d originally intended. As a sperm donor. But no. She had to consent to doing it
his
way. She had only herself to blame. She was a big girl though, and could handle it. Taking a deep breath, she felt in control again. John was an incredible lover, yes. But the attraction was purely physical. Nothing more. No emotions. No strings. She smiled.

“Penny for your thoughts.”

John’s deep voice made her jump. Her eyes flew open. He sat on the edge of the tub, barely a foot away.

“What are you doing here?”

“Just checking up on you.”

“I’m fine, thank you,” she said stiffly. She realized her breasts were above the water’s surface and dropped into the bubbles until she was submerged to her chin.

He chuckled. “You sleep with me like it’s just another appointment in your datebook, yet here you’re embarrassed I might get a glimpse of your bare breasts.”

That crack about her datebook sent her embarrassment fleeing. Anger and a little hurt —
dammit
— took its place. “You know, since we’re on the subject, we need to talk.” She tried to look as dignified as was possible while naked in a hot tub and with John sitting fully clothed above her. “I think my coming here tonight was a mistake.”

“A mistake?”

“You’ve made several cracks now about my behavior and I’m worried your expectations might be different than mine.”

“My expectations?”

Did he have to keep repeating what she said? She slapped the water in her frustration. Warm droplets splashed him, dotting his aqua shirt with dark spots. “Yes, your expectations. It seems to me you want more out of our time together than just sex. Do you, John? I mean, if you’re having regrets about our agreement, you need to tell me.”

“Regrets,” he repeated. He must have seen the complete exasperation in her expression because he quickly said, “Do I regret the fact that several times a month you and I have sex? No. Do I regret the fact that my only responsibility with any future pregnancy lies in conceiving it? No. But do I wish you weren’t so damned impersonal about the whole thing? Yes. Do I wish you didn’t have that caged animal look around me, like you expect me to jump you the minute your back is turned? Yes. And do I wish I didn’t have to rely on a schedule to see you?” He paused and pressed his lips together. “Yes.”

She stared at him. “This isn’t about enjoying each other’s company, John. It’s about—”

“Yeah, yeah. It’s about getting you pregnant. It’s about sex, not making love. Yeah, I got it. But you know what? I guess I’m more old fashioned than I thought. I think it’s a bit fucked that you can be totally into it with me in bed, then immediately afterward act like nothing happened. And I think it’s even more fucked that you can do all this with someone you supposedly don’t even like.”

“What does it matter if I like you or not? I told you from the start that I—”

“God!” He stood, clearly incensed. “I
know
what you told me, Sam. Maybe it’s just me, but having sex with a woman usually makes me feel closer to her. And I’d like to think she feels the same way. With all the warmth I get from you, you might as well be a blow-up doll.”

That stung. She made a furious sound through her teeth. “Hand me the towel and the robe please.”

His blue eyes glittered with anger and frustration. “We’re not through talking about this, Sam.”

“Oh, yes we are. The towel and robe, please.”

He tossed them to her.

“Dammit, John! At least give me some privacy.”

“It’s my house. My patio.”

“Okay, fine. If you’re going to be a child about it.” She stood and the hot water streamed off her body, her black panties clinging wetly to her bottom. Immediately, goose bumps rose on her skin and her nipples grew erect in the frigid air.

She didn’t bother with the towel and went right for the burgundy robe, shoving her arms into it, yanking the lapels together and cinching the heavy sash tight around her waist. When she was sufficiently covered, she headed for the French doors to the house. John blocked her way.

“Please move,” she commanded, staring not up at him but straight ahead. At his gorgeous chest.

“Not until we talk this out.”

“There’s nothing to talk about.”

“Then I’m not moving.” He crossed his arms over his chest and positioned his legs in a wide A-stance.

“Are you always this irritating? Yes, of course you are,” she muttered as she hooked her arms around one of his biceps and tugged, trying to move him away from the door. “I knew that, yet still I decided to ask for your help. I should have gone with my first impression at the Extravaganza that you were an arrogant,” she tugged, “insufferable,” she yanked, “chauvinistic,” she pulled, “SOB and I prayed never to see you again.” He didn’t budge. She pushed at his chest. “But did I listen to myself? No.” She turned sideways and pressed her hip against him as if he were a big appliance, like a refrigerator, she needed to move. “No, I had to ask you to help me father a child of all things, and now you’re getting hokey ideas about me and I’m standing in the freezing cold on your patio in your bathrobe in my bare feet and little icicles are forming on the ends of my hair!” Her voice rose until she was practically yelling.

His damn eyebrows lifted. “PMS?” he asked dryly.

Something inside her snapped and she thrashed out at him, pummeling his chest and shoulders with her fists.

“Sam, cut it out,” he barked. She ignored him. Finally, with a muttered oath under his breath, he caught her wrists with one hand and pinned them to his chest. “What is wrong with you?” he asked, his temper fast rising to compete with hers. She had to be the moodiest and orneriest woman he’d ever met.

“Wrong with
me
?” she spat. “You’re the one with the problem, Everest. I’m not the one who can’t handle this
adult
arrangement of ours.”

“Yeah, well, I can’t help it if
I
have some human emotions.”

She tried to jerk free of him, wriggling her body, unwittingly rubbing against him in all the right places. John hardened in spite of his anger. She spit out some choice expletives.

“Sam, will you knock it off?” She struggled harder. “If I could be sure you wouldn’t beat the living shit out of me, I’d let you go.” Hell, he could think of only one way to shut her up. It was a little clichéd but it always worked in old movies. Still gripping her wrists with one hand, his other hand slid into the damp hair at the back of her neck. He clamped his mouth onto hers, effectively cutting off her ranting and ravings.

She immediately stopped struggling. She was absolutely still in his arms. Then, to his surprise and delight, she kissed him back. Oh
God
, did she kiss him back. He took a chance on releasing her wrists, half expecting this to be another ploy of hers and half expecting her turn into some sort of crazy she-wolf. But her fingers tangled in his hair, drawing his face closer as her body pressed tightly against him. Chest to breasts. Pelvis to pelvis.

He reached behind him and opened the door, dragging Sam inside with him. They stumbled to his bed and fell onto the comforter. Her robe gaped open and her lovely breasts spilled out. He lowered his head to devour the rosy nipples, erect from the cold outside and the incredible heat between them. She arched against him, her fingernails raking his shoulders as she gasped out her pleasure. His hand slipped to her waist.

Her fingers curled around his wrist. “John. Stop.” She was breathless.

He moved off her. “Oh. Right. Bad time of the month. I’d forgotten. Sorry.” One of his arms was still around her, so he rolled her on top of him. “But that doesn’t mean we can’t do this—” He lifted his head for a kiss, but she shifted away.

“Yes, it does,” she said. She knelt on the bed and tightened the robe around her. “It’s the wrong time of the month in more ways than one.”

His brows drew together, then he understood. He sat up, still breathing hard from unreleased passion and now a smoldering anger. “Oh, I get it. It’s not your fertile time, so why bother.” She shrugged, not meeting his eyes. He plowed fingers through his hair. “So, I can’t even kiss you unless it’s on a schedule?”

She closed her eyes. When she opened them, her expression was pained. “Look, John. You’re an attractive man and it would be easy to—” She swallowed. “There’s just no point in what we were doing. We’re not trying to build a relationship together, so kissing isn’t—”

He stood abruptly, cutting her off. He tucked in his shirt where it had pulled free. “Right. Fooling around off schedule implies we like each other. And we certainly can’t have that, can we?”

“I don’t want to be worrying I’m somehow leading you on—”

“Don’t flatter yourself, Sam. You’re not as irresistible as you think you are, and as I once thought you were. It’s obvious how you feel about me. And I’ll tell you, I don’t like you much either.” She didn’t quite meet his eyes. “Come on. Get dressed.” His voice was quiet. “Dinner should be ready by now.”

“I think you should just give me a ride home,” she said.

He pursed his lips and stared off into space a moment. Then he looked her square in the eye. “You want to leave? Call a fucking cab.”