Nobody's Baby but Mine (9 page)

Her conscience chose that moment to remind her that what she was doing was immoral, but she firmly silenced that nagging voice. On Saturday, she would put her misgivings behind her and head for Indianapolis. Maybe this time the legendary quarterback could score a touchdown just for her.

It had rained all day in Indianapolis, delaying the Stars’ Saturday morning flight out of Chicago and backing up the schedule. By the time Cal left the hotel bar on Saturday night and headed for the elevator, it was nearly midnight, an hour past the team’s normal game-night curfew. He passed Kevin Tucker, but neither man spoke. They’d already said everything they had to at a press conference a few hours earlier. They both hated the public ass-kissing they were forced to do, but it was part of the job.

At every one of these conferences, Cal was forced to look the reporters straight in the eye and go on and on about Kevin’s talent and how much he appreciated his support and how both of them only wanted what was best for the team. Then Kevin would start in about all the respect he had for Cal and how privileged he was just to be part of the Stars. It was all bull. The reporters knew it. The fans knew it. Cal and Kevin sure knew it, but, still, they had to go through the motions.

When Cal got to his room, he loaded a videocassette of the Colts’ last game into the VCR that the hotel had provided and kicked off his shoes. As he lay back on the bed to watch, he pushed thoughts of Kevin Tucker aside to concentrate on the Colts’ defensive line. He fast-forwarded to the second quarter and pushed the play button, then watched until he found what he wanted. He hit the rewind button and watched again.

With his gaze firmly fixed on the screen, he unwrapped his pillow mint and ate it. Unless his eyes were playing tricks, their safety had a bad habit of signaling a blitz by looking twice toward the sideline. Cal smiled and tucked the information away.

Jane stood in front of Cal Bonner’s hotel-room door dressed in the ecru silk suit and taking deep breaths. If tonight didn’t work, she would have to learn to live with self-pity because she couldn’t go through this again.

She realized she’d forgotten to take off her glasses, and she quickly stuck them into her purse, then hitched the gold-chain strap higher on her shoulder. If only she had some of Jodie’s little relaxation pills, this might be easier, but tonight she was on her own. Summoning all her will-power, she raised her hand and knocked.

The door swung open. She saw a bare chest. Blond chest hair. A pair of green eyes.

“I—I’m sorry. I seem to have the wrong room.”

“I guess that depends on who you’re looking for, buttercup.”

He was young, perhaps twenty-four or twenty-five, and arrogant. “I was looking for Mr. Bonner.”

“Aren’t you lucky, then, because you found something better. I’m Kevin Tucker.”

She finally recognized him from the televised games she’d been watching, although he looked younger without his helmet. “I was told Mr. Bonner was in 542.” Why had she trusted Jodie to get the correct information?

“You were told wrong.” His mouth grew faintly sullen, and she gathered that she’d insulted him by not recognizing him.

“Do you happen to know where he might be?”

“Oh, I know, all right. What kind of business do you have with the old man?”

What kind of business, indeed? “It’s private.”

“I’ll just bet it is.”

His leer annoyed her. This young man definitely needed to be put in his place. “I happen to be his spiritual advisor.”

Tucker threw back his head and laughed. “Is that what they call it? Well, I sure hope you can help him deal with all his problems about getting old.”

“I keep the conversations I have with my clients confidential. Could you please tell me his room number?”

“I’ll do you one better. I’ll take you there.”

She saw wily intelligence in his eyes and knew that even with his good looks and glow of health, he was far too bright ever to be a candidate to father her child. “You don’t have to do that.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t miss it for the world. Just let me get my key.”

He got his key, but he didn’t bother with either a shirt or shoes, and he padded barefoot down the hallway. They rounded a corner and went down another corridor before they stopped in front of 501.

It was difficult enough facing Cal without having an onlooker, so she quickly extended her hand and shook his. “Thank you very much, Mr. Tucker. I appreciate your help.”

“No problem.” He withdrew his hand and banged his knuckles twice against the door.

“I believe I can take it from here. Thank you again.”

“You’re welcome.” He made no move to leave.

The door swung open, and Jane caught her breath as she once again found herself face-to-face with Cal Bonner. Next to the youthful glory of Kevin Tucker, he looked more battleworn than she remembered, and, if anything, more formidable: a case-hardened King Arthur to Tucker’s callow Lancelot. She hadn’t remembered quite how powerful his presence was, and she fought an instinctive urge to step back.

Tucker’s drawl seemed deliberately insolent. “Look what I found wandering around, Calvin. Your personal spiritual advisor.”

“My what?”

“I was given Mr. Tucker’s room number by mistake,” she said hastily. “He graciously offered to escort me here.”

Tucker smiled at her. “Did anybody ever tell you that you talk funny? Like you should be narrating wildlife films on public television.”

“Or be somebody’s damn butler,” Cal muttered. His pale eyes raked her. “What are you doing here?”

Tucker crossed his arms and leaned back against the doorjamb to watch. Jane had no idea what had transpired between these two men, but she knew they weren’t friends.

“She came here to give you spiritual advice on dealing with the problems of old age, Calvin.”

A small muscle twitched at the corner of Cal’s jaw. “Don’t you have some training films to watch, Tucker?”

“Nope. I already know everything God does about the Colts’ defense.”

“Is that so?” He regarded him with those seasoned campaigner’s eyes. “Did you happen to notice their safety signals whenever they’re about to blitz?”

Tucker stiffened.

“I didn’t think so. Go do your homework, kid. That golden arm of yours ain’t worth a damn ’til you learn how to read a defense.”

Jane wasn’t entirely certain what they were talking about, but she understood that Cal had somehow put Kevin in his place.

Tucker pulled away from the doorjamb and winked at Jane. “You’d better not stay too long. Old guys like Calvin need their beauty sleep. Now you feel free to stop by my room when you’re done. I’m sure he won’t have worn you out.”

Although the young man’s gall was amusing, he still needed to be put in his place. “Do you require spiritual advice, Mr. Tucker?”

“More than you can imagine.”

“Then I’ll pray for you.”

He laughed and took off down the hall, all youthful strut and blatant disrespect. She smiled in spite of herself.

“Why don’t you go right along with him, Rosebud, since you think he’s so damn funny?”

She turned her attention back to Cal. “Were you that cocky when you were young?”

“I wish everybody’d quit talkin’ about me like I’ve got one foot in the damn grave!”

Two women rounded the corner and came to a stop as they caught sight of him. He grabbed her arm and pulled her inside. “Get in here.”

As he shut the door behind her, she glanced around the room. The pillows were bunched up against the headboard of the king-size bed, and the spread was rumpled. Static flickered on the silent screen of the television.

“What are you doin’ in Indianapolis?”

She swallowed. “I think you know the answer to that.” With a boldness she couldn’t believe she possessed, she slid the palm of her hand down over the light switch by the door.

The room plunged into a darkness that was relieved only by the flickering silver light from the television screen.

“You don’t believe in messin’ around, do you, Rosebud?”

Her courage was rapidly flagging. This second time was going to be even more difficult than the first. She dropped her purse to the floor. “What’s the point? We both know where this is headed.”

With a thudding heart, she looped her fingers over the waistband of his slacks and pulled him toward her. As his hips pressed against hers, she felt him grow hard, and it was as if every cell in her body came alive.

For someone who had always been timid with the opposite sex, playing the femme fatale was a powerful experience. She sank her fingers into his buttocks and pressed her breasts to his chest. Running her hands up along his sides, she curled her body against him, moving seductively.

But her sense of power was short-lived. He pinioned her to the wall and caught her chin in a rough grasp. “Is there a Mr. Rosebud?”

“No.”

His grip tightened. “Don’t mess with me, lady. I want the truth.”

She met his eyes without flinching. In this, at least, she didn’t have to lie. “I’m not married. I swear.”

He must have believed her because he released her chin. Before he could question her further, she pushed her hands between them and released the snap on his slacks.

As she struggled with the zipper, she felt his hands on the bodice of her jacket. She opened her mouth to protest just as he pulled it apart.

“No!” She snatched at the gaping silk, ripping a seam in the process as she covered herself.

He immediately stepped away from her. “Get out of here.”

She clutched the jacket together. He looked furious, and she knew she’d made a mistake, but the only way she could keep this from becoming unbearably sordid was to preserve her modesty.

She forced herself to smile. “It’s more exciting this way. Please don’t spoil it.”

“You’re making me feel like a rapist, and I don’t like it. You’re the one who’s after me, lady.”

“It’s my fantasy. I came all the way to Indianapolis so I could feel ravaged. With my clothes on.”

“Ravaged, huh.”

She clutched the jacket tighter over her bare breasts. “With my clothes on.”

He thought for a moment. If only she could read his mind.

“You ever done it against a wall?” he asked.

The prospect excited her, and that was the last thing she wanted. This was about procreation, not lust. Besides, it might be harder to get pregnant that way. “I prefer the bed.”

“I guess the person doing the ravaging gets to decide that, doesn’t he?”

The next thing she knew, he had shoved her against the wall and pushed her skirt up far enough to catch the back of her thighs. He splayed them, lifted her off the floor, and stepped into the nakedness between.

The hard strength of his body should have frightened her, but it didn’t. Instead, she looped her arms around his shoulders and held on.

“Put your legs around me.” His voice was a low, husky command, and she instinctively obeyed.

She felt him free himself, and she expected him to enter her roughly, but he didn’t. Instead, he touched her with one gentle fingertip.

She buried her face in the side of his neck and sank her teeth into her bottom lip to keep from crying out. She concentrated on the intrusion instead of the pleasure, on the embarrassment of opening herself like this to a stranger’s touch. She had made herself his whore. That was all she meant to him, a slut to be used for a few moments of sexual pleasure and then discarded. She nurtured her humiliation so she wouldn’t experience desire.

His finger traced the entry to her body. She shuddered and focused on the strain in her splayed thighs, the uncomfortable pull of her muscles, anything except that silken stroking. But it was impossible. The sensations were too sweet, so she dug her fingernails into his back and bucked against him.

“Ravage me, damn it!”

He cursed, and the sound was so savage, she flinched. “What the hell’s wrong with you?”

“Just do it! Now!”

With a low growl, he caught her hips. “Damn you!”

She bit her lip as he thrust inside her, then gripped his shoulders tighter so she wouldn’t lose him. All she had to do was hang on.

The heat from his body burned through his shirt into her breasts. The wall bruised her spine, and he had spread her legs so far apart the muscles ached. She no longer had to worry about suppressing her pleasure. She wanted only for him to finish.

He thrust so deeply inside her that she winced. He would have made love to her if she had given him any sign at all, but she hadn’t wanted that. She had been determined to take no pleasure, and he’d granted her wish.

His shirt grew damp beneath her palms, and he used her so that he made her feel as if he were punishing them both. She barely held on to him through his orgasm. When it happened, she tried to will her body to absorb the essence of his, but her badly bruised soul wanted only to escape.

Seconds ticked by before he finally withdrew. He slowly stepped away from her and lowered her to the floor.

Her legs were so rubbery, she could barely stand. She refused to look at him. She couldn’t bear this thing she had done, not once, but twice.

“Rosebud . . .”

“I’m sorry.” She bent down to snatch up her purse and grabbed the doorknob. With her jacket clutched together in one hand and her thighs wet, she ran out into the hallway.

He called her name. That silly name she had taken from a beer sign. She couldn’t tolerate his coming after her and watching her fall apart, so she lifted her hand and waved without looking back. It was a jaunty wave, one that said,
So long, sucker. Don’t call me. I’ll call you.

The door slammed behind her.

He’d gotten the message.