The Stud (6 page)

"You have guts, " he declared in a way that said he thought she was either very brave or very crazy. "I don't think there's another woman on this earth who'd ask me to do what you have. "

"I'm desperate. I want my baby to be the absolute very best. For that, I need the absolute very best man, and you're the absolute very best man. "

"Oh, please. "

"It's the truth. Will you do it?"

"I don't want to. "

"I know, but you're considering it. " She held her breath.

He swore under his. She could picture him plowing a hand through his hair much as he'd done on the dock that afternoon. "Look, " he said with a long-suffering sigh, "the best I can offer to do is to give it more thought. Can we meet later?"

"Name the time and place, and I'll be there. "

After a minute, he grumbled, "Hell, I don't know when or where. I'll call you tomorrow. Will you be around?"

"All day. I won't go anywhere. I'll wait for your call. Spencer, thanks. I really appreciate your doing this. "

"I haven't said I'd do anything. "

"But you haven't said no. You're thinking about it, and that's all I can ask. If you decide you can't, I'll be really disappointed, but I'll understand. It wouldn't be right for you to feel forced into doing something that you're against either for moral reasons or for reasons that—"

"Go to bed, Jenna, " he cut in. "I can't think when you babble. I'll call you later. 'Bye. "

Chapter 4

Spencer could have easily killed Caroline. Lying in bed, feeling distinctly disgruntled at three in the morning, he swore he would have, if he didn't love her so much. But she had always held a special place in his heart. From infancy, she had adored him. Sure, his parents had loved him, but not in the unconditional way Caroline had, and in turn, he had used his six-year edge to protect her whenever he could. Time had put physical distance between them, as had the needs of their individual personalities. As she'd grown older, Caroline had even had a thing or two to say about his nomadic life-style. Still, she indulged him more than his parents did. She made Newport a less confining place for him. Usually.

But she'd done it this time. She had actually told Jenna that he might go along with the idea of donating sperm for Jenna's cause, and though no one had told him he had to do it, though no one was holding a gun to his head or binding his arms and legs and milking his seed from him, he felt trapped in an invisible— and infuriating—kind of way.

Jenna was sweet and sincere. She was pretty in a dark-eyed, dark-haired, creamy skinned, well-bred kind of way. In the same well-bred kind of way, she was a successful businesswoman. He was sure she would make a good mother. He was also sure that despite any protestation she might make, she had her heart set on his helping her, which meant she would be crushed if he refused.

But he didn't want to have a child. He didn't want the responsibility—and he meant what he'd told Jenna: he would be aware of that responsibility no matter how fervently she absolved him of it. He didn't want to know that a child of his was alive in the world while he was running around having fun. True, it wasn't an irresponsible kind of fun. It was self-supporting, even profitable when he tallied in the proceeds from sales of his books and movie rights. Still, it was fun.

If only Caroline had nixed the idea from the start If only she had told Jenna that he wouldn't go for it or that he would be furious if she asked, he wouldn't be in such a mess. But Jenna had asked him, and she'd done it in a way that had made it very, very difficult for him to turn her down—because some of her points were valid. He didn't want them to be. He wanted the idea of single motherhood to be totally off the wall, but it wasn't, at least not as Jenna proposed it. She had thought everything out. She had the means, the desire and, he was sure, the natural aptitude for motherhood. She was also right about his parents being thrilled and, therefore, appeased where his leaving an heir was concerned—which raised another point that she had made that kept sticking in his mind. His estate was as sizable as Jenna's, but he didn't have a direct heir for it, either. Not to mention the fact that they
would
make a good baby together, he and Jenna. She was right there, too.

So. What was he supposed to do? She was offering him something that he hadn't considered before but that had some merits. If he turned her down, he might never get another offer like it. If he turned her down, he might be sorry in ten or twenty years. If, God forbid, something happened to one or both of his parents the way it had happened to Jenna's, would he be sorry he hadn't given them the gift of a grandchild? If something happened to
him,
would he lie on his deathbed wishing he was leaving behind something more of his body than a golden urn filled with ashes?

He swore loudly and turned away from the light of the moon. Sweet, innocent Jenna had opened a can of worms. He kept trying to close it, kept trying to simply make the decision to see her in the morning and tell her no, then fly back to Florida and immerse himself in his work, but he couldn't make that decision. Something was holding him back. Some gut instinct.

Spencer had been in many a precarious position in the course of his travels, and if there was one thing he knew, it was that his gut instinct was sound, damn it.

Jenna had trouble falling asleep. She didn't know whether to be hopeful or discouraged by Spencer's call. She hadn't realized how much she'd set her heart on using his sperm, until she realized that within hours she might know that she couldn't. Then again, if he said yes, she'd be on her way to having the most incredible child in the world. The excitement of that thought alone kept her up for a while.

She fell asleep shortly before dawn, which was probably why she didn't hear the doorbell when it first rang. She didn't rouse until the tone was coming in imperious bursts of threes, and then it was a minute before she could correctly identify the sound. She stumbled from bed and was at the bedroom door before she thought of covering herself. Ducking back in to snatch the decorative throw from the back of the wicker chair, she wrapped it around her and ran barefoot down the stairs.

Squinting out the sidelight, she felt a moment's panic. Spencer was standing there, looking freshly showered and awake enough to make her acutely aware of how awful she appeared. Her hair was a mess; her eyes were still only half opened; she was sure there were pillowcase creases on her face.

But he had seen her peering out, so she couldn't pretend she wasn't home. And anyway, she wouldn't do that. If he had made a decision, she wanted to know what it was.

Clutching the throw around her with one hand, she opened the door with the other. The sun hit her full face. She swayed sideways to use his large frame as a shade.

"What time is it?" she asked in a sleep-gritty voice.

"Eight-forty, " he answered, sounding remorseless as he took in her disheveled appearance.

Wondering how he could look so good with so little sleep, Jenna swallowed and pushed loose wisps of hair back from her face. "Want to come in? It'll take me just a minute to put something on. "

"Don't dress on my behalf, " he said.

She took that to mean he wouldn't be staying long enough to make it worth her bother, and felt an immediate stab of disappointment. "You won't do it?" Tears sprang to her eyes. "Oh, Spencer—"

"I didn't say I wouldn't. " He scowled at the tears. "There are a few more things I need to know. "

"Oh. Okay. " She glanced around, not sure whether to lead him into the living room or the kitchen. She wished she could think clearly, but his appearance had caught her off guard at a time of day when she was at her worst. "Uh, let me make coffee. " The making would buy her time; the drinking would help clear her head.

Maintaining a grip on the throw, she went into the kitchen. Though she sensed Spencer behind her, she didn't look around. Rather, she did the best she could putting on a pot of coffee to brew. Working one-handed slowed her, but she didn't dare let go of the throw for fear it would fall to the floor. Her nightgown was of fine, soft, translucent cotton. She had nothing on underneath.

The instant she had the coffee machine gurgling, she said, "I'm running upstairs. I'll be back down in a second. "

"Sit, " Spencer ordered.

"But I'm not dressed, " she protested, daring to look at him. It was a mistake. His scar was like an exclamation mark after his order, and above that, his eyes were compellingly blue. Though they didn't move from her face, she felt their touch all over.

"What we're discussing is pretty intimate, " he said. "You're dressed just fine. "

She wanted to argue but was loath to anger him. So she slipped into a chair at the small glass table and sat looking as poised as possible with the throw protecting her virtue, her legs pressed together and her ankles crossed and tucked under the chair.

Spencer leaned against the counter. He was wearing slim-fitting black pants and a loose black shirt. His hair had been parted and combed to the side, but spikes were already falling over his brow. In keeping with the scar, they gave him a commanding look, which he accentuated by folding his arms across his chest.

He regarded her steadily. "You mentioned basal body temperature. Explain that term. "

She refused to squirm. "That's what my temperature is when my body is at total rest. I take my temperature every morning when I first wake up, even before I sit up in bed. Then I record it on a chart. "

"You've already been doing that?"

"For three months, every morning. Except this one, " she added, since it was obvious that she hadn't taken time for anything when the doorbell had rung. "But that's okay. I can miss a day or two. I know what my temperature would have been if I'd taken it"

"How?"

"There's a distinct pattern. " More quietly she added, "And I'm very regular. "

As though mocking her shyness, he said in a bold voice, "This relates to your period, I take it"

"Yes. "

He waited, then gestured for her to continue. "Come on. Tell me. I want to know how it works. "

The fact that he was listening and considering her request lifted her spirits above the self-consciousness she felt. "My temperature is below normal on the days leading up to ovulation. It usually drops even more when I actually ovulate, then starts to rise after that. It keeps going up until I get my period. "

"So the exact day of ovulation is the critical one?"

"Kind of. "

"What do you mean, kind of?"

"According to my doctor, it's best if sperm is already in the fallopian tube when I ovulate, which means doing his procedure just prior to that time. Actually, " she mustered the courage to say, "if you were willing to hang around for a few days, he'd do the procedure twice. "

"Twice, huh?" Spencer said.

"Only if you were willing, " she rushed on. "I've done so much reading on this, and the books seem to agree that when a couple is trying to conceive, they should have intercourse, ideally, every other day around the time of ovulation. That gives the sperm count time to fully recover, and since sperm will stay alive for forty-eight to seventy-two hours, every other day makes sense—but that's for
couples,
and we're not a couple in
that
sense. I know you have other things to do, and that you don't like being around here with your parents and all, so if you could do it once, that'd be great. I mean, it could be that I'll conceive—" she snapped her fingers "—like that. "

"It could be, " he drawled, "that we'd need to do it a whole
lot
of times before you conceive. " The look in his eye grew speculative. He dropped his gaze to her neck, which was encased in lace, then her breasts, which were bound by the throw, then her belly, which rested somewhere under multiple folds of fabric.

Jenna wanted to hide. She felt naked and exposed, and decidedly inferior to every other woman Spencer had been involved with. True, what she was proposing didn't mean
that
kind of involvement, but he was right. It would be a pretty intimate thing if she carried his child.

"I'll do it, " he said.

Her heart tripped. "You will?"

He nodded.

She came to her feet with a huge smile. "You will?" She brought her hands together in front of that smile and looked at him through tears of happiness this time.

He made a sound that told her what he thought of the tears. Then he said, "On one condition. "

"I'll do whatever you want" She beamed, feeling lighter and brighter than she had in weeks. "I'm so grateful, Spencer,
so
grateful, and relieved! I thought for sure you'd say no and then I'd have to use the sperm bank, and this way my baby will be perfect, absolutely perfect!"

"No artificial insemination. "

Her breath caught. The smile faded. "No what?"

"Artificial insemination, " he repeated. "It's the real thing or nothing. "

"The real thing?" she asked.

He looked as if he wanted to grin but was holding it back. "Sexual intercourse, between you and me. "

Jenna felt suddenly weak in the knees. Dropping back into the chair, she clutched the throw to her chest. "We can't do that, " she said in dismay. "We're not like that with each other. "

"We can be if you want my baby. "

"I do, I do. " She made a helpless face. "But you don't know what you're saying!"

"I know exactly what I'm saying. I've been thinking about it all night. I'm saying that if you're going to have my baby, I want it conceived the normal way. I'm also saying that I won't stand in a little room and pleasure myself when you could do that for me. "

"But you're Caroline's brother!"

"So?"

"So, I'm like a sister to you. "

Very slowly he shook his head.

"But I'm not good at sex!" she protested. As mortifying as it was, she had to tell him the truth. "I've been with three men, and none of them raved about my skill. I don't think I could
begin
to pleasure you. "