The Misconception (26 page)

“You mean in the way I’m sexually interested in you?”

He leaned back against the kitchen counter, crossed his arms over his chest and noticed the way she was openly gaping at his bare skin. She was not wearing the look of a woman who wanted to play tiddlywinks with him. “You said it.”

“You’re not helping matters any by parading around half naked!”

“I’m only half naked because you made me spill my coffee. Besides, if you weren’t sexually interested in me, it wouldn’t matter if I was buck naked.”

She actually harrumphed. “What woman wouldn’t be sexually interested in you? I mean, look at you. Symmetrical features. Broad shoulders. Long legs. Well-developed chest. My goodness, you even have a jumbo-sized penis. You’re the epitome of the biological imperative.”

“I’m not even going to ask you what that is, because I don’t want to know.” He cut his eyes at her, then looked down at the bulge in his shorts. From the inadvertent glances he’d gotten of the equipment of other men in various locker rooms, he knew he was big. But jumbo-sized? “I appreciate the compliment, though.”

His cell phone rang, saving him from having to listen to Marietta explain the biological imperative. Jax clicked through to the call after the first peal and almost groaned when Star Bright’s nasal voice came over the line.

“Jax? Thank the stars in heaven I reached you. Did you know your phone was out of service?”

“I forgot to charge it.”

“Yeah, well, there’s not time to talk about the mundane details of everyday life right now. We have important business to discuss. Vital business. I met with the UWA brass today about the anniversary show. The big brass. The really big brass.”

“Yeah. So?” He took a look at Marietta, who was watching him carefully. Suspiciously, he thought.

“So they want the unmasking to be the climax of the show, Jax. They think Secret Stud Unmasked will send the ratings through the roof.”

“No,” he shouted, then instantly regretted the violence of his reaction. Marietta was already paying far too much attention to the conversation. He cradled the cell phone, turned away from her and lowered his voice. “I’ve already told you I’m not going to do that.”

“But you have to think green, Jax. This is business. Think like a businessman. A green businessman.”

“No,” he repeated.

“That’s your final word?”

“That’s my final word.”

“Well, then, I have a problem.”

Jax closed his eyes as apprehension swamped him. He knew from experience that, if Star had a problem, he did, too. “What kind of problem?”

“I already told them the mask was as good as gone.”

Jax held back the explosion of angry words behind his teeth and mentally counted to ten before he answered. “Listen, Star. I can’t talk about this. Not now. I’ll have to get back to you, and you’ll have to get back to them saying it’s a no-go.”

“But—”

Jax disconnected the phone before his manager could say another word. When he turned, Marietta was regarding him closely. “Who was that?”

“Nobody.” He mentally slapped his forehead, trying to unscramble his panicked brain. He improvised. “I meant nobody important. It was just Star Bright.” At her raised eyebrows, he added, “My business partner.”

“You’re in business with somebody named Star Bright?”

“It’s a nickname.” Think, Jax, think. “He doesn’t use it professionally, just socially.”

“What kind of business?” She tapped a finger against the side of her mouth. “I don’t think you’ve ever told me what kind of business you’re in.”

“Stocks, bonds, that kind of thing.”

“Really? I didn’t know a job like that involved so much travel.”

“Mine does.” What was she playing? Twenty Questions? Make Jax Squirm? “I’m like a traveling salesman.”

“A traveling salesman of stocks and bonds? With a partner named Star Bright?” She sounded downright dubious now. She looked at his marble kitchen counters, which was as expensive as the rest of the furnishings in his home. “You must be quite successful.”

“I’m successful enough.”

“Then maybe you could do some investing for me.”

“Investing’s not all it’s cracked up to be,” he said. Desperately, he cast about for a way to change the subject. If this conversation went much further, she’d ask him the difference between a international stock fund and a municipal bond fund. He didn’t think she’d accept “a whole lot of letters” as a knowledgeable answer. “Weren’t we in the middle of a conversation when the phone rang? It seems to me we were talking about my jumbo-sized penis.”

Just as he hoped, her face colored. For a biologist, she sure blushed a lot when the topic came around to sex. He walked toward her, deliberately puffing out his bare chest. He was pleased to see that her face got redder the closer he came.

She moved away, scurrying backward like a crab all the way down the hall and to the front door. She reached for the doorknob as though it were a lifeline.

“Any time you like, you can give it another try,” he called when she wrenched open the door. “All you have to do is let me know. I’d be happy to oblige.”

She whirled and fled. He closed the door behind her, wishing instead that he could call her back. He wanted Marietta in his life. It was the prospect of the Secret Stud Unmasked that he wanted to shut out of it.

Chapter 17

Boom-boom-boom-boom-boom-boom-boom-boom-boom-boom-boom.

A half-hour after hearing her baby’s rapid heartbeat on the fetal monitor at her monthly checkup, Marietta walked through the hallway at Kennedy College, the joyous booms resounding in her own heart.

Euphoria wiped out her nagging backache. A balloon of words waiting to explode rested on her tongue, tapping at her teeth. The fact that there was an entirely new human being inside of her, announcing its existence with a beating heart, was miraculous. Even for a biology professor.

She wanted to tell everyone she saw, maybe even ride the elevator upstairs and shout it from the rooftop.

My baby lives!

She giggled aloud, something she almost never did. Maybe Jax would like to accompany her to the next appointment so he, too, could experience the thrill. She should ask him tonight. No, better yet, she should call him right now and describe what she’d heard.

She quickened her pace, intent on reaching her office as quickly as possible. She should have brought a tape recorder to the appointment. Then she could play it for him. The Baby’s Booms, she’d call it. She giggled again.

“Dr. Dalrymple. Can I have a moment?”

The unmistakable voice stopped her feet, because it belonged to the one man who had the power to make her life miserable. Dean Gerard Pringle, who would hold her life in his thin, vein-encrusted hands when she came up for tenure next year.

She composed her features, turned and felt the world tilt on its axis. Robert, his black clothing a prediction of doom, was walking alongside the dean. Under any other circumstances, Dean Pringle would have overshadowed him as completely as a bald eagle does a wren. The dean’s clothing was more expensive, his carriage more erect, his dusky skin and closely shaved scalp more vivid, his presence more commanding.

But the dean didn’t know that the professor drawing national attention to his biology department for her radical views on male-free motherhood was pregnant by the man living next door. Robert did.

Marietta forced herself to remain calm. Because Robert knew her secret didn’t necessarily mean he’d blabbed it. “Hello, Dean Pringle, Robert.”

Robert nodded but didn’t meet her eyes. Dean Pringle cleared his throat, as was his habit. The joke around campus was that a frog too afraid to come out lived inside.

“While you were out, you had a call from National Public Radio that was put through to me,” Dean Pringle said. “It seems members of your fan club have been peppering them with calls advocating that you be a guest on their show.”

“My fan club?” Marietta screwed up her nose. “But I don’t have a fan club.”

“That’s what I thought, but the lady from NPR was quite adamant that you did. She said all the calls were from females who said they were foxy. Either that or foxes, she couldn’t be sure.”

Marietta let out a short laugh as understanding dawned. She’d made the same mistake the first time she’d met Vicky Valenzuela. “She heard wrong. They’re FOCs. It’s an acronym for Feminists on Campus.”

“Whatever.” The dean waved off her explanation. “What’s important is that their call-in campaign worked. One of the NPR reporters was interested enough to view your ‘Meet the Scientists’ tape. She was so impressed they’d like you to do a segment later this week on
All Things Considered
.”

“They want me to talk about
Motherhood Without Males
on
All Things Considered
?” Marietta asked in a voice that cracked. She deliberately avoided looking at Robert.

“I’m not certain of the topic, but that seems a likely bet.” Dean Pringle’s eyes dropped, and Marietta was positive they focused on her stomach. Had Robert told him she was pregnant? Would the dean suggest she tell the listening audience she was excluding her baby’s father from their lives?

The frog in Dean Pringle’s throat croaked again, and he swept his index finger toward her abdomen. Her blood rushed so quickly to her feet that she swayed. Oh, no. She was right. He knew.

She looked down in defeat — and spotted an ant’s paradise of crumbs from the crackers she’d eaten in the car clinging to her nubby suit jacket. He’d been pointing at the crumbs.

“Check with my secretary for the contact person at
All Things Considered
,” he said while she brushed off the crumbs. He cleared his throat again, and Marietta felt sorry for the frog. “Keep up the good work, doctor.”

Dean Pringle walked away, his heels clicking as sharply as if he were performing a goose step. Robert started to follow, but Marietta couldn’t let him go, not until she knew his intentions.

“Robert, could I talk to you a minute?” she called after the departing duo.

Robert hesitated, then cut his eyes right and left, as though searching the deserted hallway for Jax. The dean gave him a curt nod, granting his tacit permission, and continued on his way.

Robert appeared decidedly unhappy, like Ichabod the first time he’d seen the headless horseman. He stared down at his feet, shuffled them. Marietta wet her lips.

“Are you going to tell him?” she asked.

“Tell who what?” Robert’s eyes flashed up, then down again.

“Dean Pringle. Are you going to tell him I’m pregnant?”

His eyes lifted again, his expression puzzled. “Why would I do that?”

“Because you’re angry at me for what happened on our date the other night,” Marietta supplied, then could have kicked herself for spoon-feeding him a reason.

A long silence greeted her statement. In the distance, Marietta could hear the hum of conversation as a class let out. “You should have told me you had a boyfriend,” Robert said finally.

“He’s not my. . .,” Marietta started to deny it, but trailed off because she doubted Robert would believe her after the way Jax had acted. Besides, she’d been very wrong to accept a date with Robert when her ulterior motive had been to prove to Jax that he couldn’t run her life. “You’re right. I should have told you. I’m sorry I didn’t. Can you forgive me?”

The Adam’s apple in Robert’s throat bobbed as he swallowed. Then he nodded. Marietta felt so bad for him that, if she had believed in love, she would have searched for a nice woman to fix him up with.

“Then you won’t tell him?” Marietta prompted.

“I was never going to tell anybody.” Robert’s eyes met hers in a look as direct as any he’d ever given her and branded him as one of the good guys she had such trouble believing in. “That’s your job, don’t you think, Marietta?”

He didn’t wait for an answer, but turned and walked away. Marietta didn’t move, thinking about his parting question. A few minutes before, she’d been so thrilled over hearing the baby’s heartbeat, she’d been ready to shout the news to Jax and anyone else who would listen. But how could she, the nation’s premier advocate of
Motherhood Without Males
, reveal she was pregnant without opening herself up to frightening questions?