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"Don't you see? When word gets out that I'm pregnant, everybody will jump to the conclusion that—" She didn't finish.
His head came up and his eyes drilled into hers. "What conclusion will they jump to?"
"That the baby is yours," she answered, staring at the collar button on his shirt, unable to meet his eyes.
"And would that be so terrible?" His voice was as gravelly, and emotion-packed as hers.
"I don't want you to be blamed for something you didn't do."
"I wouldn't consider it being blamed. I wouldn't mind in the least taking the credit for fathering your baby."
"But that wouldn't be right, Cage."
"I've been blamed for things I didn't do before. People make up their own minds. If they get the facts jumbled, there's little you can do to change public opinions."
"I don't believe that."
"Didn't you think that Roxy was my lover?"
"No!"
"You can't lie worth a damn, Jenny," he taunted. "You even called her one of my sluts. You thought we were having an affair. That's why you pouted all the way home that night after I took you off the bus."
"If I was pouting, it was because I'm not used to being chased down by a maniac who has the unmitigated gall to stop a Greyhound bus and haul somebody off it."
Her flare of temper delighted him. "God, you're cute." He kissed the end of her nose. "But you're not going to get off the hook by changing the subject. You thought Roxy and I had a thing going, didn't you?"
"Well, can you blame me?" she said defensively. "You can't keep your hands off her."
He squeezed her ribcage where his hands were currently resting. "I can't keep my hands off you either, so we know that's not conclusive evidence that two people are sleeping together."
She felt flustered from the inside out. "Which only brings me back to my original point. You shouldn't touch me all the time." Her voice lacked conviction even to her own ears.
"You don't like it when I touch you?"
Who wouldn't like it? Who wouldn't like the way his thumbs lightly grazed the undersides of her breasts while his strong fingers aligned themselves to her ribs? "I sure like touching you," he whispered as his hands slid around her back and drew her close for another kiss that she was powerless to resist.
"Ask me to supper, Jenny. What's the harm in having dinner at your house?"
"Because when Cage Hendren has dinner at a woman's house, it automatically implies more than eating a meal."
Their mouths continued to come together and drift apart in soft, damp caresses. "Gossip."
"Based on truth."
"Okay, I confess. I want to spend an evening alone with you. Get in a little necking and heavy breathing. What's wrong with that?"
"Everything."
"All right," he sighed. "I asked you nice, but you want to play rough. I'm not letting you leave this office until you invite me to your apartment for dinner. Now, I can stand here till doomsday kissing you, only, I'm getting very aroused."
He wedged his legs between hers and fit their hips snugly together. "Soon, kissing's not going to be enough. I'll be driven to undo those buttons on your blouse. I've counted. There are exactly four. That should take three seconds, three and a half at the most. Then I'll know if your brassiere is lilac or blue. I know it's sheer, but I can't quite tell the color. And then—"
She pushed him away. His grin was undiluted deviltry, but he spoke like a good little boy who had just gotten all A's. "I'm free Friday night."
"Don't play so hard to get, Cage," she said sarcastically.
"Jenny, where you're concerned I'm as easy as Ruda Beth Graham was in the tenth grade."
