Sun God Seeks…Surrogate? (Accidentally Yours #3)(11)
Author: Mimi Jean Pamfiloff

He ordered from the bartender who apparently knew him well because he scrambled to bring us our order ahead of everyone else.

“So,” he said, his face a brick wall of seriousness, “what brought you here?”

Wow. It was such a complex question to answer straight out of the gate. My mother’s life? A nagging little voice that told me I had to see him again? My awe-inspiring ability to ignore the weirdness of the situation? Take your pick. But something told me we weren’t yet ready for a deep dive into Honesty Land.

I gave him my brightest smile. “They make the best dirty martinis in town. And you?”

I still couldn’t understand why a man of his caliber needed a surrogate. Unless…unless he was the kind of man who was afraid of commitment.

Then why have a child? Isn’t that the biggest commitment there is?

I mentally gasped. Oh no! He’s g*y! Dammit. No!

It all started to make sense. He was beyond gorgeous. He was also well dressed and wealthy.

Yep. Totally g*y. The best ones always are, Pen.

Gravity gripped hard and pulled me crashing toward Earth while my secret little fantasy of making him all mine deflated with a whiz.

He gave a little chuckle. “Why am I here? I am staying here, of course.” He raised his wineglass toward me and then took a sip.

“How long are you and your…”—I mustered a polite smile—“your boyfriend in town for?” And where is he? I’ll scratch the bitch’s eyes out!

He hacked on his wine, but managed not to spit any out.

“I am…alone,” he finally said. “And while I appreciate humanity in all its shapes and sizes, I place infinitely more value on the female form.” His eyes traveled down to my br**sts and lingered for several shocking, yet exhilarating moments.

He’s not g*y! He’s not g*y! Glory be thy name! And he just looked at my tatas!

Penelope. Focus. You’re here to listen. Then you should definitely leave. You don’t want to get mixed up with these people.

Yes. What I needed was to get the conversation moving so I could get out of there. I’d promised to listen to his pitch, and I would. I’d even keep an open mind—I owed him that much—but in my heart of hearts, I knew he couldn’t do or say anything to convince me to move forward with this…transaction.

Right. So let’s get this show on the road.

But how could I? My swooning was getting in the way. Maybe I needed to remind myself that men like him didn’t go for girls like me. Any interest he might’ve shown was simply the male libido flashing its little tail feathers.

Boooo! Booo! Quitter! screamed my eggs.

Oh my God, I so needed to get out of there.

But what could I say to get things rolling and break the ice? It wouldn’t be easy when Cimil had given me three very, very weird rules.

One: I could not ask why they’d chosen me. That alone was a monumental sacrifice because the question burned in my gut like a festering ulcer. There had to be a reason. Perhaps something to do with the genetic testing I’d volunteered for when a group of specialists researched my mother’s illness? It was plausible that my information ended up in one of those databases.

Two: I had to let her brother bring up the topic du jour first. He apparently felt very sensitive about the surrogate subject and found it difficult to discuss. She insisted I start out by getting to know him a little and waiting for him to open up.

Then there was demand number three: Under no circumstances could I tell anyone about our arrangement. Doing so would land me in…“a very hot and dark place,” she’d said.

Cuckoo. Cuckoo.

I cleared my throat and rallied my determination to see this meeting through. “So, you live here? All alone?” I asked the beautiful man whose name I still couldn’t recall.

“No. I am here for several weeks on business. My summer home is in Arizona. My winter home is in southern Mexico. I’m a sunshine kind of guy.”

Well that explained the killer tan. But having a summer home in Arizona? Wasn’t that where people usually had winter retreats? He must really like hot weather.

Who cares? Get him to start talking. Ask him something personal. But not too personal…

I bit my lower lip. “Listen. I hope you’re not insulted, but…”

He seemed surprised. Maybe a little suspicious, too. “Yes?”

“What’s your name? Cimil told me, but I can’t remember.”

He tilted his head to one side. “Kinich. Kinich Ahau. My friends call me Nick. You may call me whichever you like.”

Now it was official; I was gaga over everything about this man, even his two names. One was exotic. The other masculine and strong. “Those are…um…nice names.”

He slid back the sleeve of his sweater and glanced at his watch.

Hmm. Was that a hint that he wanted me to leave? Or maybe he had a date later? And was that a Hublot?

Crispy crackers! That watch is a year’s worth of rent. The only reason I knew was because it had been in the news recently, and I’d wondered what sort of man actually bought a watch like that. Well, now I knew. A really, really sexy man who wants a baby. With me…

Listen! You. Are. Here. To listen!

Okay. Now I really meant it; I needed to get out of there. Something about this man struck every irrational, horn-doggy note in my body.

Perhaps if we went somewhere he felt more relaxed he’d get to the meat of the matter. There was a quiet café around the corner.

“Kinich—um—Nick, do you want to go somewhere a little less crowded?”

He blatantly glowered. But why? Why would he be annoyed with me?

Then, as if I’d imagined his initial reaction, I watched his gaze travel from my face down to my toes and back again.

“Yes. I think I’d like that.” His voice was above a whisper, but its depth made my girly parts quiver.

Without warning, he reached out and ran his thumb over my lower lip. “Why don’t we go up to my suite.” It wasn’t a question.

Sweet devil’s food cake. He hit on me?

Me?

For real?

If he had, then I was sooo over my head. One touch, one look, and I was ready to agree to anything he might ask. Dye my hair electric blue? Suuure. Rob a bank armed with a Twinkie? Anyyything you want. Have your baby? Ten of them? You betcha!

Oh, and his scent. It was an olfactory delight. I wanted someone to bottle it and put on my fabric softener sheets so I could wear it.

I dipped my head slowly, meanwhile my mind swam in a lusty fog named Nick—um—Kinich.