Sun God Seeks…Surrogate? (Accidentally Yours #3)(14)
Author: Mimi Jean Pamfiloff

I had the distinct feeling my entire body was about to shatter into a million pieces. “The one she said you wanted to have with…me?” I gulped.

His eyes moved to the black stone pendant around my neck. “Son of a bitch! I’ll bloody kill her!”

“Wait!” I screamed. “Where are you going?”

“To wring Cimil’s neck!”

Holy shit. Had this dream just turned into my worst nightmare? “Are you telling me you didn’t know anything about this? Or the one million dollars?”

Shirtless, he swiveled to face me. An intense heat exuded from his direction. Was it my imagination?

“One. Million. Dollars?” he growled.

“Yes! How can you not know about this? I get five hundred thousand for showing up. The other if we actually have a baby.” I slapped my hands over my mouth. “Oh God. That came out all wrong.”

“She paid you to sleep with me?” His roar rattled the windows.

I adjusted the towel, making it tighter around my body. “First of all, you and I aren’t sure we actually did the deed, but it wasn’t like that.” I reached for him, but he pushed my hand away. “Hey!”

He took two steps toward me and leaned down, putting us nose to nose. “Then, like what?” he snarled.

Was this really happening? And where did he get off snarling at me? At me!

“I agreed to hear you out, but not sleep with you. Christ!” I snarled back.

“You set me up! Admit it!”

“Oh my God! You actually think I had something to do with this? How can you say that? She came to me! She told me she was helping you. There was never any talk about sex. Ever!”

“Then why the hell did you come up here?”

“I told you…To listen to you. That was all! I agreed to keep an open mind.”

“No! You came here to obtain my seed,” his voice reverberated in my ears.

Oh my God! What a barbaric jerk! And what kind of man calls his se**n his “seed.” What a frigging ego! I stood in front of him, refusing to let his size intimidate me. “I came up here because…I thought you would be more comfortable talking somewhere private.”

His unblinking stare called my bluff.

“Okay! I admit I wanted you! Are you saying you didn’t want me back? ’Cause it sure the hell felt like it!”

“I—I…” he blinked. “I would have used precautions.”

At least he threw me that bone.

“Well, we don’t even know if we…you know,” I mumbled.

He narrowed his eyes again.

“Okay,” I admitted, “odds are slim we didn’t go to Lambada Land considering how we woke up, but we really don’t know—”

“Drop the act,” he scolded, and then reached for a neatly folded navy blue sweater in his dresser drawer.

I held the white towel to my chest, wishing to God I had on a suit of armor to protect me from this painful conversation. Or had at least used a condom last night—if we’d even done it. Not that I was afraid of getting any diseases; that Welcome Handbook Cimil had absurdly given me yesterday morning included her brother’s latest blood work and physical results. It was almost as odd as the list of Dos and Don’ts:

DO NOT ever open the door for anyone who refuses to identify himself or herself.—Hello. I’m from New York City. How naïve do you think I am?

If you smell the stench of rotting animals, DON’T walk the other way…RUN!—Okay, that is just weird.

DO tell Cimil how fabulous she looks when you see her.

DON’T hide behind garbage dumpsters…

The bizarre and useless list went on and on. But at the very least, the stupid handbook gave me the assurance that Nick was disease free. Now, if only it had told me…

What the HELL is going on!?

He pulled the sweater over his head. “You’re obviously a part of Cimil’s absurd scheme,” he grumbled. “And she paid you, no less.”

My blood officially boiled then. He’d insulted me in every way possible, short of calling me a whore.

No, actually, I think he just did!

I felt my face turn a shameful shade of red. That made me even more livid. I wanted to throw something at him. Something big, heavy, maybe even sharp. Oh yeah.

I threw the only thing I had: the towel. “You and your crazy sister can go to hell!”

Nick’s body froze, and his eyes locked on my br**sts. Before I could regret my decision to throw—yes, of all things—a soft, fluffy towel to demonstrate my anger, he had crossed the room and pulled me into his body. He dipped his head but held his lips one centimeter away from mine. I wasn’t sure if I should be afraid or extremely turned on.

He huffed in frustration, released me, and grumbled at the pendant.

The last thing I heard was Kinich slamming the front door behind him.

I tore the necklace off and threw it. “Take it! I don’t want your stupid necklace!”

CHAPTER 8

Two Weeks Later

What a difference a few weeks and a substantial amount of money can have on someone’s life. Mine, for example, had changed in ways I thought only possible in dreams. My mother had left the previous day for Sweden to begin her treatment. I’d quit my horrible backbreaking job, and taken a position as a karate instructor at our neighborhood martial arts academy. I’d missed the deadline for the spring semester at NYU weeks ago, but planned to apply for a third time and start in the fall.

For the first time in years, it seemed my life was looking up. Except that I couldn’t forget my night with Kinich, nor could I remember it—a thought that preoccupied me every second of each day. Even when I slept I dreamed about the man, especially his smell—like a tropical beach filled with fresh, clean ocean air, coconuts, and exotic plants. He smelled like sunshine.

Then there was his body. I couldn’t stop fantasizing about the hard lines of his golden skin or the sound of his voice as he groaned my name. I repeatedly saw images of his fierce eyes boring into me as he pushed himself deep inside my body.

But that was a dream, not a memory.

Wasn’t it?

For as many hours as I’d racked my brain, trying to remember any smidgen of detail from those missing hours, I came up woefully short. The only evidence of my conduct had been my slightly sore body, but not sore in places one would expect after having a wild night with a man as well-endowed as Nick—umm—Kinich. Still can’t decide. But could it be possible that we’d simply had a wild, kinky make-out session with heavy petting, and then passed out?