Sun God Seeks...surrogate? by Mimi Jean Pamfiloff Read Free Book Online

forced smile shaped his lips. “Care to sit?” He stood and held out his hand to offer me his seat.
    His large…strong…manly hand. Sigh…
    “Thanks.”
    “You look…nice,” he commented in slow, hypnotically deep voice.
    Trying to ignore the sensuality embedded in his timbre, I flashed another polite smile and slipped past him. His gaze slid down my body, all the way to my black heels, and then swept up over my bare back as I lowered myself onto his barstool.
    I lifted my chin a little higher then; he’d taken a detailed inventory.
    “What would you like to drink?” he asked, wedging himself sideways in the space between me and the man next to us talking to his date.
    The warmth of his touch made my insides light up and spin like disco ball, but I played it cool. “I’ll have a double, extra-dirty vodka martini.”
    He raised one brow.
    Well, jeez. I’m not pregnant.
    Yet.
    Oh stop that!
    But we want him! We want him! My tiny eggs cheered in unison.
    It was then that I noticed how his dark, tailored pants and gray sweater displayed every masculine bulge of his insanely ripped body. To be clear, he wasn’t overbuilt like those artificially enhanced TV wrestlers who spend every waking moment pumping iron. No. This man was all hard, lean muscle, more like a champion stallion or a jaguar. Raw power draped in fine, expensive fabric. Speaking of, where did a man of his girth and stature find clothes? Well, whoever was responsible for clothing him should be shot; he looked too perfect.
    But he’d get cold if no one sold him clothes.
    I’d warm him up.
    Just like he was doing to me. He was so darn tall that from a sitting position, I was at eye level with his nipples. No, I couldn’t see them, but I knew they were there. Did they want to meet me as much as I wanted to meet them?
    I cleared my throat. “I like a good stiff nipple”— gasp!— “I mean… drink! I like a stiff drink every once in a while, but I’m not a big drinker if that worries you.”
    Ignoring my mental blip, he leaned over and planted his elbows on the bar. “And why would that worry me?”
    Okay. Because I’m sure you don’t want the mother of your child to be a lush.
    Pen! You’re not on a job interview…
    “I don’t want people getting the wrong impression, that’s all,” I clarified.
    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 gay! Dammit. No!
    It all started to make sense. He was beyond gorgeous. He was also well dressed and wealthy.
    Yep. Totally gay. 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