Too bad it wasn't today, Whit decided when Field breezed into the room, looking golf-tanned and prosperous, his hair silver sleek, his expression royally p.i.s.sed off.

When his father shoved his hands into his pockets and strolled toward the desk, Whit braced for the usual weekly lecture. "You've screwed up, son."

Hadn't he heard that before? "Good Monday morning to you, too, Dad. What did I supposedly screw up this time?"

"Barclay told me last week you only incorporated three conference rooms into the design instead of four. That kind of mistake is unacceptable."

Whit clung tightly to his anger but kept it secreted away for the moment. "Actually, old man Barclay changed his mind after the initial design was complete. And I fixed it while you were off on your little weekend getaway with the new wife." Whit's new stepmother, Rebecca, who was all of six years Whit's senior.

Whit enjoyed these moments the most, when Field Manning knew he'd been bested. But as always, his father recovered quickly in order to get in another dig. Today it came in record time.

"You look like h.e.l.l, Whit. Obviously you've been spending a lot of time bed-hopping. That's a distraction you can't afford, especially during this particular project."

Whit held back the string of curse words clamoring to climb out of his mouth. "You know something, Dad. What I do in my off time is none of your business. But for your information, I'm not involved with anyone right now. If that changes, rest a.s.sured you'll be the last to know."

Field's jaw went as rigid as his frame. "I'm glad you're not involved with anyone. You're not ready to settle down."

Whit shoved aside the latest issue of an architectural magazine and clamped his hands together on the desk. "You're right, I'm not ready to settle down. Considering the example I've had, I may never be ready."

Anger flashed in Field's dark eyes, the only true sign of his slipping composure. "I'm not even going to justify that with a response. I had valid reasons for ending my marriages. I just happened to spare you the dirty details."

"Details as in your need to keep a tight rein on everyone in your life and if they dare challenge you, they' re history?"

"Believe what you will, Whit, but at least I've had relationships that lasted longer than a few weeks."

In other words, it wasn't Field Manning's fault. It never was. Whit made an exaggerated show of checking his watch before turning his attention back to his father. "Anything else you'd like to criticize, Dad? I've got a full schedule today. But I could mark off a few hours for you tomorrow. You might want to bring a complete list of my shortcomings."

"Sarcasm is unbecoming, Whit."

"You taught me that, too."

Field stared at him for a long moment. "Maybe I have made my share of mistakes, but I deserve more respect considering everything I've done for you since your mother left."

You owe me, echoed in Whit's mind, even if those hadn't been his father's exact words. He scrubbed a hand over his jaw. "Yeah, Dad, I know what you've done for me. You remind me often enough. But it seems to me that's what you do for your kids, help them out. And you shouldn't expect someone to bleed in return."

"I don't expect you to bleed. I do expect you to be grateful for what you have. And it would be nice if you'd grow up."

With a palpable arrogance, Field strode out of the room and closed the door behind him with more force than necessary. Whit contemplated his father's words for a few moments and then came to a surprising conclusion. He could be responsible and he had the prime opportunity to prove it-both to himself and to his hypercritical father. He could be a better father, and in turn, a better man.

He would give Mallory the baby she wanted and, by doing so, rise above Field Manning's continuous condemnation. He would stick around to help raise his child, unlike his own mother. And he planned to enjoy every moment, making the whole process pleasurable for both him and Mallory. That consideration might be the only thing that would get him through this G.o.dforsaken day.

Mallory was on edge, starving and exhausted. To make matters worse, she had a gorgeous, seminaked man in her kitchen. His kitchen, she conceded. But did he have to drop in wearing only a skimpy black towel draped low on his narrow hips? Odd thing was, she'd seen him in a towel before, but at the time she hadn't been planning to be impregnated by him. That alone made her curious about certain aspects, namely what he had lurking beneath that towel. Just the thought made her feel as if she had warm, male fingers drifting up and down her body. Maybe there was hope for her hibernating libido yet.

To provide some distraction, she lifted the lid on the pan and stirred the array of mixed vegetables. Distraction was short-lived when a very masculine hand came to rest on her shoulder and the very male specimen pressed against her back. "Smells good," Whit said.

So did he, Mallory thought, only he smelled like summer-fresh soap. He radiated heat like a hot summer sidewalk. She replaced the lid but didn't dare turn around. "It's carrots and peas and potatoes."

"What's in the oven?"

"Halibut."

He stepped away from her, providing some relief from the heat. "You know I hate any kind of seafood."

Mallory turned and folded her arms across her chest. "You told me you haven't eaten it since you were in grade school. I think it's time you give it another shot."

"Why?"

She opted for a fractional truth. "Because it's good for you." If she knew what was good for her-which she didn't-she'd stop staring at the tuft of hair centered in the middle of his chest. Stop staring at the indentation of his navel peeking out from the low-slung towel. Stop her gaze from going any lower, which, of course, she didn't.

"What's this?"Mallory glanced up to see Whit holding a slip of paper. d.a.m.n her wandering eyes. If she hadn't beengawking at his manly attributes, Whit wouldn't have found her little list. When she tried to grab it out ofhis clutches, he raised it above his head. Mallory was taller than most women, but Whit was taller than many men. And he was stronger and quicker, something she realized when he clasped both her wrists inone large hand and held the paper up to read it.His grin arrived slowly. "'Deciding Your Baby's Gender the Old Fashioned Way?'"When he loosened his grip, Mallory took advantage and yanked the page from his hand. "It's just a few tips," she said as she folded the paper into a small square and shoved it into her jeans' pocket.

"Something I found interesting."

He leaned a hip against the counter and deepened his grin. "You found it on the Internet."

Mallory turned back to the stove and stirred the veggies that didn't need stirring. "Yes, I did. Do you have a problem with that?"

"Not a problem, but I am surprised."She afforded him a quick glance. "Why? It's good to be prepared.""I agree, and I expected you to find some kind of how-to guide because that's in line with your personality. But relying on old wives' tales? That shocks the h.e.l.l out of me. And honestly, I don't believe

any of it."

"As I've said before, sometimes the old ways are the best ways. And you might as well face it, you don't know everything about me."

"But I plan to."

That drew her attention to his face, particularly his trademark grin. "A girl has to have some secrets, Whit."

"And a guy has ways of uncovering them, one by one."

A shiver scanned the length of Mallory's spine. "You wish."

"I know."

Greatly needing a subject change, Mallory told him, "Speaking of making babies, go look on my bed. I

bought something for you today.""If it's performance enhancers, I don't need them."Mallory considered that she might need them when coming up against Whit Manning's talents. "I bought you some boxers."

His smile withered into a scowl. "I prefer briefs."

"It's only temporary. You can go back to wearing whatever you like after...you know."He inched closer to her side. "After we procreate?""Yes.""Mind if I ask why this is necessary?"Mallory shrugged. "Supposedly it's best if you're somewhat unenc.u.mbered.""What if I just wear nothing at all?" He grinned again. "You know what they say, if you love them, set them free."

Mallory laughed but it ended abruptly when his hand went to the knot on the towel. "Don't you dare!"

"Why not? I could just walk around the house naked and unenc.u.mbered."

A really nice idea, Mallory decided, before jerking herself back into reality. "Not a good idea, Whit." At

least not yet.

He folded his arms across his chest, enhancing the bulk of his biceps. "Does this have something to do

with that list?"

"Yes."

"Wearing boxers helps determine the s.e.x of a baby?"

"That's what they say."

"They being who?"

"The people who came up with the list."

He rubbed his chin. "Just one more question. You hoping for a boy or a girl?"

"Actually, a girl."

"What if I want a son?"

That macho att.i.tude didn't surprise Mallory a bit. "You have a fifty-fifty chance."

He pointed at her pocket. "Aren't you stacking the odds against my choice by using those tips?"

She smiled. "I thought you didn't believe in them."

"I don't, but I'd prefer not to take any chances, just in case."

Mallory decided to use the one thing men always seemed to relate to-the act itself. "I get to be on top."

"Guess we'll have a girl then."

They exchanged a brief smile before the moment turned rife with tension. The kind of tension that came

with the tug and pull of desire. Mallory saw it in Whit's dark eyes-a powerful, dangerous kind of desire.

He took her hand and rubbed her knuckles over his shadowed jaw. "After dinner, are you interested in priming the pump?"

She forced her eyes to remain on his face, focusing on the single strand of damp hair falling across his forehead. "My pump or yours?"

"Both."

Avoiding Whit's continued perusal, Mallory pulled out of his grasp and turned back to the stove. "Go try on your boxers and I'll put dinner on the table. I thought we would eat out on the verandah since it's such a nice night."

He patted her bottom and she jumped like a freaked-out frog. "You do that."