CHAPTER 4

WHILE WAITING ON SPEAKMAN’S WIFE TO JOIN THEM, GRIFF had been studying the globe. Suspended within a polished brass stand, it was as large as a beach ball and made of semiprecious gems. It was quite a trinket. He speculated you could buy a damn good car for what it cost.

Funny how having money, or not, changed your perspective. Recalling the rarely used, superfluous items in his Toy Box, he couldn’t think too badly of Speakman for having a fancy globe he could well afford.

Griff turned toward the library doors when he heard them open. He expected to get his first look at Mrs. Speakman, but instead the stolid Manuelo came in.

He went straight to Speakman and extended a small silver tray. On it were a prescription bottle of tablets and a glass of water. Speakman took a pill, washing it down with three sips of water. They had a brief conversation in Spanish, then Speakman said to Griff, “While Manuelo is here, can he get you anything?”

Griff shook his head.

Speakman looked up at the Central American and dismissed him with a soft “Nada más. Gracias.”

Manuelo and Mrs. Speakman met in the open doorway. He stepped aside so she could come into the room, then he left, pulling the double doors closed behind him. But Griff was no longer interested in Manuelo. He was focused on Mrs. Speakman. Laura, her name was.

She didn’t give off crazy vibes. In fact, she seemed perfectly composed and in control of her faculties. She didn’t look toward Griff, although he created a sizable silhouette even in a large room like this one. Instead, she crossed to where her husband sat in his wheelchair. She placed her hand on his shoulder, leaned down, and kissed his cheek.

When they pulled apart, Speakman said, “Laura, this is Griff Burkett.”

Since she had ignored him up till now, he was surprised when she walked toward him, right hand extended. “Mr. Burkett. How do you do?” He met her halfway, and they shook hands. Like her husband’s, her handshake was dry and firm. A businesswoman’s handshake.

Griff limited his greeting to a simple “Hi.”

She dropped his hand but maintained eye contact. “Thank you for coming. Didn’t you get released just this morning?”

“We’ve been over that,” Speakman said, humor in his voice.

“Oh, sorry. I would ask you about the long drive, but I rather imagine that topic has been exhausted, too.”

“It has,” Griff said.

“Small talk sounds even smaller in this particular situation, doesn’t it?”

He wasn’t going to touch that with a ten-foot pole.

She said, “I’m sure you were offered something to drink.”

“I was. I’m fine.”

“If you change your mind, let me know.”

They might have been missing critical marbles, but their manners remained intact.

“Please sit down, Mr. Burkett.” She took the chair nearest her husband’s wheelchair.

Griff hadn’t had time to speculate on what Foster Speakman’s missus would be like, but if he had to define his initial reaction, it would be surprise. There was nothing in her handshake or straightforward gaze that could be interpreted as nervous, flirtatious, or coy. Nor did she seem embarrassed by the topic they now had in common. He could have been there to talk about cleaning their carpets.

She didn’t act submissive or browbeaten, either, like this was something her husband had cooked up for his own gratification and she had agreed to go along with it under duress.

Hell, he didn’t know what he had expected, but whatever it was, Laura Speakman wasn’t it.

She was wearing a pair of black slacks and a white shirt, sleeveless, with pleats-he thought that was what they were called-stitched in rows down the front. Like a tuxedo shirt. Low-heeled black shoes. A serviceable wristwatch, a plain wedding band. Some of the players on the football team had worn diamonds in their ears much bigger and flashier than the ones in hers.

Her hair was dark and cut short. Sort of…swirly. He figured it would curl if it were worn longer. She was on the tallish side of average, slender, and, judging by her bare biceps, fit. Tennis maybe. A couple of times a week, she probably did yoga or Pilates, one of those women’s workouts for toning and flexibility.

He tried to keep from staring, tried to avoid looking at the features of her face too closely, although his overall impression was that if he had spotted her in a crowd, he probably would have done a double take. She wasn’t a babe, not like the kind of silicone-fortified Dallas dolly who used to hang out in the nightclubs frequented by him and his teammates, single or not. But Laura Speakman wasn’t homely. Not by any stretch.

And another thing, she looked healthy enough to have a baby. Young enough, too, if she didn’t waste time. Mid-thirties, maybe. Around his age.

He felt awkward, standing there in the center of the room, the two of them looking at him as though waiting for him to entertain them.

“Mr. Burkett? Griff?” Speakman nodded toward the chair facing them.

He’d told himself that the first chance he got, he was going to say “Thanks, but no thanks” and bolt. But he felt compelled to stay. Hell if he knew why.

Well, there was the six hundred grand. The figure had a nice ring to it that was pretty damn compelling.

He walked over to the chair and sat down. Looking directly at Laura Speakman, he said, “Your husband told me you’re all for this. Is that true?”

“Yes.”

No hesitation. Not even a blink. “Okay. But, excuse me for saying, it’s…”

“Unorthodox?”

“I was going to say it’s freaking nuts. A guy asking another guy, paying another guy, to sleep with his wife.”

“Not sleep with, Mr. Burkett. Not in the context that implies. Impregnate. As for the freakiness of it, it’s not unprecedented. In fact, it’s scriptural. Genesis. Remember?”

In the household where Griff had grown up, there’d been no Bible. When he went to school and learned the Pledge of Allegiance, he was shocked to hear that it had the cussword God in it. He soon realized that God wasn’t always used in combination with damn.

In any case, it came as shocking news to him that anything like this was in the Bible.

“We want a baby very badly, Mr. Burkett,” she said.

“There are other ways to get pregnant.”

“There are, yes. Our reasons for doing it this way are personal and shouldn’t concern you.”

“They do.”

“They shouldn’t,” she repeated.

“We, uh, do our thing, I go home and sleep with a clear conscience. Is that it?”

“That’s what it amounts to, yes.”

He looked at her, wondering how she could speak so calmly about the two of them getting it on, when her husband was sitting right there holding her hand. Griff looked from her to Speakman, and the man seemed to read his mind.

“Before you joined us, Laura, Griff suggested that…well, that I would be observing the two of you while you perform.”

She’d been looking at her husband as he explained. Several seconds passed before she turned her gaze back to Griff, and he took exception to her affronted frown. “Hey, don’t look at me like I’m the pervert here.”

“You think this is perverted?”

“What do you call it?”

“Would you think it was perverted if we were asking you to donate a kidney? Or give blood?”

He laughed. “There’s a big difference. To donate a kidney you don’t have to…touch,” he said, quickly substituting the word he’d been about to say. “You never even have to meet.”

“Unfortunately, the reproductive physiology is such that touching is necessary.”

The hell it was. He didn’t have to plant the seed personally to yield the crop. But he’d already argued that point with her husband. Speakman was determined for her to conceive naturally. She didn’t seem to have an ethical or moral problem with it, so why was he making an issue of it? Mentally shrugging, he reached a decision: They wanted him to fuck her, he could fuck her. It wasn’t like she had three eyes or something.