Sun God Seeks…Surrogate? Read online

  “Did you say you’re…not doing it? You’re rejecting my offer?” Cimil tilted her head and then glanced at the check in my hand.

  “My eggs and womb aren’t for sale, and I resent you trying to take advantage of my situation. I have no clue how you’re even aware of it! And what kind of person does this? For Christ’s sake, my mother is sick. She could die.”

  She frowned, regarded her feet, and then glared at my face.

  I was a good six inches taller than her, but for some reason, I felt small. She radiated a sort of massive darkness despite her brightly colored clothing (hot-pink evening gown, of course) and flaming red, Cleopatra-style hair.

  She unexpectedly burst out cackling like a madwoman on a mad, mad mission. “You drive a hard bargain, but okay. You can keep the five hundred G’s just for showing up. All you have to do is meet with my brother and hear him out. ’Kay?”

  I was this close to stomping my feet like a three-year-old. “No. The answer is no!”

  “Great! Come back in the morning, and we’ll finish this. But you need to leave now. You can’t be here.”

  Oh. My. God! She’s frigging insane! “No! I said ‘no’!” Stomp. Stomp.

  A rancid expression swept across her face. “No? Nobody ever says no! And…did you stomp your foot at me? That’s my move!”

  I crossed my arms. “It’s mine now, honey.” Stomp. Stomp.

  She closed the gap between us. “You’re supposed to take the offer,” she snarled. “I give you the money. You use it to save your mother and you end up mated.”

  Mated? I moved one step back toward the doorway. “Don’t even think of doing that Vulcan thing on me again! It won’t change anything. I’m. Not. Interested.”

  I shoved the check at her, but she refused to take it.

  “Fine. I’m leaving.” I let it fall to the floor. “And I don’t know why you’ve decided to stalk me—which I’m pretty sure is illegal in most states—but I’m warning you to stay the hell away. I know people.” I really didn’t, but the owners of Carmine’s were Italian. Maybe they knew “people.” Or maybe I could find some “people” on Craigslist.

  I reached for the door, eyeing Cimil cautiously, afraid she might jump on my back and pull out my hair. She seemed like the type who fought dirty.

  I turned and ran straight into a wall. My palms quickly assessed the barrier and discovered it wasn’t brick or plaster but a very firm set of abs cloaked in very fine fabric.

  I snapped up my head, and staring down with a surly expression, was the man who’d turned me into a mindless, sex-starved heap moments earlier.

  Once again, my knees wobbled, and I felt myself tipping over.

  He grumbled something and then grabbed my shoulders to steady me before shifting his gaze to Cimil.

  “Cimiiil?” he said, his voice filled with authority and disapproval.

  “Son of a beach ball!” Stomp. Stomp. “You’re not supposed to be in here!” she barked. “Do you have any idea what I went through to align the events correctly? Out! Out!” Cimil practically knocked me over while attempting to extract the exquisite, irate man from the vicinity.

  He didn’t budge an inch. Instead, he studied me with his intense aquamarine eyes.

  “I think I’ll show our guest to the door.” He grabbed my elbow and pulled me down the hallway toward the foyer. My entire body lit up like a slot machine that had just hit the big one. I could swear beeps and sirens went off, too, but my mind was scrambled from his electrifying touch. One thing I did grasp, however, was the howl of Cimil’s voice as she cussed up a storm, ranting about stars, planets, and all sorts of random garble.

  We were almost to the front door when the man finally released me. “I’m sorry about that,” he said in a deep voice that threatened to undo my equilibrium permanently.

  Like a brainless fool, I simply stared up at him, unable to speak. His eyes were the most amazing swirls of tropical greens and blues. Being near him made me feel like I was on an exotic beach, bathing in the warmth of the sun.

  I sighed.

  “Can you hear me?” He snapped his fingers in front of my nose. “Penelope? That is your name, yes?”

  I realized he was talking to me, but I lacked the cognitive agility to respond verbally, so I bobbed my head instead.

  He narrowed his eyes for a split second. “Good. I suggest you do not return.” He ushered me out the front door. “My sister is not to be trifled with.”

  Huh? Did he just say…I pivoted on my heel as the door slammed shut in my face.

  “You’re her brother?”

  CHAPTER 3

  That night, I tossed and turned for hours, obsessing over the beautiful man.

  Something about him…mesmerized me.

  His full, sensual lips perhaps? I imagined they could do things I’d only read about and kiss in ways I’d only dreamed of. And his size. Did men of such enormity occur naturally? Or were they grown on farms where they were fed raw buffalo and worked out from sunup to sundown?

  Outside. Nude. Sweating.

  I kicked off the blankets. Boy it’s hot in here.

  Why couldn’t I purge him from my brain? Maybe I didn’t want to. What I really wanted was to see him again. In my bed. In the shower. Ironing naked in my living room. Folding my undies—the pretty ones I reserved for special occasions, of course.

  I sighed deeply and rolled over for the fiftieth time.

  I hadn’t had a case of lust this bad since Jimmy Roberts in the 4th grade. He had the coolest BMX bike—Ninja Turtles motif with flag, bell, the works. Jimmy also resembled the blond guy from Saved by the Bell. I followed him around at recess, offered him my cherry Capri Sun every lunch, and had his name written twenty times inside my Care Bears notebook. Oh yeah, I’d had it bad.

  But this…this thing with Cimil’s brother was far worse. I could practically feel my eggs shaving their legs and painting their toenails—hooker red—in preparation to meet him.

  Ugh. Stop it. You don’t even know the man. And Cimil…double ugh! Anyone with a sister that twisted has to be bad news. She screamed “dysfunctional family.”

  I glimpsed at the glowing green numbers of my clock on the nightstand and sighed. In only twenty minutes, it would shriek.

  I rolled onto my other side and continued the mental Ping-Pong match. See him again? Not see him again. See him. Not see him.

  I have to.

  No. If you go back there, you’d be deceiving the poor guy. You’d never have a baby with a stranger. And there’s nothing he or his sister could ever say to change your mind.

  I bet he could say something. Something like, “I will make steamy, steamy love to you with my hard-as-steel, muscled body all night long if you agree to have my baby.”

  I swallowed. Yeah, that actually might do it.

  Really, Pen? I countered myself. Come on. Don’t be ridiculous.

  Bringing a child into the world was a serious matter, and giving it up to strangers was in another league altogether. Not that I knew from personal experience, but anyone who had a heart could figure that one out.

  I suddenly felt a warm, gentle hand on my back.

  “Oh,” I said, “you’re up…” But it wasn’t my mother coming to see if I’d woken up yet. It was…

  Shit! Cimil’s brother.

  I sat up so fast I almost head butted him. “Christ! What are you doing here?”

  It was still dark outside, but since I’d left my curtains partially open, my room glowed with a faint silver hue from the streetlamps outside.

  He reached out and swept the hair from my forehead. “That doesn’t matter. But it is important you listen to me.” His deep voice washed over me like a calming tropical wave.

  I was about to say something. It was…

  I’d already forgotten.

  His hand cupped my cheek, and when he stared into my eyes, the expression on his divinely handsome face was unreadable. Warmth. Suspicion. Acceptance and determination.

  Me sooo conf
used. I sighed inwardly while my mind floated in a pool of dopey bliss.

  “Penelope, please focus,” he said affectionately.

  I nodded dumbly. “Okay,” I whispered.

  Why can’t I think straight?

  “Good,” he said. “Because you’re not thinking this through properly. Not everything in life is a question of absolutes, love.”

  He called me “love.” I liked the sound of that.

  “Not an absolute?” I asked.

  He traced his finger along my jaw. “No. This is why you must keep an open mind. This is why you must come to see me.”

  “See you. Uh-huh,” I responded, my mind feeling rich with a hormone-induced fog.

  He leaned forward and pressed his lips to mine. A soul-shattering surge of elation rocketed through my body. I wanted him with every cell in my body, every molecule of oxygen in my blood, and every beat of my heart. I never wanted to be without him, his touch, or the sweet, rich, exotic scent of him that filled my lungs.

  “Ah. Now you’re catching on.” He made a deep hearty chuckle.

  The screech of my alarm clock pierced my ears and jolted me to life like a defibrillator. I blinked and found myself face up on the floor next to my bed.

  I clenched my fist over my chest as the adrenaline fueled my palpitating heart. “Son of a beach ball,” I said in a breathy voice. “What the hell was that?”

  Oh great. Now I’m talking like that crazy lady.

  “Are you all right, Penelope?”

  The thin silhouette of my mom in her pajamas appeared in the doorway.

  “Must’ve fallen out of bed,” I replied.

  She flipped on the light, causing me to wince.

  “Oh, Penelope,” she sighed. “You look like you haven’t slept in days. I told you, no more double shifts.”

  I smiled. “I’ll sleep when I’m dead.”

  She didn’t laugh at that.

  “Sorry.” I rolled over and crawled back into bed, flopping facedown. “I have a lot on my mind.”

  “You know, baby,”—the bed sank when she deposited herself next to me—“I’ve been meaning to talk to you about all this. About me.”

  I flipped onto my back.

  My mom’s frizzy blond braid and bloodshot hazel eyes broadcasted her exhaustion, and her posture—sagging shoulders and head hung low—reeked of surrender.

  Well, maybe she’d given up. But I hadn’t. Not yet.

  “Penelope, I can’t keep letting you sacrifice your life for me. I’m your mother. I’m supposed to take care of you. Not the other way around, sweetie.”

  I mumbled a few angry words and got up to collect my clothes for the day. I knew what speech was coming next: her back-up plan. I’d heard it fifty times, and I’d rejected it fifty different ways. She had a cousin, a holistic healer in California, who’d offered to take her in and treat her. Although the probability of success would be extremely low, it was fine by me. But she didn’t want me to go with her, and that was ridiculous. She insisted I stay in New York and move on with my life: apply for financial aid, finish school, get a boyfriend…live. What she really meant was she planned to wither away, out of sight from me.

  I stared at her face. Despite the hollow cheeks and dark shadows under her eyes, she still held a youthful appearance with barely a wrinkle. In perfect health she could pass for my sister. She was beautiful and strong and I loved her with all my heart, which is why I blurted out, “I got the money. A private grant.”

  Her eyes filled with tears. “But, how?”

  “It’s one of these trust fund charities. Sorry I didn’t say anything last night when I found out, but you were asleep. Didn’t want to wake you.”

  She hugged me with as much energy as her weak body could muster. “I love you, Penelope. You truly are an angel.” She pulled away. “I almost forgot! It’s your birthday. Now we have two things to celebrate.”

  Ugh. I hated celebrating my birthday. It was one of my many quirks. Something about getting older made me feel…old. And now that I had to see Cimil again, I felt even less like celebrating.

  She left the room and returned with a small box. “I hope you like it.”

  “Oh my God, how did you find the energy to buy me something?” Sometimes it truly is the thought that counts.

  I unwrapped the shiny red paper covering the box. Inside was a small silver ring with tiny black cabochons.

  “Do you like it? I got it from an antique shop. The woman said it would bring you good luck.”

  It was lovely. “I’ll wear it forever.”

  CHAPTER 4

  At a quarter to nine that same morning, I found myself pacing the sidewalk across from Cimil’s house with giant spoon in hand, ready to chow down on a heaping helping of crow. My mother’s health was well worth a few kicks to the ego, but I still needed to go in with a game plan.

  I’d agreed to listen. Just…listen. Five hundred thousand dollars.

  I blew out a quick breath and watched the steam billow from my lips. The air outside had to be in the teens, but it could have been one hundred and eight for all I knew; my body, riddled with adrenaline, felt like it was on fire. Maybe because I felt like an animal about to be caged.

  Yes, here’s the yummy carrot, bunny. Jump! Jump!

  No. You agreed to listen, to consider their proposal in exchange for a boatload of money your mother desperately needs. Nothing more. There is no obligation to share your eggs.

  Not that my eggs would mind. Little traitors. They were already creating decoupage memorial plates in her brother’s honor.

  In any case, the chances of Cimil saying anything to convince me were slim to…never, ever, ever. I mean, who in their right mind would consider this sort of scheme, aside from those weird people who show up on the cover of the National Enquirer between articles entitled I Was Carjacked by a Yeti and Aliens Are Living in My Shampoo Bottle.

  I took a quick sip of my extra-strong coffee taking comfort in its fortifying bitterness.

  See. You could never say yes to Cimil. You’d have to quit coffee if you had a baby.

  I stared at my constant companion for the last year. Coffee and I had done things. Been places. My bud. I ran my finger lovingly down the side of the paper cup. No, I could never give you up.

  But that dream…You can’t deny that there’s a subliminal somethin’-somethin’ going on.

  My mind quickly replayed the imaginary conversation. What did it mean?

  Not everything is a battle of absolutes…

  Were they somewhere in between? Areas of gray?

  What’s your gray, Penelope?

  I bit my lower lip and took a sip of my rapidly cooling coffee.

  “You know, Penelope,” said a deep male voice to my side, startling me from my personal force majeure. “Sometimes it’s best to treat fate like a Band-Aid.”

  The man who’d answered the door the evening before stood next to me. Only this time he wore a black turtleneck (not a baby) and a full-length leather jacket.

  His breath was thick as smoke when he said, “I am Andrus.”

  He held out his leather-clad hand, and I immediately wondered if the gloves were meant to mask the creepy bite marks rather than shield his fingers from the formidable cold. He didn’t seem like the kind of man who got chilly.

  He gave me the once over while we shook hands. “You’re going to catch a cold standing out here in that,” he pointed out.

  I’d worn my jeans and faux–fur lined boots with a white sweater. My parka was tied around my waist. “Not really the high nail on my list of worries.”

  He nodded and then shifted his gaze toward the front door of Cimil’s house. “Take it from me, life never turns out as one expects, but the sooner you let go of what should be, the sooner you’ll see the forest through the trees.”

  “Great,” I said, “just what I needed…life lessons brought to you by the bumper sticker.”

  He laughed at that.

  “Who is she?” I asked.

/>   He smirked and rubbed his black stubble-covered jaw. “She’s someone extremely powerful. And someone who knows what you need even before you do.”

  Well, la-di-da! Didn’t that make it all better?

  “And what exactly did you need?” I asked, wondering why anyone would choose to have someone like Cimil in their life.

  He scratched his sprouting beard again. “To heal a piece of me that was broken long ago.”

  “How’s that workin’ out for ya?”

  He smiled, a bright glowing, heartfelt smile. “Well. Really, really well.”

  “Sorry, buddy. Not drinking the Kool-Aid.”

  “Kool-Aid?” he asked.

  “Never min…” I turned to fully face him. It was then that I noticed his eyes were an inconceivable amalgamation of light blues and greens, almost iridescent.

  Just like Cimil and her brother.

  I swallowed my shiver. Something about these people felt…different. Very, very different. “I’m not in Kansas anymore, am I, Andrus?”

  “No, Dorothy. You are not.”

  CHAPTER 5

  “What do you mean, ‘He’s not coming’?” I said. “I came to hear him out, just like you asked.”

  Cimil sat at her desk, flipping through the pages of the same thick book she’d been reading the night before. “You will meet with him tonight before you say yes or no. That is my one condition to your keeping half the money.”

  “Fine.” That would be easy enough. And, I had to admit, the part of me that craved to see him again was hula hooping.

  Her finger carefully skimmed a page and then stopped on a word. “There’s more. How could I forget?” Her head snapped up.

  Here come the strings. I knew it! Would she ask me to ride a pink pogo stick to this meeting? Perhaps I needed to be escorted by clowns. Clothed, of course.

  “Yes?” I replied.

  “I’ve got something for you.” She reached to her side and began fishing through a drawer. “Oh pickle. Where is it?” She pulled out a Slinky, a Taser, a pack of Bubblicious gum, and a pink Troll—the kind you put over a pencil eraser. “Ah! Here it is.” She plunked down a large three-ring binder, labeled “Handbook.” “You must read this before tonight.”