Baby On The Way (9 page)

“And you’re pretty irritable. You should have eaten more.”

She bristled, hunching her shoulders under his hands in annoyance. “I
^did
eat. I just haven’t been very hungry lately.”

He kept rubbing rhythmically until she relaxed again, her tension easing. “I know you haven’t been hungry,” he said. “Which is why you might consider
taking two prenatal vitamins-like the doctor suggested-instead of only one.”

Libby glowered at the fire. She hated those horse pills. They made her gag, they were so big. She opened her mouth to tell him so and he added, “For the baby’s sake.”

She subsided. “Okay,” she said grudgingly. He knew that she’d do anything for the baby.

Silence fell between them, broken only by the crackling of the burning pine logs. Del continued the massage. As his warm hands stroked her skin, drugging relaxation seeped through Libby. Her insides felt as if they were melting, but her nipples tightened into aching peaks. She stared into the fire, her eyes drooping half-shut.

He gave her a little push, silently urging her to lie down. Libby obliged, curling on her side with an arm beneath the pillow under her head. He shifted position, lifting her foot into his lap. His thumbs firmly stroked the pad of her foot through her sock. Warmth from the touch of his hands on her sole seemed to travel up to her thighs. When had he taken off her shoe? she wondered.

She shifted, planning to ask him, when a yawn caught her by surprise. She patted her mouth, saying, “Oh, pardon me.”

“I noticed you’ve been pretty tired lately,” he commented. “Maybe you should consider taking a nap in the afternoons.”

Libby frowned. She didn’t like to sleep in the daytime; she never had. She started to tell him so, when he added, “For the baby’s sake.”

His thumb stroking the arch of her foot felt so good.
Libby decided not to argue. “Okay,” she mumbled, “for the baby’s sake.”

The fire glowed warmly on her face and stomach. Del’s strong, warm fingers dug into her calves, chasing away the tightness there. She blinked lazily at the fire. It was getting harder and harder to keep her eyes open.

“Libby.”

“Hmm?”

“I’ve noticed you’ve been tense lately. I can hear you pacing at all hours.”

His thumbs softly rubbed the sensitive skin behind her knees, and Libby stirred, his touch causing a corresponding tingling achiness between her legs. He started on the back of her thighs, pushing aside the hem of her jumper to stroke her bare skin. Libby sighed. She hadn’t realized how much she ached there. She didn’t want him to stop. The firm circular motion was turning her muscles into mush. His hands moved higher.

He added, “The books I’ve been reading say a wholesome physical relationship is the best cure for stress.”

“Um-hmm…” His hands felt so good on the top of her thighs. She stirred again. Unconsciously parting her legs a little, she shut her eyes, concentrating on the melting sensation his touch invoked.

“So I think we should make love…for the baby’s sake.” His hands moved higher. He massaged her buttocks.

“Okay.” She moaned. “For the—” Her head jerked up. She glanced swiftly around.
“What
did you say?”

H
is hand still rested on her bottom. Suddenly becoming aware of that fact, Libby scooted out of reach,

picking up a pillow to hold in front of her.

He watched her calmly. “You heard what I said.”

She clutched her pillow tighter. “I don’t want to make love.”

“Why not?”

“Why not?” She stared at him. “It’s obvious why not.”

“Not to me, it isn’t.” Reaching out, he took her hand in his, gently toying with her fingers. “So tell me.”

“Because, ah.” The reasons were obvious-so much so that she couldn’t remember them for a moment. She was distracted by the feel of his thumb, rubbing her wrist in small delicate circles. Was it the candlelight that softened his expression so? If only he’d stop staring at her with that tender yet intent look in his eyes. “What was the question again?” she asked vaguely.

The tenderness crept into the small smile he gave her. “I asked why you don’t want to make love,” he repeated patiently.

Libby blinked. “Oh, that’s right. Well, because I’m pregnant for one thing.”

“So? Pregnant women make love all the time. The doctor even told you it was okay.”

“But think about what happened the last time.”

His grip on her hand tightened. “I am thinking about it.”

The hungry note in his voice caused Libby to think about it, too. Heat burned under her skin from her breasts to her cheeks. “I’m
talking
about the fact that I got pregnant.”

“Which is something we certainly don’t need to be concerned with
this
time.”

She said weakly, “It wouldn’t be right…”

“I’d make it right.”

The hard certainty in his tone made the muscles in her stomach clench. Her fingers tightened on his. He would make it right—like he’d done the first time when he’d lured, demanded and cajoled her body into responding to his. By the end of their lovemaking, she’d been limp with satisfied exhaustion.

A woman couldn’t ask for a more caring and experienced lover—during the limited time he’d be around.

“No,” she choked out and yanked her hand out of his.

She headed almost blindly toward the door, only to be brought up short by his firm, “Wait!”

She hesitated instinctively at the command in his voice, then watched him uncertainly as he strode over to the light switch on the wall. He flicked it up and the lights in the hall and parlor blazed on.

Libby’s eyes widened. “I thought we had another power outage!”

“Nope, just a loose bulb in the chandelier.”

Her hands fisted at her sides. “You tricked me!”

He shook his head. “I never said the power was out. You just assumed it.”

“Neglecting to say something can be as big a lie as telling an untruth.”

He lifted an eyebrow. “I agree.especially in view of what you haven’t said.”

She didn’t want to ask the question-something in his expression told Libby she’d regret it—but she couldn’t stop herself. “What do you mean?” she demanded

His eyes held hers. “I mean in your entire list of reasons why we shouldn’t make love, never once did you say that you didn’t want me.”

Libby fled up the stairs.

Three hours later, lying alone in the darkness, Libby finally admitted the truth: Del was right. She wanted him.

A light rain pattered outside. She turned over, trying to find a comfortable position in the big bed. Her sheets felt hot and wrinkled, the covers too heavy. Her skin felt sensitized and she rubbed her wrist, as if the feel of Del’s callused fingertips lingered there.

It didn’t make sense to be so physically attracted to him. Logically, she knew he wasn’t the safe, steady man she should want. But her body didn’t seem to be reacting to logic, but rather to the memory of how it had felt to make love with him the last time, to have
his hands and lips moving gently over her, leading her to a soaring ecstasy she’d never known even existed.

She moaned. Rolling onto her side, she yanked her pillow from beneath her head and hugged it to her, trying to relieve the sexual pressure peaking her nipples and causing a melting readiness between her thighs. Darn him for reminding her how it had felt to make love. Darn him for showing her that he remembered, too.

Because now she couldn’t forget. She felt restless and tense, filled with the same urgent desire that had driven her into his arms and bed eight months ago.

Sitting up, she gave her pillow a few good whacks, then lay down on it again. He made it sound oh-soeasy. Make love—relieve the itch—and then continue on as if nothing had happened.

She flopped over onto her other side. It just wasn’t possiblem…

Her eyes popped open. She stilled, staring wide-eyed into the darkness. Or was it?

She sat up, absently rubbing the satin edge of the blanket between her finger and thumb as she considered the question. It wasn’t as if she was the naive little fool she’d been before, after all. She knew his job came first with him; she knew that wouldn’t change. But so what? She had plans of her own about the kind of man she wanted and needed for the longterm. She couldn’t get hurt this time because emotionally she was completely over him. All she needed was to overcome this physical craving, too.

She frowned. But maybe she’d been going about this thing all wrong. Instead of keeping him at a distance, maybe what she needed was a good dose of Del.
Maybe she should take him—just once more—as kind of a lovemaking inoculation shot Not enough to make her lovesick again, just enough to make her immune.

As he’d pointed out, she was already pregnant—that wouldn’t change. The doctor had said sexual relations were okay; the pregnancy books even encouraged intimacy, saying it was a good method of alleviating stress—and heaven knew, she felt stressed.

So what was stopping her?

She shoved her blanket aside. She’d do it. She’d make love with Del, yet maintain complete control, curing her desire for him once and for all. This time she’d simply refuse to let any emotional nonsense confuse her.

Kicking away the rumpled covers, she started to step out of the bed. Her toes had barely brushed the rose-colored rug when she paused, doubts overtaking her again. She placed a hand on the round ball of her belly. Who was she kidding? Did she really think she had the nerve to waddle into Del’s room, eight months’ pregnant, and ask him to make love with her? Never mind that he seemed to want her, too. He didn’t know how much her body had changed under this prim white nightgown.

She sighed. She just couldn’t do it. She sat there forlornly, her legs still dangling. Suddenly a small furry body with tiny claws scampered over her foot.

Libby’s scream was long, piercing and instinctive. She leapt to the center of the bed. By the time Del pounded his way up the stairs and burst into her room, she was still standing there, clamping her nightgown around her thighs as she alternately covered one bare foot with the other.

“Watch out!” she shrieked, and Del whirled around, muscles tensed and fists up in an automatic fighting stance, ready to take on the unseen opponent hiding in the darkened room.

“No—over there!” she called.

He spun again, biting out, “Where? I can’t see him.”

“I think he ran under the bed.”

About to lunge in that direction, Del paused.
“Ran
under the bed? What the hell am I fighting?”

“A mouse.”

He stood frozen a moment before the tension eased from his muscles and his fists dropped. He ran a hand through his hair. “Good God, you scared the sh—dickens out of me.”

“Well, he scared me,” Libby said defensively, still standing with one raised foot tucked behind the other, like a disheveled stork. “I can’t sleep in here with him running around.”

“So sleep somewhere else.”

It sounded reasonable. The only trouble was, Libby had developed a distinct aversion to stepping on the floor. Finally, after several attempts to get her down had resulted in no more than a series of squeaks and continued foot hopping, Del literally took matters into his own hands and bundled her into his arms.

He was wearing only boxers, and the smooth skin of his chest and shoulders felt warm against her. Startled, but too relieved to protest, she threw an arm around his strong neck as they began walking. “Wait!” she cried suddenly when they’d made it halfway to the door. “My pillow. The mouse might try to nest in it or something.”

Del obediently turned back to the bed, bending with a slight grunt to enable her to pick up her pillow.

“And the baby’s clothes,” she remembered when they were on their way again. She lunged forward to try to scoop them off the dresser, causing Del to stagger slightly at the unexpected shift in weight.
“And—rd;

“That’s it,” he said firmly, heading out the door. “It’s a mouse, for God’s sake, not a rabid wolverine. It’s not going to destroy everything in sight.” He managed to hit the hall light switch with his shoulder. Light flooded the hallway and he started down the stairs, maneuvering his bulky burden around the landing corner, swearing when his elbow hit the railing. Libby’s death grip tightened around his neck. He choked out, “Can you lower the pillow? I can’t see.”

“Oh. Sorry.” Libby’s grip eased and she tried to get down.

But he didn’t want to let her go. She was cuddly and warm in his arms, and her sweet-smelling hair brushed his cheek. Del held her tighter and quickened his pace.

Automatically, her arm curved behind his neck again. He strode down the hall, saying to distract her from his destination, “I didn’t know you were afraid of mice.”

“I didn’t, either,” she admitted. “But I’ve never had one run across my foot like that before.”

He walked into his bedroom. “I’ll trap it tomorrow.”

“Oh, don’t,” she said anxiously, gazing up into his
face. “I don’t want you to kill it—just relocate it somewhere.”

“Like a government witness, huh?” he said dryly. “Fine. I’ll try to catch it and relocate it in the woods. But until then, you’ll be safest right here.” He lowered her onto his bed. “Under my…protection.”

L
ibby lay back against the pillows. The sheets were still warm from his body. Trembling with nervous anticipation she pulled the covers up to her chin. “I don’t think we should do this.”

Moonlight filtered in through the window, gleaming off Del’s smooth muscles as he stripped off his boxers and climbed in beside her. “I definitely think we should.”

Libby could see the hungry desire etched on his face as he lay, propped on his elbow, looking down at her. She swallowed nervously and his gaze fastened on her mouth.

He bent, his lips slowly closing over hers as he enveloped her in his warm embrace. Libby’s eyes fluttered shut. Del was such a good kisser. He tasted like coffee and mint toothpaste. He kissed her lightly at first, seeming to savor the taste of her, too. Then his tongue engaged hers in a teasing battle that quickly turned serious. He kissed her deeply, demandingly, until nothing existed except his hungry mouth.

Libby felt dizzy with an exhilarating breathlessness. Her muscles tensed in anticipation while her insides seemed to melt into liquid warmth. She wanted this—
she wanted him. But when he reached for the first button on the neckline of her prim nightgown, her hand covered his, stopping him from unfastening it.

His fingers stilled. He lifted his head to study her worried expression in the shadowy darkness. “What is it, Libby,” he whispered. “Don’t you want me?”

“It isn’t that…” How she wished it were that simple.

“What, then?” he coaxed. He pressed a kiss against her temple.

“It’s just…” He met her gaze. She couldn’t hold his intent stare. Her eyes shied away. “I don’t look the same.”

He lifted his hand and gently tilted her chin up to meet his gaze once again. He regarded her solemnly. “These big brown eyes look the same,” he said softly, dropping a kiss on her fluttering lashes. “And this nose—” another kiss landed there “—is just as cute as ever.”

His gaze lingered on her mouth. His voice thickened. “These lips don’t taste any different.” He pressed several kisses there, until her lips were swollen and moist, her chest rising and falling with her quickened breaths.

Still kissing her, his hand trailed down to her breasts. Barely lifting his mouth from hers, he murmured, “Now
these
feel very different.” He carefully cupped a swollen globe, weighing it in his hand. He smiled against her lips. “But it’s not a difference any red-blooded American male is likely to complain about.”

He palmed her puckered nipple and Libby moaned with almost aching pleasure. He smiled again. “You
still like that, do you, sweetheart?” he murmured. Bending his head, he dropped a kiss on each peak through the thin cotton.

His hand glided lower over her belly, delicately molding the firm roundness. Through the gown, his finger circled her belly button—once an “innie,” now an “outie.” “This is different, too—much, much different. But this—” his hand moved lower, sliding beneath her gown to nestle in the curls between her legs “—this feels very familiar.”

Libby closed her eyes, writhing a little at the restless yearning growing with his teasing touch. This time when he tugged her nightgown slowly upward, she didn’t resist, but raised her arms to help him.

He tossed the gown to the floor. She lay there beneath his gaze, achingly aroused, achingly vulnerable. His face tautened. “Oh, Libby—” He reached up to cover her breast. “How beautiful you are.”

She wasn’t beautiful, but she felt so under his eyes and hands. He gently kneaded her swollen flesh, brushing his thumb firmly across one taut nipple. She gave a little cry, his touch sending lightning stabs of pleasure along her nerves, increasing the liquid warmth between her thighs. As if he knew, his hand moved there.

Her fingers dug into the hard muscles of his arms to push him away—to draw him closer. She remembered the sharpening need, the rising crest of desirebut had his touch been so tender before? So confidently sure of how to wring the tiny gasps of satisfaction from her lips?

His warm breath flowed across her cheek as he
breathed, “Do you like this, Libby? Am I hurting you at all?”

“No,” she moaned, but she
was
hurting because she had to hold back; she couldn’t get lost in his arms again. His hand swept along the sensitive curve of her bottom, and she clenched her fingers in the sheets to keep from stroking him, too—to keep from becoming absorbed in the salty taste and musky scent of his skin. She fought to ignore the huskily murmured endearments that he groaned into her neck.

“Oh, sweetie, you feel so good, so soft. So tight.”

She moaned again as he explored deeper, her senses spiraling higher and higher. In an urgency of need, she tugged mindlessly at his shoulders, trying to urge him over her, but he rolled onto his back instead, carrying her with him. He gripped her buttocks in his big hands. “Come on top of me, love,” he coaxed, “so I don’t hurt you.”

She did, climbing on him to ride the tightening spiral of desire, his rocking body carrying her upward until the darkness burst behind her eyes in a shower of stars. She cried out. He did, too.

Libby’s body felt weightless, floating down from the heights. For just a little while afterward, she savored the feeling as she lay cradled in Del’s arms, listening to the beat of his heart beneath her cheek. Then she carefully moved out of his hold to lay down on her side, facing away from him.

He immediately curved his body around hers, pulling her back until her bottom rested against his lap. His hairy, muscular leg bracketed her smooth one. His big hand splayed on her belly. This time Libby waited
until his deep even breathing told her he’d fallen asleep, before she eased away from his touch again.

She shivered as she moved to a cool spot on the sheets, resisting the urge to snuggle close to his warmth again. She’d done it, she told herself, ignoring the tears that burned behind her eyes. She hadn’t run her fingers through his hair, or traced the contours of his strong back or muscular buttocks. If a tiny part of her had wanted to cling a bit tighter, soar just a little higher, she’d managed to prevent it, to stay in control.

There would be no repercussions this time. No way that she’d get caught.