Morgan's Child (19 page)

"Mine," he said again, and then he kissed Kate, a long deep kiss that hinted at much, much more.

"We shouldn't be doing this," Kate said firmly, pulling away.

"Why?" he said, grabbing her arm.

"Because—because—" she said, and he saw the struggle written on her face.

It was all the encouragement he needed.

"Come back here," he commanded, and he kissed her again.

And even as the kiss made her feel awestruck and giddy and eager to explore all the possibilities of it, Kate froze. Something was happening. Something odd. It felt like a rubber band tightening around her hips and across her abdomen.

"Morgan," she said, twisting her head away. "Morgan!"

He tried to fold her into his arms, but she stepped backward, an alarmed expression on her face.

"What is it?" he said.

"A contraction. I'm having a contraction!" Kate said.

* * *

They sat on the old creaking swing on the front porch of the hunting lodge, Kate gazing stubbornly at the distant trees. Her legs stuck out in front of her as straight as two hockey sticks, and one of Morgan's hands rested lightly on her abdomen.

"The book says—" he began.

"Where'd you get a book?" she asked sharply.

"My assistant sent it on the ferry a few days ago."

"Let's hope it's the only thing that's delivered on the ferry," Kate said darkly.

"Anyway, the book says that these Braxton-Hicks contractions occur at regular intervals and are just practice for the real thing," he said.

"A few days ago you seemed to know nothing about birthing babies. Now you think you're an authority." Kate was not unduly alarmed about the contractions. There had only been three more since the first one, and they hadn't come at regular intervals. Morgan had timed them.

"I'm not an authority," Morgan said. "But I did manage to read the whole book. It covers the complete process, all the way through postpartum depression."

"How about
pre
partum depression? Does it say anything about that?"

He couldn't see the expression in her eyes because they were shaded from the moonlight by heavy vines climbing up the poles supporting the porch's roof.

"Sometimes I wish I'd never come to see you back in April," she said in a low tone. "It only complicated things."

"What else could you have done?" he asked. He reached for her hand; her fingers were clenched. Slowly he massaged her wrist until the fingers uncurled one by one. He caressed each one in turn before lifting her hand to his lips. Then he kissed the soft tender inside of her wrist, the palm of her hand and the tip of her thumb. She didn't pull away.

He slid his other arm around her shoulders. "I'm glad you sought me out," he said softly in the vicinity of her ear. "I'm glad I know you."

She made a small negative sound and started to put a respectable distance between them, but the motion of the swing and her own awkwardness prevented her from moving.

"Don't," he said.

"I can't, anyway," she said in a muffled tone.

He pressed his cheek against hers and was stunned to feel the dampness there. He leaned away.

"You're crying," he said.

"You noticed," she answered.

"I wish you wouldn't make sarcastic remarks," he said fiercely. "Don't you know I care about you? That it matters to me what happens to you?"

"Sometimes I get so tired of being pregnant," she whispered.

He kissed the damp places on her cheeks. "If it's any consolation to you, nature will take care of that pretty soon."

"Talk about remarks," she said. She sniffed, and he dug a handkerchief out of his pocket.

"Here," he said.

"Always a clean handkerchief. Always the gentleman," she said, twisting the damp handkerchief between her fingers. She no longer had a lap; her hands rested on top of her stomach.

"Not always the gentleman," he said. "In fact, I have a suggestion that may not seem at all gentlemanly." He was glad for the darkness now. He didn't want her to see how apprehensive he was, or how uncertain about the wisdom of all this, or how much he wanted her.

"You're going to ask if I'll sleep with you," she said, surprising him again.

"I wish you weren't so perceptive," he said, his hopes plummeting at the tone of her voice.

She was quiet for a long time.

"Well?" he said. "What do you think?"

"I can't imagine it," she said. "I can't imagine that you
want
to. I'm
pregnant,
Morgan."

He couldn't help chuckling under his breath. "It so happens," he said, lazily trailing a string of kisses along the side of her neck, "that I am hopelessly attracted to you, pregnant or not pregnant, and that I want to sleep beside you until I know the contours of your body by heart."

"Why? They change week by week," she pointed out.

"To reach over to your side of the bed and touch some part of your anatomy and to know immediately what part it is because it's so familiar to me. To make love to you, Kate. Over and over again."

"I can't believe you're saying these things to me," she said in a small, little-girl voice, which may have been meant as a defense but made her seem more vulnerable than she had ever been, and when she was vulnerable, she was even more desirable to him because her prickly side wasn't even slightly in evidence.

He rested his hand on the high round mound of her belly again, caressed the contours before tentatively touching her breast. A shudder ran through her, and he reminded himself that he must be gentle, he must take care, because he didn't want to do anything to hurt her or the baby. Then she was kissing him, hungrily parting his lips with her tongue, and her mouth blossomed beneath his.

Her lips were soft and yielding, and she lifted trembling hands to cup his face between them, and then she trailed gentle fingers down his neck to his shoulders and pulled him close. His own fingers spread wide across her breast, feeling its warmth and firmness. She pulled his head down to her breasts and he buried his face in their warmth, breathing the sweet secret smell of her, her lips against his hair.

Kate fell back against the cushions of the swing, shivering it on its chains, and he put out a foot to steady them. Slowly he unbuttoned the bodice of her dress and parted the layers of fabric. In the darkness her breasts shone white as marble, their contours ripe and the nipples swollen and dark.

He curved his hands around her breasts, a picture of Kate in her white nightgown springing into his mind. Her breasts had swung when she walked. He lifted one to his mouth and tentatively touched the moist tip of his tongue to her skin.

She inhaled sharply. Beneath his seeking fingers he felt her heartbeat accelerate. She moved restlessly so that the swing shifted again.

"If we're going to do this, we should do it right. We should go inside," Morgan said.

"Is that what the book says?" she asked, but she was teasing.

"The book says that making love is good exercise during pregnancy," he said, his fingers tracing light circles around her nipples.

She laughed uneasily and shrugged away his hands before wrapping her dress around her. "Are you making that up?" she asked.

He stood and pulled her along with him. She was almost as tall as he was, and he liked being able to look directly into her eyes.

"You can read it yourself," he said seriously, though it seemed ludicrous to talk about reading a book at a time when his skin was alive with the longing to be touched.

"I'd better," she said.

She sounded flippant, but he knew otherwise. He reached out to touch her, but she turned swiftly and walked into the house. When she was gone, the intimacy of her aroma lingered on, bittersweet in his nostrils. He fell back onto the swing, telling himself to slow down and reminding himself that, with Kate, he couldn't move too fast. In fact, perhaps it would be better if he didn't move at all.

But that wasn't what Kate wanted, he was sure of it. And it wasn't what he wanted, either. He wanted everything—to feel, taste and breathe Kate, to rise and fall to the rhythm of her exploding heartbeat, to shudder in her arms and to feel her grow weak in his.

He waited outside, pondering the problem, and he didn't go in until long after the light in her bedroom winked off.

Chapter 10

The next day they rode the ferry to Preacher's Inlet in uneasy silence, neither of them sure what to say or how to say it. Kate was nervous about how to introduce Morgan to Dr. Thomas and fretted about it as they walked up the street after disembarking from the ferry.

"Just introduce me as a friend if it makes you feel better," Morgan said.

"He'll figure out that you're more than a friend," Kate replied, keeping her eyes on the road.

Morgan looked impatient. "That's okay, too. Why don't we level with him? I'm the baby's father. Your doctor knows that your pregnancy resulted from the implantation of an embryo."

"He wasn't onboard with the notion from the start." Kate sighed. "At least that was my impression."

"Kate, don't walk so fast," he said as they approached the building on the highway where the doctor's office was located. When they reached the palmetto tree beside the parking lot, he stopped her.

She tried to shake his hand away, but he held her until she was forced to look at him.

"Maybe we should talk about last night before we go in there," he began.

"I don't want to think about it now," she said, twisting away.

"Nevertheless, it happened. I want to make love to you, Kate. Hell, I think I'm
in
love with you," he said.

"You don't mean that. You're only trying to find a quick fix for this situation," she said, but her eyes never left his.

He exhaled a long sigh of exasperation. "The time we've spent together has been good for me. For once I'm not thinking of myself, I'm thinking of other people—you and the baby. I've changed for the better since I've known you. I've grown. I never wanted this baby, Kate, but now that it's a reality, I can't wait to be a father.

"I'm not sure I know what love is—maybe I've never known. But if it's putting others first, if it's wanting to make a difference in their lives, if it's feeling happy when I think about someone, then I love you," he said. The speech was too long, but it was effective. Kate's eyes widened and she didn't move.

"If—if we don't hurry, we'll be late for my appointment," she said, and he followed her the remaining distance to the doctor's office, satisfied that if he hadn't convinced her, he had at least rattled her composure.

* * *

"You've never looked healthier," Dr. Alan Thomas told Kate as she sat across the desk from him. He eyed her sharply. "How do you feel?"

"Mentally or physically?" Kate asked. He and his wife Gloria were long-time friends of her father, and Kate knew he took a serious interest in her and her pregnancy.

"Both, and if you ask me which is most important, I can't tell you." Her doctor got up and paced the floor, making sweeping gestures as was his wont. Kate had always thought that he looked like a caricature of a stork but never more so than now.

"I've seen mothers in perfect physical condition—
perfect,
mind you—whose mental attitude goes so
low—"
here he dropped his voice to emphasize the word "—that it drags the physical condition down with it." He shot her a sharp look. "You're not getting depressed, now, are you, Kate?"

"Not exactly," she hedged. All in one breath she told him about the problems with the contract and how Morgan would not be allowed to adopt his own child unless he married.

He became very grave and resumed his pacing, muttering something to himself and finally wheeling on her. "No wonder you feel worried. Crazy thing all the way around, the whole idea. What to do?" He threw his arms out in exasperation and stopped with his hands on his hips, his neck outstretched toward Kate in quivering indignation.

Kate gazed down at her hands twisted together, stung by his words. He seemed to think better of them and said, "Well, you're going to have a fine healthy baby. That should be a consolation."