He blinked and shook his head. “Nothing. I just…when you called me honey, I—”
“Oh.” She clenched the oven mitt in her fist. Arielle had probably called him that. Damn. “Sorry. It’s a waitressing habit. I didn’t mean to remind you of…”
“No, you didn’t. She never called me that.”
“Never?”
He shook his head. “She thought those little pet names were too common. I wasn’t supposed to use them for her, either.”
“Now that you mention it, I never did hear stuff like that when you talked to each other. Maybe that’s why I thought—” She stopped and felt the heat rise to her cheeks.
“Thought what?”
“Never mind.”
“No, I’d like to know.”
She shrugged. “I got the impression that your relationship with each other wasn’t very physical, that’s all. And I’m sure I was wrong, and I’m really sure we shouldn’t be talking about it.”
“It wasn’t very physical.”
She took a step back. “Morgan, I think it would be a whole lot better if we dropped this subject.”
He gazed into her eyes. “Yeah, maybe you’re right.”
“I’m sorry I called you that and started you thinking along those lines. I’ll try to remember not to do it again.”
“But that’s the thing.” He glanced at the deck of cards in his hand and began to shuffle with those supple fingers of his. Then he looked at her, his eyes soft and warm. “I liked it.”
Oh, no. They were headed down that slippery slope again. She swallowed. “You know what? I haven’t done my exercises yet today. While the cake cools I think I’ll go upstairs and do some stretching. We can finish the card game when I’m done.”
He put the cards down and sighed. “Don’t run away. Please. I’m the one who has to watch what I say and how I say it. It’s just that you’re so damned appealing, and I find myself reacting to you as a man.”
“A vulnerable man.” He’d said she was damned appealing. She liked the sound of that. She still had to be careful, of course, but it was comforting to know that he found her damned appealing. “You’re under a lot of stress.”
“So are you. You’re pretty vulnerable yourself.” He looked at her with great tenderness. “And before you take exception to that, I don’t mean because you’re young. I’ll admit that when I came here I expected to spend my time consoling someone who was little more than a kid. I was wrong. You’ve been the one consoling me, for the most part.” His gaze traveled over her. “And I’m well aware you’re no kid.”
Heat washed over her. “You’re not helping, Morgan. I thought you were going to watch what you said.”
“I am. I promise.” He gestured toward the chair opposite him. “Come on. We haven’t settled the championship of the world yet.”
She approached the table. “You do know that the cozy cottage in the Hudson Valley is a bad idea, right?”
Awareness of her flickered in his dark eyes. “Yeah, I know. You’d hate the snow.”
“Right.” She sat down and won the hand in no time flat. She had the definite impression that Morgan was no longer concentrating on the game.
HE SHOULD BE missing Arielle, Morgan told himself as he lay sleeplessly on Mary Jane’s couch a couple of hours later. Instead he missed Mary Jane, who was upstairs in her bed. They hadn’t been this far apart in the past twenty-four hours, and he felt bereft.
What a weakling he’d become. He should be on his way to New York instead of playing house with her. And that’s exactly what this felt like, playing house. He hadn’t realized how much he’d hungered for the homey activities of shopping for groceries, fixing lunch, going out in search of a blasted cake and then baking one of their own. The scent of chocolate still hung in the air.
He turned over, trying to get comfortable on the too-short couch. In hopes that it would help him sleep, he’d taken a hot shower while she’d cleaned up the dishes from the baking project. But showering in Mary Jane’s bathroom had only succeeded in making him think of Mary Jane naked, which hadn’t relaxed him for sleep, that was for sure. So he lay here in his new underwear and fought his sexual frustration.
Staring into the darkness, he was determined to think of something besides making love to Mary Jane. A night-light burned in the half bath, sending enough illumination so he wouldn’t bump into the furniture if he had to get up during the night. He could see the Toy Story video on the coffee table, ready to be returned to the rental place tomorrow. He wanted to rent another crazy movie, buy another pizza and do the whole evening over again.
Who would have guessed he’d come to Austin and find something he hadn’t known he was missing? Arielle had set the tone of their marriage from the beginning. She’d picked out and decorated the apartment, and he’d let her have free rein. After all, she’d majored in fine arts, and everyone had said she had beautiful taste. As a result, the apartment was a showplace.
Exactly. It was for show, not for living—a gallery for her art collection, a place to bring business acquaintances for cocktails, a spot to house an answering machine so they could keep track of each other, an address for the people who delivered a few groceries, although most of their meals were eaten out. In six years of living there he’d never felt as relaxed as he had sitting on Mary Jane’s floor eating a pizza.
Yet he’d been proud of his beautiful, elegant wife. The setting she’d created had suited her, and he’d seen the admiration in the eyes of other men who had obviously envied him. That had been a heady feeling, but he was beginning to wonder if that’s all the marriage had been about—showing off.
One thing was for sure, a baby wouldn’t have fit into that environment very well. Maybe his determination to have at least one child had come from a need to shove something warm and unpredictable into that cold, changeless setting. That wasn’t a very good reason for bringing a new human being into the world. If the parents of one of his small patients had admitted such a thing, he would have been horrified.
Whatever his misguided reasons for pushing the idea, he’d succeeded in helping create a baby girl. If he was the only one to deal with the consequences, that would be one thing. But he’d totally altered Mary Jane’s existence by bringing her into this. And he was pretty sure it had been his idea, although Arielle had gone along with his suggestion to ask Mary Jane. As a doctor he’d pledged to do no harm, yet all pregnancies carried some risk. He felt sick with dread whenever he considered the potential danger Mary Jane faced when the hour of birth came.
He’d invaded her life five months ago, and he was doing it again now. She’d be all right without him, at least until the delivery. He’d kidded himself that she needed him, both to get over the shock of Arielle’s death and for support during the pregnancy. She didn’t. He was the needy one around here.
His neediness might be the very thing that attracted her, because she was a caring person. Besides, there was a perfectly logical reason for her interest in him. Pregnant women often had an increased sexual appetite. Mary Jane had decided not to date, and he was happy about that, but the decision left her with no partner to help ease her frustration.
Fortunately both of them had been able to keep their senses today, but she had the whole day off tomorrow, too. The longer they stayed constantly in each other’s company, the greater the danger they’d forget themselves.
He really should get on an airplane tomorrow, no matter if this cheerful, chocolate-scented house felt like a safe harbor. The longer he stayed here, the more trouble he was liable to bring down on Mary Jane’s head. She had friends who would look out for her.
As he considered that, he realized he’d like to meet her friends and assure himself that she’d have a good support system when he went back to New York. Okay, that would be a good project for the next day and would break up this cozy twosome that threatened to become too cozy. He’d ask her if he could meet some of her friends.
Closing his eyes, he breathed in the ch
ocolate fragrance and vowed to go to sleep. He didn’t think he had, but he was definitely out when a sharp cry of agony woke him.
He threw back the blanket and leaped up so quickly he banged his shin on the coffee table. The pain didn’t even make him pause as he took the stairs two at a time. Images of an emotional trauma causing Mary Jane to miscarry drove him frantically up the stairs. Before he reached the top, the light flicked on in her bedroom.
Dashing through the doorway, he found her sitting up in bed surrounded by about a million stuffed animals, her face white and her eyes wide. “What is it?” he asked, gasping for breath. “Are you hurting?”
“Oh, Morgan.” She began to tremble and held out her arms.
He crossed quickly to the bed, shoved furry creatures aside and climbed in, gathering her close. She grabbed him around his waist and held on for dear life. His heart thundered with fear. If the shock of all this had caused something to go wrong, and she was going to lose the baby, he didn’t know if he could live through it.
She whimpered and clutched him tighter.
“Just tell me what’s wrong,” he coaxed, rubbing her back. “Are you having cramps?” Please, dear God, not cramps.
It seemed like an eternity before she finally spoke, and her voice was high-pitched and young, so very young. “I dreamed…of the crash.” She shuddered. “Oh, Morgan, it was so horrible.”
His stomach twisted with a new kind of pain. He hoped she hadn’t imagined anything close to the reality. The police had taken him to the scene just as they’d finally extricated Arielle’s lifeless body from the wreckage. Morgan would carry that picture for the rest of his life, but he didn’t want Mary Jane to envision it.
But of course she had. She’d worked so hard to be brave, to comfort him when he fell apart. She’d done a fine job of being strong until she was alone in the dark. He held her close and murmured reassurances while he continued to rub her back.
She had on a different sleep outfit tonight, a scoop-necked shirt and boxers made of some incredibly soft flannel. He hadn’t had much of a chance to notice, but he vaguely remembered seeing Winnie-the-Pooh on the front of the shirt before she’d plastered herself against him. Her hair smelled like flowers and chocolate. He resisted the urge to bury his nose in it.
Gradually her trembling eased, but she didn’t let go of him. “I should have known this would happen,” she murmured. “I have this habit of pretending everything’s fine during the day, and then at night, wham! All the scary stuff hits.”
“Even when you have all your friends in bed with you?”
She sighed. “There goes my reputation as a grown-up, huh?”
“I have to admit that sitting there in the middle of all those stuffed animals, you looked about twelve.” And he was trying to keep that image firmly in his mind. Now that her fear was subsiding and he knew she wasn’t having contractions, he had time to think about other things, like her breasts, warm and cushiony against his chest. And the womanly scent of her, completely at odds with stuffed animals and Pooh sleep shirts.
He could feel her heartbeat. That steady rhythm was keeping his baby alive. A rush of emotion swamped his objectivity, and he wanted…everything.
“I keep my stuffed animals tucked away in the closet unless something really bad happens,” she said. “Then I bring them all into the bed. And this is my cuddliest set of PJs. I wear them whenever I’m feeling sad. I was hoping the PJs and the animals would work. I thought they were working, because I went to sleep. But then…” She quivered again.
She still slept with stuffed animals, he told himself. She’d only been out of high school four years. For all he knew, she chewed bubble gum and loved MTV. And he wanted to make love to her more than he’d ever wanted to make love to any woman in his life.
“Can I get you something?” he asked. “Maybe some warm tea, or—”
“No.” Her hold relaxed, but she didn’t let go. “What I need is probably not a good idea.”
His heartbeat kicked into overdrive. She was going to ask him to make love to her. And he would have to find the strength to refuse.
She kept her cheek pressed tight against his T-shirt and didn’t look at him. “I want you to stay with me for the rest of the night,” she said. “I want you to hold me.”
“And?” He was trembling.
“And that’s all,” she said. “I realize that might be very difficult for you, and I do understand that we shouldn’t become lovers. Believe me, after that nightmare, sex is the last thing on my mind. I just can’t make it through the night without someone here. Maybe by tomorrow night I’ll be okay.”
The way he saw it, he had no choice. Stress wasn’t good for her and it definitely wasn’t good for the baby. She needed her rest, and if sleeping in his arms would give her that rest, then he would provide that comfort.
Somehow.
CHAPTER SEVEN
FOR THE SECOND NIGHT in a row, Mary Jane went to sleep in Morgan’s arms. The nightmare that still flashed through her mind had totaled any hot feelings she might have had under the circumstances, which seemed weird. As much as she’d lusted for him earlier, all she wanted at the moment was a strong, warm body to protect her from her bad dreams. She’d heard that if you were in enough pain, normally addictive painkillers wouldn’t become habit-forming. Maybe that was why she could sleep tucked in close to Morgan without wanting to get sexual.
She couldn’t speak for him, however. If he was suffering because of the situation, he hadn’t let her know. He’d turned out the light, lain down next to her and cradled her gently against his chest. He hadn’t suggested moving the rest of the stuffed animals. Gradually a feeling of peace settled over her, and she slept.
Light was peeking through the slats of her bedroom blinds when she awoke. This second morning was easier to face than the first one had been, although she had to go through the same painful process of remembering about Arielle. But now she had a whole day of Morgan memories to cushion the horror of that fact.
During the night she’d turned in his arms so that they lay spoon fashion, her back against his chest. His hand rested against her belly, and the gesture seemed perfectly right. If she scooted backward a few inches she’d know whether Morgan, like many men, had an erection first thing in the morning.
But the nightmare had lost its power during the night. As her body heated at the thought of Morgan having an erection, she decided scooting backward wouldn’t be a very good plan.
She lay quietly, enjoying the weight of his arm around her, his steady breathing, the warmth of his hand over the rounded place where she was growing his baby. She had something of Arielle inside her, but she also had something of Morgan. Being close to him like this was perfectly natural, considering that she carried his child. She couldn’t imagine how a woman could agree to have a child for total strangers, although she knew it happened.
At the moment, the baby in question was causing fluttery feelings in her stomach. Mini moves, she called them, because no one but the baby and Mary Jane would even know anything was going on. The little twitches had begun a few weeks ago, and she was used to them.
The sweet baby girl did her delicate, girly thing, making Mary Jane smile. And then the baby hauled off and gave her a kick. A kick! Mary Jane gasped and instinctively put her hand over Morgan’s.
He came instantly awake. “What? A pain?”
“No! She kicked me! Like she was going for a soccer ball! Feel!” She lifted his hand to shove the waistband of her boxers out of the way. “There she goes again!” She held his hand tight against her tummy, and the baby landed another kick. “Feel that? She’s jammin’!”
“Oh…my…God.” He flattened his hand, pressing gently. “There! She did it again! I felt it!”
“You go, girl,” Mary Jane whispered as a feeling of awe surged through her.
“This is amazing. Completely amazing.”
“Yeah. She’s really real now.” Mary Jane felt all sorts of warm fuzzies for this li
ttle kidlet. “It’s almost like she’s announcing herself.”
“It sure is. There she goes again! Wow. I think we have a future gymnast on our hands!”
We. There was no we in this equation. Mary Jane’s excitement faded. Finally she sighed, and the bubble of joy she’d carried inside went with it. “Yes, maybe you do,” she said quietly.
He didn’t say anything for a long time, although he didn’t move his hand, and the baby kept kicking. “I can’t imagine this baby without you being there, too,” he said at last. He rubbed his hand across her belly. “Damn it, this is your baby, too, Mary Jane.”
If she knew what was good for her, she’d discontinue this discussion and get out of bed, get away from his touch. All he had to do was move his hand down a little and he’d be in the danger zone—for both of them. “Not technically. You contributed the sperm and Arielle contributed the egg. I’m only the—”
“Most essential part,” he finished. His voice grew husky. “Without you there would be…nothing.” He caressed the curve of her stomach. “Nothing,” he whispered, his breath warm against her ear.
She needed to get out of this bed right now. If she didn’t, she knew what was going to happen. She could hear it in the tempo of his breathing as he stroked her round belly. Ah, but she needed something to happen. He had the power to heal this hurt, at least for a little while.
If she allowed it, though, there would be hell to pay. She needed to get out of this bed. He’d thank her later for having the strength to stop him from…
Too late. He murmured her name and slid his hand beneath the elastic.
She moaned softly as he slipped his fingers through her moist curls, his touch gentle and sure. If he’d doubted whether he’d be welcomed, he knew the truth as she parted her thighs in invitation. Her breath caught as he pushed his fingers inside. Oh, yes. She needed this. Nothing fancy. Just…right there.
He stroked her as if he knew all there was to know about how she wanted to be touched. He had great hands. So great. Oh, Lord. He’d reduced her to putty, and she was embarrassingly close to…
Her Best Friend's Baby Page 8
