by Leanne Banks
Martina felt as if she'd been punched by the look of determination on his face. Her heart hammered against her rib cage. "You want to marry me because I'm carrying your…" She broke off, refusing to use the words that sent her into a spin every time. "Because the baby I'm carrying has some of your genes. You don't want to marry me because you love me. You don't want me to come live with you because you can't live without me."
His eyes flashed with anger. "It would be tough finding that out now. When you left, you didn't give either of us much choice."
Her chest tightened. "I was just a fling for you."
"Martina, you are not fling material." His nostrils flared slightly and he narrowed his eyes. "Was it so easy to leave?"
His words echoed inside her, sending her perspective in circles. She had survived the past seven months by believing that what she and Noah had shared was a fling. She'd chanted it to herself day and night. "One of us had to do it. It had to be done."
"Why?"
Martina fought the jittery feeling spreading throughout her. She stood and tossed her napkin into the trash. "Because of our families. One of us had to stop it before we got in too deep."
She felt Noah behind her. "Did you succeed? Did you stop before we got in too deep?"
His question taunted her heart while his breath teased the back of her neck. She closed her eyes and mentally put her brick wall back in place. She turned and lifted her chin. "I think the general consensus is that I didn't get out unscathed," she said, putting her hand on her abdomen. "You said something about a little treat? Is it a brownie?"
He tilted his head to one side and shook it. "No." He waved his hand toward the chair. "Have a seat."
Curious, she sat and guessed again. "Cookies?"
He shook his head.
"Not cake or pie?"
He laughed. "No more food this time." He knelt beside her, and shock and alarm crowded her throat.
"Oh, no," she said. "You're not going to ask—"
"—for your hand," he finished. "No. I'm asking for your foot."
She frowned. "My foot?"
He slipped her sandal off her foot before she could say, You are nuts.
"If you won't trust me with your hand, will you trust me with your foot?"
"As long as it doesn't involve any weapons."
"Just one," he said, pulling a bottle of nail polish from his pocket. "But it won't hurt."
* * *
Chapter 4
«^»
"Are you crazy?"
Noah held fast to Martina's foot as she tried to pull it back. "Not at all. You were crying over the fact that you couldn't reach your toes. What's a former lover good for if he won't paint your toenails every now and then?"
Martina gasped, her eyes wide with shock, her mouth moving, but nothing coming out.
It was a nice change, Noah thought. He liked her off balance. There was something incredibly sexy about the color in her cheeks, the spark in her blue eyes and the tremble of her full mouth. He knew how that mouth tasted.
She shook her head as if to shake herself out of her state of shock. "I wasn't crying," she said.
"Okay, whining," he corrected.
She opened her mouth again, then snapped it shut and glowered at him. "I don't like being called a whiner."
Noah pulled a chair over to sit down and prop her foot between his legs. "Good thing I didn't do that."
"You said whine."
"Big difference. Whiner is a noun that suggests a person who whines frequently. Whine is a verb that could indicate a one-time or infrequent occurrence." He opened the tiny bottle and lifted the brush. "Any tips? I've never done this before."
"First you wipe the excess off the brush inside the bottle. Why are you doing this?"
He painted her big toenail. "I told you. You," he said, dipping the brush again, "expressed unhappiness over not being able to paint your toenails."
"Why didn't you just pay for a pedicure?"
He glanced up at her and smiled. "That wouldn't be nearly as much fun. I bet a man has never done your toenails."
"Yes, a man has."
Noah paused, feeling a surprising slice of jealousy. He glanced up at her. "Who was that?"
"Tyler," she said, and smiled. "He always had a steady surgeon's hand."
A surge of relief trickled through Noah when he heard her brother's name. He wasn't at all comfortable with the range of emotions Martina generated inside him. As much as she should be his, she wasn't. He continued to paint her toenails in silence.
"Nice color," she said after he started on her other foot.
"I did research," he murmured, thinking that even her feet were sensual – long and delicate.
She jerked slightly. "Research?"
"Don't move," he warned. "You don't want azalea pink all the way up your foot. Yes, I did research, but I won't reveal my sources." Martina's sister-in-law Felicity had asked him as many questions as he'd asked her the day they'd shared coffee.
"But I want to know."
"Fine," he said, not missing a beat as his gaze met hers. "Let me stay the night."
She blinked and he watched her swallow. "I can't imagine why you would want to stay the night with a woman who is seven months pregnant."
"I can think of some reasons," he said, holding her gaze. "Would you like me to tell you them?
"I'd like to see you naked in the moonlight with your belly swollen with my baby. I'd like to touch you with my hands and mouth. I'd like to—"
"No!" Martina shook her head and put her hands to her ears. "No. I don't want you to tell me reasons, and you don't need to tell me your source because you're not staying the night."
"Why not?" he asked, applying a second coat of polish. "Has pregnancy made you chicken?"
"No," she said. "It's made me more sensible."
Noah silently pondered her response as he finished the second coat. Then he skimmed his fingers up the sole of her foot and looked up at her. "You have pretty feet."
Her toes curled and he grinned. "You're welcome."
She looked at him with flashes of wariness and wonder, sensuality and seduction in her startling blue eyes. "It would be easier for both of us if you would just be yourself, instead of being so…" She broke off, her finely arched eyebrows furrowing.
"So what?" He linked his fingers around her slim ankle.
"So kind," she said. "It would be better for you to just be yourself."
His lips twitched. "And that would be?"
"Domineering, pushy, superior, overprotective."
"Is the who I was in Chicago?"
She faltered and looked down. "No, but I'm sure the prospect of fatherhood brings out buried qualities in a man."
He sighed, wondering how he was going to get through to her. He had known her when she was soft and open to him. He remembered that Martina and knew she was still inside. Her softness and openness were just locked away from him.
He stood between her legs and leaned forward, nudging her chin upward with his finger so he could see her eyes. "I wish I knew what you were afraid of."
Bingo. Her eyes widened and she sucked in a sharp breath. The air between them seemed to thicken and crackle. "I'm not afraid."
Noah didn't believe her and although she might be mad as hell at him, he wasn't backing down. "Keep saying it, Princess Logan." He dipped his head close enough to brush his lips over hers, close enough to remind both of them what they'd once shared. "Maybe you'll believe it." He grabbed his hat from the table. "Sleep well."
* * *
Martina sat in her kitchen fuming as she waited for her toenails to dry. Noah Coltrane was an egotistical jerk, pretending that he wanted to seduce her, then insinuating that she was afraid. Not just afraid in general, she suspected, but afraid of him. She made a scoffing sound that only her goldfish could have heard if it had had ears.
She glanced down at her azalea-pink toenails and felt herself soften. The man had painted her toenails. If she tried to e
xplain this to anyone else, she would sound like a nut. But the experience had been oddly intimate. Her foot resting between his legs, brushing his strong inner thighs, had reminded her of the passion they had shared. His determination to do a perfect job had reminded her of his determination to push her to the heights of pleasure.
She wasn't afraid. She was terrified.
What if she couldn't resist Noah? What if she fell in love with him? What if she fell so helplessly in love with him that she gave in and married him and spent the rest of her life trying to make him love her? She knew he didn't love her. He liked her and perhaps in some strange way desired her, but her primary value to him was the fact that she carried his child. His motivations for marrying her were all admirable and honorable, but they didn't involve love.
Martina didn't like the idea of being the only one in over her head here. If she was going to be vulnerable and head over heels in love, then she wanted Noah to feel the same way. It seemed fairer that way. Plus, she'd spent too many years trying to gain equal ground with the men in her life; she didn't want to spend the rest of her years doing the same thing.
Martina shuddered, then stood and walked gingerly toward her computer room. She'd had very good reasons for running from Noah seven months ago, and those reasons were still valid. She put her hand on her abdomen and sighed. Unfortunately, she had an even bigger reason she could no longer run from him. She just wondered how she could keep from falling in love with him.
* * *
Martina wasn't exactly sure how it happened, but Noah managed to join her for her first childbirth-preparation class. As they pulled into the parking lot of her doctor's building, she turned to him. "If anyone asks, we are not married. I don't want anyone misinterpreting your presence."
He ignored her and got out of the truck. Martina followed his lead and started to get out of her side. Her foot slipped and she started to fall. A thin slice of panic cut through her.
Noah's arms closed around her and he pulled her against him. "Don't do that," he said.
"Don't do what?" she asked, hiding her own jittery nerves. "I had to get out of your truck."
"Just wait for me to help you," he said irritably, his jaw tight with tension. "Don't let your mile-wide independent streak end up hurting you or the baby."
His accusation stung. It felt so good to be held by him at the same time that his words hurt her. "You don't really think I would do anything to hurt the baby."
He loosened his grip and the fierce glint in his eyes faded. "I don't think you'd do anything to hurt the baby. I want you to be careful with yourself. I'm not around as much as I'd like to make sure you're okay."
"I'm okay," she insisted as much for herself as for him. "I'll be okay."
He released her, but stayed close as they walked into the doctor's office. The lobby was used as the classroom and several couples were already seated. A nurse approached Martina with a folder.
"Hi, I'm Emily Ross and I will be your teacher for the next several weeks. You are?"
"Martina Logan and—"
"And you must be Mr. Logan," Emily said with a smile.
"No," Martina and Noah said at the same time.
"His name is Noah Coltrane," Martina said. "We aren't married."
"But I plan to change that," Noah said.
Emily's smile broadened. "Oh. Well, welcome to the class."
Martina frowned at him. "Did you have to tell her that?"
He shrugged, momentarily distracting her. She wished he wouldn't do that. The simple movement conjured up images of nights when she had traced the contours of his shoulder muscles with her hands and mouth. Stop it, she told herself.
"Would you rather I tell her you were the best lover I'd ever had and I have every intention of making you mine for good?"
Martina blinked and her stomach filled with butterflies. "If that were true," she said, "then you would have sought me out before seven months had passed."
"I did," he said. "Your employer said you were doing Web design from your home, there was no forwarding address or phone number from your previous apartment, and no one in West Texas seemed to know where you were. And for some reason your brothers weren't inclined to discuss your whereabouts with me."
Martina stared at Noah, feeling an odd knot of emotion form in her throat. Looking into his eyes, she could almost believe that her leaving abruptly had mattered to him. But that couldn't be, she told herself. He'd been so light about their relationship, so firm about not discussing the future. He'd teased her out of her clothes and into his bed so quickly it had made her head spin. Every time she was around him, it seemed he made her head spin.
Gulping over her tight throat, she shook her head. "You told me one of the things you liked most about our relationship was that neither of us had any long-term expectations. You told me that the last night we spent together."
He narrowed his eyes. "Neither of us knew what we had, what we could have."
Her heart ached, but she needed to remind him and herself. "And we'll never know now," she said firmly, and looked around for a seat. "Time for class."
Throughout the session, Martina felt Noah's gaze on her, but she tried to concentrate as the instructor gave a brief overview of the warning signs and stages of labor, and instructions on sex during pregnancy. When Martina looked at her full abdomen, she wondered if she would ever have sex again. When she thought about the warning signs of complications, she thought about her mother.
She wondered if her mother had felt a premonition about her pregnancy or if she'd been eagerly looking forward to the birth of her third baby. Martina knew her mother's death had been a complete shock to her father and brothers.
A familiar longing swept over her. Lately, not a day passed that Martina didn't wish she could talk to her mother. Noah touched her arm, shaking her out of her reverie.
"You're supposed to be breathing," he whispered.
"I was," she told him.
He shook his head. "Deep breathing for relaxation. First stage of labor."
Martina glanced at the teacher and put aside her distracting thoughts. If she didn't focus on the class, Noah was going to know more about going through labor than she did, and she would never live that down.
After class, they drove home in silence. He pulled into her driveway, but didn't get out. "You're quiet."
She smiled. "Rare, isn't it?"
He nodded. "What's on your mind?"
She shrugged. "Lots of things. Labor, delivery, wondering what it was like for my mother."
His gaze turned thoughtful and he squeezed her shoulder. "Worried?"
"Not really," she automatically said. "There's no reason—" She broke off and smiled at the sensation of her baby's movements.
"What is it?"
"I think we've got a rodeo rider." She pressed her hand against her belly and saw the look of curiosity and longing on Noah's face. The expression moved her. Impulsively, she put his hand on her belly.
His eyes widened. "Hell, she's active!"
Martina laughed. "He," she corrected.
"She," he corrected, then cradled her belly with both hands. "Does she do this all the time?"
The fascination in his voice did strange things to her heart. "Not all the time. He sleeps some, but sometimes it feels like he's gearing up for a rodeo."
Noah stroked his fingers over the blouse covering her. The gesture was oddly tender and sensual. "I know this has been happening for centuries, but it still feels like a miracle. You and I made this magic happen."
With dark eyes, he held her gaze for a long moment, a moment where something inside her seemed to creak and shift.
Martina wasn't sure there were words for what his eyes were saying to her. Noah leaned closer and she held her breath. He dipped his head and slowly, softly rubbed his warm lips over hers.
Martina felt the caress electrify her nerve endings from her head to her toes. He kissed her and a hundred emotions tumbled through her. All the passion they'd
shared and something more powerful jerked at her like a game of crack the whip.
Alarm shot through her. She pulled back, staring at him, waiting to breathe. Martina lost herself in his changeable eyes. Sometimes green, occasionally blue and in rare moments gray like a storm-tossed sea, his eyes truly seemed to mirror the inner man. He was one man, yet had such diversity, a diversity that had fascinated her from the moment she'd met him. Strong, rugged, intelligent, intuitive.
Perhaps too intuitive, she thought. Sometimes she feared he could see everything going on inside her. "I need to go," she whispered, and turned away from him.
She didn't make it out of the car before he appeared by her side. He cupped her elbow, and though she felt the urge to wrest her arm from him, Martina knew it would have been childish. Still, just his touch set off a riot inside her. She'd run from the intimacy they'd shared, but his closeness stirred up images of his hands exploring and pleasuring her.
"You haven't forgotten, have you?" he asked in a low voice as they reached her porch.
"Forgotten what?" she returned, digging for keys in her purse.
"What it was like when you were mine."
Her heart slammed into overdrive. "I was never yours."
Noah boldly lifted his hands beneath her cotton blouse and touched the bare flesh of her belly. "Yes, you were. There's plenty of proof. Here," he said, then skimmed his hand up between her breasts. "And here. You were mine."
* * *
Chapter 5
«^»
You were mine.
Noah's words echoed through Martina's head as she fell into a fitful sleep. The images seeped inside her, at first hazy around the edges.
He set her on the desk in his hotel room with a playful, yet intent gleam in his eye. Martina's heart fluttered and she wondered what was next. He was always surprising her.
He skimmed his finger up the inside of her stocking-clad leg all the way to her knee. "I've always thought the man who invented panty hose should have been horsewhipped."
She grinned. "And why is that? Do you think it would be better for women to freeze?"
