by Anne Stuart
“A lady doesn’t pay attention to words uttered in the throes of passion,” she echoed innocently, then gasped as he pulled her closer against him, his heated maleness pressing against her soft hips.
“I think we’d better believe each other,” he groaned against her cheek, his hands reaching down to unfasten the loose carpenter’s pants.
“If you think we’re going to make love on the floor here you’ve got another think coming,” she threatened him sternly, even as she aided him in stepping out of the jeans.
“Why not?” He pulled the knit shirt over his head and tossed it in the corner, exposing his beautiful bronzed torso to her hungry gaze. It had been so damned long. Unable to resist herself, she slid her hands through the fine mesh of hair that drifted over his muscles.
“Because plywood subflooring is full of splinters,” she replied in a low groan. “Unless you want to be on the bottom.”
He looked out into the gathering nightfall. “Sand isn’t a lot better.” Her hands were already on the zipper of his corduroy pants.
“I agree,” she whispered, sliding the pants down his narrow hips. “What are we going to do?”
“Well, we do have to seal the bargain, don’t we?” he murmured, leaning down for his mouth to capture the rosy-tipped breast that the removal of her bra had exposed.
“What bargain?” she echoed dazedly.
“You’re going to marry me, aren’t you?” He caught the other breast, and a low, agonized wail escaped her breathlessly parted lips. His hand reached down between her legs, teasing her unmercifully, and she parted them willingly.
“Yes,” she moaned, no longer sure what she was saying yes to.
Gently she found herself pressed up against the wall, his hands still firm and arousing on her heated flesh. “No splinters in Sheetrock, are there?” he whispered in her ear, his hand driving her to distraction.
Wordlessly she shook her head, her arms around his shoulders, her face buried in his neck. “Please, Noah,” she whispered breathlessly. “I need you.”
“And I need you. I can’t wait for a bed, Annie.” And he levered forward, filling her with one deep, strong thrust, the force of his body lifting her in the air as the wall supported her back.
Instinctively she wrapped her long legs around his as his large, strong hands cupped her buttocks. All she could do was cling to him, arms and legs wrapped tight around his straining body, as he moved within her, the rhythm steady, irregular and then overwhelming. There was no room for the passion to build—it was already well beyond fever pitch. As she drew him ever deeper she could feel her body clench around him, feel the spasms ripple through her as she sobbed against the smoothness of his shoulder. And then he joined her in that midnight darkness, thrusting into her as he pressed her up against the wall.
Together they collapsed on the floor, his body cushioning hers, oblivious to the danger of splinters. His hands were infinitely gentle on her fevered flesh, his voice full of words of praise and love and commitment. Closing her eyes, she flowed against him, home at last. For a moment the question of birth control reared its ugly head; then she banished it. He had done nothing about it, she had done nothing about it. It was too late now—they would just have to be more careful in the future. She opened her eyes to meet his soft, almost reverent gaze. “I do love you, you know,” she whispered.
And he smiled, that dazzlingly sweet Gypsy smile that he reserved for her alone. “I know,” he said, and kissed her again.
“HOW ARE YOU DOING, Annie?” Elena Mendoza Richardson leaned over her friend, concern in her warm dark eyes as she placed a gentle hand on Annie’s hugely rounded belly. “Won’t be long now.”
A fine sheen of sweat covered Anne’s face, but she managed to smile up at her old friend. “I don’t suppose you could perform a cesarean in the hallway? It’s pretty bad.”
Sadly Elena shook her head. “Don’t worry, one of the operating rooms will be free in a few moments. It’s a shame you didn’t take Lamaze classes—it would help you through the pains. Your husband might help even more.”
“Don’t.” The word came out on seven syllables as the next pain caught her. “It seemed a waste of time when we knew I had to go in for a planned c-section.”
“Not to mention the fact that you had nobody to go with you.” Elena frowned. “You should have at least attended a few classes. There was always the chance you’d go into labor before the date we set.”
“Well, it happened.” She managed a weak grin. “And I’m just fine, I promise you.”
“Then where’s your damned husband? It’s his baby you’re having, not just your own.”
“There’s a lot more involved that you’re not aware of,” Anne said wearily. “This baby wasn’t planned.”
“So what? I’m sure half the babies I deliver aren’t planned, and the fathers stick by their wives anyway. We allow husbands in the operating room now, Anne, as long as the wife is awake. He could be with you.”
“You don’t understand, Elena. He’s afraid I’m going to die.”
“If I weren’t so insulted I’d laugh. Does he think I’m a complete charlatan? I’m not about to let my best friend die in childbirth.”
“Elena, his first wife died because she was pregnant. He’s terrified that I will, too. The fact that I had to have a cesarean was more than he could stand,” Anne explained with an attempt at calm, even as another pain twisted her body. “It’s not because he doesn’t love me enough; he loves me too much to be here.”
“Humph,” Elena sniffed, unconvinced. “Give me your hand.”
Blindly Anne reached out, clutching her friend’s strong, capable hand with a grip that could have broken bones with a weaker woman. “It’s been a hell of a nine months, Elena,” she said, sighing. “Every time he’s looked at me he buries me; every time I felt a twinge he’d go into a panic. I’ve got Wilson and Holly pouring cognac down his throat to try to keep him calm.”
“Where is he?” Elena had a light in her brown eyes.
“I don’t know. Holly said he took off into the night when they wheeled me away. I only wish I didn’t have to worry about him. This—” Another ripple of pain stopped her breath for a moment. “This is distracting enough.”
“Operating room seven is ready, Dr. Richardson,” a voice announced, and Anne smiled a wan, relieved smile.
“Are you sure you want to be awake for this, Annie?” Elena questioned.
“Of course I do. After nine months I don’t want to have to wait a minute longer than I have to to see my baby.”
She heard the noise distantly as she was wheeled into the operating room. Elena had insisted on a small amount of Demerol to take the edge off the pain, and the bright lights of the room gave a curious haze to everything. Loud voices were arguing behind her, but the words all blurred together. The spinal anesthetic was beginning to take hold, but not enough to blot out the next swath of pain that stretched across her. The drugs had eased her inhibitions enough for her to let out a loud, uninhibited yell.
“Be quiet!” Elena said crossly, and Anne bit her lip. “Not you, Annie,” she reassured her, patting her hand. “The fool man.”
They were draping her belly and washing it with bright orange liquid when another pain came, this one milder than the earlier ones. The anesthetic must be taking place. “You won’t cut me until I’m numb, will you?” she asked meekly.
“I wish someone here would trust me,” Elena announced plaintively to the world in general.
Another jumble of voices. The pains in her stomach were easing, and the endless painting of orange finally stopped. And then one more contraction, this one strong enough to break through the anesthetic. “Elena,” she gasped, and felt a strong, callused hand envelop her own. She didn’t even have to turn her head. “Noah,” she breathed. “Thank God.”
“If you’re all quite ready,” Elena said sarcastically, “I would like to get this baby born.”
“We’re ready,” Noah said, his vo
ice steady, his hand clutching hers tightly.
Anne smiled up at him. “We’re ready,” she echoed. He moved down to put his head by hers, never relinquishing his grip on her, as together they turned to watch in the mirror.
A FEW HOURS LATER Holly sent a telegram to Ashley Kirkland, care of the Sangre de Cristos Monastery in New Mexico.
ANNIE GAVE BIRTH TO BABY GIRL LILLIAN THIS A.M. MOTHER AND DAUGHTER DOING FINE, FATHER STILL RECOVERING. MUCH LOVE, HOLLY.
ISBN: 978-1-4268-4940-4
HOUSEBOUND
Copyright © 1985 by Anne Kristine Stuart Ohlrogge
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