Bringing Up Baby

by Charlotte Douglas

  On the opposite side of the crowded marquee, he cornered the photographer for a brief exchange of words, then threaded his way back through the filled tables to Devon.

  “Everything’s taken care of,” he assured her. “The cameraman will avoid any frontal views of the guests, and be promises to edit out any of the tourists’ faces he’s already shot.”

  Her expression shifted from one of despair to hopefulness. “Won’t that look odd?”

  He tucked her arm through his and led her toward the dance floor as the happy guests crowded around them. “We’ll explain to Sara Davis that we had a fire in the house that damaged portions of the video.”

  She stopped so abruptly he stepped on her toe. She rolled her eyes skyward and smacked him hard on the upper arm. “Now you think of it. We could have told her the fire destroyed the entire film and avoided this whole charade.”

  With her eyes blazing with reflected candlelight, her cheeks flushed and the off-the-shoulder collar of her dress revealing the silken skin of her shoulders, she filled him with a protectiveness and longing he’d never known. No bride had ever looked more radiant. Not even Felicia in the first heady flush of their relationship had affected him as Devon did now with her fresh, natural beauty and spunky personality.

  He drew her into his arms for the bridal waltz. “I’m glad I didn’t think of it because, Mrs. Donovan, I wouldn’t have missed this for the world.”

  DRIVING HOME LATER that evening, he sighed with contentment, remembering the curve of Devon’s hip against his own as she sliced the beribboned knife into the wedding cake, the laughter in her eyes when she fed him the first bite, the lightness of her in his arms as they danced to the reggae band. Even after she’d partnered a dozen or more of their honored Japanese guests, her animation hadn’t dimmed.

  He chuckled, recalling the impromptu “family” portrait, made up of Leona, his dad and Betsy and five of the waiters and waitresses from the catering company pressed into emergency duty. If Devon’s earlier misgivings about the ceremony still bothered her, she’d hidden them well, behaving like the happiest bride on earth while she mugged for the camera.

  She’d been quiet ever since she’d tossed her bouquet to a delighted young Japanese woman as they pulled away from the beach in a shower of confetti and politically correct birdseed. She sat staring out the side window of his pickup, and all he could see of her face was the delicate line of her cheek. A vein pulsed lightly beneath a satin streamer that rested against the slim column of her neck. When he pulled in front of her house, he realized her shoulders were shaking.

  “Devon, don’t cry.”

  He slid over and pulled her into his arms, tucking her head beneath his chin, holding her close while he stroked her soft curls and ran his fingers along her shoulder blades. She made a tiny, muffled noise, and his heart wrenched at the sound of her unhappiness. He had thought she’d accepted the unexpected Japanese invasion with good grace, but evidently it had upset her more than he’d realized.

  “Everything will be fine,” he consoled her. “You’ll see when you’ve viewed the video.”

  At his words, her shoulders shook harder and she buried her face against his shirt as if to stifle her cries. Then, gasping for air, she threw her head backlaughing. Tears streamed down her face.

  Between his relief and the infectious nature of her giggles, he couldn’t resist and found himself joining her, howling with laughter.

  “Can you imagine—” she sucked in air “—Sara airing the unedited video on national television? People would think they’d tuned in to some screwball comedy series.”

  “Food—and family—catered by Benibana’s.” He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and handed it to her.

  While she wiped her tears and blew her nose, he reveled in the wondrous physical release of a good laugh. He hadn’t laughed like that in years. The weight of guilt, discontent and a thousand regrets lifted from his shoulders, and for the first time since three years ago, when be’d first realized his marriage to Felicia had been irretrievably broken, he felt totally free of bitterness, whole of heart.

  He escorted Devon, still hiccuping with laughter, inside, where she rushed straight to Amanda’s portable crib in the family room.

  “She’s been no trouble at all,” Mrs. Kaplan assured her. “Slept the entire time you were gone.”

  Devon gathered the sleeping child into her arms and pressed the baby’s plump cheek to her face. “I’ll take her up to her bed—in her own room now, thanks to Colin’s hard work.”

  The sight of them, a beautiful Madonna in white and her slumbering child, stabbed him with a poignance that was painful in its potency. He blinked away moisture gathering in his eyes, offered his arm to Mrs. Kaplan and cleared his throat to speak. “I’ll walk you home.” A few minutes later, when Devon descended the stairs, Colin stood in the hall, removing his coat. He unfastened the pink cummerbund, tossed it atop his tux jacket with a gesture of disgust and raised his smoky gaze to hers. “The things I do for you, Devon Clarke.”

  The undisguised passion in his eyes sent her heart pounding like a steel drum. “I haven’t told you often enough that I’m grateful,” she murmured huskily.

  As she stared at him, the spacious entryway seemed to shrink, and her lungs couldn’t draw enough air. She read a sensual heat in his look but couldn’t form the words or movements to dissuade him. The wedding, perhaps even the love that shone in his eyes, was make-believe, but she’d already accepted the fantasy as all she’d ever have. She hadn’t the resolve to deny herself any part of that small compensation.

  When he stepped toward her and scooped her in his arms, she twined her arms around his neck and laid her head against his shoulder with a contented sigh. Tomorrow, reality might crash in on her again, but tonight she’d dream.

  She reveled in the strength of him as he carried her up the stairs and kicked open her bedroom door.

  “A bride should be carried across the threshold for luck.” Hoarse with emotion, his voice sounded in her ear.

  Luck. She’d need a ton of it. She was even less prepared for this than she’d been for motherhood. Even if dear old Aunt Bessie had been inclined to explain about love between a man and woman, the confirmed old maid hadn’t had a clue.

  “I’m not really a bride.” Devon had meant to protest, but her voice rose breathlessly, forming a question.

  His arms tightened around her. “A more beautiful bride never existed.”

  When he released her and set her on her feet, her body slid the length of his, skimming his taut muscles and hard arousal. Desire blossomed deep within her, and she lifted her lips to him, welcoming his deep, probing kiss and the crushing pressure of his embrace.

  Her body trembled, assaulted by surge after surge of emotion so powerful it stole her breath away. She broke clear from the sweetness of his kiss to gasp for air.

  When be stepped away, every nerve ending in her body shuddered at the loss. His ragged breathing thundered in the stillness, and his gray eyes shone almost black in the dim light from the bedside lamp. “Do you want me to leave?”

  Yes, her common sense screamed as she met his gaze head-on. “No.”

  With a reverent gesture, he lifted the circlet of daisies from her head and set it aside. He traced the planes of her face, the fullness of her lips, and brushed the sensitive skin of her throat with his fingertips before grasping her bare shoulders and swiveling her around.

  All her senses sharpened. She detected the faint whir of the air-conditioner fan and felt its soft current against her flesh. In the dresser mirror, her reflection stared back at her, wide-eyed, dream-struck, with Colin behind her, etched sharply in the faint light, his gaze meeting hers in the mirror. Her mouth went dry with a strange mixture of fear and anticipation, and for the life of her, she couldn’t tell if she feared he would leave—or he wouldn’t.

  “Colin.” She breathed his name like a plea, unable to form a lucid thought other than being aware of his presence and
her need.

  “I love you, Devon.” He dipped his head and covered her silky shoulders with tender, nibbling kisses that made her knees melt with desire, while he lowered the zipper on her dress and slid the sleeves down her arms until the soft white cotton bodice and skirt floated down into a cloud at her feet.

  With a soft cry, she turned to him, wanting to return his declaration, but biting back the words. She would love him, make love with him, just this once, for memory’s sake, but she would make no promises that would bind him in a disastrous mistake and make him regret her as he did Felicia.

  She could hold back her words, but from his expression, she knew she’d failed miserably at keeping love and desire from shining in her eyes. The tenderness in his look turned her weak with longing.

  He lifted her in his arms and carried her to the bed, lowering her gently on her back. With nimble fingers, he untied the satin laces of her espadrilles and tossed them aside before planting a kiss on the instep of each foot.

  Without taking his gaze from hers, he deftly popped the studs from his pleated shirt and shrugged it off. The nimbus of light from the bedside lamp flickered and shifted, illuminating the tanned angles of his face and the powerful muscles of his chest and arms. His physical strength could have held her captive, had he wished, but it was the caring in his expression, more powerful than any physical force, that prevented her from following the dictates of reason and fleeing before it was too late.

  Already it was too late. With a graceful gesture, he unhooked her bustier and threw it aside before cupping her breasts in his hands, sending a sensation of fiery pleasure throughout her body.

  Ohhh, Aunt Bessie never told me about this.

  He withdrew his hands, causing her breasts to ache with yearning, and sat on the edge of the bed, allowing her an intimate view of the wide expanse of his muscled back as he tugged off his shoes and socks. An image formed in her mind of bedtime every night for the rest of her life with the cozy presence of Colin, barebacked beside her, preparing for bed, their bed.

  But then he stood, the rasp of a zipper sounded, and he stepped out of his pants and boxer shorts. Coziness swiftly evolved into excitement. Like a mythic Greek god, he stood naked before her, his broad shoulders tapering to his narrow waist. And at the juncture of those slender hips and powerful legsAunt Bessie had certainly never told her about that.

  She should warn him that be was dealing with a total novice. “I don’t—”

  His mouth stopped her words as he straddled her, forcing her back into the pillows, and when he lifted his head from her lips and trailed kisses down her throat and across her breasts, her declaration of inexperience evaporated like drizzling rain on a hot summer sidewalk.

  When he slipped his thumbs beneath the elastic of her panties and whisked them away, his gaze never left her face. The hard pewter of his eyes softened, reminding her of velvet kittens and cottony clouds of spring showers.

  She reveled in the sensation of her bare flesh against his and wondered at her own lack of vulnerability. Feeling protected, cherished, she surrendered to him, sighing with delight as his mouth caressed her breasts. With gentle hands, he traced the contours of her rib cage, smoothed the curve of her hips and stroked the sensitive flesh of her thighs. When his fingers teased between her legs, sending waves of ecstasy through her in an explosion of sensation that erased every conscious thought, she feared she would die of pleasure.

  She gripped the corded muscles of his shoulders as he tipped her hips and entered her with a sure, swift thrust. A brief pain preceded a burst of joy, then pleasure cascaded into deeper delight. He clasped her to him, and their bodies melded in a unity in which man and woman disappeared, and one creature, born of love, emerged.

  Pleasure rocketed through her as time disappeared, their hearts pounded in concert, and their oneness transcended earth to soar among the stars.

  Later, snuggled contentedly against him like a nesting spoon, with his arm clutching her midriff, her thoughts drifted in the twilight between consciousness and sleep.

  Poor Aunt Bessie. She never knew what she missed.

  DEVON SLEPT WITHOUT dreaming and awoke with Colin still asleep beside her on her pillow. She propped herself on her elbow and studied him, the angles of his face blurred with a stubble of beard, his dark lashes long against his cheeks, his tousled hair tumbling over his forehead. Her body ached with the delicious memory of their lovemaking the night before, and she added the image of his sleeping beside her to her store of memories, a treasure trove to covet through her long, lonely days.

  Maybe dear old Aunt Bessie had been fortunate after all. She hadn’t died little by little each day, yearning for what she’d lost.

  Devon slid from beneath the covers, careful not to wake Colin. Her body, although sated and tender, encouraged her to continue where they’d left off last night, but in the cool, clear light of early morning, her head ruled, and she headed for the shower.

  When she turned off the pulsing water, Amanda’s cries carried through the wall of the bathroom. Devon tied on her robe, gave her hair a quick rub with a towel and, hoping to quiet the baby before she awakened Colin, padded down the hall to Amanda’s room.

  Amanda’s wailing crescendoed as Devon opened the door, and she hastened to turn off the monitor to keep the child’s racket from disturbing Colin.

  Morning light filtered through the cheery yellow curtains and cast dappled shadows on the fabric sculptures of fairy-tale characters on the far wall and across the polished oak floor, but Amanda’s disposition was far from sunny. The baby kicked and screamed, flailing the air with her fists as if she was mad at the world.

  Devon struggled to change her diaper without skewering the tossing body, then cradled the stillsobbing child against her shoulder as she hurried to the kitchen to prepare the baby’s breakfast.

  While she fed a fretful Amanda her morning bottle, fantasies of the wedding and making love with Colin receded, and cold, hard reality gripped Devon once more. A real mother would know why her child was crying and how to make her stop. When Devon had visited attorney John St. Clair, she’d asked him to find Amanda parents who already had other children. The poor thing had lost her own parents and been stuck with Devon and all her inexperience. Amanda didn’t need to suffer through basic training for parents a third time.

  “Good morning, sunshine.” Dressed in jeans and an unbuttoned shirt, Colin stood in the doorway, looking more handsome than any man had a right to. “Did you sleep well?”

  Tell him, her conscience goaded her. Let him know Amanda’s leaving as soon as St. Clair finds her a home.

  But her heart rebelled, knowing Colin would walk out the door when he learned of the adoption. She couldn’t tell him now, not because she feared ruining the interview and losing her syndicated column, but because she hoped for a few more days like yesterday, a few more nights like the one they’d just shared. Selfishly, she craved more memories to cache away, treasures to cherish when she was alone once again.

  She smiled at him over Amanda’s soft curls. “I slept fine. How about you?”

  “Like a rock. I could get used to that.” He sauntered into the kitchen and began making coffee.

  So could I. She bit her lip, holding back the words. She wanted him to stay, to become a beloved habit in her life, but fate had ruled otherwise. Still, she could enjoy the short time left. Two weeks ago, St. Clair had said he would have some news for her within a month. At best, that left her two more weeks with Colin.

  A comfortable silence, broken only by Amanda’s sucking noises and the sizzle of pancakes Colin was cooking on the griddle, filled the room. She had expected to feel embarrassment, self-consciousness, after last night’s passion, but instead she experienced only a gratifying contentment. She shared warm glances and secret smiles with him that spoke volumes as they ate breakfast and watched Amanda contentedly running a push toy across the floor of her playpen.

  “Let’s take our coffee into the living room,” he sugg
ested when they’d finished eating. “That’s where the Davis crew will film most of the interview, so I’d better make a punch list to be sure we’re ready.”

  Devon checked Amanda, who had curled on her side and gone back to sleep, before she followed Colin up the hall. Strong sunlight streamed through the eastern windows, and as she moved to adjust the curtains, a car parked at the curb down the block caught her eye.

  “Colin, come look.”

  He stepped behind her, and she could feel the warmth of his breath on her hair as he peered down the street. His arms encircled her waist, and he drew her against him. “What am I supposed to be looking at?”

  “That green Buick. I’ve seen it before.” The sight of the car brought an involuntary shiver and a sense of uneasiness she couldn’t explain.

  “It’s only an old car.” He nibbled her ear playfully. “Probably belongs to one of the neighbors.”

  Rivers of desire coursed through her at his touch, banishing her anxiety. “If you keep that up, we’ll never get around to that punch list.”

  He turned her to face him and buried his face in her neck. “Suits me.”

  “Oh, no, you don’t.” She longed to give in to him, to spend the morning as she’d spent the previous night, but the pressure of the interview and all that had to be done to make ready for it weighed down on her. Reluctantly, she pushed him away. “There’re too many other things to do. We can’t be—distracted.”

  “You, Mrs. Donovan, have driven me to distraction, so it’s all your fault.” He grabbed for her again, but she sidestepped nimbly.

  “Maybe you’d better channel all that raging testosterone to your muscles,” she teased, grinning at his expression of mock offense, “and help me lug the Christmas decorations down from the attic.”

  His offended expression deepened, but his eyes twinkled. “One way or another, I can see you only want me for my body.”

  “It has its uses,” she quipped, heading for the stairs.