“We have an audience,” Steve whispered with no element of alarm apparent in his tone or action.
Carol opened her eyes to find a little girl about five years old staring up at them.
“My mom and dad do that sometimes,” she said, her face wrinkled with displeasure, “but not where lots of people can see them.”
“I think you have a smart mom and dad,” Steve answered, his voice filled with chagrin. Gently he pulled away from Carol and wrapped his arm around her waist, keeping her close to his side. “‘Bye,” he told the preschooler.
“‘Bye,” she said with a friendly wave, and then ran back to a boy who appeared to be an older brother who was shouting to gain her attention.
The sun was setting, casting a rose-red hue over the green water.
They walked back to where Steve had parked his car and he opened her door for her. “Can I see you again?” he asked, with an endearing shyness.
“Yes.”
He looked almost surprised. “How about tomorrow night? We could go to a movie.”
“I’d like that. Are you going to buy me popcorn?”
He smiled, and from the look in his eyes he would be willing to buy her the whole theater if he could.
Sixteen
Steve found himself whistling as he strolled up the walkway to Carol’s house. He felt as carefree as a college senior about to graduate. Grand adventures awaited him. He had every detail of their evening planned. He would escort Carol to the movies, as they’d agreed, then afterward he would take her out for something to eat. She needed to gain a few pounds and it made him feel good to spend money on her.
When they arrived back at the house, she would invite him in for coffee and naturally he would agree. Once inside it would take him ten … fifteen minutes at the most to steer her into the bedroom. He was starved for her love, famished by his need for her.
The kiss they’d shared the night before had convinced him this was necessary. He was so crazy in love with this woman that he couldn’t wait another night to take her to bed. She was right about them starting over—he was willing to do that. It was the going-nice-and-slow part he objected to. He understood exactly what she intended when she decided they could start over. It was waiting for the lovemaking that confused him. Good Lord, they’d been married five years. It wasn’t as if they were virgins anticipating their wedding night.
“Hi,” Carol said and smiled, opening the door for him.
“Hi.” Steve couldn’t take his eyes off her. She was wearing the blue maternity dress he’d bought for her the day he’d followed her around like the KGB. “You look beautiful,” he said in what had to be the understatement of the year. He’d heard about women having a special glow about them when they were pregnant—Carol had never been more lovely than she was at that moment.
“Do you like it?” she asked and slowly whirled around showing off the dress to full advantage. “Lindy bought it for me. She said she found it on sale and couldn’t resist. It was the craziest thing because I’d tried on this very dress and loved it, but decided I really couldn’t afford to be spending money on myself. She gave me a silver baby rattle, too. I have a feeling Aunt Lindy is going to spoil this baby.”
“You look … marvelous.”
“I’m getting so fat,” she said, and chuckled. To prove her point, she scooped her hands under the soft swell of her abdomen and turned sideways to show him. She smiled, and her eyes sparkled as she jerked her head toward him and announced, “The baby just kicked.”
“Can I feel?” Steve had done everything he could to convince himiself this child was his. Unfortunately he knew otherwise. But he loved Carol, and he’d love her baby. He would learn to—already he truly cared about her child. Without this pregnancy there was no way of knowing if they would ever have gotten back together.
“Here.” She reached for his hand and placed it over the top of her stomach. “Feel anything?”
He shook his head. “Nothing.”
“Naturally she’s going to play a game of cat and mouse now.”
Steve removed his hand and flexed his fingers. Some of the happiness he’d experienced earlier seeped out of him, replaced with a low-grade despondency. He wanted her baby to be his with a desperation that threatened to destroy him. But he couldn’t change the facts.
“I checked the paper and the movie starts at seven,” Carol said, interrupting his thoughts.
He glanced at his watch. “We’d better not waste any time then.” While Carol opened the entryway closet and removed a light sweater and her purse, Steve noted the two gallons of paint sitting on the floor.
“What are you painting?” he asked.
“The baby’s room. I thought I’d tackle that project this weekend. I suddenly realized how much I have to do yet to get ready.”
“Do you want any help?” He made a halfhearted offer, and wished almost immediately that he hadn’t. It wasn’t the painting that dissuaded him. Every time Carol so much as mentioned anything that had to do with the baby, her eyes lit up like the Fourth of July. His reaction was just as automatic, too. He was jealous, and that was the last thing he wanted Carol to know.
She closed the closet door and studied him, searching his eyes. He boldly met her look, although it was difficult, and wasn’t disappointed when she shook her head. “No, thanks, I’ve got everything under control.”
“You’re sure?”
“Very.”
There was no fooling Carol. She might as well have read his thoughts, because she knew and her look told him as much.
“I’m trying,” he said, striving for honesty. “I really am trying.”
“I know,” she murmured softly.
They barely spoke on the way to the theater and Carol hardly noticed what was happening with the movie. She’d witnessed that look on Steve’s face before when she started talking about the baby. So many subjects were open to them except that one. She didn’t know any man more blind than Steve Kyle. If she were to stand up in the middle of the show and shout out that she was having his child, he wouldn’t hear her. He’d buried his head so deep in the sand when it came to her pregnancy that his brain was plugged.
Time would teach him, if only she could hold on to her patience until then.
Steve didn’t seem to be enjoying the movie any more than she was. He shifted in his seat a couple of times, crossed and uncrossed his legs and munched on his popcorn as if he were chewing bullets.
Carol shifted, too. She was almost six months pregnant and felt eight. The theater seat was uncomfortable and the baby had decided to play baseball, using Carol’s ribs for batting practice.
She braced her hands against her rib cage and leaned to one side and then scooted to the other.
“Are you all right?” Steve whispered halfway through the feature film.
Carol nodded. She wanted to explain that the baby was having a field day, exploring and kicking and struggling in the tight confines of her compact world, but she avoided any mention of the pregnancy.
“Do you want some more popcorn?”
Carol shook her head. “No, thanks.”
Ten minutes passed in which Carol did her utmost to pay attention to the show. She’d missed so much of the plot already that it was difficult to understand what was happening.
Feeling Steve’s stare, Carol diverted her attention to him. He was glaring at her abdomen, his eyes wide and curious. “I saw him move,” he whispered, his voice filled with awe. “I couldn’t believe it. He’s so strong.”
“She,” Carol corrected automatically, smiling. She took his hand and pressed it where she’d last felt the baby kick. He didn’t pull away but there was some reluctance in his look.
The baby moved again, and Carol nearly laughed aloud at the astonishment that played over Steve’s handsome features.
“My goodness,” he whispered. “I had no idea.”
“Trust me,” she answered, and grinned. “I didn’t, either.”
Irritated by
the way they were disrupting the movie, the woman in the row in front of them turned around to press her finger over her lips. But when she saw Steve’s hand on Carol’s stomach, she grinned indulgently and whispered, “Never mind.”
Steve didn’t take his hand away. When the baby punched her fist on the other side of Carol’s belly, she slid his hand over there. She loved the slow, lazy grin that curved up the edges of his mouth. The action caused her to smile too. She tucked her hand over his and soon they both went back to watching the action on the screen. But Steve kept his fingers where they were for the rest of the movie, gently caressing the rounded circle of her tummy.
By the time the film was over, Carol’s head was resting on Steve’s shoulder. Although the surgery had been weeks before, it continued to surprise her how quickly she tired. She’d worked that day and was exhausted. It irritated her that she could be so weak. Steve had mentioned getting something to eat after the movie, but she was having difficulty hiding her yawns from him.
“I think I’d better take you home,” he commented once they were outside the theater.
“I’m sorry,” she murmured, holding her hand to her mouth in a futile effort to hold in her tiredness. “I’m not used to being out so late two nights running.”
Steve slipped his arm around her shoulders. “Me, either.”
He steered her toward his car and opened the passenger door for her. Once she was inside, he gently placed a kiss on her cheek.
She nearly fell asleep on the short ride home.
“Do you want to come in for some coffee?” she offered when he pulled up to the curb in front of her house.
“You’re sure you’re up to this?” he asked, looking doubtful.
“I’m sure.”
Carol thought she detected a bounce to his step as he came around to help her out of the car, but she couldn’t be sure. Steve Kyle said and did the most unpredictable things at times.
Once inside he took her sweater, and while he was hanging it up for her, she went into the kitchen and got down the coffee from the cupboard. Steve moved behind her and slipped his arms around her waist.
“I don’t really want coffee,” he whispered and gently caught her earlobe between his teeth.
“You don’t?”
“No,” he murmured.
His hands explored her stomach in a loving caress and Carol felt herself go weak. “I … I wish you’d said something earlier.”
“It was a pretense.” His mouth blazed a moist trail down the side of her neck.
“Pretense,” she repeated in a daze.
As if he were a puppet master directing her actions, Carol turned in his arms and raised her face to his, anticipating his kiss. Her whole body felt as if it were rocking with the force of her heartbeat, anticipating the touch of his mouth over hers.
Steve didn’t keep her waiting long. His hands cradled her neck and his lips found hers, exploring them as though he wished to memorize their shape. She parted her mouth in welcome, and his tongue touched hers, then delicately probed deeper in a sweet, unhurried exploration that did incredible things to her. Desire created a churning, boiling pool deep in the center of her body.
His fingers slipped from her nape to tangle with her hair. Again and again, he ran his mouth back and forth over hers, pausing now and again to tease her with a fleck of his tongue against the seam of her lips. “I thought about doing this all day,” he confessed.
“Oh, Steve.”
His hands searched her back, grasping at the material of her dress as he claimed her mouth in a kiss that threatened to burst them both into searing flames. With a frustrated groan, he drew his arms around her front, searching. His breath came in ragged, thwarted gasps.
Carol could feel the heavy pounding of his heart and she pressed her open mouth to the hollow at the base of his throat, loving the way she could feel his pulse hammer there.
“Damn,” he muttered, exasperated. “Where’s the opening to this dress?”
It took Carol a moment to understand his question. “There is none.”
“What?”
“I slip it on over my head … there aren’t any buttons.”
“No zipper?”
“None.”
He muffled a groan against her neck and Carol felt the soft puffs of warm air as he chuckled. “This serves me right,” he protested.
“What does?”
He didn’t answer her. Instead, he cradled her breasts in his palms, bunching the material of her dress in the process. Slowly he rotated his thumb over her swollen, sensitive nipples until she gasped, first with shock and surprise, then with the sweet sigh of pleasure.
“Is it good, honey?” he asked, then kissed her, teasing her with his tongue until she was ready to collapse in his arms.
“It’s very good,” she told him when she could manage to speak, although her voice was incredibly low.
“I want you.” He took her hand and pressed it down over his zipper so that she could feel for herself his bulging hardness.
“Oh, Steve.” She ran her long fingernails over him.
Exquisitely aroused, he made small hungry sounds and whispered in a voice that shook with desire. “Come on, honey, I want to make love in a bed.”
She made a weak sound of protest. “No.” It demanded every ounce of fortitude she possessed to murmur the small word.
“No?” he repeated stunned.
“No.” There was more conviction in her voice this time. “So many of our discussions end up in the bedroom.”
“Carol, dear God, talking was the last thing I had in mind.”
“I know what you want,” she whispered. “I think we should wait … it’s too soon.”
“Wait,” he murmured, dragging in a deep breath. “Wait,” he said again. “All right, if that’s what you honestly want—then fine, anything you say.” Reluctantly he released her. “I’m going to have to get out of here while I still can, though. Walk me to the door, will you?”
Carol escorted him to her front door and his hungry kiss revealed all his pent-up frustration.
“You’re sure?” he asked one last time, giving her a round-eyed look that would put a puppy to shame.
“No … I’m not the least bit sure,” she admitted, and when his eyes widened even more, she laughed aloud at the excitement that flared to life so readily. “I don’t like this any better than you do,” she told him, “but I honestly think it’s necessary. When the time’s right we’ll know it.”
He shut his eyes and nodded. “I was afraid of that.”
Seventeen
Carol woke before seven Saturday morning, determined to get an early start on painting the baby’s bedroom. She dressed in a old pair of summer shorts with a wide elastic band and a Seahawks T-shirt that had once been Steve’s. A western bandana knotted at the base of her skull covered her blond hair. She looked like something out of the movie Aliens, she decided, smiling.
Oh, well, she wouldn’t be seeing Steve. She regretted turning down his offer of help now, but it was too late for second thoughts. She hadn’t seen him since the night they’d gone to the movies, nor had he phoned. That concerned her a little, but she tried not to let it bother her.
He was probably angry about her not letting him spend the night. Well, for his information, she’d been just as frustrated as he was. She’d honestly wanted him to stay—in fact, she’d tossed and turned in bed for a good hour after he’d left her, mulling over her decision. It may have been the right one, but it didn’t take away this ache of loneliness, or ease her own sexual frustration.
For six years the only real communication between them had been on a mattress. It was long past time they started building a solid foundation of love and trust. Those qualities were basic to a lifetime relationship, and they’d both suffered for not cultivating them.
By nine, Carol had the bedroom floor carpeted with a layer of newspapers. The windows were taped and she was prepared to do the cutting in around the corners and cei
ling.
She carried the stepladder to the far side of the room and, humming softly, started brushing on the pale pink paint.
“What are you doing on that ladder?”
The voice startled her so much that she nearly toppled from her precarious perch. “Steve Kyle,” she cried, violently expelling her breath. “You scared me half out of my mind.”
“Sorry,” he mumbled, frowning.
“What are you doing here?”
“I … I thought you could use some help.” He held up a white sack. “Knowing you, you probably forgot to eat breakfast. I brought you something.”
Now that she thought about it, Carol realized she hadn’t had anything to eat.
“Thanks,” she said grinning, grateful to see him. “I’m starved.”
Climbing down the stepladder, she set aside the paint and brush and reached for the sack. “Milk,” she said taking out a small carton, “and a muffin with egg and cheese.” She smiled up at him and brushed her mouth over his cheek. “Thanks.”
“Sit,” he ordered, turning over a cardboard box as a mock table for her.
“What about you?”
“I had orange juice and coffee on the way over here.” Hands on his hips, he surveyed her efforts. “Good grief, woman, you must have been at this for hours.”
“Since seven,” she said between bites. “It’s going to be a scorcher today, and I wanted to get an early start.”
He nodded absently, then turned the cap he was wearing around so that the brim pointed toward his back. Next, he picked up the paintbrush and coffee can she’d been using to hold paint. “I don’t want you on that ladder, understand?”
“Aye, aye, Captain.”
He responded to her light sarcasm with a soft chuckle. “Have you missed me?” he asked, turning momentarily to face her.
Carol dropped her gaze and nodded. “I thought you might be angry about the other night when you wanted to stay and—”
“Carol, no,” he objected immediately. “I understood and you were right. I couldn’t call—I’ve had twenty-four-hour duty.”
Almost immediately Carol’s spirits lifted and she placed the wrapper from her breakfast inside the paper sack. “Did you miss me?” she asked, loving the way his eyes brightened at her question.
Debbie Macomber's Navy Box Set Page 36
