Passion's Baby

by Catherine Spencer

  A spasm seized her, a contraction of surprise and discomfort so brief it barely registered before she expanded to accept the rhythm of his lovemaking. Locking her to him, he drove into her, again and again. And each time, she rose to meet him, gasping at the sensual shock of him, so full and vigorous within her; riding the sweeping crest of each wave, and falling with it as it ebbed and flowed around her.

  I love you, she wanted to tell him, passion saturating her every pore and diluting self-preservation to a faint, irrelevant memory.

  But she did not. Instead, she lifted her face to his, her mouth blindly seeking. And finding….

  Oh, how she’d missed being loved by a man! Her entire body contracting with need, she yearned toward him, open, soft, willing. How eager she was, how ravenous!

  But he was equal to the task of satisfying her. Gripping her hips, he lifted her to meet him and gave until she was openly crying for relief.

  When it came, it was…it was like nothing she’d ever known before. Matchless…sublime…!

  In the hazy aftermath, with the boat rocking gently and his arm flung heavily over her, the urge came to her again, to say I love you. They were so exactly the right words for such a moment; the only words to convey the emotions he brought to life in her.

  But another sound broke the silence first, a dull thud against the hull of the boat, followed by a second, harder jolt. Jerking himself to his feet, Liam peered into the darkness and let fly with a curse.

  “What is it? Have we run aground?” Feeling horribly exposed without his arms around her, Jane ducked down in the corner of the seat.

  “No,” he said, firing up the engine and steering the boat carefully astern. “We got bumped by a log, that’s all. But we’ve drifted badly. Better get your drawers on, Janie, and cover up, before someone decides to do the heroic thing and come to our rescue.”

  Mortified, she scrambled to find her clothes. How quickly the romantic mood had been shattered!

  Much later, long after the boat was tied up at the home wharf and her house lay in darkness, Liam gave up on trying to sleep.

  He’d made love to her, for crying out loud! The whole nine yards! Without a condom!

  Hauling his sorry rear out to the porch, he eased himself into the hammock and in the cool, post-midnight hours, grappled with the enormity of his actions. That a guy of his experience should have made such a colossal blunder was inexcusable on any number of fronts.

  He knew she’d been hurt by his silence, after the fact; and at the way he’d ended the evening, with a curt “Good night,” and not so much as a hint of lingering affection. Even a fool of his magnitude could figure out the reason her mouth had trembled when she tried to smile, and recognize the sad droop to her shoulders when she turned and made her way home.

  She’d probably berated herself for being easy, and cried herself to sleep because he hadn’t said the things she needed to hear in order to make her feel better about herself.

  That was the whole trouble with women, he thought, shifting irritably to relieve his aching leg. They always had to analyze everything and find reasons to justify their actions, especially when it came to sex. It was never enough to accept that, sometimes, everything came together and it just…happened.

  That’s how it had been tonight. He hadn’t planned to jump on her. Hadn’t intended touching her, even. She wasn’t his type—too needy, too serious, too morally upright.

  So how come he’d suddenly wanted her so badly he’d damn near climaxed prematurely? And why now, when his animal appetites had been satisfied in spades, did the thought of her, all slim elegance washed with moonlight, get him into a lather all over again? Why couldn’t he just chalk the whole evening up to a combination of circumstance and bad judgment on both their parts?

  Moodily, he flexed his leg, and scowled. He knew why. She had a sweetness of shape, a generosity of temperament, that aroused his deepest suspicions.

  She was the kind of woman who crept into a man’s subconscious while he slept or thought of other things, and took up residence there so that he was never truly free of her again. He’d surmised as much for days and now he had the proof to back up his theory.

  The realization gnawed at him as dawn crept up from the east and turned the sea to mottled pewter. When reason should have prevailed, he wanted her. Even when fatigue overcame him but the ache in his leg prevented him from sleeping and the stubbornness that was his nature wouldn’t let him take a painkiller, he wanted her.

  And he knew he couldn’t have her. Not again, not ever. Because he couldn’t give her what she really wanted.

  “Where do you see yourself, five years from now?” he’d asked her, just the day before, when she’d served him lunch.

  She’d looked at her hands, soft, pretty hands, made to hold a baby—or drive a man mad with sweet caresses—then glanced off into the distance. “I’m thinking of taking the B.C. Securities course, and getting into the financial planning side of banking. It should be an exciting challenge.”

  Exciting? “You sound about as pumped up about that as I’d be if I was facing root canal treatment!” he scoffed.

  “It’s a realistic goal. The other things I once wanted….” She shrugged resignedly. “They weren’t meant to be.”

  “You’re talking about children?”

  “Yes.” Her big brown eyes grew wistful.

  “Hell, Janie,” he’d said, “just because you’re a widow doesn’t put you out of the baby game. If having a child is all that important, what’s to stop you from going after your dream?”

  “Apart from the fact that I’m already thirty-one, you mean?”

  “That’s no reason. These days, plenty of women wait until they’re in their thirties before they think about having babies.”

  Face closed, she hugged her knees and stared out at the waning afternoon. “If getting pregnant were my only ambition, I suppose it would be an option. But a child deserves to have two parents. That’s one thing you and I do agree on.”

  “So get married again.”

  “Just to have a baby? That’s no reason. Marriage should be about two people needing each other because they’re in love, not because they want children, and I don’t know if I’ll ever be ready for that kind of commitment again.”

  But she’d been lying—to him and more dangerously, to herself. If ever a woman was meant to be married, it was she. Whether or nor she was willing to admit it, she was like the boat last night: drifting aimlessly and getting knocked around by whatever happened to cross her path. She needed an anchor, someone stable and reliable. Someone like the man she’d lost.

  Liam could no more fill that role than a snake could pass for an elephant. He’d known it yesterday, and nothing had changed since then. So what the devil had he been thinking of, making love with her tonight? Apart from misleading her, he’d risked doing the one thing he’d promised he’d never do: father an unwanted child.

  Well, he was paying the price now. From the way his leg was throbbing, cavorting around on the dance floor, not to mention the acrobatics on the boat, had probably set his recovery back by at least a month. He felt lower than dirt. The forbidden fruit had tasted sweet enough that he wanted more, which meant he was in trouble up to his armpits. And since he didn’t trust himself to stay away from temptation, he was going to have to make bloody good and sure that she chose to keep her distance from him.

  He only hoped that was all the price he was going to be called on to pay.

  Only a hopeless romantic would expect that he’d show up at her door the morning after, bouquet of wildflowers in hand and some indication that he’d found their lovemaking memorable. Before they’d even made it back to shore, it had been plain enough that he regretted the entire incident.

  She wasn’t exactly proud of it herself. The abandon with which she’d responded to him left her covered with blushes. But to pretend it had never happened, or worse, to try to avoid each other indefinitely, struck her as absurd. Sooner or later th
ey were bound to come face-to-face again, and she’d just as soon get it over and done with. Beard the lion in his den, as it were. Surely that was the most sensible way to put the whole business into proper perspective?

  “I made a couple of cakes this morning and thought you might like one,” she’d say. “Oh, yes, and about last night—it meant nothing, Liam, we both know that, so let’s just forget it. No reason to let it spoil our friendship…no, sorry, I can’t stay for coffee. I want to take Bounder for a good long run before it gets too hot….”

  So she persuaded herself, rehearsing her little speech until she had it word perfect.

  When she arrived at his place, a series of thumps and muffled curses led her to the porch on the far side of the house where she’d discovered him once before, testing the strength of his injured leg. He was there again, with his back to her, stripped to the waist and wearing only a pair of shorts for a change, instead of his usual blue jeans.

  Using the railing as a support bar, he was exercising his bad leg, swinging it up and out in a sideways motion, with some sort of metal weight strapped to the sole of his shoe—a grueling routine, if the sweat glistening on his shoulders was any indication.

  There was something so innately private about the scene that she froze, her one thought being to steal away and leave what she wanted to say for another time. Had the boards under her feet not creaked when she moved, she might have succeeded, he was so immersed in what he was doing.

  But at the sound, he looked over his shoulder and saw her. In the split second before he moved, a string of expressions chased across his face. Surprise, chagrin and outrage followed one other in rapid succession, clear warning that she was about as welcome as the plague.

  Sucking in a breath, Jane braced herself for the storm about to break. He wasted no time in unleashing its force. “Since when did I give you permission to drop in uninvited? This isn’t a peep show.”

  Prepared though she thought she was, the cold fury in his voice still stunned her. How could he speak to her so, as if she were the enemy? They’d shared the ultimate intimacy only a few hours before. He’d kissed her as if she were the only woman on earth. He’d made love to her, moved her to tears, lain exhausted and replete in her arms. What was so terrible about her seeing him now? “I know that,” she said. “I just came by to…”

  “Shut up!” he spat. “Just shut the hell up and get out of here!”

  When she continued to stand there, poised for flight but too dismayed to effect it, he yanked on the T-shirt he’d slung over the railing and made a clumsy grab for his cane. “Fine!” he snapped. “If you won’t go, I will.”

  But in his haste to remove himself from the scene rather than tolerate her presence, he stumbled and went sprawling.

  She saw then what he’d been trying so hard to hide. Faded to pink, the disfiguring scars criss-crossed the front of his leg like shiny railroad tracks, starting just above his ankle, snaking around his knee, and running haphazardly up his thigh.

  “Oh…!” Unable to stifle her involuntary gasp of compassion and knowing how he would interpret it, she clapped her hands over her mouth. Then, as he continued to flail around, she went to try to lift him—a futile gesture, given that he outweighed her by at least seventy pounds.

  “Beat it!” he raged, swatting at her ineffectually. “I don’t need your help and I sure as hell don’t need your pity!”

  “It’s not pity!” she cried. “Liam, please! You didn’t push me away last night. We were close, we shared so much. Why won’t you let me help you now?”

  Driven by fury laced with a good dollop of his infernal pride, he finally got himself upright and lashed out at her with a fresh volley of insults. “How like a woman, to try cashing in on a man’s one moment of weakness! Just because I did what you so clearly wanted me to do last night, don’t presume that you can now waltz over here anytime you please and shove your way into my life.”

  “Did what I wanted you to do?” Stirred by such gross injustice to an anger which matched his, she glared at him. “Who do you think you’re fooling? You can shake your fist and deny it all you like now, but the truth is, you wanted to make love as much as I did, Liam McGuire, and the fact that you were able to perform so admirably is proof enough of that.”

  He had the grace to look embarrassed. “Yeah, well, it’s not a mistake I intend to repeat.”

  “That’s the best piece of news I’ve heard all day!”

  “Is that why you came over here to begin with? To trade insults?”

  “No,” she said. “I brought you some cake. I thought…I hoped it might—”

  “Popular folklore notwithstanding, the way to this man’s heart is not through his stomach, honey,” he said disagreeably, “so if you think bribing me with a little home baking will win you extra Brownie points and get me back between the sheets, you’re sadly mistaken.”

  “Don’t think of it as a bribe,” she choked out, the hurt she’d so far managed to sidestep finally catching up with her. “Consider it more a payment for services rendered. And enjoy it while it’s still fresh, Liam, because it’s the last thing you’ll ever get from me. As for getting you in my bed, I’d rather keep company with a scorpion.”

  “Then we’re finally in agreement about something.”

  Oh, he was horrible! Heartless. Inhuman. And she was beyond stupid to have thought for a minute that she could appeal to his better nature, because he didn’t have one!

  She went to turn away, before he caught the gleam of tears in her eyes, but he was more observant than she realized. A shadow of remorse crossed his face and he sort of reached out as if he might touch her. Then, at the last minute, he changed his mind and simply said, “Janie, wait just a minute.”

  “Yes?”

  Something of the hope suddenly springing to life must have shown in the lilt of her voice because he immediately reared back and muttered, “Never mind. It was nothing important.”

  She should have left it at that. Instead, devil for punishment that she was, she said, “We might as well get everything out in the open, and be done with, Liam. You’re angry, not just because I came over here today but because we made love last night, and pretending otherwise won’t change the facts. I don’t claim to speak for you but what we shared meant something—at least it did to me.”

  “Don’t go there, Jane,” he cut in grimly. “Last night was…a mistake. It wasn’t planned, it should never have happened and it won’t happen again. And it had nothing to do with love. So don’t go calling it by names which don’t apply, and don’t go looking for reasons to justify it, because there aren’t any that’ll hold up under scrutiny.”

  She’d hated it when he first began calling her “Janie.” But now, his reverting to plain old “Jane” struck an ominously somber note. “I more or less arrived at the same conclusion myself,” she said. “The difference is that I wouldn’t have spelled it out quite as callously, nor would I have used it as an excuse to end our friendship, which is exactly what you’re doing. I never took you for a coward, Liam.”

  “Sometimes, a clean break is best. The sole reason I came here in the first place was to be alone. The same’s true for you. We were each doing just fine, as long as we kept our distance. Our mistake lay in thinking we could have the best of both worlds—be neighbors and recluses both at the same time. But it’s not too late to reverse the damage.”

  “Not for you, perhaps.”

  He grew very still at that, like a wild animal alerted to imminent threat. “What’s that supposed to mean? Are you saying you might wind up…?”

  “Pregnant?” Her attempted laugh struck a shrill, unpleasant note to the ear. “Isn’t it a bit late for you to be asking me that?”

  He lowered his eyes and made a big production of examining his feet. “Did you do anything to prevent the possibility?”

  “No! Did you?”

  “You know I didn’t. But you could be on the pill, or something.”

  “I’m afraid
not. Until you, I’ve never been with any other man except my husband.” She swallowed, suddenly overcome with grief, less for Derek’s untimely death than for its attendant losses. “It was different with him. He’d never have…there was never anything like this, the morning after. He loved me.”

  “Is that my cue to say the three big words? Is that what you’re driving at?”

  “No,” she said sadly. “The only thing worse than sleeping with someone you don’t love is lying about it and pretending feelings which aren’t there.”

  “That’s a relief! But it hardly answers my original question. Could you be pregnant?”

  “I guess we’ll just have to wait and see. If you happen to bump into me six months from now and I’m big as a house, you’ll know—”

  “Cripes, Jane!” he exploded. “This isn’t something to be taken lightly. If you find—”

  “Don’t worry, Liam, I won’t come running to you, not when you’ve made your feelings so plain.”

  “Your being pregnant would change a lot of things.”

  “But not the most important which is that, given a choice, you’d prefer to have nothing more to do with me.”

  “If there’s the remotest possibility…if it’s that time of the month when you’re popping with fertility, I want to know. Now.”

  “What makes you think you’re privy to information as personal as my body functions, when you feel perfectly justified in lambasting me for having accidentally seen the scars on your leg?” she exclaimed, a red tide of embarrassment sweeping up her neck and flooding her face with heat.

  He pinned her in an unwavering stare. “Answer the question, Jane,” he said implacably. “Is it a bad time of the month to be playing sexual Russian roulette?”