Maternity Bride

by Maureen Child

  Yet here he was, coming dangerously close to caring for a woman who even now might be carrying his child.

  "Denise," he said abruptly, "when will we know about—"

  She reached up and laid her fingertips over his mouth, effectively silencing him. "I'll buy a test tomorrow."

  Tomorrow. A thousand differing emotions battled within him for dominance. He had never planned on being a father. Had figured on leaving all of that to his brothers. But, now that he was actually faced with the prospect of a child, it was different. Surprising as it was to admit, he had caught himself almost hoping there would be a baby. A girl maybe, with Denise's blue eyes and blond hair.

  Something inside him shifted painfully. Was it the child he wanted…or was it her child that had suddenly become so important?

  "We'll know for sure tomorrow," she said, "one way or the other."

  He nodded.

  "But tonight, Mike," she continued and her soft voice was almost lost in the pulsing rush of the ocean, "let's forget about everything but us. I want one more night with you before we know. Before things change forever."

  Mike bit back a groan as an invisible hand tightened around his heart and squeezed. Her quiet words tore at him, leaving his insides open and unguarded.

  "Kiss me, Mike."

  A deep, throbbing ache settled low in his gut and his hands fisted at his sides to keep from reaching for her. He looked down into her face, brushed by moonglow, and silently admitted that he had also been hoping this would happen. He had counted on the moon and the stars and the seductive scent and sound of the ocean to urge her into his arms.

  Why bother pretending now that he wasn't interested?

  Mike groaned again as he grabbed her and pulled her into the circle of his arms. He lowered his mouth to hers like a dying man seeking salvation and dismissed the last of his guilt in the rush of need swamping him. No point in denying the truth to himself. He had to have her.

  Chapter 8

  She dropped the glass to the sand and when he tore his mouth from hers to lavish long, slow, wet kisses along her throat, her moan of pleasure heightened his every sense.

  Mike couldn't wait any longer. He had already lived through the longest ten days of his life. Quickly, he scooped her up into his arms and practically ran back to their blanket. Setting her on her feet again, he yanked her sweatshirt off. As she unhooked her bra, he tore off his own shirt and threw it to the sand.

  He grabbed her again, pulling her flush against him. He wanted to feel all of her. Touch all of her. The cold air blowing in off the water couldn't dampen the heat devouring them. Moonlight made her skin gleam like fine porcelain and he ran his hands up and down her back, relishing the smoothness of her skin. Denise's hands clutched at his shoulders and every one of her fingertips acted as a brand, searing him with tiny darts of fire that reached down into a soul too long untouched. Anxious fingers fumbled with snaps and zippers. Her breath came in short, sharp pants, brushing his skin with warmth. Flames erupted inside him. His heart pounded fiercely and breathing became secondary. All he wanted, all he needed was her. Her touch. Her kiss. The silky grip of her body on his. He bent his head to take one of her nipples into his mouth. She arched against him, her fingernails digging into his shoulders.

  "Mike," she whispered on a moan. He heard his own torment and need echoed in her strained voice.

  Deliberately, he ran the edges of his teeth over her rigid nipple. Denise gasped and moved one hand to the back of his head, holding him in place. She needn't have worried that he would stop. If it had meant his life, he couldn't have left her. Drawing on that sensitive bud, he suckled her, tugging on her flesh with a steadily increasing pressure that pushed her forward, toward the edge of a precipice they had both dangled from for days.

  As he gave first one breast, then the other, his devoted attention, his hands smoothed her underwear and those black leather pants down her legs. He lowered his head farther, trailing kisses along her rib cage, across her abdomen and finally, on the triangle of curls guarding her secrets.

  Denise swayed unsteadily on her feet and he tightened his hold on her. With him bracing her, she stepped out of her clothes and stood before him, wearing only the glimmer of moonlight.

  "You're so beautiful," he murmured as his fingers traveled up her inner thighs. "More beautiful than I remembered."

  Her breath caught and she grabbed at his shoulders again for balance. "Mike," she whispered, "don't make me wait. Make love to me again."

  "I will, honey," he promised and gently nudged her thighs farther apart. "Nothing can keep us apart tonight." Holding on to her hips, Mike slowly leaned close and dragged a line of kisses along her belly. Her legs trembled. His grip on her hips tightened and he dipped his head to taste the heart of her. "Mike!" she gasped his name and dug her fingernails deeper into his shoulder muscles.

  Tremors rippled through her, leaving him shaken. He ran the tip of his tongue across one small, hard bud and felt her body quiver in response. Damp heat welcomed him and Mike gave himself over to the pleasure of loving her. Each gasp of delight that shot from her throat only fed the raging desire burning inside him.

  "It feels so…good," she managed to say softly, brokenly. Her legs stiffened, her hips rocked against his mouth as she tried to open herself even further to him.

  He smoothed his tongue across that so tender spot and as he did, his right hand slipped to the valley between her thighs. His lips and tongue stroked her velvety softness and Mike gently dipped two fingers into the tight, hot sheath of her body. She tensed, every muscle suddenly going rigid. He redoubled his attentions. His fingers slid in and out of her damp heat and his mouth tantalized her.

  She widened her stance, welcoming him, silently demanding the release that he knew was rushing toward her. A soft, broken cry issued from her throat when the first ripples of satisfaction shuddered through her. She held the back of his head to her and Mike groaned along with her as if her release were his own.

  Staggering and limp, Denise leaned against him and he eased her gently down onto the blanket. She gave him a wan smile.

  "Mike, I never knew that I could feel something like that. So…" Her eyes slid shut briefly and she paused to take a long, shuddering breath. When she opened her eyes again, she reached for him, lifting still trembling arms.

  Quickly, unwilling to wait another moment to be joined with her, he shucked his boots and jeans. He paused only long enough to fumble through his wallet, before tossing it atop his clothes. Then he turned back to her, already tearing open a small foil packet.

  She looked up at him and smiled. Lazily, she asked, "Isn't that like locking the barn door after the horse is out and running?"

  Mike slid the sheath on, then moved to kneel between legs she parted in invitation. Grinning down at her, he said, "This time lady, we do things right."

  "My hero."

  "Damn straight."

  Denise lifted her hips as he entered her. Though the flush of release still warmed her, she was immediately roused again. As his strong, hard body moved in and out of hers, she felt another driving need building inside.

  Tension streaked through her body. She held her breath, sure that this time, the climax would kill her. She held him tighter, anchoring herself to his strength. Fireworks exploded within her. Her hips moved in time with his. Hands caressed. Lips met in hungry kisses that left them gasping for air. One last thrust and her body convulsed around his. He called her name as he fell into her arms and Denise used the last of her energy to catch him and hold him tightly.

  The solid, heavy weight of him pressed down on her and beneath the blanket they lay on, she felt the hills and valleys of sand digging into her back. Still, she didn't want to move. She wanted time to stop. She wanted this moment to last forever.

  Tomorrow, they would know if they had created a baby and everything between them would change. A sheen of tears pricked at her eyes and Denise blinked them back as she held Mike even tighter.

&nbs
p; They had no future. From the beginning, she had known that Mike Ryan was the wrong man for her. They were too different. They had nothing in common. Except perhaps, she thought, a child.

  But she knew better than anyone that a child wasn't enough to keep two people happy. Her own parents had failed miserably and she refused to relive their mistakes.

  Not even for Mike.

  God help her, she loved him. She didn't know how it had happened, or even when and it didn't really matter. All that mattered was that she loved a man she couldn't have. Her eyes slid closed as she wondered how she would ever get through the rest of her life without him.

  Her deep, even breathing told him she was asleep. Mike tightened his arms around her, drawing her even closer against his side. Her breath puffed on his naked chest, she mumbled something incoherent and slid one of her hands across his abdomen to rest on his hip.

  Mike glanced at the window on the far wall and saw the first stirrings of dawn beginning to lighten the sky. Soon, it would be morning. Soon, he would find out if he was about to become a father or not.

  His eyes squeezed shut briefly. Then he opened them again to stare up at the ceiling. How the hell could she sleep? he wondered. In just a few short hours now, their lives might be changed forever.

  He lifted one hand to smooth across her hair, loving the feel of the soft silky curls against his palm. She muttered again and shifted at his side. Mike took a long, deep breath and smiled into the darkness. Strange how right it felt, her body aligned with his, lying together in the big bed his grandparents had founded a family in.

  "Mike?" she whispered and he bent his head to look into her face. Asleep, he told himself. Asleep and talking. He wondered if she knew about this little habit of hers.

  Easing his head back down onto the pillows, he stroked her back gently and said quietly, "Shh, Denise. It's all right."

  "Mmm…" She sighed and cuddled in closer.

  His body immediately hardened. Desire and a deep-seated need to protect swelled up within him, fighting for precedence. Protection won.

  "Sleep, baby," he crooned gently as he continued to stroke her skin reassuringly.

  "I love you, Mike," Denise mumbled.

  He held his breath.

  She muttered something more, but he didn't quite catch it. It didn't matter, though. He had heard enough.

  Snatches of emotions raced through him. Fear, wonder, pleasure. Love. She loved him.

  In her sleep, he thought. Wide awake, he doubted very much that she would have said those three words. But did that make a difference? No. And how did he feel? Was this strange, unsettled feeling in the pit of his stomach love? And if it was, what should he do about it? He wasn't husband material, was he? As for being a father… God, he pitied the kid who was stuck with him for a parent.

  A kid deserved someone who was good at all of the things parents were supposed to be good at. Right? What did he know abut PTAs and bingo nights and booster clubs? Wasn't that stuff important?

  But his own childhood had been a good one, he told himself, and as far as he could remember, his old man had never gone to a single parent-teacher conference. Maybe, he thought, it was enough just to love your kid.

  Wrapping both arms around Denise, he rested his chin on the top of her head. He didn't have any answers and Lord knew, the thought of parenthood still scared the hell out of him. But despite all of that, he silently promised the woman in his arms that everything would be all right.

  "How much longer?" Mike asked again.

  Denise checked the kitchen timer sitting on the bathroom sink. "About another minute."

  "Are you sure you set that thing for three minutes?"

  "Yes, I'm sure." She couldn't really blame him for growling. Three minutes had never felt so long to her, either. And Mike's tiny bathroom seemed to be shrinking. The two of them had been standing there, just a foot apart for two full minutes, waiting for an answer to the question that had been in the backs of their minds for ten days.

  She glanced at him briefly, but couldn't bear to look into those shuttered eyes of his. Whatever he was thinking, he was keeping to himself.

  Unable to stand still a moment longer, she snatched up the pregnancy kit's instruction sheet, stuffed it into the empty box then tossed it into the trash. Trying to keep busy, she also tried not to stare at the test stick. She looked at Mike again, standing in the open doorway to his house's one and only bathroom. She saw him watching that stick as if expecting it to blow up any second.

  She wished she was home. In her own house. Denise rubbed her upper arms nervously. Somehow, this whole test thing would have been easier to handle if she had been in familiar surroundings. Alone.

  Blast it, she had planned to buy a kit herself, take the darn test in private and then inform Mike of the results. It would have given her time to adjust to whatever those results were. But she was beginning to understand that nothing worked out as planned. When they had finally left the beach the night before, they were both too tired to take a step beyond his house.

  She had fallen asleep in Mike's arms and awakened to find him already up and gone. He returned armed with a box of donuts and an early pregnancy test kit. Now all that was left to do was wait.

  Denise studied his expression covertly. Tense, grim, he was no doubt silently muttering every prayer he had ever known in the hopes of keeping that stick from turning pink.

  The only real question here was, why wasn't she doing the same thing?

  A shrill bell rang out suddenly and Denise jumped. Mike took one long step into the room and shut off the timer. Looking at her, he asked unnecessarily, "One pink stripe, negative, two stripes positive, right?"

  She nodded, knowing as well as he did that neither of them was likely to forget how to read the stick. Too much was riding on the answers. She took a deep breath and swallowed hard past an unexpected lump of emotion clogging her throat. "You want to look," Mike prompted, "or do you want me to?"

  "Go ahead." She closed her eyes and waited. It didn't matter who looked, she told herself. The answer would be the same. And her hope for privacy had already been shattered. A long moment passed in silence, then Mike said flatly, "That's it then."

  "What?" she asked, even though she knew what he meant. "Congratulations, Ms. Torrance," he said. "It's a baby." Did the room spin or was it just her mind racing, whirling with a sudden overload?

  "Ohmigod," she said as air rushed from her lungs. "Let me see it."

  "I know pink when I see it," his voice rumbled into the small room. "And even I can count to two."

  Still, she held her hand out for the slender white wand. She needed to see it herself. She needed to look down at the bright pink stripes that had just thrown her life a serious curve. He slapped it into her palm. She stared down at the test square and then the control square. Each of them held a distinct pink line. Pregnant.

  "I need to sit down," she muttered and turned toward the door, still clutching that stick.

  She walked down the short hall to the living room and practically fell onto the old, overstuffed sofa. She wasn't surprised. Stunned maybe, but not surprised. Somehow it only made sense that the one time she stepped out of her usual world…the one time she had acted before thinking…would end in a baby.

  Fathered by the one man she should never have loved.

  "You okay?" he asked.

  Denise looked up at him, standing in front of the sofa, arms crossed over his chest. My, he looked delighted.

  "Yes. I think so," she said, leaning back into the cushions. She reached up and rubbed her forehead, hoping to ease the headache that had just erupted behind her eyes. "A little… confused at the moment, but okay."

  "Well," he countered, "I'm not."

  Her eyebrows lifted. Not real surprising, she thought. He had made his feelings more than clear on the night this child had been conceived. It might have been nice if he didn't look as though he were about to face a firing squad. On the other hand, at least she knew exactly whe
re he stood. Which should make living without him a bit easier to deal with.

  After all, what kind of future could she have had anyway with a man who so clearly had no desire to be a father?

  She didn't want to examine too closely the wrench of disappointment that tugged at her. She had no right to be let down or hurt at his reaction. Logically, she knew that. Unfortunately, logic didn't have a lot to do with what she was feeing at the time.

  The thing to do, she told herself, was to go home. Get back to her own place where she could sit and think, out from under Mike Ryan's glare.

  "Thanks for being honest," she said stiffly and started to get up.

  "You didn't let me finish," Mike said sharply.

  "Oh, I think you were fairly clear."

  "Dammit, will you listen for a minute?"

  "Why should I? Just by looking at you I can tell what you want to say." Her voice sounded more strained than she would have wanted ordinarily. But under the circumstances, she felt as though she was doing pretty well.

  "Is that right?" he said, his own voice harsh and scratchy. "It's perfectly obvious, Mike. You're upset about our.. .news. Well, that's understandable." She tried to get up, but he laid one hand on her shoulder, holding her down gently. She stared at that hand until he pulled it away. "But it should be just as understandable to you that I need to be alone for a while. To think."

  "Thinking can wait another minute or two, all right?"

  One minute. All right, she would give him one minute to tell her that he wasn't going to be trapped into being a father. Then she would let him know that she had no intention of springing that trap, either. Easing back into the sofa cushions, she drew her knees close to her chest and wrapped her arms around her legs. "Fine. I'll listen."

  He reached up and used both hands to smooth his hair back from his face. When he was finished, he tucked his palms into the back pockets of his jeans. Staring down at her, the familiar shutters over his eyes, he said, "I didn't mean that I'm not okay. I meant, I'm not confused."