The teacher interrupted the exercise. “All right, moms. You’ve enjoyed yourself enough for the moment.”
At the sound of the teacher’s voice, Stephanie started out of a pleasant haze of wanting. A chorus of protests went up from the women in the class but none more heartfelt than Stephanie’s. She’d wanted the feel of Danny caressing her to go on forever.
“When is it our turn for a massage?” one of the dads-to-be asked.
“Whenever you can talk your wife into it,” Maureen responded with a laugh. “One more thing and I’ll let you go for tonight. How many itchy tummies do we have here?”
With a few embarrassed giggles, most of the pregnant women raised their hands, including Stephanie.
“Itchy?” Danny mumbled.
“Sometimes it’s awful,” she admitted.
At the front of the class, Ms. Truelove produced a box of body lotion samples and began passing them out. “Itching is normal, ladies. Your skin is stretching and trust me, the dry air we’ve been experiencing lately is making it worse. Try a daily dose of this moisturizer and see if it helps.”
“Can I get my husband to rub it on for me?” a woman asked, a gleeful look in her eyes.
“I recommend it.”
Her cheeks still flushed with desire, Stephanie took the tube of lotion from the teacher and clutched it in her hand as tightly as a baton in a relay race. How could she get Danny to soothe the cream on her tummy, she wondered. Or did she really want him to?
Her skin was nearly on fire from his massage and so was her libido. No telling where things would lead if they were face-to-face with Danny caressing her as sweetly as he’d been massaging her neck and back.
Dear heaven! Who would have thought a man who hauled firehose around for a living would have such gentle hands?
With the class dismissed, the couples stood around visiting for a while. Stephanie could barely keep her mind on the conversation. She kept imagining Danny’s hands on her belly…and on her breasts. And a good many other places she was afraid to picture in too much detail.
“So, are you ready to go?” she asked as casually as she could. “Tomorrow’s a work day for both of us.”
“Right.” He extended his hand to one of the men who’d become his instant buddy. “See you next week, Harry. Take good care of Michele.”
“I intend to,” Harry replied, his arm looping casually around his wife’s shoulders.
With a few more brief good-nights, Danny ushered Stephanie out of the classroom and into the hallway.
“How do you do that?” she asked.
As easily as if they had always been a couple, he took her hand and threaded his fingers through hers. “Do what?”
“Everybody’s your friend after ten seconds. It takes me ages to warm up to strangers.”
“You’re shy?” He asked the question as though he’d never considered the possibility.
“Of course I am. All artists—well, maybe most—are a little introverted.”
“Could have fooled me, Twigs. You sure as heck haven’t ever been shy with me.”
“I’ve known you all my life. That’s different.” It was also the crux of the problem. He no doubt still thought of her as the pesky kid down the street, and she was all too aware of the number of women who had passed through his life, none of whom had lingered long.
The hospital doors swished open for them and they stepped outside. The cool night air washed over Stephanie but didn’t quite manage to put a chill on her overheated libido. The memory of Danny’s caresses was still too fresh, the feel of his hand linked with hers too heated. His fingers were so hot, he had to have an overactive metabolism. A great man to curl up with on a cold winter night.
Except her own metabolism appeared to be working overtime at the moment.
He helped her into his truck, the back of his hand brushing the side of her breast as he took her arm. An accidental caress, she was sure, but no less erotic than if he’d intended it.
Chapter Eight
Overcome by a bad case of conflicting urges, Stephanie barely spoke on the way home. She fingered the tube of lotion, unscrewed the top and tightened it again. The plastic was slippery in her hands. Or maybe she was sweating.
She couldn’t come right out and say, “Let’s do what all the other couples are doing tonight. You rub this on my tummy and we’ll see where it leads.”
She’d never been that brazen with any man and certainly couldn’t be with Danny. Besides, she was pregnant, which hardly qualified her as a potential seductress even if she did build up the nerve to suggest they test out the chemistry that was bubbling between them. At least it was boiling on her side of the truck.
How on earth would she survive the mortification if the swell of her belly repulsed him?
She should leave well enough alone. He hadn’t asked to be her childbirthing coach. The job had been foisted on him by her father. And, despite that memorable kiss at the carnival, he hadn’t volunteered to become her lover, either.
Nope, the better choice was for her to take a cold shower and curl up with the most boring book she could find so she wouldn’t be tossing and turning all night wishing for things she shouldn’t.
He pulled the SUV into her driveway and she started to get out on her own.
“I’ll walk you in,” he said.
“It’s only twenty-five feet to the back door. I’m not likely to get lost.”
“You forgot to leave any lights on and there’s no one at home, right?”
“Dad left this morning for his seminar.”
“Like I said—” He popped his door open and the overhead light flashed on. “I don’t like the idea of you walking into a dark house alone.”
Stephanie wondered, after all these years of alternately ignoring or teasing her, what in the world had possessed him to be a gentleman now when she wasn’t feeling the least bit ladylike. Though she had enough female hormones raging through her system to open a pharmaceutical factory.
The street was quiet, the neighboring houses dark. The glow from the streetlights filtered through the trees at the curb, creating a lacy pattern of shadows and light on the lawn and driveway. The same theme repeated across Danny’s tan windbreaker, skipping from one broad shoulder to another.
He reached the back stoop one step before she did, turned and held out his hand.
Inside her body, she felt a fine trembling begin. Wanting and need coalesced like two fast-flowing streams joining to form a river of desire. Her heart pumped hard, and a ringing began in her ears.
She placed the tube of lotion in his hand.
For a heartbeat, he was quiet, studying her with eyes so dark she could barely see them in the dim light.
“If the door’s locked,” he said in a low voice that barely broke the silence, “I think a key would work better.”
“A key—” Flustered and mortally embarrassed, she dug into her pocket for her keys. “Sorry about that. I don’t know what I was—”
“I’ll do it.” Taking the keys, he opened the door, reached inside and flicked on the kitchen light.
She ducked her head to hide her face. “Well, good night. Thanks for coming to the class with me.” She scooted past him, but to her surprise he followed her into the kitchen.
“You may need these again sometime.” He held out her keys.
“Oh, right.” She took them and dropped them into her pocket without looking at him.
“How’s the itchy tummy?”
“Huh, fine. You know, there’s always a little—”
“You want to see if this cream stuff works?”
Her head snapped up. She saw the same look in his eyes she’d seen the night he’d kissed her—sexy and heated without a hint of teasing. She swallowed hard.
“I’ll try some when I get ready for bed.”
If it were possible, his eyes grew even darker. “I got the feeling from Maureen that it worked best when applied by a partner.”
Despite the fact that h
er heart was racing and her lungs were screaming for oxygen, she could barely draw a breath. “You don’t have to.”
“Part of the job training to be a coach.” He hesitated, his gaze sweeping over her flushed face. “Unless you don’t want me to.”
“I’m fat.”
“You’re pregnant. Having a bulge around the middle comes with the territory.” He skimmed the back of his fingers across her cheek. “You’re also beautiful.”
Tears flooded her eyes. “Danny, I—”
“Shh. We’ll try some of the cream. If you don’t like it, if I make you uncomfortable in any way, I’ll stop. I promise.”
Unable to speak, she managed to nod.
He led her into the living room, turned the end-table lamp on low and sat her down on the couch. Then he lowered himself beside her and opened the tube of lotion. He rubbed some of the cream between his fingers.
“Smells like roses,” he said, a half smile curling his lips. “You ready?”
Every part of her being cried out for the first touch of his hand on her. “Yes,” she whispered.
He slipped his hand beneath her sweater. His fingertips grazed over her flesh, soothing and sensual, his caress as sweet as a summer breeze and intimately arousing. She swallowed a whimper of pleasure.
“You have the softest skin,” he murmured, holding her gaze with his. “And you make the nicest noises.”
“You have great hands.”
“Does that mean the cream’s working?”
“I can’t tell.” She was experiencing too many sensations to sort them out. The masculine roughness of his hands. The elusive scent of roses mixing with his warm breath. The growing ache that was pulsing between her legs.
“Then we’ll have to keep trying, won’t we?” He squeezed some more lotion onto his fingertips then slipped them beneath the stretchy waistband of her slacks and under the sheer fabric of her panties.
“Oh,” she moaned.
“Nice?”
“Very.”
He skimmed back and forth, his fingers slipping lower with each trip across her belly. Each slow pass sent new ripples of pleasure through her like the wings of a butterfly. But hotter as though the wings carried tiny sparks of fire on their tips.
“Stephanie, honey, this might go better if I could see you. Would you mind if I lifted your sweater?”
She breathed out a sigh. “No.”
“No, you don’t mind? Or no, you don’t want me to?”
“Yes, I want you to.” Heedless of her fears, she tugged her sweater up over her head with trembling fingers and tossed it aside.
For a moment, she thought she’d made a dreadful mistake. He stared at her, unmoving, his thoughts unreadable.
A feeling of shame crept behind her sternum and pressed painfully against her heart. He hated what she looked like. Hated that she was fat with another man’s child.
To her amazement, he knelt in front of her and cupped the sides of her belly with his hands. His expression shifted and softened to one of reverence.
“No one ever told me how truly beautiful a pregnant woman could be. It never occurred to me that you—” Lowering his head, he pressed a soft kiss to her belly button. “You are so incredible.”
In relief, she threaded her fingers through the thick waves of his hair. “I used to have an innie, now it’s an outie.”
He chuckled, a low rumbling sound that vibrated against her skin. His tongue circled her belly button, and her insides clinched.
“Danny?”
“Hmm, delicious.” He lifted his head and his hands moved upward. Expertly his fingers unhooked her bra, and he took the weight of her breasts into his palms. “Whatever did you do with my Twiggy?”
“I was never your Twiggy. I was the pesky kid down the street.”
“You’re grown up now.”
Grown and knowing exactly what she wanted. “Kiss me, Danny. Kiss me like you did at the carnival.” She hooked her hand around his neck, drawing him to her.
There was no hesitation on his part. With a hungry sound, his mouth covered hers and his tongue plunged inside. She was swept away by his need, which she fully matched with her own. He was her adolescent dream come true, her fantasy in the flesh, kissing her with a passion she never could have imagined in her teenage years. Even now it seemed surreal that she was kissing Danny Sullivan in her living room and hoping he would never stop.
He pressed her down on the couch, his hands fondling her breasts, his lips pressing kisses to them. When he took her nipple in his mouth, suckling, she cried out in unadulterated joy.
Her flesh had never been more sensitive, her body never more responsive than at this very moment with this man. She celebrated that realization.
“Stephanie, honey.” He was breathing hard. The sure evidence of his arousal pressed against her thigh. “I don’t know how far to go here, sweetheart. I don’t even know if you can—”
“All the way, Danny. In every way you can.”
“I don’t want to hurt you.”
She palmed his cheek, feeling the slight rasp of his evening whiskers. “You won’t. Not unless you stop now.” Tomorrow might be a different matter, she knew. But for tonight she was ready to risk anything to live out her dream of loving Danny Sullivan, the bad boy from down the street.
“The bedroom?” he asked.
She reached for the snap on his jeans. “I don’t think I can wait that long.”
She didn’t have to. They made short work of the clothes they were wearing, tossing shoes and pants aside, before Danny stretched out beside her on the couch. His hand covered her belly and he started kissing her again. Soon his fingers dipped lower.
She couldn’t help herself. At the first touch of his fingertip, she cried out his name. Lights exploded behind her eyes, blues and reds combining in a brilliant shade of violet.
“Oh, my,” she sighed as she regained her breath.
“You’re so responsive.”
“It’s the pregnancy. Lots of hormones.”
“No. I think it’s who you are.”
“Your turn,” she whispered.
“We’ll do it together.” He spread her legs. “You tell me if anything hurts. I won’t want to stop but I swear, no matter when, I will.”
“Over my dead body.” She lifted her hips to meet him more than halfway. Yet, despite her readiness, she found him larger than she expected. It took a moment for her to accommodate him, and he waited so sweetly, so patiently, she could have cried at the sacrifice she knew he was making.
“You okay?” he asked. A muscle pulsed in his jaw and his neck was corded in self-restraint.
“Not yet, but I’m about to be.” She hooked her legs around his waist and welcomed him into her body.
At first she noted the care he took with her, the incredible limitations he placed on himself. But even that was so arousing she lost herself in the sense of him filling her. Completing her in a way she’d never before experienced.
There was no passage of time. Only the sound of their breathing, the rhythmic movements of their bodies, their matching cries of release followed by the silence in the room.
Outside a car passed by, its headlights sweeping across the front windows. In the far distance, a siren sounded, an ambulance or fire truck, she couldn’t be sure which. She only knew that somehow the arms that held her now were the only arms she’d ever want to feel holding her again.
DANNY’S ARM MUSCLES SHOOK with the effort to keep the bulk of his weight off of Stephanie. He’d tried to be so careful of her, tried not to hurt her, yet he’d never experienced lovemaking that was quite so potent. She’d taken every bit of what he had to offer and asked for more.
Her generosity awed him. Her passion inflamed him. She was more of a woman than any he’d ever known.
Together, they’d been so hot, they’d come close to spontaneous combustion.
Easing away, he stretched out beside her on the now too-narrow couch and held her. That they hadn’t ev
en made the effort to get to a bedroom spoke volumes about how aroused they had both been.
My God, if someone had asked him even a few months ago if he’d ever make love to Stephanie—much less on the living-room couch with her dad out of town—he would have laughed in their face. She was the kid from down the street. The boss’s daughter. A woman who deserved commitment.
Now he couldn’t imagine not making love with her.
But nothing had changed. She was still a woman who needed and deserved more than he could give.
Brushing a kiss to her forehead, he sat up and reached for his briefs. “That was a heck of an encore to the birthing class, Twigs. Maybe they ought to check the curriculum.”
“You don’t approve?” She struggled to a sitting position and he handed her her bra. Her nubby sweater had ended up stuffed between a cushion and the back of the couch.
“I’m already looking forward to next week.” And wondering how in hell he’d keep his hands off Stephanie until then and avoid a repeat of this evening’s activities after the class. If her dad knew what he had done, Harlan Gray would probably put his head on a spike and march it around the station house as a warning to any other guy who might get ideas about his daughter.
He tugged on his jeans and slipped his feet into his low-cut boots, not bothering to lace them.
“I better move my truck so the neighbors don’t start talking.”
“There’s no rush. I could fix you some coffee. Or a drink?”
Standing, he looked down at her, her mussed hair and pale cheeks. Her stark expression of vulnerability. And he cursed himself. He never should have let things go this far.
“This wasn’t a good idea, was it?” she said softly.
“You were terrific. Honest, Stephanie, I’ve never known another woman who—”
“But you’re having morning-after regrets and it isn’t even midnight yet.”
Sitting on the edge of the coffee table, he finger-combed her hair, straightening the wayward strands. “I think we both kind of got carried away.”
With Courage and Commitment Page 10
