“Yes, he does.”
“I’ve never changed a baby.”
“Neither have I.”
“But you’re a woman.”
I gave in and giggled a little before opening the door. “I hate to break this to you, but just because I have a uterus does not mean I have instinctive knowledge regarding diaper changing.”
“Please,” he said, holding out Peter.
The baby’s face started to crumple, like he was about to cry. Theo looked like he might cry, as well.
“He’s your son,” I pointed out.
“And I’m trying very hard to cope with that fact, but I’m new at this, and I need help. Pleeease.”
“Oh, very well, but we’re doing this in your bedroom.” I gave in to the inevitable, taking the baby and walking past Theo toward his room. “I want to be able to sleep in mine.”
“I’ve got to make a couple of calls. Then we can order dinner.”
I nodded and went into the bathroom attached to Theo’s bedroom, spreading one of the hotel’s thick blue towels down on a bath mat before laying the baby on top.
“I hope you don’t have expectations about this experience that I can’t meet,” I told the baby, opening his bag and examining some of the contents. “I will do my best, but just keep in mind that this is a first for me. What do we have in here ... ? Diapers, check. Some sort of ointment. Powder. Oh, a box of wipes. That looks handy. Now, let us get you undone. This unsnaps along there, excellent. And this looks like it comes off there, and then we remove that, and OH HOLY JESUS!”
The memory of the ten minutes that followed would live with me for a long, long time. Eventually, I got the baby’s bottom mostly cleaned up by using half the box of wipes, and two extra diapers to mop up the overflow, leaving the floor strewn with debris of my battle.
Even with the fan going full strength, the odor in the room was enough to send Theo reeling backward when he came in to see how we were doing. “You’re not done yet?” he asked, staring in disbelief as, covered in baby powder that had somehow exploded all over Peter, the floor, and me, I clutched a naked, squirming baby to my hip.
“Does it look like we’re done?” I snapped, at the end of my tether. “Make yourself useful. Get a garbage bag and gather up all that. I got Peter cleaned up, but he still reeks. I think I’m going to have to wash his bottom.”
“Do something,” Theo agreed, flinching while he backed out of the bathroom.
Hope flared with the sight of the bidet. “Right, that’s what its job is. Let’s just try ... oh, Lord, no!”
I must have held Peter in the wrong position to intercept the stream of water, because it merrily sailed through his kicking legs and got me dead in the chest.
Peter looked like he might cry again, filling me with panic and a newborn sense of determination. “All right, don’t get stressed. Think of your happy place. Find your inner Zen, and relax there while I try to work out a solid strategy,” I told the baby, and pulled off my sopping wet bidet-water T-shirt.
“He needs a shower,” Theo said helpfully when he returned with a garbage bag, gathering up the debris.
“I’m going to give him a bath,” I answered, running some warm water, the wet, naked baby still clutched to my side. I didn’t dare set him down, not knowing how clean the floor was. Before the powder had exploded all over it, that is.
“He’s pissing on the wall.”
“What? Oh, Peter, no!”
I realized a little too late that turning around to see what the baby was doing was simply going to spread pee everywhere, and it did, right across the front of Theo’s shirt as he was in the process of bending down to pick up a diaper.
Theo jumped back and swore.
“Oh, don’t make such a big deal about a little baby pee,” I snapped when he ripped off his shirt. “I had poop all over my arms. I had to wash them three times before I could stop gagging.”
He looked up to answer and stopped, his eyes focused on my chest.
I looked down and discovered that my last clean bra, a sheer little number with pretty embroidery on the cups, had been soaked along with my shirt, and was now, in effect, translucent.
I felt hot and uncomfortable and damp, and yet, at the same time, oddly aroused by the look he was giving my breasts. But I’d die before I let him know that. “I’m sorry if the sight of my boobs offends you. I got wet trying to wash the baby in the bidet.”
Theo dragged his gaze off my chest, giving the bidet a curious look. “You tried to give him a bath in the bidet?”
“I tried to wash off his bottom, yes. That’s what it’s for, after all. But he didn’t like it, so we’re just going to go with a full bath. You can leave now.”
“I’ll stay and help now that he’s not ... I’ll help give him a bath.”
“You want to do it? Fine.” I tried handing him the wet baby.
He backed up, holding his hands up. “I said I’d help. You can do it and I’ll watch you so I can do it the next time.”
“Either you do it, or I do it, but if I do it, you have to leave,” I told him, removing from the baby’s grip the toilet paper he had snagged.
“Why can’t I stay?” Theo asked, frowning down at me.
I wanted nothing so much at that moment as to punch him in the knees. “Because my underwear matches my bra.”
“That’s nice to know, but does it have some bearing on bathing Peter?”
“Yes! He’s a baby! He can’t sit in the tub by himself, so I’ll have to get in with him.”
“So?”
I glared at him until he glanced back down at my breasts. “Ah. Well, it won’t bother me.”
“It would me.” Did the man honestly think I was going to be all but naked in the same confined space as him?
“Fine. Then I’ll get in the tub with him,” he said, his hands on his belt buckle.
His pants hit the floor before I could turn hastily around to the tub, swishing the water in an attempt to distract myself. “Leave your underwear on.”
“Why? Unlike you, I’m not shy.”
“Just leave it on,” I growled, closing my eyes until I heard a splash.
I opened them then, my gaze immediately falling on the sight of Theo’s naked chest just a few inches from me. I stared at his chest. I closed my eyes again, then opened them back up. No, he was still there, still as gorgeous as the first look.
Dear God, the man was beautiful.
“Baby,” he said, holding out his hands.
“What? Oh.” I handed over Peter, busying myself with a washcloth and soap.
It was downright mean of him to flaunt that chest at me. What did he think I was, a nun?
The baby sat between Theo’s knees, happily splashing the water, talking baby talk to it, chuckling when Theo helped him splash.
It took me three tries, but at last I was able to drag my eyes off the expanse of magnificent chest, whereupon I was relieved to see that Theo had kept on his black bikini briefs. At that point, I made a solemn oath while I tried to wash Peter. I would not look at Theo’s groin. It held absolutely no interest for me. It didn’t matter to me in the least what he had stuffed into his underwear. I simply did not care.
I looked, and almost fell into the tub.
“Careful,” Theo warned, glancing up, his chest and face wet from his and Peter’s play, his grin fading a little as he looked at me. “Are you all right? You look like you’re going to pass out.”
“Yes, I’m fine, totally fine. Why shouldn’t I be fine? My ... er ... my hand slipped is all. It happens to everyone. It’s a perfectly normal, everyday occurrence. People’s hands slip all the time.” I steadfastly returned my gaze to the baby. Dammit, I would not let Theo discombobulate me this way. He would love knowing that just a little bare chest, and arms, and biceps that made my inner self swoon, could so fluster me.
It struck me then that I didn’t feel particularly threatened by Theo. I slid a quick glance at him while washing the baby’s leg, won
dering about that fact, prodding at it to see what it meant. I didn’t know the man, and yet, here he was almost naked, and all I felt was an almost consuming desire to look at his chest. And legs. And arms.
I cleared my throat, feeling heat on my cheeks. I needed to stop thinking about Theo’s muscles, and skin, and, oh Lord, his thighs! I would ignore him and concentrate wholly on the baby. That was the answer.
The baby had other ideas, and squirmed out of my grip every time I tried to pin him down to wash an arm or a leg.
“Sorry,” I apologized when, as I tried to wash the baby’s chest, he flung himself to the side, and I got Theo’s calf instead.
“He likes the water,” Theo said.
I tried to think of words to answer him, but my brain seemed to have shut down when I glanced along the long line of Theo’s legs. He had dark body hair, not so much that I wanted to buy him a razor, but enough to make me very aware of the difference between his body and mine.
What on earth was I doing thinking about his body? Baby! Wash the baby!
I got hold of Peter’s arm, intent on swiping his bottom with the washcloth, but before I could do so, he lunged forward to grab at Theo’s bobbing toes, and I fell over the edge of the tub.
“Are you all right?” he asked. My face was smooshed into his stomach, my breath stuck in my throat when I struggled to get off him, my soapy hands on the hard muscles of his thighs.
I managed to push myself off him, but felt my face flaming with embarrassment. “Sorry, he doesn’t want to be washed.”
“If you’re going to bathe me, as well, I’m taking my underwear off,” Theo said, his eyes dancing when I tried to look anywhere but at his crotch.
I wouldn’t look, I absolutely would not look...
His underwear appeared to have a couple of bulldogs stuffed into it.
Oh, dear God in heaven.
“Kiera? Did you hurt your stomach on the edge of the tub?” Theo asked I put a hand to my chest to try to get some air into my lungs.
“No, I’m fine,” I said, realizing that my voice sounded like that of a frog. A female frog entranced by the package of a nearby male frog. I cleared my throat. “I ... uh ... I think the baby’s clean.”
“All right. Although it seems a shame, he really likes it.”
I kept my eyes firmly on Peter, bouncing him in the water a few times while Theo got out of the tub, absently accepting the towel he handed me to dry the baby.
The loud, wet smack of underwear hitting the floor had me freezing in the act of drying him. For a moment, panic threatened to rise, but to my relief, it ebbed away and left only an odd sense of anger.
Theo said, “I’ll have dinner brought up here, if you don’t mind. It’ll be easier on Peter.”
“I don’t mind,” I said quickly, wondering where all the air in the bathroom had gone.
He stood behind me, naked. I could feel him standing there, wet and naked, and looking like he did, deliberately flaunting himself at me. How dare he stand there without a single stitch of clothing on, his skin all warm and wet and slick, just like he didn’t know what effect he was having on me? Men who looked like him always knew the way women reacted to them. They ate it up.
The bastards.
“What sorts of things does he eat, do you think?” Theo asked. “There’s some formula in the bag, but Nastya didn’t say if he ate anything else. I suppose I can look that up online.”
Well, I was not going to let him get to me. I would not give him the satisfaction of reacting to him, all male and naked and wet, with his two-bulldog crotch right there. He could stand there with his sleek muscles and tantalizing flesh for as long as he liked—I would die before I pandered to his ego so much as one tiny little morsel.
“Finger foods, I imagine,” I said, drying the baby. “Cereal, maybe. Yogurt. Some easily chewed fruit. A little plain pasta.”
“I’ll get it ordered.”
“And maybe—” I turned to look up at him, and stopped. He was drying his face and chest, the rest of him right there at face level.
I stared in disbelief at his genitals.
“Maybe what?” He looked down at me, a little hint of a smile curling his mouth as I continued to stare. “Like what you see?”
His voice cut through the fog in my mind.
I cleared my throat and, with an effort that bordered on superhuman, dragged my eyes up to his. “Not really, no.”
His eyebrows rose; he obviously hadn’t expected that response.
I cherished the anger that still boiled around inside of me. That anger would keep me safe. “I don’t like men who are bigger than me. I don’t like men who are handsome. I don’t like men with big ...” I waved a hand at his crotch. “... big body parts. And I really don’t like men who use their physical appeal to get what they want. Do you want to dress Peter, or shall I?”
“You can.” He watched me for a minute while I dug through the baby’s bag, pulling out clean clothes and a fresh diaper. He said nothing more, but left the room.
Idiot, I told myself, watching him leave. Hooo, even the rear view ... no! Stop looking, you fool! “I’m the worst liar in the world, Peter,” I said softly, feeling flushed and hot and incredibly aroused. Annoyed! I felt incredibly annoyed, not aroused.
Dammit, Theo was the finest specimen of man I’d ever seen. Despite the fact that he didn’t set off any of my mental threat warnings, I had to get out of there fast, or I’d be in way over my head, and I was tired of constantly feeling like I was swimming against the tide.
By the time I got the baby dressed, Theo was on the phone, placing an order for dinner.
I put Peter on the floor, pulling on my wet T-shirt, the feeling of it irksome, but better than having my boobs more or less naked around Theo. The baby no-no-ed me a couple of times, then crawled over to the bed, clutching the bedspread to pull himself up to his feet.
I knelt behind him, my hands out to catch him in case he fell, but although he seemed a bit wobbly, he bounced and slapped his hands on the blanket without tipping over. “Well, aren’t you clever?” I said, smiling when he bounced on his chubby little legs. “You can stand.”
“Of course he can,” Theo said, thankfully dressed. “He can probably walk, too. We’ll see after dinner.”
Pride was evident in Theo’s voice when he spoke, and was just as obvious in his eyes when he cast a conspiratorial look my way while, with the help of his grip on the bed, Peter bounced a few more times. But it was the look on Theo’s face that made something deep in my belly warm, leaving me with a need, an aching want, to be, just for a moment, part of that look of pride.
That way lies foolishness, my inner self commented, and reluctantly, I let go of the need and want and annoying sexual interest. “I’m going to change into something a little less bath-time fun,” I told Theo, getting to my feet when Peter sat down to play with Theo’s shoes.
“If you think that’s bath-time fun, then I have something to show you,” was his reply, made with a half-lidded look that, despite my better self, sent the slow burn in my stomach into a raging inferno of lust.
Our gazes met, his teasing and mine wary. I wanted to tell him that I had spent the last nine months hiding from every shadow, every stranger ... but nothing had left me feeling as off-balance and worried as I was now.
Pure and simple, I was the prey to Theo’s hunter, and there wasn’t a damned thing I could do about it. So why wasn’t I running away? I gave a mental headshake over the fact that I should be walking out the door right that second, and instead, I was finding excuses to remain.
I all but ran to my room to change, giving myself yet another lecture as I did so.
When I returned to the living room, my resolve to keep Theo at an arm’s length once again firm—or as firm as it was going to get—I found him sitting on the floor along with Peter, a soft cloth book, a stuffed giraffe that Peter was beating on Theo’s foot, and a yellow rubber bulb-shaped item.
“I was just sitting here
thinking about all the things I’m going to have to do.” Theo’s expression was strained. “This is all so new to me, but I’m going to do it right. I have to do it right.”
“It’s bound to be a big adjustment for you both,” I said, glancing around the room.
“That’s an understatement. I keep asking myself what I think I’m doing taking on a baby when I know nothing about them, but then he no-nos me, and I melt inside.”
“He is awfully cute.” I eyed all the electrical cords coming from various lamps, and mentally tsked.
“I’m going to have to get him some proper toys,” Theo said, watching when I moved over to where a glass coffee table sat. “This is all Nastya packed for him. At least he has a chew toy.”
“A what?” I grunted when I shoved the coffee table back until it was pushed up against one of the couches, and unplugged the nearby lamps.
“He’s teething, I think. At least he has some teeth, so I assume that means he’s teething, and I thought you gave babies something to chew on when they did that.” He held up the yellow rubber bulb with an odd poky bit at the end. “Chew toy.”
“Makes sense.” I eyed an end table, taking the lamp from it and setting it onto the small dining room table that sat between us and the tiny kitchenette.
“What are you doing?” Theo asked when Peter took the chew toy from him and stuffed it into his mouth, gnawing on it while he, too, watched me.
“If Peter fell, he could hit his head on the glass coffee table,” I answered, nodding toward it. “And pull that lamp down on himself.”
“Are you sure you’re not a nanny?” Theo asked with another one of those sexy half smiles.
“Quite sure. I do, however, have common sense.” I returned to my bedroom, taking a spare blanket from a closet, which I spread out onto the carpet, placing the baby and his toys on top.
Before he could answer, Theo’s phone chirruped. He pulled it out, looked at it, and said as he got to his feet, “I have to check an important e-mail on my laptop. Can you watch him for a little bit? Dinner should be here soon.”
“Sure.” I smiled when Peter, no-no-no-ing madly, used my legs to pull himself onto his feet, and glanced up at Theo when he hesitated.
Papaioannou 01 - Ever Fallen in Love Page 3
