He made a low noise, part regret at her leaving him, however briefly, and part acquiescence to the necessity that she go.
He caught her hand, pressed his lips to it.
She pulled away with reluctance. "I promise. Right back."
In the bathroom, she took out her new diaphragm, spread on the contraceptive cream and, after only two tries, slid it into place. She rinsed her hands and returned to the bedroom.
He was waiting for her, sitting up on the edge of the bed. He held out his hand. She went to him. He guided her onto his lap. She hooked her legs around him, crying out when he filled her, then letting her head fall back, awash in the wonder of once again being joined to him.
For a time, they didn't move, except for the slow, measured care of each breath. And then they couldn't help themselves. He raised his hips, pushing deeper as she pressed down.
And soon enough they fell together across the tangle of bedcovers. She rode him, moaning. He clutched her hips and pushed in hard. Then they were rolling, so he was on top. He braced his arms to either side of her and lifted his broad chest up, at the same time pressing in deeper down below. His eyes burned into hers.
"My love," she whispered. "Oh, yes, my love…"
He whispered something in return. It might have been her name.
And then there were no words. Only the two of them, only heat and desire and the pulse of fulfillment, starting at the point of joining and moving out, singing along every nerve, until they shuddered together and cried out as one.
* * *
The food was a little bit dry by the time they sat down to eat, both of them in their robes, at the dining room table, by candlelight. Logan had no complaints, though. He told her it was the best dry chicken he'd ever tasted. He opened a bottle of Pinot Grigio and Lacey allowed herself a half a glass, enough to raise and clink against his. They didn't need words for the toast. Their eyes said it all.
Lacey had taken exactly three bites and one sip of wine when the fussing started, little cries and bleats issuing from the monitor she had brought downstairs and parked on the sideboard.
She and Logan looked at each other and sighed.
"Could be worse," she said. "She could have decided she was hungry half an hour ago."
Lacey got up, gave her husband a kiss, and went to take care of their baby.
* * *
It was early, a little before ten, when she and Logan settled into bed again. She cuddled up close to him.
He smoothed her hair off her cheek and kissed her—a warm, chaste, peck of a kiss. "You make me so happy, Lacey Severance."
She dropped off to sleep smiling.
And woke in the middle of the night with an idea.
She turned toward her husband. Sound asleep. Good. And the monitor on the nightstand stood blessedly silent.
She slid from the bed with the stealth of a thief, careful to disturb the covers as little as possible. Once she was on her feet, she crept to the bathroom and got her robe. She stopped by the bed again, just long enough to get the baby monitor—or that had been her intent.
But somehow, she found herself hesitating there, wanting to bend across the bed, press her lips against Logan's temple, breathe in the warm, delicious scent of his skin.
And more than a kiss, she was tempted to crawl back in beside him. She would cuddle up close and rub her foot along his calf, her hand up his arm, over the strong muscles of his shoulder, onto his powerful chest with its mat of dark, curling hair.
She loved that, waking him in the middle of the night with caresses, loved the low sounds he made, his warm, sleepy kisses, the way he would…
No.
She was going to her studio and she was going right now.
She scooped up the monitor and tiptoed toward the hall.
* * *
She worked for an hour, lining out quick, rough sketches in pencil. Of Mira and Maud mostly, sitting at the kitchen table, Maud waving her pickle, Mira taking that first lusty bite of her pastrami sandwich.
It felt good to be working again.
The twins were right. She needed to make time for this, she needed to get in here on a regular basis, just an hour or two a day for right now, kind of ease into it gradually, slowly get herself back up to speed.
At a little before three, Rosie started crying. Lacey put her sketch pad aside, grabbed the monitor and turned off the lights.
When she got to the baby's room, she found Logan already there. He stood over the crib, his back to the door. Lacey paused at the threshold, warmth spreading through her. He'd pulled on a pair of pajama bottoms, but left his torso bare. As he bent over the crib, moonlight streaming in the window etched each muscle in silvery relief.
He lifted Rosie from her nest of blankets, raised her to his bare, beautifully formed shoulder and rubbed her tiny back, whispering, "Hey, there. It's okay. Daddy's here…"
He turned. Through the darkness, their eyes met.
Lacey moved into the room, setting the monitor on the bureau as she went by. "Here. I'll take her."
Logan passed her the squalling bundle. She carried the baby to the changing table to check her diaper. "Dry. Must be hungry."
Settling herself and the baby in the rocker, Lacey pushed the facing of her robe out of the way and cradled her breast, holding the nipple ready. Rosie latched right on and went to work.
"Where were you?" Logan was standing over her.
She looked up, gave him a smile. "In my studio. Sketching out a few ideas."
"At three in the morning?"
She'd been rocking slowly. Now she toed the floor and stopped the gentle movement of the chair. Something in his voice bothered her. Something … disapproving. Something that reminded her way too much of the Logan she had grown up telling herself she despised.
"Yes," she said levelly. "I was working in my studio. At three in the morning."
He was silent for a moment, staring down at her, his eyes gleaming through the shadows. She felt his possessiveness of her as a physical presence right then. That possessiveness aroused her. He wanted her so much, he didn't want to share her, except perhaps with their child.
A dark thrill coursed through her, to think that his need for her was that strong.
At the same time, she knew his possessiveness could pose a threat to them both, to what they had as a couple, to the life they were working together to build.
"Did those friends of yours come by today?" It almost sounded like an accusation.
"Yes," Lacey said. "Mira and Maud were here for lunch. You have a problem with my friends paying me a visit?"
He shrugged, the movement casual, his expression anything but. "It's interesting, that's all. Those two come for lunch—and all of a sudden, you're up at three in the morning."
"Working," she said, stressing the word. "In my studio."
"You should get your rest when you can." His voice was low, soft—and yet she heard the command in it.
She decided it would be wisest to go straight for the throat about this. "I love you, Logan. But I won't be owned by you."
His eyes didn't waver. Still, she saw the flicker of unwilling understanding in their depths. He put his hand on the rocker back, holding it still. If she had tried to rock right then, she most likely would not have been able to.
She drew in a breath, closed her eyes briefly, focused on the physical, the warm wonder of her baby drawing on her breast, the feel of the silk robe he had given her, pleasurable as a lover's caress against her skin.
"I do love you," she whispered, gently now. "You don't need to own me."
Logan stared down at his wife's upturned face, wanting her, hard with the need for her, though at least she couldn't see that. The chair hid it from her view.
Lately, it had occurred to him that he had everything a man could ever ask for now. His wife. His daughter. A family that made his fine house a home.
And more. He had the nights.
With a woman who wanted him as much as he wanted h
er.
Sometimes, he thought of how empty it had all been before. An emptiness he hadn't even seen for what it was.
Always, there had been that emptiness. His mother had died when he was so young. His father, Dr. Logan Severance Sr., a good man but a distant one, had been left to raise him alone. His father had pushed him to work hard, to be the best. And Logan hadn't minded being pushed. He had wanted, when he was very young, to please his father.
And as he grew older, he found he wanted to be the best for the sake of excellence itself. For the feeling of satisfaction it gave him to know that he'd done what he could, given his all to any task he'd taken on.
The first moment he laid eyes on Jenna he'd known she was the one for him. Pretty and sweet and bright and fun to be with, she'd wanted a big family. Well-mannered and dignified, she would make the perfect doctor's wife.
He had loved her. But she hadn't filled the emptiness. And it hadn't mattered, because he'd had no idea that anything was missing.
As if his life had been this grayness, this … predictable procession of days.
And now, there was … color.
Color, which to him equaled Lacey.
Lacey in a silk robe and nothing else, waiting for him at the end of a long working day, turning from the mirror in their bathroom, blue eyes soft and hungry, opening the robe, dropping it to the floor…
The uncomfortable truth was that sometimes, lately, he couldn't help wondering how long it would last.
She said that she loved him. He believed that she did. For now.
But she was Lacey. Impossible, unpredictable, incredible Lacey.
He could lose her.
So easily. Maybe not to another man. For some reason, he didn't fear that kind of rival.
But to her stubborn dream of a life as an artist. Yes. That damn dream could very well take her away from him.
"Logan…" She was still looking up at him, waiting for him to speak, to say the reasonable thing.
He let go of the chair. "I woke up and you weren't there. I got worried, that's all."
"It's important to me, to start getting back to work. Rosie makes her demands. And you know I want to be there for you, when you get home. But any time neither of you needs me, and I get the urge to pay a visit to my studio…" She let the thought finish itself.
He nodded, said the words she needed to hear, the fair words, the reasonable ones. "Of course. I understand."
She smiled, and his heart did something physically impossible inside his chest. "All right, then," she whispered.
Rosie let out a small, sweet sigh. Her little eyes were shut. She'd stopped nursing. Logan looked down at his sleeping daughter, at his wife's breast, the just-released nipple shining and taut. "Come back to bed," he said, and knew that his longing was there in his voice.
Lacey nodded, answered huskily, "Yes. In a few minutes. I should at least try her on the other side first."
So he waited there with her in the dark as she put his daughter to her other breast. Rosie woke enough to begin nursing again. But in three or four minutes, her tiny mouth went loose once more.
"She's done." Lacey slid the robe back in place and lifted Rosie to her shoulder. Next, there was the diaper to change. And then finally, Lacey put the baby in the crib and tucked the blankets around her.
"Come to bed."
She hung back. "Logan…"
"What?"
"I do love you. So very much. Please believe me."
He pulled her into his arms then, held the silk, the softness, the warmth of her close. She tipped up her head and he kissed her, a deep kiss, one that he broke only to whisper with more urgency than before, "To bed. Come on."
She went willingly then, pausing only to collect the baby monitor from the bureau as they went by.
* * *
Chapter 12
« ^ »
"It's so lovely to meet you at last," said Fiona Connery, reaching for Lacey's hand. "Where is the baby?"
"Rosie's at home," Lacey replied, "with a sitter."
"Ah. Well." Fiona twined her fingers with Lacey's in a proprietary fashion and swept out her other arm in a gesture that indicated the whole of her large, beautifully appointed house and each and every one of her well-dressed, well-off, well-behaved guests. "Probably a good idea. What fun would a one-and-a-half-month-old have at something like this?"
Lacey agreed. "Maybe next time—or better still, the time after that."
Fiona leaned close. She wore a subtle, expensive perfume, one that suited her—floral, with a hint of musk. "Now, I shall drag you around for a moment, showing you off." She captured Lacey's free hand, then pulled both hands wide and stepped back. "This is a gorgeous dress."
Lacey smiled—modestly, of course. The dress was a simple, just-above-the-knee black velvet sheath, sleeveless, with a scoop neck. She'd bought it a week ago, specifically for Fiona's party. It had been easy to choose. She'd simply imagined what her sister might wear to an event like this.
Fiona spoke to Logan, who stood behind Lacey. "Your wife has great taste."
"I think so, too."
Lacey cast a glance back at him. He looked sexy and protective. She wanted to grab him and press herself against him and whisper something thoroughly inappropriate in his ear.
But Fiona was already pulling her toward the wide arch that led to the living room. "Come on. You have to meet Daniel. And Helen—or have you already met Helen?"
"No, not yet."
"She's a dear. You'll love her." Fiona sent a reassuring smile over her shoulder in Logan's direction. "Don't worry. You'll have this lovely wife of yours back soon enough."
Logan waved them on their way.
The next few hours weren't bad at all. Lacey smiled and laughed and talked about her baby and how happy she and Logan were. When asked about her life before her marriage, she spoke briefly of her work as an artist—very briefly, as a matter of fact. No one seemed that interested in what she'd been doing with herself before she married Logan, and that was fine with her. Her aim was to make a good impression, for Logan's sake. And she felt, as the evening progressed, that she was doing a pretty fair job of it.
She did have to turn down a couple of offers to get involved on charity committees. Fiona asked if she'd like to help out with Miner's General's Auxiliary. And the wife of a doctor who had his office in Logan's building wondered if Lacey might want to join Helping Hands, a group of doctors' wives who raised funds for such worthy causes as AIDS and breast cancer research.
She explained to both women that she would love to help out, but she couldn't right at the moment. She said she needed to get back to work in her studio before she took on anything else. With a new baby, and all the other changes that had taken place in her life lately, somehow there were just never enough hours in a day.
Fiona and the other woman smiled graciously and assured her that they understood. Lacey wasn't sure they did. And she felt just a little bit guilty at having to say no.
For about a minute and a half.
Then she reminded herself that she'd never claimed to be the ideal doctor's wife. She was an artist. After her family, her work had to come first—at least until she got herself back on track. And then, well, she'd see about taking on a little volunteer work.
It was just after eleven when she and Logan thanked their hostess for a terrific evening.
Fiona begged them to stay longer. "Don't go yet. The fun is only beginning."
Lacey put on an appropriately regretful expression. "We'd love to stay. Unfortunately, Rosie will be waking up soon, if she hasn't already. She'll be hungry. And guess who has to be there to feed her?"
"Ah," said Fiona, "I don't want to let you go, but I do understand." She leaned forward and kissed Lacey on the cheek. "It is so good to meet you at last. And I want to see more of you. How about lunch next week? I could drop in at your house, just long enough to meet little Rosie. Perhaps then … you do have a sitter you can call?"
"Well, I—"
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Fiona ran right on. "I was thinking that we could get out for an hour or two, just you and I, that we could really get a chance to put our heads together. How would that be?"
Put our heads together about what? Lacey wondered.
Logan said, "Mrs. Hopper can watch the baby for a couple of hours, don't you think, Lacey?"
The housekeeper, who came twice a week, probably could watch Rosie—and no doubt would quite willingly. Mrs. Hopper loved babies. And Lacey always paid her extra whenever she agreed to baby-sit for an hour or two while Lacey ran errands.
Fiona pressed on. "How about a week from this coming Wednesday? That should give you plenty of time to work things out with a sitter. Say right around noonish?"
Lacey felt slightly railroaded, but then wondered why. It was only lunch. Wasn't it?
Logan and Fiona were waiting to hear her reply.
She put on her most gracious smile and said she'd love to join Fiona for lunch. And a week from Wednesday would be fine.
* * *
The twins came to visit again on Friday. Maud brought her little boy, Devon.
Lacey exclaimed over how much he'd grown.
She was also able to inform the twins that she'd spent several hours in her studio since their last visit.
"I have no big projects in the works yet, but I have a lot of ideas. I've been drawing again. It's slowly coming back to me."
"Way to go, Lace," cheered Mira.
Maud agreed, "We're proud of you. Keep it up."
They asked her when she'd be coming to the Eureka Lounge to hear the band again. "It's August," Maud reminded her. "Almost a year since the last time you heard us play. We've been adding in a few of those great old blues and soul classics to some of our sets, 'Stormy Monday' and 'When a Man Loves a Woman.' Mira's doing lead vocals on them. And you know how she can wail."
Lacey said she'd try, but with the baby and with Logan's demanding schedule, it was always a challenge arranging a night out.
Maud made a face. "We didn't say you had to bring him."
"But I want to bring him," she replied. "I have high hopes that someday the three of you will learn to get along."
Mira groaned. "Gag me with a stethoscope—and don't hold your breath. He thinks we're a bad influence on you. He's always thought so. Remember back in high school, when we broke into the science lab before the advanced biology classes got their vivisection lesson and let all those poor doomed frogs out of their terrariums? He told your mother that she should forbid you to hang with us ever again."
THE M.D. SHE HAD TO MARRY Page 12
