Mother by Design

by Susan Mallery

  They were kissing! Oh, boy, were they kissing. She sighed and let her lips part a little and his teasing tongue came inside. She moaned low and arched toward him. He pulled her in.

  And her stomach touched him!

  She let out a small, embarrassed cry and jerked back. “Oh, God. Sorry…”

  “What for?” His lips were soft from kissing her, his eyes low-lidded, dreamy…

  She glanced at her watch. “Uh, well. You know, I should probably—”

  He was shaking his head. “Don’t go.”

  “But it’s after eleven. I really have to—”

  “Just stay. You can have your choice of guest rooms. I have too many of them.”

  “Bryce…”

  He gestured toward the French doors several feet away. The rain was still coming down hard. “It’s pouring out there. You don’t need to be out in that at this time of night.”

  She put her hand on her stomach, smoothed the wrinkled shirt a little, and then, slanting him a self-conscious glance, she dared to say what was on her mind. “It really doesn’t…bother you? Kissing a seriously pregnant woman, having my stomach get in the way?”

  Her face was flaming. He touched her cheek again, as if to cool the burning heat of it. The caress was so tender, it just about broke her heart.

  “No, it doesn’t bother me. I like kissing you. A lot. And I’ve only known you pregnant, so that’s kind of part of the package, isn’t it?”

  “You’ve only known me pregnant—and that’s been for less than a day.”

  “I thought I told you, sudden is okay with me.”

  “But I just…well, I’m not sure it’s okay with me.”

  “I noticed.” His eyes had rueful gleam in them. “And from all you’ve told me tonight, I can understand why you feel that way.”

  “You’ve just been so…terrific.”

  “And this is a problem?”

  She reached out and touched his face, felt the warmth of his skin, the slight roughness of beard-stubble…

  Oh, he was so perfect. Too perfect. She looked in his eyes and she felt beautiful. Beautiful and more than a little bit drunk, even though she’d had nothing with alcohol in it.

  But still, she definitely felt high. High on this great guy who hung on her every word and seemed to love kissing her, who touched her with tenderness, who said that she was honest and vulnerable and that he found her fascinating and that her big stomach was part of the package.

  Could this be real?

  Oh, probably not. It wasn’t something that was likely to last. It was just…one of those things that happens. A little bit of magic in her otherwise strictly ordinary, way too demanding life.

  There was Brad and there was Ben.

  And now…Bryce.

  Oh, yes. It fit. It definitely fit.

  She said, her voice gone husky again, “If I stayed, could I sleep in your room?” The words were out almost before she realized she would say them. She made a sound halfway between a bark of laughter and a sob and she put her hand over her mouth. “I can’t believe I just asked you that.”

  He didn’t look the least bit fazed. “But the real question is, did you mean it?”

  She couldn’t quite meet his eyes. “I, um…” Oh, how to explain herself. “It’s just that lately my libido seems to be way out of control. I have a lot of…fantasies. I would just really like, one time before I get big as a house, for my fantasies to come true.”

  Oh, beautiful, she thought, staring bleakly down at her growing waistline. Way to go, Rachel. Was she going to tell him every last embarrassing secret she’d ever had?

  She could hear the rain spattering the windows, and also the friendly hiss of the fire in the grate. He wasn’t saying anything. Not that she blamed him. What was he thinking? She just could not look at him…

  He whispered, so softly, “Rachel…” She made herself raise her head. What she saw in his eyes sent heat in a flash fire blazing all through her. “Spend the night in my bed,” he said. “Please.”

  She blinked. “Tell me you didn’t just say what I thought you said…”

  “But I did say it.”

  “You’re serious?”

  He was nodding.

  “You and me…tonight…right now?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Oh. Oh, well…”

  “You’re so charming when you’re blushing.”

  “So, you mean, you would? With me?”

  “In a heartbeat.”

  “Oh.” She put her hand against her throat where she could feel her pulse frantically beating. “This is so unreal. And I am incredibly nervous.”

  “That’s okay.”

  “Oh, I don’t know. In my fantasies…” She didn’t quite know how to finish that thought.

  He whispered, “Go on. Tell me. Say it.”

  “Well, I mean, in my fantasies, I’m not six months pregnant, you know? But now… Well, in reality, I’m thinking it could be kind of…awkward.”

  “Awkward is fine with me.”

  “Oh, Bryce…”

  He took her hand and pried open her suddenly-stiff fingers and brushed a kiss right there in the heart of her palm. Her senses were humming, she felt warm and shaky—but in a good way.

  A very, very good way.

  He guided her hand to his shoulder, a coaxing gesture. It was all the encouragement she needed. She went for it, sliding her hand up, wrapping her fingers around his nape, leaning in as he leaned toward her.

  Their lips met for the second time. His strong arms came around her and he gathered her close. And that time, when her stomach pushed against him, she had no urge to pull away.

  Chapter 4

  They went up the wide staircase hand-in-hand. The door to his room stood open. He led her through, into the shadows, toward the wide shape of the bed.

  When he reached for the lamp, she caught his hand. “Could we…leave it off?”

  “Sure.”

  She sought his eyes through the dimness—and then she laughed.

  “What?” His white teeth flashed with his questioning smile.

  “Oh, just…all my wild fantasies. I was so brave and so bold in them. And in the end, now it’s really happening, here I am, asking you to leave the light off.”

  He touched her cheek, so lightly. “I already told you I think you’re brave. But bold…? You know, maybe you’d better describe these fantasies of yours.”

  “I’ll tell you this much….” And she lost her nerve. She slanted him a look. “On second thought, not tonight.”

  If he was disappointed that she wouldn’t tell him all the naughty details, he wasn’t showing it. “It’s your call—and don’t knock the dark. The dark has plenty to offer. A sense of mystery, of secrets that you have to find the answer to by feel.”

  “If you say so.”

  He studied her. “Nervous?”

  “Extremely.”

  “Come here.” He pulled her close for another long, bone-melting kiss and when he lifted his head, he slid the band from her hair. “There.” He dropped the headband to the nightstand and ran his fingers through her short, dark curls. “Pretty. Soft…” He kissed her again, easing her nervousness, soothing her fears.

  He began to undress her—and himself—pausing for tender kisses between each undone button, each loosened sleeve. He unwrapped her like a precious gift—with such reverent care, his eyes gleaming through the darkness, his hands brushing so lightly against her skin as he whisked away the barriers between them.

  The rain drummed in a hollow, haunting rhythm against the windows and the wind made faint, sweet crying sounds. Rachel cried, too—small, hungry little cries. Of yearning. And wonder.

  He laid her back on the bed and kissed his way down her body, pausing for a number of erotic detours: to take each nipple in his mouth, to lay his golden head against the swell of her belly, as if listening for whispered secrets from the little one inside. He pressed his palms against the roundness, long fingers spread, on eith
er side of her navel. And then he waited…

  “There,” he whispered. “Did she just kick me?”

  “A kick or a punch. Pretty hard to tell the difference most of the time.”

  His hands moved. She sighed. He caressed his way downward, over the slopes and the hollows. He stroked her thighs, following the long caresses with brushing kisses.

  When he found her, when his fingers gently parted her, she whimpered, in need…in hunger. In stunned delight. He lifted his head and he looked at her, as she writhed and moaned at the touch of his hand.

  “Rachel,” he said, as if the mere sound of her name excited him. “Rachel…” He slid up beside her as his hand continued its shattering play below. He kissed her as he stroked her. She pushed herself hungrily against his pleasuring hand and gave him her lips and her tongue to do with as he pleased.

  When she hit the crest, his kiss only deepened. She cried her delight against his mouth as she went over the brink and into that floating state of pleasure on the other side.

  “I can feel you,” he whispered, his hand still cupping her. “Feel the pulsing. Feel you coming…”

  She moaned. He kissed her again, with such slow, delicious care.

  And when the pulsing finally stopped, he rolled away from her and pulled open a drawer in the little table by the side of the bed.

  “Bryce…?”

  He came back to her. He had a condom in his hand. She watched him through the shadows as he rolled it down over himself. He did it smoothly, expertly. She lay there, dazed with delight, and wondered at him. At all she didn’t know about him…

  But then he was sliding a hard knee between her thighs, raising up over her, lowering his mouth to take her lips.

  He kissed her—teasingly this time—his lean, hard body braced on his arms, holding himself above the swell of her stomach. And then he whispered, “I’m afraid to put my weight on you.”

  “It should be all right…” Though the truth was that, in the past few weeks, pressure on her swelling midsection felt odd and uncomfortable.

  He must have heard the doubt in her voice. “I think maybe we’re going to have to slide you over to the side of the bed.”

  It was a fairly high bed, with a thick, firm mattress. If he stood at the edge of it…

  She reached up, ran her fingers lightly through the silky hair at his temple. “That would work better.”

  He was watching her probingly. “You’re sure about this?”

  She nodded, gave another low laugh. “But are you?”

  He lowered his head and glanced down between them at the proof that he was still very interested in continuing this activity. He looked up at her again. And he winked. A smile trembled across her mouth as she remembered that first moment she’d become aware of him—was it really only hours ago?—across the display counter at Becky & Huck’s.

  Never in a hundred thousand years would she have guessed she would get here, from there—and in such a short time, too.

  Oh, my, she thought, I am such a wild, wicked mother-to-be.

  “Come on, scoot this way…” He guided her hips to the edge of the bed and slid off to stand before her, with her thighs on either side of his.

  In a slow, smooth stroke, he was inside.

  Inside, and careful—at first. He moved cautiously in and slowly out—or almost out. But not quite.

  She moaned and he came back to her. And that time, when she felt him go deep, she rested back on her elbows and let her eyelids droop shut.

  He bent closer, slid his hands under her hips and lifted her.

  “Oh!” she cried.

  “Wrap your legs around me.”

  She did as he instructed. And then he stood taller. Her hips were off the bed and he supported her lower body in his arms. He began to move more swiftly.

  And it was…

  Just heavenly. She moaned and rolled her head from side to side as they found a mutually pleasing rhythm, as he held her tight and she pushed her hips against him, as he filled her and retreated and then filled her again.

  In the end, he held so still, gripping her hips, pressing deep into her. She could feel his release, feel him pulsing within her. And, oh, that did thrill her. It was just so…erotic, so beautiful and right.

  Her own release began. She felt the tightening, the gathering deep inside…

  They were so still, locked together hard at the point of joining. So still on the outside, while within there was that rising magic flowing out along every nerve.

  He held her hard against him, supporting most of her weight, until the pulsing faded down to a glorious, soft glow. Then, at last, he bent his legs—they were shaking, she could feel them—until her hips met the bed. And then he slipped from her. She let out a long sigh at the loss. “Come back…”

  He sent her a tender look over his shoulder. “I will.” He got rid of the condom and returned to her. Together, they scooted fully onto the bed again.

  As if they’d always slept together, she turned on her side and he wrapped himself around her, pulling the covers over them. His thighs were a cradle for hers, his breath stirred her hair. She reached back for his hand, guided that muscular arm to rest on the cove of her thickened waist. His chest was warm and solid against her back.

  Strange, she thought drowsily, how natural it felt to be here with him. How perfectly right.

  He cuddled her closer. She sighed. For a while, they whispered together in the darkness. He stroked her hair, brushed a kiss now and then against her shoulder. Finally, with a small, contented smile curving her lips, she dropped off to sleep.

  Chapter 5

  In the morning Rachel discovered that Bryce had a live-in housekeeper and a cook. The housekeeper greeted them when they came down the stairs. Now, that was an interesting experience. Bryce said, “Rachel, this is Mrs. Davenbrook. Mrs. D. takes excellent care of me.”

  Rachel murmured “Nice to meet you,” and Mrs. Davenbrook nodded crisply in response, a bland smile on her pleasant face. Rachel didn’t even let herself wonder what the housekeeper was thinking. She did, however, kind of wish she’d taken a moment to comb her hair.

  The cook served them breakfast at the table by the bay window. Outside, the day was bright and clear, the snow cap on Mount Hood seeming to twinkle at them through the lush branches of the trees.

  “Stay,” Bryce said as they inhaled their eggs Benedict. “We’ll watch another movie. Or drive over to the Pearl District, if you’d like that. We can wander through the galleries, do some serious window-shopping, have lunch at a great new place I know…”

  She was just about to say yes when her purse, on the chair in the corner where she’d abandoned it the night before, began playing the theme from “The Addams Family.” “My phone…” She got up and answered it.

  “Rachel. Rachel, where are you? I’ve been calling all night…” The frantic edge to her mother’s voice sent a quiver of alarm racing through her. The gorgeous, sunny day seemed suddenly not quite so bright.

  She spoke gently. “I’m sorry, Mom, I wasn’t near my—”

  Ellen Stockham was beyond the point of letting Rachel get out a whole sentence. “I can’t…I can’t do this. And don’t you accuse me.”

  “Mom, I’m not—”

  “Those pills…I just, well, I thought I would try it for a while, you know? Without them? And I…I felt fine. I really did. Well, a little bit down, you know? And then, last night, well, I was thinking about washing the curtains. You know how I am, I do like things clean. And then, I couldn’t seem to get the rod loose from the wall-hook thingy and then I… Oh, Rachel…I…”

  “Mom. Listen.”

  “Oh, what? What is it?”

  “Did you call Doctor—?”

  “The curtains, Rachel. They are impossible. I had to cut them off. And now, this morning, the sun came out. It’s too bright in here. I just can’t…I can’t…”

  As her mother rambled on, Rachel accepted the fact that this was not something she could h
andle over the phone. “Mom. Just sit tight.”

  “Oh, I don’t…I just…I…Rachel…”

  “I’ll be right over.”

  “But Rachel—”

  “Mom. Just wait. I won’t be long.”

  “Let me take you,” Bryce said, when she told him her mother was seriously down-cycling and she had to go, now.

  “Thanks, but I’ll handle it.” She spoke as calmly as she could while racing for the door.

  He followed her out and held the door for her as she got in the car. “I’ll call you later, make sure you’re all right.”

  “Yeah, okay. Thanks.” She started up the car.

  “Rachel.”

  “I have to go, Bryce.”

  “Your number?” She must have looked as frantic to get moving as she felt, because he added, “Just tell me. I’ll remember.”

  So she rattled off her home number and he shut the door and she tore off down the drive.

  Somehow, Rachel managed to make it to her mother’s across the river a few blocks from her own place without getting a ticket or causing a wreck. She ran up the flight of steps to the second-floor apartment, noting as she got there that the curtains that usually hung on the window by the door weren’t there anymore.

  Just as she was collecting herself to knock, the door opened.

  Her mother stood on the other side, wearing a pink chenille robe and a pair of black sneakers, the frayed laces untied. Blood oozed from a cut on her right cheek and dripped from another shallow gash on her hand. Behind her, on the living-room rug, what looked like every curtain in the apartment lay in a tangled mound.

  Rachel whispered despairingly, “Mom…”

  “Oh, Rachel,” her mother cried. “Oh, Rachel, what will I do?” The dark eyes, sunken and haunted, but otherwise the same eyes Rachel saw when she looked in the mirror, pleaded for answers that Rachel didn’t have. Yesterday’s mascara ran in tracks down her too-thin face.

  Rachel stepped over the threshold and carefully pried the bloody scissors from her mother’s shaking hand. “It’s all right, Mom. I’m here, now. I’m here…”

  Chapter 6

  Four hours later, Rachel sat in the main waiting room in Portland General’s psychiatric wing. She wasn’t really waiting for anything—except maybe for the moment when she’d find the energy to get up and leave. Everything that needed doing for the day had been done. She could go home, draw a hot bath, pour in the scented bath salts…