First Comes Baby

by Janice Kay Johnson

  As he took his time going up her neck, savoring the delicate line of vertebrae and squeezing and pressing the muscles, she kept making those throaty sounds. Probably unconsciously, Caleb decided. She wouldn’t like knowing how erotic he found them.

  When he reached the hairline, he kept going, his fingers slipping into her heavy fall of hair, rotating. Up to the crown, around the sides and just above her ears, to her temples and then forehead. Laurel tilted her head back and let him work on her face, from the bunched muscles at her jaw over to the cheekbones she swore were nonexistent, even to the bridge of her nose.

  The nose he already knew their Lydia would have, too.

  He could have kept stroking her forever, just for the pleasure of hearing her sighs and feeling the silky texture of her skin. She was the one who stretched luxuriantly, yawned and lifted heavy eyelids.

  “I’m about to fall asleep.”

  “You can do it here on the couch.” He patted the cushion beside him.

  “Tempting. But I think I’ll go to bed.”

  “It will be nice when she sleeps through the night.”

  “She and I’ll probably be home by then.” She didn’t look to see how hard that hit him, instead yawning again until her jaws cracked. With a laugh, she levered herself to her feet. “Sorry. God. All I do these days is nurse, eat, sleep. Start cycle all over.”

  “It’s bearable when you know what a short time it lasts.”

  She murmured agreement. “And when Lydia is so endlessly fascinating. Thank you, Caleb. You’re better than a fistful of ibuprofen.”

  “Knew I was good for something.”

  Laurel smiled, her eyes clear and her forehead uncreased. “I’m sure you’re good for something else. I’ll let you know when I remember.”

  He whacked at her butt as she turned to sashay away. “I cook. I’m good for that.”

  “Yeah, you are.” She gave him a wicked smile as she left the living room. Her voice trailed back. “And your sperm was dandy, too.”

  He flashed on the fantasy he’d had sitting on her bathroom toilet, surrounded by that violet-sprigged wallpaper, trying to come into a sandwich bag so he could offer it to her as an unlikely gift. Forget the bouquet of roses or box of decadent chocolates, he’d given her his genes.

  Hadn’t she known then and there that he’d give her anything?

  No, why should she? After all, Matt Baker had been willing to give his sperm, too. Bastard, Caleb thought. Who the hell was Baker to think his sperm had any business in Laurel’s body?

  She’d asked him.

  No excuse.

  Half-amused by his own spurt of temper—but only half—Caleb picked up the newspaper again.

  Should have kissed her, he thought with regret. Although putting his hands on her… That was good, too.

  SLEEP CRASHED DOWN on her like a rogue wave, but Laurel’s last thought was how wrong it had seemed to think of her and Lydia back in her cramped house without Caleb around.

  Sure, that was the way she’d planned it, but… She couldn’t formulate the rest of the thought. Her mind was too foggy.

  His hands felt so good….

  She was gone, just a plunge into the depths.

  And awakened as suddenly by an unhappy squall.

  It actually hurt to open her eyelids, so badly did they want to stay glued together.

  Nurse, eat, sleep.

  Please, please, please, go right back to sleep after I feed you, Laurel begged, as she crawled out of bed and lifted her tiny daughter from the bassinet.

  Wet diaper. That meant a trip to the bathroom, where the light was shockingly bright. Lydia blinked and Laurel squinted as she unsnapped the lemon-yellow onesie, peeled off a soaked diaper and replaced it. Nobody needed to see this well.

  She hoisted her daughter to her shoulder again and, with relief, snapped off the light and made her way to the upholstered rocker in her bedroom that Caleb had thoughtfully provided. The bedroom lights were still off, but the hall one was on now. Caleb must have heard Lydia crying and looked in. It was nice of him to leave it on.

  Seated, Laurel opened the front of her gown and Lydia took to her breast as if her mommy had been trying to starve her. By the time she shifted to the other breast, her suckling had become less urgent, her body relaxed. She seemed to appreciate the yellow glow from the hall, too—just bright enough that she could see Mommy’s face, not surgically bright like the bathroom.

  Her mouth slipped from Laurel’s breast. Then she jerked and began sucking again with new fervency, as if to say, Wait! I wasn’t done.

  Laurel began to sing, softly, for Lydia’s ears only. How funny that she loved this quiet interval in the middle of the night, no matter how sleepy she was. Lullabies, folk tunes, her rocking slower and slower, her voice becoming a whisper, then fading when she realized Lydia was sound asleep again.

  Laurel gently placed her back in the bassinet and spread the comforter over her, standing for a moment to look down at her face, so perfect.

  Who will you be?

  Every parent must ask the same question. The mystery, the possibilities, all waiting to unfold.

  Smiling, she turned toward the bedroom door with the intention of turning off the hall light. But she stopped at the sight of Caleb standing in the doorway, wearing nothing but pajama bottoms.

  He nodded toward the bassinet. His mouth formed the word “Asleep?”

  Laurel nodded. “You didn’t have to get up,” she whispered.

  He backed into the hall. She followed.

  “I wanted to.”

  “But…why?”

  “I like to see you with her.”

  “But…” she said again. “You do during the day.”

  His bare shoulders moved. “It’s different at night. Your hair is loose and tousled, you have a pillow print on your cheek—” he touched it with one finger “—your face is so soft. And Lydia is less likely to be cranky.”

  Self-conscious, Laurel reached up herself to feel the crease in her cheek. Then she remembered unbuttoning her gown and looked down the dark crevasse of cleavage. She wore a bra, thank goodness, or her breasts would be hanging out, but the sight of damp spots on the front of the gown made her flush.

  “I like this feeding,” she admitted, keeping her voice low. “I was just thinking that I should be miserable after being wrenched from sleep, but I wasn’t. It’s so peaceful.”

  “You’ll miss it, when she doesn’t want you at 2:00 a.m.”

  “I suppose I will. Except an uninterrupted eight hours of sleep is beginning to sound like nirvana.”

  His eyes were dark, hooded, but his voice was tender. “You’ll miss it anyway.”

  “Do you watch every night?”

  “No. I was just…tempted tonight.”

  She was beginning to understand temptation, too. She wanted to put her hands on his chest so that his heart drummed under her palm. Find out if she could feel the things she once had. If she could block out her fear.

  But Caleb was the worst person in the world with whom she should experiment. She had so much to lose where he was concerned.

  Yes, but she also trusted him more than anyone else in the world, except maybe her dad.

  But did she trust him enough? Laurel didn’t know.

  “What are you thinking?” Caleb murmured.

  “I…nothing. How it’s silly for us to be standing here in the hall whispering in the middle of the night.”

  “I’m thinking how beautiful you look in the middle of the night. When you were nursing, I thought, Madonna and child. Da Vinci would have loved your face.”

  Shaken, she said, “I’m so not beautiful. I’ve never been beautiful.”

  “I’ve always thought you were.” He caressed her cheek, a touch so light it gave her goose bumps. “I figured we’d get together someday. Didn’t you?”

  Her heart slammed. After a moment, she nodded. “We flirted a few times. I thought maybe.”

  “I thought for sure. When th
e time was right.” He bent his head, rubbed his nose against hers. “What do you think, Laurel? Is this that time?”

  “But…I can’t… You know I can’t…” It came out as a piteous cry, and she clapped her hand over her mouth.

  Caleb gently pried her fingers from her lips. “It’s okay. She’s still asleep.”

  Laurel sagged a little. She didn’t object when he steered her a few steps down the hall.

  “Why now?”

  “We’re living together. For God’s sake, we had a baby together. It’s not logical to think maybe we could have more?”

  That was it? He was enjoying domestic bliss? Contrarily, she felt a burst of outrage. He wasn’t saying I’m passionately in love with you. No, it was more Having a family is nice. Let’s not wreck a good thing.

  “You’ve been making big assumptions ever since I agreed you could be my baby’s father.”

  He stiffened. “Big assumptions? Like being part of my kid’s life?”

  “Like assuming you could make decisions for me!” She felt like she had as a child, frustrated in an argument and grasping for any straw.

  Caleb’s voice took on an edge. “I offered to help. That’s all.”

  “Help I didn’t want!”

  His face went still, expressionless. “That’s how you feel?”

  Laurel’s vision blurred. “No,” she whispered, her sinuses suddenly clogged. Oh, God, she was getting weepy. “You know it’s not. I’m afraid.”

  “Of me?” He took a step closer, the words husky, tender.

  “No. You know I’m not. Just of…of trying to pretend it never happened.”

  “Why should you have to? You can overcome fears without pretending they don’t exist.”

  She knew he was right. She had, to some extent. She lived alone, a crucial step in regaining her independence. It had been weeks after moving into the house before she had a real night’s sleep. Her father had seen to it that good locks were installed, but the kind of horror she’d experienced couldn’t be kept out by braces on the windows or dead bolts. She’d stuck it out anyway, until the noises became familiar, and she went to bed one night hardly noticing the absence of dread.

  But sex seemed impossible. Even with Caleb, no matter how she’d reacted to him lately, to his touches and his bare chest and his not-so-casual kisses.

  “I don’t know.” She sounded pathetic.

  “We can take it slow. See if one of these days you’re ready.”

  “What if I never am?”

  Some emotion passed over his face, hidden before she could identify it. “Then I suppose I’ll get frustrated. But not mad at you. I promise, Laurel.”

  “I’m scared,” she whispered.

  “Of what?” He lifted one hand and stroked her cheek. “Does that scare you?”

  She gave her head a small shake.

  He bent his head until their foreheads bumped, then nuzzled her nose again with his. “This?”

  “No…”

  His hand slid to the back of her neck and squeezed while he pressed a featherlight kiss to her lips.

  “This?” His voice was a soft burr, a mere vibration beneath her hands, which—astonishingly—had come to be flattened on his chest.

  She shook her head again, shyly this time.

  “Good.” He kissed her again, this time opening his mouth so that she felt his warm breath.

  Laurel hadn’t moved beyond having lifted her hands to touch him. Perhaps to push him away, but she didn’t want to. She stood suspended in the moment, her face tilted up, her breathing shallow and fast, a sense of wonder filling her.

  Maybe I can…

  She let her lips part, just a little. He nipped gently at her lower lip, tugging at it, sucking it. Heat washed through her. Her eyes closed and she made a sound. A moan? Something damp touched her mouth. His tongue. He was tracing her lips with his tongue. And it felt heavenly. She leaned in, and one of his hands went to her waist. It felt…different than all the other times he’d put an arm around her, laid a hand on her lower back as they went through a crowd.

  Purposeful. That was it. Strong. He squeezed, slid it lower to her hip, even as he continued to toy with her mouth.

  Feeling brave, she nipped his lower lip, touched it with the tip of her tongue. He was the one to make a sound this time, a growl that delighted her. Then his mouth captured hers in a kiss that felt harder, more urgent. Before she could know how she felt about it, he lifted his head.

  “Slowly. We’re going to take this slowly.”

  Laurel blinked in confusion. Who was he reminding? Her or himself? Anyway, wasn’t that what they’d been doing?

  He let her go and took a step back. His eyes were heavy-lidded again, with a glint that increased the throbbing she felt down low.

  “You need your sleep,” he said. “You just gave birth three weeks ago.”

  She almost said, Haven’t forgotten. I was there, you know. Then she realized with a tiny shock what he was really saying. She wasn’t supposed to have sex yet. The doctor had told her six weeks. Caleb must know that. He must think they could really make love.

  Alarm fluttered in her chest and she wrapped her arms around herself. “I am tired.”

  His face seemed to soften. His smile was classic Caleb: sweet, a little crooked, somehow merry.

  “We’ve gotta quit meeting like this.”

  Her in her nightgown, him in his pajamas, them lurking in the hall like two guests having an illicit tryst in someone else’s house.

  A bubble of laughter escaped Laurel, more of a hiccup than a giggle. “Good night, Caleb.”

  “Good night, sweetheart,” he murmured, and patted her on the butt as she turned to go back into her room.

  She was still smiling when she got into bed despite the fifty-nine arguments, pro and con, that were already jumbled in her head.

  I swore I’d never…

  Caleb isn’t like him.

  He might be more like him than you know. He wants the same thing.

  No! Not to hurt her, not to dominate.

  Are you sure?

  Yes!

  But…could she let even Caleb that close?

  There was only one way to find out, wasn’t there?

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  LAUREL’S FATHER SAID, “Where’s my granddaughter?” the minute he walked in the door.

  Laughing, Laurel kissed him and said, “Great to see you, too. Lydia is in the living room.”

  He gave her a lightning appraisal and then a hug. “You look the best you have in years.”

  “Motherhood must agree with me,” she said lightly, not about to mention lust, romance or any similar topic.

  Lydia lay on her back on the multicolored wool rug in the living room, her pacifier bobbing in her mouth and the rattle Laurel had left in her hand ten feet away. As Caleb put it, his daughter had a good arm. Her understanding of what to do with strange objects in her grasp was pretty hazy as yet.

  Laurel’s father had a good cuddle with Lydia, telling her she was the prettiest girl in the entire world and amazingly smart, all opinions Laurel happened to share. Still, she was amused to watch him, a dignified man in his fifties, making silly noises and chucking a baby’s chin.

  Of course, she reminded himself, he had done this before. He’d even changed diapers in his time.

  Lydia was going to get a big head from the stream of visitors exclaiming over her. Nadia had been over a couple of times, Darren in tow once, Caleb’s parents and his grandparents who had flown up from San Diego, Megan, of course, and even Sela Sweeney, who much to Laurel’s surprise had seemed envious.

  When Lydia decided she was hungry, Laurel’s dad handed her over to Laurel and pretended to inspect Caleb’s bookshelves on the other side of the room while Laurel nursed. He was just old-fashioned enough to be embarrassed when she had to expose a breast, even though she knew her mother had nursed Megan and her.

  “I’m glad you decided to take a few months off,” he observed over his sho
ulder. “Looks like the two of you are thriving.”

  “I wouldn’t have gone back to work until she was six weeks old anyway.” Laurel gazed down at Lydia, still a slight weight on her arm, but developing some substance. As always when she thought about leaving her for up to ten hours a day, her heart cramped. How could she? Did she trust even Caleb’s mom with her baby’s welfare? And even if she knew Lydia was fine, how would she get through the day without seeing her? Holding her? Inhaling her baby scent?

  She was dreading the day she had to go back to work.

  “What’s the plan now?”

  “I’m not sure. Mr. Hern e-mailed the other day wondering when I’d be back. They’ve been good about it, but I’ve already been off for two months.”

  “Don’t hurry,” her father advised. “You and that baby need time together.”

  “Did Caleb bribe you to say that?” she asked, only half joking.

  “You know I’ll continue to help financially.”

  Caleb had been careful not to echo his offer lately, probably hoping Lydia would do his work for him.

  But she’d already taken so much from her dad in the months after the rape and in buying the house, she hated to take more. And how could she live like a leech off Caleb and have any self-respect left? Besides…wasn’t it going to get harder and harder to pack up and go back to her own house the longer she waited? No Caleb around to take Lydia when she wouldn’t quit fussing, no one to make dinner at least every other night, no one to cuddle with?

  No kisses.

  “I know, Daddy.” She bent her head so even if he looked he wouldn’t see the mist she was furiously blinking away. “But I chose to get pregnant on my own, and I should be able to take care of us. I’m a big girl.”

  “You’ll forever be my little girl. You know that, don’t you?”