Mariah ate two pieces and used her napkin.
“Drink your milk,” Rhys said.
“I like warm milk before I go to bed,” she said out of sheer perversity.
Damned if he didn’t take the glass out to the kitchen and come back a few minutes later with warm milk in a mug.
She didn’t even like warm milk, but she wasn’t admitting it now. She stretched out on the bed and wriggled her toes. She sipped the milk and felt an odd mixture of lethargy and well-being steal over her. She channel-surfed with the remote, skipping over the sporting events just to annoy him.
He just sat there, watching her.
Finally she met his gaze. He was grinning, just a little, as if he knew exactly what she was doing—and why. It made her feel small and ornery—and very much like smiling, too.
So she did.
Because she couldn’t help it. Because he was here and so was she—and just now, just for this moment, things were good.
Then she flipped the remote again and found a channel showing a movie in Hungarian. At least she thought it was Hungarian. “Ah,” she said. “Perfect.”
She didn’t understand a word.
He got up and picked up the plates and the pizza and the glass. He left her with her mug of warm milk and her Hungarian movie.
On his way out he smiled at her. “Goodnight.”
It was almost like having his life back—the one with Mariah—b.p.
Before pregnancy.
Over the next few days they did things together. Not energetic things. Leisurely things. They figured out the Times crossword, they read to each other from books, they looked through old picture albums. He didn’t know why she was so fascinated with old photos of him and his brothers growing up, but he didn’t mind showing them to her. Didn’t mind talking about them, either, if it kept her quiet and entertained. They looked at all the albums but one. The one of his wedding. He didn’t take that one down.
Instead he showed her pictures of him playing football and baseball, of him and his brothers building sand castles and bodysurfing in the Bahamas. He told her about the house his parents had bought down there.
It was an old ship’s captain’s house, he told her. Her journalist’s mind was eager for stories. She listened and he told her as many as he could think of.
He’d never talked so much in his life. But she made it easy. She made it almost fun.
And every day she didn’t go into labor was one day better for the babies, according to the doc.
He’d put her in the master bedroom because it had a bathroom of its own, a view across the beach to the ocean, and an intercom so she could always get hold of him.
He’d intended to sleep in his own room which was at the far end of the house. But instead he took the room right across the hall from hers. It was now Dominic’s study, but it had a sofa that wasn’t too hard to sleep on, and he didn’t get much sleep anyway.
He was too busy checking on her.
He got up four or five times a night to cross the hall and peek into her room, to see that she was sleeping or, if she was not, to find out if there was anything he could do for her.
“Want a cup of warm milk?” he asked her.
But after that first night she never did.
“It might help you sleep,” he told her, but every night she shook her head.
“What would help me sleep is if they would,” she grumbled the third night when he heard her pacing around and got up to see what was wrong. She was standing there in the dark, rubbing her abdomen.
He could see her tousle-haired, round-bellied silhouette in the moonlight, and he remembered how curvy she’d been in that red dress a year ago. But there was something equally appealing about her now. Then she’d looked sexy, now she looked womanly. Then he’d wanted to kiss her and had been surprised at the direction of his thoughts.
They weren’t far different now. He stayed right where he was by the door. “They kicking you?”
“They always kick me. But sometimes I can soothe them.”
“How?”
She shrugged. “Rubbing my belly sometimes helps.” She gave a little laugh. “It’s crazy, but I think they like it. Like getting a back rub second hand.” She arched her back as she spoke and made a little whimpering sound.
It made Rhys’s blood run hot and thick in his veins. He had no business lusting after a pregnant woman, a woman who couldn’t possibly be interested in anything of the sort. But it didn’t seem to stop him. “You… um… want a back rub?”
She stopped rubbing her belly. “What?”
“You sort of… um… sounded like you thought a back rub might be a good idea. I’ll give you one.”
Say no, he pleaded silently. Tell me no.
“Well, that would be nice,” Mariah said.
Be careful what you wish for, Mariah’s mother had often said, for you will surely get it.
But a back rub had seemed highly unlikely when she’d tossed and turned and wished for it just half an hour before.
And if anyone had told her Rhys would be offering to give her one, well, she might have laughed out loud.
Oh, he’d been wonderful these past three days. He’d been solicitous and attentive and very much the Rhys she knew and had grown to love. But that Rhys—except that one night—had always kept his hands off.
This one was saying in an almost ragged voice, “If you want a back rub, lie down and roll over.”
Obediently Mariah did just that. She stretched out on the big bed and rolled onto her side. She tugged the pillow against her belly for support. She rubbed it a little, hoping that the rambunctious twin would be soothed and would relax.
The way she was relaxing?
Uh-huh. She was about as relaxed as a high-tension wire. Her body seemed almost to hum with awareness. All her senses were awake and waiting.
She heard his bare feet on the floor. She felt the mattress shift as he sat beside her.
“Do you have enough room?”
“Yes.”
Outside the surf broke on the beach. But inside her body the blood pounded through her veins, her heart hammered in her chest. And the baby kicked her hard.
“Oof,” she said. Then, “Shh,” she murmured, rubbing her belly again, trying to calm both of them.
“More kicking?”
“Yes.” She shifted, then reached back and took his hand, pressing it against her belly. Obligingly the baby kicked him.
Rhys went totally still.
Mariah wondered if she’d made a mistake. Maybe he would withdraw now, go back to his own room, leave her alone with them.
But he left his hand there until the baby moved again, and then he kneaded softly. Mariah stiffened in surprise.
Rhys pulled his hand away. “Sorry.”
She wanted his hand back as soon as it was gone. Would he leave now?
But he didn’t. He took her by the shoulders and pressed his thumbs against her spine. Then he began to massage, to knead his way down vertebra by vertebra.
Mariah whimpered softly.
Rhys stopped. “What’s wrong?”
“N-nothing. Mmm.”
“What’s ‘mmm’ mean?”
“Fine,” she breathed. “It means it’s fine.”
It was more than fine. It was wonderful. Delicious. Mariah’s back arched under the insistent rhythmic pressure of his fingers. She settled her head against the pillow and let herself float. The tension she’d felt began to ease, to slip slowly out of her body. Her lips parted and she breathed deeply, then exhaled slowly on a satisfied sigh. “Ye-e-es.”
Apparently Rhys needed no translation for that. He kept kneading. It was heavenly. His fingers worked all the way down her spine, then at her waist began to knead at the sides, right where she ached the most.
“Ah-h-h.” She gave a little shiver of pleasure.
His fingers faltered. “Um, you all right?”
“Yes. It’s wonderful. There. Just there. Do that.”
; He did. She felt him shift his weight, move closer. Was that his knee pressing against her butt? Whatever it was it felt hard and warm. Good. His fingers worked, easing the tension, softening the knots, relieving the stress.
Mariah’s eyes drifted shut.
She breathed deeply, easily. Her shoulders flexed. Her spine stretched and curved. She could lie here like this forever.
It was so quiet now that she couldn’t hear the pounding of her heart any longer. But she could hear Rhys’s breathing. It sounded harsh and a little bit quick, as if he’d been running. She wished she could see him. But it was dark. She didn’t turn. She let herself float.
Even the babies had quieted now.
She snuggled deeper and gave herself over to the magic of his fingers. They moved slowly, languorously up and down her back and then they reached her shoulders and stilled.
She didn’t move.
Then they lifted and she felt a hand stroke her hair. For just an instant it brushed her cheek.
Then something else touched her cheek.
Then he was up and gone. Out the door, just like that.
Mariah reached up a hand to touch her cheek.
It was damp.
CHAPTER NINE
Talk about torture.
What the hell had he been thinking?
Well, he hadn’t. Obviously. If he’d thought he would get aroused by merely touching her, he would never have said anything about any damn back rub!
But, Rhys thought, letting himself out the French doors and heading toward the water, who the hell would figure he’d get aroused by simply rubbing his hands over the back of an extraordinarily pregnant, almost comatose woman?
It didn’t make any sense!
It didn’t make for a good night’s sleep, either. Which was why he was stalking across the sand. He’d left Mariah sleeping like the proverbial baby. He supposed he should be glad. That had been the aim of the exercise, after all. And as far as that went he’d been a great success.
He’d also become frustrated beyond belief. He hadn’t had a woman in eight months—not since the night he’d slept with Mariah. It hadn’t mattered to him somehow. He hadn’t wanted it.
Now he wanted it. Wanted her! His body ached with desire.
And it was a desire he had no chance of assuaging. There was going to be no consummation. He plunged into the surf and dove straight under an incoming wave in the desperate hope that the icy water would provide a cure.
He came shooting back up, shivering, aching and shocked; something else shocked him more—the sound of his name over the pounding of the waves.
“Rhys!”
He spun around. “What the—? Mariah?”
He didn’t believe it—but there she came, her body silhouetted against the lights of the house as she tottered, off-balance, toward him across the sand.
He raced back out of the ocean, shaking water as he ran. “What the hell are you doing? You’re not supposed to be out here!” He came to a stop inches in front of her and glowered.
She glowered right back. “You’re not supposed to swim alone.”
He raked a shaking, savage hand through his hair. “For God’s sake! I wasn’t swimming!”
She gave his dripping body a leisurely once-over. “Really?” she said. “Must be my imagination.”
They stood there in a face off, so close that he could feel her warm breath on his freezing body, so close that another step and her belly would bump right into him.
She didn’t step back, didn’t give an inch. And with her dark hair blowing in the moonlight he thought she was the most beautiful damn woman he’d ever seen. A shudder of longing ran through him.
“Cold?” She held out a towel.
Rhys stared at it. Then he dragged his hand down his face and took the towel. He rubbed it briskly over his body. Then he noticed she held something else.
“What’s that?”
She looked down, then held it out. It was a life preserver, one of two that hung by the fence.
“You were going to rescue me?” He gaped at her.
She drew herself up haughtily and looked down her nose at him. “If necessary.” Her voice was cool and composed. Her hand was shaking.
“God,” he muttered. He slung the towel around his neck and took her arm. “Come on. You’re supposed to be taking it easy. You’re supposed to be asleep.”
He was shaking, too, thinking what could have happened to her. “You’re crazy, you know that?” he grumbled.
“You should talk.” But she leaned against him as they walked and he slipped his arm around her. Her body was warm against his freezing flesh, heating him, starting the fires all over again. But he didn’t let himself think about that. He kept a firm hold on her until they were back on the deck, until she’d stopped trembling.
Only then did he drop his arm and step away. “Don’t ever do that again,” he told her sternly.
“You either,” she said.
They stared at each other.
“If you’d…” She didn’t finish.
She didn’t have to. He read her fear. It wouldn’t have happened, he wanted to tell her. Nothing would have happened. But she didn’t know that, and she needed him.
“Go to bed, Mariah.”
She went.
She'd very nearly made a fool of herself.
No, that was putting too kind a spin on it. She had made a fool of herself. She’d actually gone after him with a life preserver—as if she could have saved his life if he’d been drowning!
She didn’t know why it had seemed so real a possibility to her. But when he’d left her room she’d listened for the sound of him going across the hall to his own, and instead she’d heard him go out to the living room. And the next thing she’d heard was the sound of the French doors opening and closing.
Curious, she’d got up to look—and had seen him striding across the sand toward the ocean. She’d panicked.
A thousand terrifying thoughts had crowded into her head. What if—? she’d thought. What if—?
And so she’d grabbed a towel and that stupid life preserver and she’d gone after him!
Like a fool.
God. A shudder ran through her. She laid a hand on her cheek and could still feel the heat of her embarrassment.
She wouldn’t do that again. She needed to get herself together, to stop looking ahead and anticipating disaster.
She heard Rhys come down the hall and she prayed he would go right into his room. Instead he stopped at her door.
“You awake?”
She considered not answering, pretending to be asleep. But then she rolled over. “Yes.”
“I brought you a mug of hot milk.” He hesitated for a second, then came in and set it on the table in the dark.
“Thank you.”
He just stood there. She could feel his eyes on her.
“I wasn’t going to… I would’ve been all right, Mariah.”
She swallowed. She reached for the mug and lifted it, pressing the heat of it against her lips. Her throat felt tight. “I know.”
“You could’ve—” He broke off. She heard him crack his knuckles. “You gotta take it easy, Mariah. Take care of yourself.” There was an odd note of urgency in his voice.
She felt an ache behind her eyes. She nodded, sipped the milk. “Yes.”
He kept standing there. Finally he said, “Okay, now?” His voice was soft and just a little rough.
She gave a quick little nod. “Okay.”
“That’s all right, then. G’night, Mariah.” He turned and padded out of the room.
She sat holding the mug for dear life, blinking rapidly, and wishing… always wishing.
Don’t, she warned herself.
But it didn’t help. She kept right on wishing until she slept.
Rhys decided the next day that Mariah needed an outing.
“You’re not having contractions now, are you? Well, then, I think it’s time we broadened your horizons.”
&n
bsp; What he thought was that the house, big as it was, wasn’t big enough for both of them. After last night there was too much awareness between them. There were too many unspoken words, too many half-formed thoughts.
And on his part, at least, way too much need and desire.
And the only way he knew to deal with it was to give them some space—to get out of the house. So he settled her in his car and took her for a drive along the coast.
During the summer months, such a drive would have been insane. Then the roads were clogged with summer people down from the city, day-trippers out for a few hours of sand and surf. Now the road was nearly empty. It was one of those bright late autumn days where there were no clouds at all in the sky and a stiff breeze swept the deserted beaches clean. They drove all the way to Montauk because Mariah said she felt fine, the babies were behaving, and she had no contractions at all.
They ate lunch at a small place near the beach. Then they walked around a little and peered in the windows of shops. One of them, a toy shop, had a window full of stuffed plush bears in all shapes and sizes. Mariah laughed at one with a belly as big as hers.
“Mama Bear,” she said. “I love her. I know just how she feels. And look—” She pointed at a pair of smaller ones wearing identical sailor hats and sitting in a sailboat. “Twins.”
There were doctor bears, biker bears and teacher bears. One for almost every occupation or hobby. “There.” Mariah touched his arm and pointed.
At the far end of the window, Rhys saw a fireman bear perched on a ladder. He wore yellow rubber boots and had a fire hat and a yellow vinyl slicker.
“Isn’t he wonderful?” Mariah asked, smiling up at him with such pure delight that it seemed his heart tripped for just a moment before beating steadily on again.
“Yeah,” he agreed hoarsely. Then he took her hand. “Come on. We’ve got a long drive to get home. And you need to rest.”
He worried a little that they’d done too much. But any contractions she had that day were mild and irregular. She dutifully took a nap when they got home, and she didn’t try to take over when he made dinner.
He complimented her on her restraint.
Rhys's Redemption Page 14