Aftershocks

by Catherine Coulter

  To his surprise, she looked away from him, her eyes lowered.

  "What is this? Modesty from my soon-to-be wife?"

  She wrung her hands. "I-—I look awful!" she blurted out. "I'm so skinny except for my stomach. I look like a spider."

  "Then let me step into your parlor."

  She laughed; she couldn't help it. "You—you won't mind?"

  "Don't be silly," he said tenderly. "I want to feel our baby and stare at your belly for hours. It's my male conceit. You'll have to put up with it. And I want to see that scar of yours. If Greenberg really did an excellent job, I won't go down and murder the man."

  There was such pleasure in his voice, such tenderness in his dark eyes, that she wanted to cry again. But he kissed her again, stroked his hands down her back, and she forgot about crying.

  "Come on, sweetheart," he said gently. "Will you make love with me?"

  She stood on tiptoes and wrapped her arms around his neck. "Where did you lose that ten pounds?" she whispered provocatively in his ear.

  He knew she was embarrassed, and therefore went very slowly. When she was finally naked, he stood back and let his eyes wander over every inch of her.

  "I love you so much," he said. Lightly, he touched his hand to her belly and caressed her. "My touted control is slipping, George."

  She lay on her back on the bed, watching him yank off his clothes. When he turned around to face her, her eyes widened.

  "I know what you're thinking," he said, grinning at her.

  "How could you?" she protested. "I was just going to reassure you that the ten pounds you lost aren't-"

  "Hush, woman. Now I'm the one who's embarrassed. My ribs are showing."

  "But I wasn't looking at your ribs, Elliot."

  "It appears you've got your wit back. I'm so besotted, I probably won't win an argument for another six months."

  He lay down beside her and stared for a long moment at her. Lightly, he touched her breast. "More than a handful now," he said, leaning down to gently kiss her.

  "Yes, and it's a nuisance. How can those overly endowed movie stars enjoy carrying all that around?"

  "Men," he said, laughing softly. "The more the merrier for some of us blighted specimens. Now, would you please shut up so I can seduce you?"

  He was watching her as he spoke, and saw a flicker of uncertainty in her expressive eyes. "What's wrong, sweetheart?"

  "I'm scared," she whispered, staring raptly at his collarbone.

  His hand roved downward and came to rest on her stomach. "Of what?"

  He felt the child move against his hand and laughed delightedly. "Ah, George, what a rowdy little beggar he is. Now, tell me, no more stalling. What scares you?"

  "I haven't felt anything in so long," she managed. "I don't know if I can now."

  It wouldn't be wise, he decided quickly, to tease her about her mythical lovers. "For me too, George. We've got all the time in the world. All you have to do is relax, and trust me. Okay?"

  His eyes locked with hers, and he eased his hand lower. "Familiar territory," he said softly, slowly stroking her. "And just a tiny little scar."

  "You—you haven't made love to anyone since us?"

  "No. It was too grim a thought."

  He felt a gentle stirring in her. "Oh," she gasped. "I'd forgotten."

  "Not me," he said ruefully. "I'd lie in bed at night, remembering how you feel, and those soft mewling sounds you'd make in your throat. Do you remember how it felt when we were together?"

  "Yes," she whispered. She ran her hands over his chest and ribs, then clasped them behind his back. "I've got to fatten you up."

  "On your cooking?" he teased her. "Just smile at me every day and tell me you can't live without me, and I'll fill out in no time at all. Not quite like you, of course, but still..."

  She squeezed him as hard as she could, and she felt a deep rumble of laughter in his chest.

  He hugged her to him, and kissed her. "George,"he said, easing back so he could see her face.

  "Hmm?"

  "You became pregnant our last night together."

  "Yes, it would seem so."

  "You weren't using your diaphragm?" She looked at him doubtfully, a flicker of fear in her

  eyes.

  "No, I'm not about to accuse you of getting pregnant on purpose, idiot. I just wanted to know how virile I am."

  She shook her head. "No, I didn't use anything. It was only a couple of days after my period, about the same time of the month we first made love. I didn't think I could get pregnant."

  "It must have been fate, then." Elliot raised his eyes toward the ceiling and began to murmur in Latin.

  George buffeted him on the shoulder. "You're supposed to be paying attention to me. What are you doing?"

  "Praying. Offering up thanksgiving, and promising a life of good works and moral rectitude."

  "When you finish, please love me," she whispered, and drew his face down to her.

  "I will," he said, drawing her on her side against him. "You can count on that."

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