The Heart Doctor and the Baby

by Lynne Marshall

  “The letting-go exercise,” he said, not caring that his voice had slipped into husky mode.

  There’d been a lot of slipping and sliding into a new direction over the past three weeks with René. He’d seen her skin prickle at his touch, heard her soft breaths of relaxation and had the pleasure of sitting close like a real life-partner for two straight hours each week. He hadn’t set out to let this intimate shift happen, but it had, and he didn’t have a clue how to deal with it. It went against every natural instinct he’d ever had. Don’t get involved with business associates. Don’t ruin a perfectly good friendship. Never sign contracts and agree to donate sperm!

  He’d spent almost a month of Wednesdays with her being called her husband, and knowing she carried a part of him inside her. As wrong as he knew it was, the term had started to feel right.

  They’d practiced the birthing techniques to help her relax, which involved constant yet gentle touching. Her soft skin beneath his fingertips had felt like nirvana and nearly had been too much to bear. He couldn’t shut off the quiet roar of desire building and cresting even now, and for the first time he dropped the shield, and didn’t bother to stop himself.

  As she poured tea into the glasses, he moved toward her and, from behind, placed his hands lightly on her arms. Halfheartedly, he quelled the urge to nuzzle her neck with his mouth. His lips hovered licking distance away and he inhaled the same faint scent of strawberry-mango skin cream as he had in class.

  “The reason it was my favorite part was because I got to put my hands on you.” His voice, heavy with the last threads of restraint, almost cracked when he whispered over her ear. He slid his hands over her baby mound and wondered at the warmth and roundness.

  She didn’t tense as he worried she might with his wildly overstepping his bounds; rather, she let her head rest on his shoulder and sighed. It felt so damn good to hold her again, to feel her respond to him so naturally. He’d savor this moment, as it might be the only one they shared if she drew the line, stopped him from making a huge mistake.

  “The instructor did say you should practice before bed.” His gravelly whisper stumbled over the B word. He could tell from the angle of her jaw that she smiled.

  “I’m not sure all that practice would help me relax,” she said quietly.

  He was about to spin her around, when she moved voluntarily toward his body. Her arms wrapped around his back, and she nuzzled her cheek against his chest. He loved the feel of the baby pressed safely between them, the feel of her arms drawing him in.

  They stood like that for several seconds, getting used to each other in this brand-new way, gently rocking back and forth, caressing, enjoying the feel of each other. They were this odd couple, family-to-be, a choice they’d made based on her wish.

  And their future?

  He stroked the thick layers of her hair, she lifted her chin and he claimed her mouth with a breath of a kiss. Tender. Gentle. Warm.

  She subtly opened her mouth, and he pressed against the silky moisture of her lips, as the last threads of his self-restraint snapped.

  CHAPTER NINE

  RIGHT there in her kitchen René was swept up by Jon—and she let him. She loved it when he dug his fingers into her hair and kissed her, crazy with passion. He took charge of her; his hands wandered her arms and across her back as if he’d been waiting for this moment for months. There were no awkward fumbles or insecurity in his demanding kisses; no, his mouth was skilled yet the kisses sincere and she believed each one. She skimmed the muscles of his chest and shoulders with her fingertips, soon wrapping her hands around his neck, drawing him closer and indulging in his taste.

  She peeled her lips away only long enough to catch her breath, then quickly dove back in for more of the heady wine that was Jon.

  His hands moved to her hips and he pulled her closer, as close as the baby would allow. His palms slipped up her sides, tracing her frame, then gently over her sensitive breasts. He cupped her and, surprised, she moaned contentedly. Under his touch, chills and tingles weaved together on her skin in wheels of pleasure.

  This was no ordinary kiss. It was loaded with desire and a pinch of frustration, as if he couldn’t get enough of her. To find herself five months pregnant and the object of his arousal turned her on. She longed for more, as her hand slipped under his shirt and hit pay dirt with the warm, smooth skin of his back. She’d seen him with his shirt off, remembered ever since how slim and toned he was. The feel of him was so much better than the mental picture she’d held on to since that day by the beach.

  “This is a terrible idea,” he said in ragged spurts, his tongue probing and exploring.

  “I know,” she breathed over his mouth, kissing him back.

  “You’re pregnant,” he said.

  She laughed through the kiss. “Really? Wow.”

  Amusement rumbled through his chest, and he kissed her harder while holding her hips flush with his. If they were naked, he’d be nearly inside her, and the thought made her even moister with anticipation.

  She’d routinely counseled her patients on sex during pregnancy. Knew it was safe at this stage, that with all the extra hormones, the experience could even be heightened. Under the confident hands of Jon, she had no doubt how good things would be.

  A quick run of her hand over the bulge in his jeans sent her obvious message. Yes. She wanted him. No doubt at all. Couldn’t think of anything she’d want more right this minute than Jon inside her.

  Jon knew it was a bad idea, beyond bad, out of the question. Yet here he stood at the foot of René’s bed, slipping the straps from her breathtaking sundress over her shoulders, being rewarded with the sight of her full breasts, and pregnancy-darkened nipples. The silky feel of her skin was his final undoing. He needed the rest of the dress removed. Now.

  “You’re beautiful. My God. So beautiful,” he said, sighing over her lips, then delivering a light, quick kiss.

  She dipped her head and glanced up at him, as if shy about his seeing her protruding belly. He wanted to reassure her that he didn’t care, but the vision of the dress sliding down and over her hips left him speechless. He hoped the look in his eyes told the entire story.

  He ripped off his shirt and unzipped his jeans faster than a strike of lightning, then stepped up to her and pulled her almost completely naked body next to his. It felt like heaven with his skin flush to hers, and the warmth they built between them belly to belly. He stroked and caressed her velvetiness, as their deep kisses imitated the motion they’d soon share on her bed.

  It was going to happen. There was no turning back. For an instant a slight hesitation registered in René’s eyes as they maneuvered toward and reclined on her bed, and she slipped the final garment off and over her feet.

  “I guess I should be on top,” she said softly, like a shy girl, putting his concerns to rest.

  He wanted to growl his answer, but refrained while he disposed of his briefs in a flash. “Only if you want to,” he said, desperately hoping she wouldn’t change her mind. She didn’t. Her enlarged pupils mesmerized him, inviting him closer, and he obeyed.

  “This has been a long time coming. Let’s take it slow,” he whispered, with a grainy voice, gently moving a lock of hair behind her ear. He kissed her there and smelled the mix of perfume and woman scent, and grew firmer.

  They faced each other. He savored every inch of her, the vision tattooed in his brain. Interlocking his fingers with hers, he waited, giving her one last chance to change her mind. She rolled away and turned down the light in answer.

  He spooned up behind her, reaping the warmth of her hips and bottom pressed against his erection. When he lifted and smoothed her soft breasts, the warm tips tightened and puckered and he rolled her back toward him so he could kiss them. She responded to every touch, even when he explored her round stomach with its taught skin.

  The baby moved and René’s eyes brightened with surprise. “The Tumbler,” she said.

  He smiled with reverence, deferri
ng to the active baby they’d created, waited until it stopped its antics, then immediately kissed her again, needing to have her on top of him, needing to be inside her.

  They rolled together, she straddled his hips and the thought about taking his time vanished. He found her heat and pressed at her entrance, then with her help slid inside, soon overtaken by her warmth and moisture, the heavenly feel and fit of her. How could he possibly last with her wrapping him so tight?

  “I guess we don’t need to worry about birth control,” he said, trying to distract from the intensity of sensation sizzling through him with each lift and drop of her hips.

  The picture of her on top of him—hands anchored to his shoulders, head dropped back, a sublime expression on her face, pregnancy-enlarged breasts, round, darkened nipples, faint veins tracking her pale skin, and baby mound hovering above his waist as she lifted and dropped against his thrusts—would be forever etched in his mind. Never would he forget this moment.

  They fit as if they belonged together, as if for years this day had been scheduled and impatiently waited to happen.

  She was the most beautiful sight he’d seen in years, and she drove him to the brink with each roll of her hips. Tension strained in his groin, as he grew firmer and throbbed inside her.

  By the expression on her face, he knew he was taking her along with him on this urgent trek for release. He let her take control, set the pace, adding to his pleasure. Guiding her hips, he restrained himself as she lifted and lowered and he thrust into her deepening heat.

  Several minutes later all restraint vanished. They found a wild pace, driven by heat and sensation and sweat. The room went dark as he anchored her hips and increased the force. She clamped down over him in climax and her rhythmic massage brought him to release. The intensity nearly catapulted him off the bed.

  He wrapped her tight in his arms and they rocked along as the last few spasms rode themselves out. Her damp cheek stuck to his wet chest until he lifted her chin and kissed her. She moaned her approval, then snuggled against his shoulder again, spent.

  If he lifted her arm and let go, it would drop like a rag doll, like the instructor had told them to practice for homework.

  It turned out his technique for the relaxation “letting go” method had worked far better than anything Dr. Bradley could have ever dreamed up.

  René awoke to Jon’s kiss on her forehead.

  “Goodbye. I need to get a run in before work.” He was dressed and leaning over the bed.

  She’d slept soundly entangled with his body, sounder than she had in weeks.

  She rose up on her elbows and wiped her sleep-heavy eyes, attempting to get a handle on the moment. “So soon? What about breakfast? Maybe I could make something.” The last thing she wanted was for Jon to make love and run away.

  He sat on the bedside and smiled at her, though his eyes didn’t participate. It unsettled her, as if a warning of her massive mistake.

  “That sounds great,” he said, “but you know me and running. I’ve got to do it.” He patted her sheet-covered hip and gave an intimate lover’s glance. “Thanks for everything.” As if he hadn’t gotten the point across last night that she totally turned him on, he soul-kissed her. Then left.

  That was it?

  Last night the same kind of kiss had sent her reeling with desire. Now, it felt more like a slap in the face. The reminder of his lips all over her body was more than she could process compared to this cheap replica send-off kiss.

  He’d made love to her a second time during the night, and she was tired, but if he’d invited her to do it again this morning, she would have…until two seconds ago.

  A wave of confusion sent her back onto the pillow. If she could sleep a while longer, tune everything out, when she woke up maybe things would make more sense than they did right now.

  She rolled onto her stomach and covered her head, fighting off a cringe. What had she done? She broke into a slick, icy sweat.

  She’d taken a huge risk with him last night. She’d given him everything she had in order to show her feelings. Now, he’d literally run away. How stupid of her to lose control. To open up to him. Whether she’d planned it or not, baby step by baby step he’d become a part of her life. And now they’d crossed a forbidden line.

  Pain jumbled with heartache and confusion, muddling her thoughts even more. Mindlessly, she rubbed her stomach.

  Why did this feel like a repeat of her last breakup? She scraped her teeth over her bottom lip. Was Jon capable of being so heartless? She couldn’t allow the insecure thoughts or negativity while she was pregnant. The baby needed peace to grow, not stress, and pursuing a relationship with Jon would only bring pain. She’d do anything to guard against a repeat performance.

  She flung the pillow across the room and sat at the bedside. No way would she let him see how she’d fallen for him. If he had a clue how she felt, she’d never be able to face him again. And she’d never know if anything further with their relationship was only out of pity. She swallowed the fist-size knot in her throat. After all the promises she’d made about their business deal, the guarantee she’d given him, he’d think she’d tricked him into becoming more than a donor. A boyfriend? A lover? A father?

  A cold rock sat on her chest, heavy and aching. She couldn’t ignore the pain. She’d made a huge mistake. She closed her eyes tight and rubbed her temples. Breathe. Breathe. The weight of her blunder made it hard to inhale.

  A few moments later, having solved nothing, she glanced at the clock. Reality replaced the scrambled thoughts. She had to make hospital rounds on her inpatients before she started her morning clinic. The big mistake would have to be revisited some other time. Right now, she was ever so grateful for the distraction of her job.

  “Wrong, wrong, wrong,” Jon chanted as he jogged the toughest hill he could find. He’d been thinking with his body, not his brain, when he’d made love to René, and had made the biggest blunder in his life. The problem was he’d spent too much time with her, eaten too many of her meals. He’d let the lines blur between business and pleasure. Okay, that was an understatement, but where the hell was his IQ when he’d needed it? Showing off in his pants, that’s where.

  How could he make such a mistake?

  He’d told her from the start he didn’t want to get involved with the baby, that he’d raised his family and didn’t need another, that he had plans for a year’s sabbatical, and he looked forward to his freedom, but here he was fresh out of her bed and reeling with confusion. The more time he spent with her, he couldn’t stay emotionally aloof, and last night, the distance he’d swore he’d keep had disappeared.

  Damn it all. The last thing he’d bargained on was developing feelings for René Munroe. She’d painted such a simple picture that night she’d convinced him to share his DNA. He’d bought it, hook, line and sinker.

  He wanted to kick something, mostly himself, he was so angry. He punched the air, as if training for a prize fight as he pounded up the steep hill. His lungs burned and were on the verge of bursting for air.

  He’d tell her it was one big mistake. Surely she knew it, too. They’d gotten too close in class and later got carried away, and he forgot his promise. He’d beg, grovel if he had to, in order to get her to understand. He had a bad track record where relationships were concerned, and a nasty divorce to prove it. He never wanted to hurt her. Never. But this couldn’t be—this thing between them. It was never supposed to happen in the first place. And now, it had to end.

  She’d understand. She was a superbright woman, and her goal was to have a baby, not inherit a lover along with it.

  He’d talk to her, apologize with all of his heart, tell her he’d fulfilled his duty, then step into the shadows for the rest of her pregnancy. She needed peace during the next few months, not turmoil, and all he’d done was mess everything up.

  His thighs gave out; he plunked down on the nearest patch of grass and hung his head between his knees. He spit out the sour taste in his mout
h, then rinsed with the bottled water he wore on his waistband. He held the cool bottle against his throbbing forehead.

  How could he be a father and in China for a year at the same time?

  She’d understand. He was sure of it.

  Thanks to a superbusy clinic, Jon snuck through Thursday morning under the radar and, coward that he’d turned into, was grateful. But he couldn’t avoid what must be said. He couldn’t let René think he was avoiding her. He’d already messed things up enough. At noon, he took a deep breath and knocked on her office door.

  Her eyes softened when she first saw him, before an obvious shift to cool and guarded. “Come in,” she said, in a measured tone.

  He scratched his cheek. “Uh, about last night,” he said, after closing the door. She waved him off in a glib manner, and the sting surprised him. “I’ve really complicated things, haven’t I?”

  She went still, narrowed her eyes. “Single-handedly? I think I was in that bed, too.”

  He let go his breath. “The thing is—”

  “Jon.” She rose and walked up to him, close enough to feel her breath as she whispered. “The contract is in place. We can step back and think things through, if you’d like.”

  “Yes,” he said a bit too quickly. “Yes, I think that’s a good idea.”

  He thought he saw something flicker in her eyes. Hurt? Disappointment? Before he could explain more she gestured toward her desk. “Now if you don’t mind, I’ve got a stack of paperwork I’ve got to get done so my patients can get continuity of care when I’m off on maternity leave.”

  That was it? She’d dismissed him?

  “I’m really sorry,” he said, “if I’ve messed things up.”

  “Not a problem,” she said, her usual warmth replaced with a prickly facade. “Really.”

  Their incredible night of love had been sliced down to a mere “oops” moment. No problem, she’d said. Except it was a problem, a monumental problem. Jon Becker didn’t get involved with or make love to a woman unless he cared about her.