Emergency Delivery (Love Emergency)

by Samanthe Beck

  The shirtless part alone had her toes curling into the rug. His shoulders filled the archway between the living room and the hall. Moonlight caressed smooth skin stretched over hills of muscle, and shadows filled the valleys between. A light line of hair arrowed down from his navel and disappeared under the waistband of the sweats. She closed her eyes against a vision of running her tongue along the path. She could almost feel the silky tickle against her lips.

  “Can I help?”

  His sleepy question lit a fuse under her hormones and set off a fireworks display of “YES” in her mind, but some last shred of her sanity doused the sparks and reminded her that his offer pertained not to her inappropriate cravings, but to the sleep-disrupting infant in her arms. The one she couldn’t seem to calm, despite being the mommy.

  “I don’t think so. She’s fed, burped, and changed. I’m at my wit’s end as to why she’s fussy. I’m sorry we disturbed you.”

  “I can spare a little sleep. You’re going on four nights with practically none.” He walked over to the sofa and sat down. “Have you had something to eat?”

  She nearly rolled her eyes. He asked the question a lot. What would he do if he knew her hunger at the moment had nothing to do with food? “Yes, Dr. Knox.”

  “Good.” His eyes narrowed. “Did you clean up in here again?”

  Had she? She liked to make herself useful by keeping things tidy, and considered it the least she could do, but the last hour was too blurry to recall. “I don’t know.” She looked around. Hunter tended to leave a trail of debris behind him when he walked out of a room—an empty glass on an end table, his phone and wristwatch on the coffee table, a discarded pair of shoes by the chair. Right now all surfaces were clutter free and the floors clear. “Maybe a little.”

  “Stop doing that.” He sounded genuinely irritated. “I don’t need a maid, and you don’t need to spend your energy cleaning. I hereby institute rule number two—no picking up after me.”

  She cradled Joy against her shoulder and sat beside him. Just for a minute. Constant walking kept the baby’s cries to a minimum, but a few moments of sitting and Joy would really pitch a fit. “I think it’s instinctive.”

  “Resist the instinct.”

  He was irritated. For some reason, the fact made her smile. “What was rule number one again?”

  He leaned close and trailed his finger over Joy’s wet cheek. At this proximity, his body heat radiated over her skin, and she resisted an instinct to curl into him and soak up his warmth. She didn’t resist the urge to breathe, however, and accidentally inhaled a lungful of his scent now mixed with a base note of healthy, bed-warmed male.

  “Taking care of this baby means taking care of mama. If she’s just going to cry for a bit, anybody can tend to her. Doesn’t have to be you.”

  “You have to work tomorrow. You need your rest more.”

  “I’m fine. How many hours have you slept in the past few days? Twelve? Fifteen?”

  Counting them up would require more effort than she could possibly put forth at the moment. “Enough. I feel like an awful mom because I can’t figure out what’s wrong.”

  “If she always had trouble settling down after meals, I’d wonder if there was something going on with her, but she’s golden at every other feeding, so I think she’s just restless. Have you thought about letting her cry it out?”

  Cry it out? Did he not know Joy’s sobs tugged apron strings tethered to her heart, her soul, and every single one of her apparently useless maternal instincts? “I can’t just let her cry. What kind of a mother lets her baby cry?”

  “The human kind. You’re exhausted.” He plucked the irate infant out of her arms. “And we’re both awake, which is stupid. I’ve got her. Go get some rest.”

  God help her, she was tempted, but the sight of him cradling Joy against his bare chest held her in place. The baby, unfortunately, lacked proper appreciation for strong arms and well-defined pecs. She fidgeted, hiccupped, and then gave an unhappy wail. Poor Hunter. He deserved a heads-up on the marathon he was signing up for. “She likes to be held and walked,” she warned, at the same time the baby’s cries increased in volume.

  “No worries.” He got to his feet. “I know how to walk.”

  Hell yes, he did. Joy’s bawling diminished to half-hearted whimpers as he ambled across the room, talking in a slow, calm voice. She couldn’t hear what he said—or couldn’t focus on it, at any rate. Watching him move absorbed all her attention. She tried to look away, but her eyes refused to give up the view of those powerful shoulders, the long line of his back, and the two dimples riding just above the low-slung waistband of his sweats. Every step settled the sweats lower, until they clung precariously to the swells of his perfectly sculpted glutes. He turned to stroll back toward the sofa, and she nearly swallowed her tongue. Tight abs rippled, channeling her gaze over his stomach, his navel, past the strip of white skin demarking the line beyond which the sun never crossed, but her gaze trespassed the boundary without a second’s hesitation. Her breath caught in her throat. Another step or two and the man would have no boundaries left…

  He absently reached down and hitched his slipping waistband up a notch, without so much as a pause in his baby whispering. She let out a shaky breath. Joy seemed content, but now she wanted to cry.

  “We need one of those hands-free things,” he said.

  “A sling?”

  “Yeah, also a swing, right over there.” He gestured to the space beside the sofa. “Maybe something that plays some tunes and rocks at different speeds?” He grinned down at the baby. “How’s that sound, pretty girl?”

  Joy responded with a weak whine.

  “Yeah? Tell you what. You hang out with me tonight, let your mama get some sleep, and I’ll hook you up.”

  “Don’t bribe her. That sets a bad precedent.”

  “It’s not a bribe.” He flashed a grin. “It’s a reward.” Joy gave a gurgle, which Madison recognized as a sign of her tantrum winding down. Hunter cocked an ear toward her little head, as if listening. “What’s that? You like pink? I’ll see what I can do.”

  The integers on Total Due to Hunter Knox tally inflated before her eyes. “No pink swing. No stuff at all. I’m serious.”

  “She’s a three a.m. thrill-seeker. A swing might be just the thing to rock her back to baby Zen without one of us doing laps around the living room.”

  Well, shoot. When he put it like that…“I’ll get one tomorrow.”

  “Then she’ll have two. You’re spoiling her.”

  “Hunter.”

  “Madison.”

  A staring contest ensued, and though she fought to keep her eyes locked on his, doing so took more energy than she had at the moment. Seconds ticked by while her will to win the battle drained away. She let her thousand-pound eyelids drift down, but not before she caught his lips curve into a satisfied smile. “What?”

  “Get some rest. You can find all sorts of new stuff to be stubborn about tomorrow.”

  Dangerously charming, her brain reminded her, but she didn’t have the strength to fight him anymore tonight. “Fine. You win. I’m going to bed. Call me if you need me.” She stood, walked over to him, and gave Joy a soft kiss on the cheek. “Night, baby.” Then her eyes drifted to Hunter—the line of his collarbones, his strong, square chin. His lips.

  “Good night, Hunter.” His clean, green tea scent swamped her senses. On impulse, she put her hands on his shoulders and rose onto her tiptoes to brush a kiss over one stubble-roughened cheek. Maybe she zigged, or he zagged, but somehow she ended up with her lips pressed to his.

  They both froze for several seconds, and then his warm, firm, unquestionably masculine lips moved under hers, over, covering her mouth and taking control. Heat stormed in, immediate, consuming, and totally out of proportion with the relatively innocent contact. A quick, uncensored moan of longing reached her ears almost before she felt the vibration of her vocal cords in her throat. Her body switched to autopilot, arching
higher on her toes, fusing their mouths.

  A big hand cupped the back of her head, holding her there. He leaned closer, increasing the pressure of the kiss, and relieving her of some of the effort of straining toward him. The move sent her pulse tripping. Whatever was happening, he wanted it, too. His lips teased hers open, and then he played—nipping, rubbing, reminding her it had been a long time since she’d been pressed up against a man. Held. Kissed. Her mouth suddenly ached for the deep, aggressive thrust of a hungry tongue.

  The sensation of thick, silky hair under her fingers told her she’d moved her hands from his shoulders to his head. She tightened her grip until she could feel the hard outline of his skull, and her mouth opened wider in an inarticulate demand.

  Apparently he spoke fluent inarticulate, because he adjusted his hold on her head and slid his tongue into her mouth. She closed grateful lips around him and clung, sucked greedily as he slowly withdrew. Other parts of her body contracted, too—a sharp, urgent pull low in her abdomen and between her legs, as if all her muscles working together could counteract the retreat of his tongue. Her mouth filled with the minty sting of toothpaste mingled with a new taste that belonged solely to Hunter. Salty, vaguely citrusy. Highly addictive.

  She surged up and chased his tongue, sliding hers into his mouth. His welcomed hers with a tricky maneuver that sent hot and cold tingles all the way to her scalp. She eased back with the idea of returning the favor but got distracted by the smooth, even line of his teeth, broken by the angle of the third one in. He sank the point of it into her roving tongue, capturing her in a primitive trap, unleashing equally primitive responses. Her thighs clenched. Her nipples throbbed. The tight points scraped over his forearm and she moaned again as sensations ricocheted along every raw nerve ending in her body. He exhaled. She inhaled, absorbing him into her airway, her lungs, blurring the lines between scent, taste, and feel. It was all Hunter.

  Her body went heavy and her head went light. She leaned into his strength, loving the feel of his hard thigh between hers, and the solid shelf of his arm supporting her breasts. She clasped the back of his neck and leaned in a little more, and…

  A small, irritated cry filtered up from between them.

  She jerked back. Guilt washed over her and she automatically reached for her daughter. “I’m sorry. I…” What? Lost my mind? Forgot all about my daughter? Jumped you? “I’ll take her.”

  Hunter slowly released the back of her head and brought his other arm around to cradle Joy. “She’s okay. I’ve got her.” He rocked her tiny body and she immediately quieted. Like mother, like daughter.

  “Oh.”

  He aimed shadowy eyes at her and parted his lips to say something more. She panicked. “I’ll…um…see you in the morning.” With one last, quick peck on Joy’s cheek, she bolted for the bedroom.

  His voice followed her down the hall. “Good night, Madison.”

  Those were the last words she remembered hearing. She’d expected to toss and turn all night, if not from the mess of emotions swirling inside her as a result of the kiss, then from a rollercoaster of anxieties caused by not having her baby at her side. But no, she woke when dawn spilled into the room, Joy’s soft snores echoing in her ears, and the disconcerting awareness that the baby hadn’t been the only one Hunter had attended to last night. Apparently he’d tucked her in, too. She couldn’t call into focus any memory of the event, but someone had come in and covered her with an extra blanket. The notion of Hunter arranging the blanket around her sent bone-dissolving warmth through parts best left unheated.

  Quiet ruled the rest of the house, which suggested Hunter had already left for work, and an uncomfortable heaviness in her breasts announced Joy was overdue for breakfast. The nightstand clock confirmed both impressions. She tossed the covers aside and crawled out of bed. A peek at Joy reassured her she had time for a quick trip to the bathroom. Knocking out the morning essentials didn’t take long, but she still had a mouth full of toothpaste when a drowsy little cry reached her ears. She rinsed fast and hurried back to the bedroom. On the way, she swept past Hunter’s desk and accidentally knocked a file to the floor. Papers scattered.

  Dang. She gathered the papers up and then tossed them onto the desk. Once she got Joy squared away she’d put everything back in some semblance of order.

  The baby cooperated through a diaper change, despite her hunger—mama’s little trooper—and then snuggled in for breakfast. Madison sat in the desk chair and used a couple pillows to prop Joy up. While she supported the baby with one arm, she opened the file and turned the first sheet of paper over. It looked like a printout of some kind of application. She turned the next page and stared. Not just some kind of application, an Association of American Medical Colleges application, which looked pretty darn official and included…she leafed through the stack of papers…a confirmation of submission dated the past June. Next came a bunch of school-specific applications from places like Duke, Emory, Vanderbuilt, and Morehead. These reflected more recent dates.

  She lowered the page she held and stared at Joy. Holy crap, the man was in the middle of applying to medical schools. A few brave steps into his version of a second chance, and even with everything that had happened before, what had he gone and done? Opened his home to a virtual stranger and her baby. He’d taken on two major distractions—again—at a point when he ought to be focused on his goals. She looked at the next sheet in the stack—a recent correspondence from one of the local schools.

  Thank you for your inquiry regarding the status of your application. As you know, we require one academic letter of recommendation, and one professional. At this time, we are in receipt of a letter from Professor Bryant, providing the academic recommendation. Please remind your professional contact to forward a recommendation letter at her earliest convenience. No letters postmarked after February 15th will be accepted, and no incomplete applications will receive further consideration. Thank you.

  Not good. Hunter had all sorts of strict deadlines to see to. The last thing he needed was a couple of long-term houseguests disrupting his sleep, his files, and his life.

  Hunter had his goals, and now, she had hers. She was going to beg, badger, or bribe her doctor into clearing her to return from leave next week, collect two weeks of pay and tips, and find a place to live. They’d be out of his guestroom by the time Joy celebrated her second-month birthday, come hell or high water.

  Chapter Eight

  Hey, where are you? I went to the Grind, but Marcy gave me the death stare and told me you didn’t work there anymore. I went to our old place, and that asshole Randy says you moved. Maddy, I need to see you. We need to talk.

  Madison snapped her crappy, old flip phone shut and resisted the urge to turn the last part of her afternoon walk with Joy into a sprint. She did succumb to an irrational urge to scan the street for a black F-150. Talking to Cody was the last thing she needed. Marcy, her old boss, had pegged him as trouble the minute she’d slapped eyes on him. The imposing divorced mother of five wouldn’t tell him a thing. Madison hadn’t left a forwarding address with Randy, her former landlord, so he couldn’t divulge anything even if he wanted to.

  This was what she got for reloading her phone. She’d let her pre-paid minutes run out at the beginning of January, planning to save the money and just do without a cell phone, but Hunter didn’t have a land line, and he’d lost his shit at the idea of her being home with a baby and no way to call if she had a problem. This morning she’d bought more minutes, and as soon as she’d come back online, Cody had surfaced, as if he’d been lurking in cyberspace, waiting for the opportunity to worm his way back into her life, or more specifically, her wallet.

  The phone dinged again. After a short internal debate, she flipped it open.

  The baby’s due soon, right? I want to help you. I’ve been working on what we should do, and I finally have everything figured out. Get in touch, Maddy. Please. You don’t have to handle this on your own.

  She turned the
phone off and clipped it back on the baby sling. Yeah, right. He hadn’t even figured out the baby’s due date. Her conscience tried to take a stab at her, because this was Joy’s father reaching out, after all, but she pushed it back. He’d never once acknowledged being the father, and he still hadn’t. He’d stolen from her. Worse, he’d stolen from Joy, and letting him come anywhere near them amounted to begging for him to do it again.

  A noise brought her head up and around in time to see a petite, middle-aged woman wearing trim black workout clothes and short sassy red hair step onto her porch. She straightened the welcome mat with the toe of her white sneaker and then came down her front porch and followed the walkway toward Madison. She smiled as she neared, and Madison realized the woman was older than she’d first assumed. Closer to sixty than forty-something—but a good sixty.

  “Hi,” she said, still smiling. “I saw you out walking yesterday. New to the neighborhood?” Then she peeked over Madison’s shoulder at Joy and went on, “Aw. This little one is new to every neighborhood. How old?”

  Madison angled herself toward the woman. “Five weeks.” She managed what felt like a weak smile and rubbed her free hand along the curve of Joy’s back. “She aced her second checkup with her pediatrician earlier in the week.”

  “I remember when mine were that age. Vaguely,” she added with a laugh. “Enjoy the first year. It goes fast.”

  “I’ll try.”

  The woman laughed, and the late afternoon light bounced off her short red waves. “Easy for me to say, looking back through the filter of time, which conveniently blurs stuff like midnight feedings, three a.m. crankiness, the challenges of finding a moment to shower, and all the rest of it, but you’re off to a great start, getting exercise already, and you’ve chosen a wonderful neighborhood. Wayne and I—God rest his soul—raised four boys here. You couldn’t ask for a better spot.”