by Tracy Wolff
Only when her heartbeat was back to normal and she’d drawn her emotional armor around herself did she head back into the bedroom. “There better be coffee in that cup and it better be for me.”
“It is.” He held the large white-and-green cup out to her. “It’s decaf. The Web sites said that caffeine—”
“Is bad for the baby. I get it.” She took a sip of the fragrant brew and figured it was a sign of her willingness to play nice that she didn’t whimper at the lack of kick.
“Are you ready to go?”
“Ready as I’ll ever be.” She hunted around for sandals, found them in a tangle under the desk. “We need to stop at a bank, though. I need money.”
“Don’t worry about it.” He held the door open for her, waiting as she preceded him through. “Matt.”
“No charge for the first appointment—I told you he was a friend of mine.”
“What happened to Sarah’s obstetrician?”
“He retired. But Rick’s a better bet, anyway. He’s the best at what he does—even if his practice is on the other side of town.”
“And he’s really willing to see me for free?”
“Yes. I swear.”
She turned and studied him suspiciously, but he seemed sincere. “Fine.” Her reply was less than gracious, but she wasn’t sure what to do with this man who took care of everything for her. She was used to taking care of herself and wasn’t sure how to feel now that Matt was taking over.
When they got to his car, Matt held her door open for her—a habit she remembered from when they’d been together. How had she managed to get herself hooked up with one of the last gentlemen on the planet? It boggled the mind, so she let it go—it was far too early to contemplate issues of that weight, especially when the benign dictator next to her was denying her caffeine.
Right before he pulled into traffic, Matt reached behind him and handed her a brown paper bag. She opened it and didn’t even bother to try and stifle her laugh.
“Trying to fatten me up?”
“I didn’t know what you’d be in the mood for. Besides, pregnant women need calcium and vitamins and—”
She clapped a hand over his mouth with a playful grin. “I get it. You spent the night reading every prenatal Web site you could find.”
He started to talk, but her hand was still over his lips. The motion of his jaw as he tried to speak had his lips brushing against her palm, and little shivers shot down her back at the sensation. She jerked her hand away. Maybe the baby wasn’t the only thing left of their previous relationship after all—yet one more thing she didn’t know how to feel about.
To give herself something to do, she reached into the bag and pulled out a fruit-and-yogurt parfait. “Thanks,” she murmured as she popped off the top. “This was really thoughtful of you.”
“No problem.” His voice sounded strained, but she was too busy digging into her breakfast to wonder why.
AS MATT PULLED UP TO a red light, he glanced at Camille out of the corner of his eye and nearly groaned. Her hair was a wild halo around her face, and the coffee and food had put a rosy tint in her pale cheeks, a tint that—combined with her hair—reminded him too much of what she looked like after a long session of lovemaking. His hands clenched the steering wheel as he felt himself harden, and he cursed the fact that she could arouse him so easily. But from the moment she’d opened the door to her motel room in her skimpy purple robe, he’d been remembering what it felt like to touch her.
To kiss her.To make love to her.
In the few weeks they’d been together, he’d taken great delight in sliding his hands under that robe to caress her long, lean body. Seeing it again—on her—was like a slap in the face. Or a match to his libido.
Part of him had wanted nothing more than to grab her and lift her against him until her fabulous legs were wrapped around his waist and he was once again inside her. She was pregnant with his child, after all. It wasn’t like they wouldn’t have a future connection.
But at the same time, he didn’t want to go there. Or, at least, he told himself he didn’t. Camille had taken off without a backward glance once—what was to say she wouldn’t do it again? Especially if he pressured her for sex.
No, this situation was difficult and chaotic enough without adding extra stress into the mix. Better to just leave things alone for a while—no need to invite more chaos because he had a difficult time controlling himself around her.
The drive to the doctor’s office was made in almost complete silence—except for the soft murmurs of appreciation Camille gave every once in a while as she devoured the fruit-and-yogurt parfait he’d bought her. By the time they arrived at the tall glass-and-chrome building that housed his friend’s practice, a line of sweat was running down Matt’s back and he wanted nothing so much as to escape back to his simple, organized office.
Camille shot him an amused look as Matt pulled up to the circular driveway near the door. “I’m pregnant, not an invalid, you know.”
“I never said you were.
“Just go park—I’m perfectly capable of walking a few hundred feet. I spent the past few weeks doing just that in Italy.”
With Stefano. She didn’t say the words, but they echoed in Matt’s head anyway—a reminder of just how easy she’d found it to leave him—and replace him. Clenching his teeth against the thought, he murmured, “Humor me.”
“Look, Matt—”
“Camille, go sit on the bench. I’ll be back to get you in a minute.”
“But—”
“I know you’re a big girl. I know you can do this all by yourself. But the fact is, you’re not by yourself anymore. I’m a part of this baby’s life, too, so you might as well deal with it. Now, get out of the car.”
His tone must have been firmer than he’d intended, because her eyes widened in a very un-Camille-like fashion. But she didn’t say another word, just gathered up her purse and the trash from her breakfast and climbed from the car.
He was just thinking that perhaps he’d been a little too harsh when she slammed the door behind her so hard that his customized, lovingly restored ’68 Mustang shook from the impact. He grinned as he pulled away—had he really thought Camille could be so easily cowed?
After parking the car what felt like a mile away, he hustled toward the building—unsure what he would find when he got there. The Camille he knew was more than capable of taking off without him when she was annoyed—either heading up to the doctor’s office on her own or actually just taking off down the street. But when he got to the front of the building, she was sitting on the little stone bench near the front door, eyes closed and head resting against the wall behind her.
He paused for a moment, studied her. With her eyes closed and her face relaxed, she looked young and vulnerable—barely old enough to have a child, despite the fact that they’d celebrated her thirty-second birthday a few months ago, when they’d been together.
He didn’t make a sound, but she must have sensed him because her eyes opened and she sat up abruptly. He watched, fascinated, as her mask descended—the carefree, smiling face he’d grown to expect from her when they’d been dating. Why hadn’t he ever noticed before that she wrapped it around her like armor—just another way to keep the world outside from getting close to her? From seeing the real her.
A frisson of unease worked its way down Matt’s spine as he wondered, for the first time, if there really was more to Camille than he’d ever expected.
“I didn’t know the doctor’s name or suite number.”
And there she was, the woman who would as soon tell him to go to hell as look at him when he pissed her off, making sure he didn’t read too much into the fact that she’d waited for him. “Maybe I did that on purpose,” he answered.
“No doubt.” She stood and headed into the building, figuring—he was sure—that he would follow. Which he did.
“His name is Rick D’Amato—he’s in suite 370.” He punched the button for the elevator.
“And you went to grad school with him?”
“Not with him,” he said. “We were at Columbia at the same time—in different disciplines. Obviously.”
“Obviously.” She smirked. “You know, I just can’t see you in New York.”
“I like New York. There’s always something to do, something to see.”
“But it’s so chaotic.”
“There is that—but, hey, I have nothing against organized chaos.”
“Just unorganized chaos.”
“Exactly.”
The elevator dinged and he held the door for her with a smile. She had such a quick mind that it was easy to verbally spar with her—in the months she’d been gone, he’d forgotten how much he’d liked that about her. The fact that she never pulled her punches, and didn’t expect him to pull his.
“So, if you were in totally different disciplines—how did you meet Rick?”
“We played on the same intramural baseball team. He has a hell of a curve ball.”
“Something every obstetrician needs.”
“He’s a great doctor—graduated in the top ten his year at Columbia. Friend or not, I wouldn’t bring you here otherwise.” It was important that she knew that, that she understood how seriously he took her health—and the baby’s.
“Chill out, Matt. I was only teasing.” She headed up to the counter, pulling out her identification as she went.
He hung back, though it cost him. He wanted to take care of checking her in, wanted to take care of everything for her—for his baby—but as the receptionist handed her a clipboard full of forms, it struck home how little he really knew about Camille.
Oh, he knew that she was an incredible artist. That she was fun and exciting and had a sense of humor that could cut like a scalpel. But as he sat, watching her fill out forms on her family and personal history, he realized he didn’t have a clue about any aspect of her personal life. He didn’t know anything about what had made Camille the crazy gypsy he’d fallen for—hook, line and sinker.
The knowledge grated. He didn’t have much time to brood over it, however, because his old friend chose that moment to pop his head out of the door between the inner and outer offices. “Hey, Matt, come on back. I’ve been waiting for you two.”
“How are you?” he asked Rick, as the doctor escorted them back to his office.
“I’m good. Busy, but good. Can’t complain.” He extended a hand to Camille. “It’s nice to meet you, Camille. Congratulations on your pregnancy.”
Camille’s full lips twisted wryly. “Thanks.”
“So, Matt didn’t give me all the details on the phone.” He gestured for them to sit, then walked around to the business side of the desk and did the same. “What was the date of your last period?”
“January 27.”
He grabbed a little spinny wheel out of his desk drawer and Matt watched, fascinated, as Rick shifted it around. “You’re gunning for a November baby, then. Cool. You’re due on November 4.” He held the wheel out so they both could see the date.
Sheer astonishment rocketed up Matt’s spine as he stared at the little arrow pointing toward the beginning of November. November 4. He would be a father on November 4. God, he could barely wrap his mind around it. Sure, he’d been planning for the baby from the second the shock wore off last night, but still, knowing Camille was pregnant wasn’t the same as having an actual date when the baby would be born.
November 4 his whole world would change—and he had no idea how he felt about it.
“So, does that sound good, Matt?”
Rick’s voice brought him back to the present with a resounding thud. Glancing at his friend, he realized he had no idea what the man had just asked him. “I’m sorry, what?”
“I’m going to take Camille into one of the exam rooms, check her out, and then you can meet us in the ultrasound room.”
“Uh, sure.” Then the words sunk in. “Ultrasound, already? But she’s barely three months along yet.”
“It’s standard procedure, Matt. We do it at every first visit, just to ensure that the pregnancy is viable.”
“Viable. What does that mean?”
Rick smiled indulgently. “Nothing, man. Don’t worry about it, okay? I’ll talk you through it.”
“Do you think something’s wrong?”
“Not at all.”
“But you said—”
“Matt, come on.” Camille stood and starting pulling him toward the door. “It’s normal. Rick’s just being organized, making sure everything is going the way it should. Everything’s fine.”
He wasn’t convinced. “Then why can’t I be in the room when he examines you? I have questions—”
“Because, I don’t really think you need to see me with my feet in stirrups and Rick between my legs with a speculum, okay?”
He froze, could feel his face draining of color even as he admired her candor. “Oh. You mean that kind of examination.”
Rick didn’t even bother to hide his laughter. “Yes, that kind.” He pointed him toward the waiting room. “I’ll have a nurse come get you before we do the sonogram.” Then he headed down the hall with an amused Camille.
Matt made his way awkwardly back down to the waiting room, not liking the sudden feeling of being superfluous. Sure, he had no desire to sit in on Camille’s pelvic exam, but still, it felt strange to be relegated to the sidelines. He glanced around the empty room, wondered if all fathers were sent out here, or just the ones who weren’t an active part of the life of their baby’s mother?
Were all fathers really so unnecessary? He sank down onto one of the cushy waiting-room chairs and tried to come to grips with the fact that for the next few months, he really didn’t have an important role in the whole drama that was about to unfold. He’d done his job, and now he just needed to sit back and wait for the baby to come out. Everything that went on now, went on inside Camille’s body. She was the one in the driver’s seat. The one in control.
For a man who had always prided himself on his ability to make order from chaos and control any situation, the realization didn’t sit well. Any more than did the idea that Camille could—and probably would—get restless feet sometime in the next six months.
Because the idea of her taking off with his baby still inside of her made him feel vaguely ill, he tried to find something else to concentrate on. But the magazines were all geared toward women and he really wasn’t interested in garnering the latest fashion tips.
Picking up a baby magazine, he flipped it open to an article discussing sudden infant death syndrome—and dropped it so quickly that he gave himself a paper cut. How many things was he supposed to worry about at one time, anyway? Wasn’t there enough to focus on during a pregnancy without borrowing trouble from after the birth?
He ended up tapping his feet nervously, counting down the seconds until he could get back to Camille. Rick had laughed at his concern that something was wrong with the baby, but he was the one who’d used the word viable. How was a guy supposed to relax with that hanging over his head? He’d finally wrapped his mind around the idea that Camille was pregnant, and now suddenly, Rick was telling him that it might not last?
What kind of doctor did that? What kind of friend spooked him like that, and then left him cooling his jets in the waiting room? The next time he had Rick on a baseball field, he was going to make the man—
“Mr. Jenkins?” A nurse called his name from the doorway, and he shot out of his chair like a puppet on a very short string. “You can come back now.”
Thank God. If he’d had to wait much longer, he might have stroked out right in the middle of his good friend’s waiting room.
CHAPTER FOUR
“DO YOU WANT TO GET SOME lunch?” Matt asked as they drove back toward her motel room.
“No, thanks. I’m not hungry.” Camille’s mind was going in circles, her head throbbing, and all she could think about was the image she had just seen on the sonogram screen. Tiny, so tiny tha
t she’d had to squint to see it, but there all the same. A baby. A new life, snuggled into her uterus where it belonged, with its little heart beating up a storm. A completely viable pregnancy, Rick had announced with a wide grin. The baby looked perfect.Her baby. Matt’s baby. She didn’t know what to think, how to feel. In twenty-eight weeks she was going to be a mother and she had no idea what that meant. It wasn’t as if she’d had a good example growing up—or any example really. Just— She slammed the door on the memories, refusing to bring them out right then, not when it was all she could do to just sit quietly in the car as Matt went over everything Rick had told them.
“You need to eat, Camille. You heard Rick—you’re healthy, but you need to gain a few pounds to help support the baby.”
“I heard him. But I had breakfast less than two hours ago—how much do you expect me to eat?”
“Well, at least let me pick you up something before I drop you back at the motel.” He glanced at the clock. “I have a meeting in a little over an hour, so I need to head back to work. But I’ve got your vitamin prescription—I’ll drop it off at the pharmacy on my way to the office and pick it up at the end of the day.”
“There’s no rush. Rick gave me enough samples to last for two months or so.”
“Still, it’s better to have them on hand for when you need them. Also, I thought maybe you’d like to go to an art store tonight or tomorrow? Maybe you could look around a little, find an alternative to the oil paints that won’t hurt the baby. Rick said—”
She gritted her teeth and tried not to scream, but it wasn’t easy—not when Matt seemed intent on taking over every aspect of her life. If she heard Rick said one more time, she was going to forget that she was a pacifist and take a swing at Matt. “It’s no big deal.”
“Of course it is. The fumes can—”
“It’s not like I’m planning on busting out the canvas today. The art supply store can wait a little while—as can lunch.”
“But, Camille, you need—”