Beginning With Their Baby

by Tracy Wolff

  His eyes darkened until they were nearly black, and the look he gave her was so smoldering her toes actually curled against the warm maple floors. She wanted to feel him inside her again, wanted to be the sole focus of Matt’s enthusiastic and intense lovemaking at least once before he jetted off for Asia.

  But then he shook his head, dropped a light kiss on her forehead before trailing his lips down her cheek to her mouth. “I would like nothing more than to come back to your room with you and spend all night reminding both of us how good we are together.” He whispered the words against her lips, sent shivers down her back with each rasping syllable he spoke.

  “Then come.” She didn’t even care that she was pleading.

  “I can’t. When I make love to you again—and believe me, that’s the first thing on my agenda when I come back from Tokyo—it’s not going to be a quick thing that doesn’t mean anything. If we do this, Camille, then it’s going to mean something—for both of us.”

  “Isn’t that supposed to be my line?” Her attempt at humor fell flat between them.

  “I would hope it was both our line. So think about it while I’m gone, decide if you can live with what I’m saying.”

  Sudden nerves shook her to her core, along with the knowledge that Matt meant exactly what he was saying. If they were together again he would want a commitment, would want her to admit that there was something more between them than good, old-fashioned lust. The fear such a thought brought on made her reply more flippantly than she would have liked.

  “So you’re saying you won’t sleep with me unless you can respect me in the morning.”

  His mouth curved into the crooked grin she liked so much, but there was a bite behind it that had butterflies flapping in her stomach. “No, I’m saying I won’t sleep with you unless you can respect me in the morning. It’s a totally different dynamic.”

  It sure was, and one she wasn’t sure she could live up to. Her uncertainty must have shown, though, because Matt leaned forward and took her mouth in a tender, emotion-filled kiss.

  When he moved away, his normal grin was back in place. “Hey, don’t look so worried. You’ve got almost a month to decide.”

  That’s what she was worried about—and he had to know it. With a month stretching between tonight and their next meeting, there was no way she could claim—even to herself—that sleeping with Matt was an impetuous move. If she slept with him again—when she slept with him—she’d go into it with her eyes wide-open and no excuses about not knowing the rules. His plan was diabolical—and brilliant in its simplicity.

  Grabbing one of the hard candies she’d recently grown to love out of the bag she kept stashed in the pantry, she headed out of the kitchen without another word. But when she got to the doorway that led to the family room, she shot a question over her shoulder. “So, do you need help packing?”

  Though her back was turned and she couldn’t see it, she could hear the grin that split his face at her words. “I thought you’d never ask.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CAMILLE WOKE UP FROM HER NAP on the couch to the sound of the garage door opening. Bolting upright, all she could think of was that Matt was back. With a huge grin, she jumped to her feet and raced for the garage. He’d been gone three weeks and she’d missed him so much, more than she’d ever missed anyone before.

  Why hadn’t he told her he was catching a plane when they had talked the day before? She would have made sure she had food in the house, that the sheets on her bed were clean. That she’d shaved her legs. Exhausted by work and the pregnancy, worn down by missing Matt, she’d let everything go these past weeks. And now she was paying the price.But when she opened the door into the garage, it was to find a tall, curvy woman carting boxes from the back of her car into the corner of Matt’s garage. “Can I help you?” she demanded, wondering who on earth the redhead could be and whether she should call the police.

  “Hi.” The woman plopped the box she was carrying on top of one she’d already brought in, then came forward, hand extended. “I’m Matt’s sister, Rhiannon. You must be Camille.”

  Matt’s sister? Camille stared at her dumbly for a few seconds, unsure of how to respond. What was she doing here—and why hadn’t Matt warned her his family might stop by? Camille was dressed in an old, paint-stained T-shirt and a pair of maternity jeans—definitely not what she would have chosen to make a first impression. Rhiannon was dressed impeccably—in a pair of tailored trousers and a crisp, boyfriend-style blouse, and as Rhiannon’s eyes swept over her, Camille felt the old feelings of insecurity rise up within her.

  Who was she kidding? She didn’t fit in here, not with Matt and not with his beautiful, glamorous sister. She wanted to turn tail and run, but with Rhiannon’s out stretched hand all but in her face, she had little choice but to take it.

  “Yes, I’m Camille. It’s nice to meet you.” She glanced over at Rhiannon’s still-full trunk. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t expecting company. Matt didn’t tell me you’d be stopping by.”

  “He doesn’t know. I just sold my house, and months ago Matt told me I could store some of my stuff in his garage, just until I get everything situated in my new condo. As I was packing up twelve years of stuff, I realized I needed to take him up on the offer.” She held her hands out, palm up. “So here I am.”

  “Here you are.” Camille stared at her incredulously, feeling even more out of place. Who packed looking like a fashion plate? And if this was what Matt was used to, what the hell was he doing with her?

  Rhiannon turned back to unload another box and Camille belatedly remembered her manners. “Do you need some help?” She started into the garage.

  “No, of course not! There aren’t that many boxes and Matt would kill me if I let you lift something in your condition. Just forget I’m here—I’ll finish unloading and then get out of your hair.”

  But as Camille watched her lift another box, Rhiannon’s arms trembled with the strain. Or maybe it was exhaustion—looking closer, she saw the same dark circles under Rhiannon’s eyes that she saw when she looked at herself in the mirror.

  “I can carry some of the lighter stuff,” she said firmly, making her way to the car.

  “Camille, honestly, I’m fine.”

  “Just point me in the right direction. The sooner we’re done here, the sooner you can come inside and have a glass of iced tea with me. I can’t believe it’s nearly fall and it’s still this hot out.”

  Rhiannon laughed. “Don’t you know, Texas only has two temperatures—hot and hotter.”

  “I’m figuring that out,” Camille said as she tested the weight of one of the smaller boxes marked Fragile. It only weighed a couple of pounds, so she carried it carefully to the other side of the garage and set it on an empty shelving unit Matt had back there.

  The two women worked in companionable silence for a few minutes and when the last box had been unloaded, Camille asked, “How about that iced tea?”

  “I’d love a glass.”

  “Then follow me.” Camille led the way into the kitchen, where she filled two glasses with the cold liquid and handed one to Rhiannon. “I’m glad you stopped by today,” she said, as Rhiannon took her first sip.

  “Me, too. I’ve been dying to meet you, but Matt hasn’t been exactly forthcoming. I think he wanted to keep you to himself for a while before the horde of Jenkins women descended.”

  “Horde?” Camille kept her smile in place through sheer will alone. “How many of you are there?”

  “Well, just the four of us in Matt’s immediate family, but our aunts and cousins are just as anxious to meet you.” She glanced down at Camille’s stomach. “None of my sisters or cousins have kids, so this is the first baby to be born in the family in quite a while. Everyone’s excited.”

  “I hadn’t realized.” Her heart was beating too fast and the walls seemed to be closing in. How many people had Matt told about the pregnancy, anyway? How big was his family?

  “In fact, Mom and I were talk
ing the other day and we would love to throw you a baby shower,” Rhiannon continued, completely oblivious to Camille’s discomfort.

  “A baby shower?”

  “Yes. It’ll be so much fun. I’m a party planner by occupation, but it will be a blast planning something for family. That is, if you don’t already have plans for a shower? If your friends are already planning to throw you one, I totally understand.”

  What friends? she wanted to ask. The ones who were scattered around the world, whom she only spoke to once or twice a year? Or the ones she hadn’t spoken to for longer than that—they didn’t even know she was pregnant.

  “No. Nobody’s throwing me a shower yet.”

  “Wonderful! Well then, we’ll definitely plan on it.” She whipped out her BlackBerry. “I figured sometime around the seven-and-a-half-month mark—which should be mid-October, right? Let me give you a few dates and you can tell me what works for you.”

  She rattled off some numbers, but Camille couldn’t concentrate. October was weeks and weeks away—she never made plans that far in advance. Sweat that had nothing to do with the heat outside suddenly rolled down her spine. This baby was boxing her in a little more every day.

  “Um, pick whatever date works for you. My schedule is pretty wide-open.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Absolutely. I can paint anytime.”

  “That’s right—Matt told me you’re an artist.”

  “I am.”

  “What do you paint, if you don’t mind me asking?”

  “I specialize in portraits, but I do some other stuff, as well.”

  “Really?” Rhiannon looked fascinated. “Portraits? You know, I have a client who’s looking for a good portrait artist. Do you mind if I pass your name along? She’s got lots of connections—if she goes with you, you’ll probably get a lot of other work out of it.”

  More ties wrapping around her, keeping her here. Camille’s heart was racing, but she did her best to ignore it. “That would be great, thanks.” Maybe she could get the portraits done before the baby was born—then she wouldn’t be any more tied down than she wanted to be.

  “Fabulous.” Rhiannon pulled out a business card and handed it to her. “So whenever you get a list together of people who you want to invite to the shower, e-mail it to me and I’ll take care of all the invitations.”

  Camille froze in the act of taking the card. She’d assumed when Rhiannon had said she wanted to throw her a shower, it would be for Matt’s side of the family. The idea that she was supposed to invite guests, too—she didn’t have anybody to put on the list. Not one person.

  “Um, maybe a shower isn’t such a great idea. I’ve only been in Austin a couple of months and really don’t know anyone well enough to invite them.”

  “Oh, don’t worry about that. Matt has tons of friends—talk to him and I’m sure we’ll end up with a huge list.”

  Once again, she was struck by the difference between her life and Matt’s. His was filled with people—everyone from casual acquaintances to lifelong friends to a huge, extended family. What did she have? Two battered suitcases and a baby under her heart.

  How could she possibly ever be enough for him? She couldn’t—she’d known that months ago when she’d left for Rio and she’d known it when she’d come back to tell him about the pregnancy. But somewhere in the past few months, she’d lost track of it. She’d forgotten who she was, who he was and why the two of them really didn’t mix.

  For the first time, she wondered if she was just one of the horde. Just one more person that Matt had picked up as he went through his life. Someone who meant something to him—she was the mother of his child, after all—but not someone special. Not the way he was to her. She’d spent her life dodging entanglements and letting Matt in had been a huge step for her.

  The same couldn’t be said of him. He loved people, thrived on building relationships. Was she just one more in a long string of friends and lovers and family? Had she been a fool to open up, to think that maybe they had a chance to build something? The thought made her stomach hurt and suddenly she wanted nothing so much as for Rhiannon to leave.

  Matt’s sister must have sensed Camille’s sudden discomfiture, because she quickly drained her iced tea glass and hopped out of the chair where she’d been sitting. “I’ve got to go—I have an appointment at the office in half an hour.” She carried her glass to the sink. “But I do want to say, again, how thrilled I am to meet you. Matt is so excited about being a father and it’s wonderful to finally meet the woman who’s put such a big smile on his face.”

  “It’s nice to meet you, too. Matt talks about his family often. He loves you very much.”

  Rhiannon’s smile faltered for a second, but then she bolstered it up. “We love him the same way. And please, if you need anything while Matt’s in Tokyo, don’t hesitate to call. I’d be more than happy to help with whatever you need.”

  “Thank you. I appreciate that.” Camille said the words as she showed Rhiannon out, even though she knew she would never call Rhiannon—or anyone else in Matt’s perfect family. Not with her words still ringing in Camille’s ears.

  Matt is so excited about being a father. Not, he’s excited to be with you or he’s excited about having you back in his life, but he’s excited about being a father. Of course he was—and if he had to take her to get the baby, then so be it.

  She should have figured it out long ago. He had everything—why would he want her when no one else ever had?

  For the first time in months her feet started to itch and she headed for her bedroom at close to a dead run. It would only take her a few minutes to pack and then she could be in the wind. Again.

  And if the idea wasn’t as appealing to her as it normally was, then she would just fake it until it was. Because one thing was for sure, after her conversation with Rhiannon, there was no way she could sit around here, cooling her heels and waiting for Matt to come home.

  “SO, WHAT’D RICK SAY WHEN YOU went to see him today?” Matt walked out of the busy meeting and closed the door behind him. The hallway was blessedly quiet—and empty—so he leaned against the wall and let Camille’s voice wash over him.

  He’d been in Tokyo for twenty-three days and wasn’t set to return home for five more days, and it was killing him. Usually he relished the travel that came with building a world-famous architectural firm, but lately it was wearing on him. Tokyo was amazing, but he missed Austin. Missed his house. Missed Camille.“He said I’m disgustingly healthy and that the baby seems to be doing well. My stomach is just the right size, the baby’s heart rate is directly in the middle of the normal range and everything else is exactly as it should be.”

  “Good. I’m glad to hear that. Anything else?”

  “The sonogram is set for three weeks from today—you’ll be back by then, right?” She sounded wistful, almost as if she missed him, too. Closing his eyes, he pictured Camille as he had last seen her, in short shorts and a tank top, her rounded stomach poking out just a little bit, and felt desire swamp him, along with a desperate homesickness that was anathema to him.

  “Definitely. So, are you planning on finding out the sex of the baby?”

  “I don’t know. I mean, how do you feel about it?”

  He imagined a little girl with Camille’s fanciful nature, a little boy with her black, corkscrew curls. “I want to know, if you do.”

  “Oh, thank God! I’m dying to know, but didn’t know how you felt about it. I saw the most beautiful crib the other day—it’s white and round and surrounded by posts that I can drape lace onto. It’s totally impractical, but I thought it’d be a gorgeous bed for a little girl.”

  “Lace, huh?” he teased. “What happened to all those gender-neutral shades you were looking at before I left?”

  “Oh, I’m still looking at them. But I can’t help it—there’s just something about all that lace that gets to me. It must be the hormones or something.”

  “I guess. You’ve never r
eally struck me as a lace kind of girl.”

  “Except for my underwear, you mean?”

  He nearly groaned out loud at the images her words evoked, and he was suddenly rock hard and ready to go. Not that it took all that much to get him revved up these days—it had been almost six months since he’d had sex, a fact his body was reminding him of regularly—and unpleasantly. But thinking about Camille in her underwear would turn him on at the best of times, let alone now, when he was miserable, alone and dying to get his hands on her.

  “You did that on purpose,” he accused.

  “Maybe.” She paused. “It doesn’t hurt to remind you of what you’re missing while you’re gone.”

  “Believe me, I don’t need reminding.”

  “I’m glad to hear that.” She paused, took a deep breath that had his instincts going on red alert.

  “What’s wrong, Camille? Is it the baby?”

  “No, I told you the baby’s fine. I can feel it moving now and everything.”

  “Really? What’s it feel like?”

  She laughed. “Sometimes like a butterfly’s wings deep inside me and other times…”

  “Yeah?”

  “Other times it feels like a rhinoceros tap-dancing on my bladder. But Rick swears to me that’s normal.”

  “A rhinoceros is normal?”

  “Yep, and it’s only going to get worse. Or so he promises.”

  “Lucky you.”

  “Yep. Lucky me.”

  Again he heard the tension in her voice and it made him nervous. “Just spit it out, Camille.”

  “Spit what out?”

  “Whatever it is you’re trying to work up the nerve to say.”

  She laughed again, but she seemed on edge this time. “It’s no big deal. I just wanted to let you know I’m going to go on a little road trip.”

  His heart stuttered, then plummeted to somewhere in the vicinity of his toes. “You’re leaving?” He was glad he was leaning against the wall or he might have fallen over.