Baby Under the Mistletoe (Harlequin Super Romance)

by Jamie Sobrato

  Some part of her was disappointed that he might be leaving soon.

  “Sure.” She put down the paint roller and wiped her hands on her stained T-shirt.

  “I need you to help me get these two pieces into the headboard, and hold it while I screw them in place.”

  “You’re fast,” she said, trying to think what else she could ask him to do, and simultaneously berating herself for wanting to keep him around.

  “This was easier than it looked,” he said as he reached for the screwdriver.

  His arm brushed against Soleil’s, and a ripple of pleasure traveled from her arm down her chest and past her belly to the apex of her legs.

  She shook off the hot flash and forced herself to focus on the bed. The baby bed. The bed for their baby. The one she was very pregnant with.

  They guided the final pieces of the crib together while Soleil crouched on the ground. She held the supports still as West screwed them to the headboard, and she tried not to stare at the way his jaw muscle flexed as he clenched his teeth in concentration.

  The faint dusting of freckles on his shoulder was what did her in. That shoulder, well muscled, leading down to flexing biceps and triceps, which led to a hard forearm sprinkled with brown hair, which led to large, capable hands that were alternately gentle and teasing or firm and demanding…

  Those freckles, she’d seen them up close and kissed them each in turn. She’d dug her teeth into the skin there as he’d made love to her, urgent, almost at climax.

  She had nothing but the best of associations with those freckles, those shoulders, those arms, those hands. Not to mention the broad, perfect chest and the flat, rippling belly.

  The day she’d found out she was pregnant she’d promised herself that she wouldn’t ever lose control sexually again. She’d sworn she would never let lust get the best of her. She’d be responsible, restrained…She’d only make love to a man when they were in a committed relationship, using at least two forms of birth control.

  But now she was as knocked up as she was ever going to be, and it wasn’t clear whether she’d ever be in a committed relationship again. It wasn’t clear if she’d ever have the time or energy before she hit menopause to date or have a relationship, when she was going to be so busy running the farm and taking care of her child.

  What if West was her last real chance to get laid?

  And what if it wasn’t even a chance? What if he didn’t want to be with her now that she was shaped like a cartoon character?

  “You’re looking awfully serious. What’re you thinking about?” West asked as he finished the second bed support and checked to see that it was secure.

  He had remarkable timing.

  “I was thinking about the characters on children’s shows, and how adults hate them.”

  “I think some of them are kind of cute.”

  Truly remarkable timing.

  “So this is it? The bed’s done?”

  He nodded.

  She started to stand, and the change in her center of gravity set her off balance for a moment. West caught her elbow and steadied her, but instead of taking away his hand once she was fully upright, he lingered, caressing first her arm, then her lower back.

  The contact was more than her hormone-addled libido could take. She turned toward him. They were only inches apart. Close enough to kiss.

  “Thanks,” she said. “For putting the crib together.”

  “Anytime.”

  “I’m hoping I won’t need another crib anytime soon,” she said, but she got the distinct sense that he wasn’t really listening now, because he was staring intently at her mouth as if he had a mission.

  So now she had to step away, or she was going to kiss him. She needed to take one step backward, then another, and another, until they were a chaste distance apart. She had to remember her vow about no more knocking boots with guys she wasn’t in love with.

  He leaned down and kissed her, and she turned into a puddle. His kiss was soft, lips barely brushing hers at first, then lingering, asking if he should continue.

  Yes, he should definitely continue.

  She reached up and twined her fingers in his hair, pulling him closer as she turned his sweet, gentle kiss into something animal and urgent.

  He pulled her closer, in that I’m-in-command way he had, and it all came back to her. The way they moved together, a perfectly choreographed dance, the way their bodies fit together so divinely, the way he knew how to find the places where she ached the most and drive her crazy with teasing and coaxing and pleasuring.

  He was the best lover she’d ever had.

  And, hallelujah, they were kissing.

  Her eyes closed, she felt as if no time had passed between the past summer and now, until she tried to grind her pelvis against him and came up against the barrier of her belly, round and protruding.

  It definitely wasn’t the summer.

  She tugged at his hair a bit, pulling him back just enough so that she could talk. “I can’t get pregnant now,” she whispered. “I mean, since I already am.”

  “I haven’t had any other lovers since—”

  “Neither have I,” she said.

  He looked relieved.

  “Is that what we’re doing?” he asked.

  “We’re not exactly painting the walls. I mean, unless you don’t want to—”

  “I definitely want to.” He ended the discussion by kissing her again as he slid his hands up her shirt, under both her T-shirt and the sweatshirt she wore under it, straight to bare skin.

  His cool touch turned her skin to gooseflesh, and when he reached her bra and undid it with one flick of his fingers, she said a little silent prayer of thanks. He slid his hands around to her breasts and cupped them, and she gave a little gasp.

  She was humming, a live wire, electric with the desire coursing through her, more aroused than she’d ever been in her life.

  It had to be the pregnancy hormones. If he tried to put the brakes on now, or had second thoughts, she feared she might later be compared to a black widow in the newspaper story about how she’d killed her lover.

  “Let’s go to your bedroom,” he said.

  She didn’t need an invitation. “Yeah,” she said, then dragged him in that direction.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  SOLEIL HAD ALWAYS been a passionate lover, but her enthusiasm now was unprecedented. West almost laughed at the way she’d grabbed him a few minutes ago and dragged him in here.

  He’d no more than blinked before she was unfastening his pants and he was kicking them aside. While part of him wanted to put on the brakes and slow them down enough so that he could savor the experience, the part of him that was actually in control wasn’t about to slow down anything.

  He wanted her as badly as she wanted him, except he was pretty sure he didn’t have the same glazed look of determination she had.

  Now he was fumbling with her shirts, trying to tug them off of her, except she seemed to be resisting.

  “Wait,” she said, breaking their kiss. “I, uh, I’m wearing maternity pants…and panties.”

  “So?”

  Her look of distress turned to a wry grin. “I don’t want you to see them.”

  “Why?”

  “Because they nearly come up to my armpits.”

  West recalled the fabric his hand had brushed over on the way to her breasts. At the time he hadn’t thought much of it, but now he laughed, imagining her distress.

  “I don’t care. I’m aroused by you, not what you’re wearing.”

  She cocked one skeptical eyebrow. “Oh, yeah?”

  “Let me see.”

  He tried to lift up her shirts again, and she swatted his hand away. But he grabbed her hand, then caught the other one in his hand and tried to grab her shirts again as she wiggled away.

  “Let go. I’m going to the bathroom to get undressed.” But she was laughing now, a little too hard to fight him off effectively.

  He backed her up to t
he bed and toppled her onto it, then climbed on her and pinned her hands over her head.

  “Let’s see what we have here,” he said, taking his time about the big reveal.

  Tears streamed from the corners of her eyes now, she was laughing so hard. “Stop!” she cried, but he wasn’t about to.

  He grasped the hems of her shirts and pulled them up. Beneath was a big navy blue stretchy fabric panel that extended from her crotch all the way to the top of her rib cage.

  “Wow,” he said. “Those are cool.”

  She tried to pry her arms free, to no avail. “I hate you,” she said between giggles.

  “And what do we have underneath?” he said as he tugged down the elastic waist of the jeans and found a pair of white panties with a waistline nearly as high as the pants.

  “You are so dead.”

  “Mmm, granny panties. Those are hot.”

  “Dead! As a doorknob!”

  “Why don’t they make pants like this for men, too? You can have a big meal and don’t even need to do any unbuttoning or unzipping to make room. I’m thinking these will sell big.”

  “Yeah, the guys who wear them will never get laid again, so food will be their only pleasure anyway.”

  He caught her eye. They were both smiling, and he could hardly believe he was so close to her now, touching her anywhere he wanted. He’d been trying not to dream of this for months.

  He slid his hand up beneath her shirts again, brushing the underside of her breast with his fingertips. He watched as her eyes fluttered shut, and her expression went from amused to nearly rapturous.

  Then he leaned in close and kissed her as he tugged down the waist of her pants, eliminating whatever embarrassment she might have felt by simply not looking.

  When he let go of her wrists, she tugged her pants the rest of the way down and he stopped kissing her long enough to pull off her shirts and bra before she changed her mind.

  Now she was naked before him. Her once-thin body had been transformed into a whole new landscape. Here a mountain range of full, lush breasts, there a valley of smooth skin, and beyond, a round hill where flat plains had once been.

  “Beautiful,” he said, and it was true.

  She was beautiful in a whole new way than she’d been before. She was an image as ancient as humankind, a lovely round fertility goddess in all her brown naked glory.

  His erection strained toward her, ready to explore new territory. West didn’t want to wait another minute to remind himself what it was like to be inside her, but he also had never made love to a pregnant woman before, and wasn’t sure if any precautions were supposed to be taken. Was missionary position safe? Would he squash the baby? Would things be painful? He felt like an idiot even having to wonder.

  She sensed his hesitation.

  “What?”

  “Is it okay to—”

  “Of course it is.” She sat up, and before he knew it they’d switched positions, her on top, him lying on his back as she straddled his hips.

  His erection brushed against her, and she let out a little gasp. She was hot and wet, fully aroused, as he was. He grasped her hips and eased himself into her as they kissed, and she moaned into his mouth when he began moving inside her.

  Where their bodies met, he was overcome with sensation. And his breath grew shallow and gasping as they moved in sync with each other. He slid his hands up her sides, toyed with her breasts, brought them to his mouth, took her nipples between his teeth as he teased with his tongue.

  He wasn’t expecting it when she came so fast. Before he’d even gotten used to having her on top of him, she began crying out, gasping as her body bucked against the orgasm.

  He’d been trying to restrain himself a little, move slowly, make sure she had time to come, but she was apparently as pent up as he was, and when she recovered, he kissed her silent and began moving faster inside her.

  Harder, faster, until his own orgasm was nearly upon him. He was coiled tight, ready to burst forth, when she came a second time.

  Her cries, and the pulsing of her inner muscles against him, were the final nudge he needed for his own release, and he joined her in the gasping, quaking aftermath.

  As she collapsed on top of him, he wrapped his arms around her and kissed her gently on the cheek. Spent, exhausted, the last thought he had before drifting off to sleep was that he loved Soleil Freeman. He loved her, and she was about to have his child.

  There really wasn’t anything else to know, as far as he could see.

  SOLEIL EASED HERSELF out of bed, cursing silently with each step she took toward the bathroom. Pregnancy sex might have had the lovely benefit of easy multiple orgasms, but it also brought with it a new set of problems, like how to avoid her lover ever seeing her ass when she had to get up and go to the bathroom.

  Once inside, with the door closed, she washed up, put on her robe, then stared at herself in the mirror, trying to see what West saw.

  All she saw were the same chipmunk cheeks and wary green eyes that greeted her every day lately. Her hair was sticking up in the back where it had gotten knocked free of a braid while they’d been rolling around in bed, so she smoothed it down and tucked it back where it belonged.

  Still no clue about West and his obstinate insistence that she was different than all the other someones out there he might fall for.

  He looked at her in a way that made her wholly uncomfortable. He looked at her as if he adored her. And how could she live up to such feelings? They’d only lead to heartbreak. She had to make it clear, once again, even though they’d had sex—even though it was hot and wonderful and all that—that they still faced the same issue of her not wanting him the way he wanted her.

  She was a wretch. They’d made love, and all she could think of was how to stem the flow of good feelings? How about basking in the afterglow for a little while?

  Soleil switched off the bathroom light, then eased the door open, peeking out to see if West was still asleep. She could see down the hallway and into the bedroom, where he still lay on the bed, his eyes closed.

  She went back and lay down on the bed next to him, on her side, but before she could get up close and pretend to be asleep herself, he rolled over and looked at her.

  “Hey,” he said with a sleepy smile.

  “Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you.”

  Something about getting up close to him, within the range of his power over her, made her forget whatever it was she’d been so bent out of shape about in the bathroom. It was probably pheromones or something. He pulled her to him, and she sighed a happy little sigh as she let herself be enveloped in his warmth.

  She’d chill out with him for a bit, allow herself the simple comfort of a hot guy on a cold day.

  “What’s with the robe?” he said. “I barely got to enjoy the view.”

  She rolled her eyes.

  “You really do look beautiful pregnant,” he said.

  Before she could stop him, he’d undone the belt of her robe and pushed it aside, revealing her right side, breast, belly and legs.

  “Yeah, yeah. I’m not into the whole round, bulgy look.”

  “You should be. Our baby’s in there. Growing inside your body. That’s pretty damn amazing. What’s not beautiful about it?”

  He had her there. She didn’t know what to say. Anything that came to mind would make her sound like a shallow dolt, and really, he was right.

  She may not have exactly welcomed the changes to her body, mostly because they were strange and unexpected and didn’t fit with her image of herself as a strong, capable woman who could bend over and reach her toes with ease.

  She hated to think that she’d bought into even the slightest bit of beauty-industry brainwashing that told her she was supposed to hate herself unless she was a size two with flawless skin and smooth hair. But maybe she had let such ideas seep into her consciousness. This was America, after all—it was impossible not to harbor a few unhealthy notions about beauty.

  Durin
g her brooding silence, West had started stroking his hand over her belly. “Have you felt her kick lately?”

  “It’s more of a fluttering feeling than a kick. Not anything you’d be able to feel yet. But in a few more months, I hear she’ll be using my ribs for soccer practice.”

  “I don’t want to miss that,” he said, his expression turning tense.

  “Yeah. You’ll be in Colorado again…How much longer until your assignment there is up?”

  “Anytime now. I’m waiting to get orders for an overseas assignment.”

  Soleil’s entire being recoiled at the idea of West going to some dangerous unknown location. Surely it was just her pacifist upbringing. She didn’t want to see anyone go off to a war-torn country, and especially not the father of her baby. But…This wasn’t the usual sense of dread she got—this was stronger.

  He noticed her reaction. “It’s terrible timing, I know. For this,” he said, nodding at her belly, “and for the situation with my dad. I’m not sure what to do.”

  “Right.” Her voice, flat, to match the look in her eyes, probably.

  “I know what you’re thinking. Why would I want you to pick up your life and move with me when I won’t even be around half the time?”

  “I didn’t say that.” But, yeah, she was thinking it.

  “I don’t have any good answer. I only know other military families make it work because they believe in serving their country.”

  “You might note that I’m not exactly a duty, honor, country kind of girl.”

  “I know. But some things are more important than our preconceived notions of what we will and won’t do, or what kind of community we fit in, aren’t they?”

  Typical West, trying to bully her into seeing his point of view, rather than accepting that they disagreed.

  Exactly why she didn’t want to have him in her life 24/7.

  She tugged her robe back down to hide her exposed body and pulled it tight against her chest.

  “I’m doing it again, aren’t I?” he said before she could compose a proper comeback.