by Sandra Paul
She deliberately moved away from that unconsciously possessive touch. He cast her an unreadable glance, then immediately looked up as a tall young woman opened the door.
That she was the teacher was apparent as much by the determinedly cheerful smile she welcomed them with as by the impressively large badge proclaiming Amelia Berry. Instructor pinned to her impressively large bosom.
“We’re just waiting for a few more couples to arrive,” Amelia said, shepherding them into a large carpeted room, bare except for a few straight-backed metal chairs pushed against a far wall along with a large projector. Five other couples were seated in a semicircle on the beige carpet. “I find it creates a more relaxed atmosphere for everyone to sit on the floor,” the instructor declared.
Relaxing for whom? Libby wondered as she struggled to lower herself down. Del offered her a helping hand. She sent him a baleful look but accepted it—anything to avoid tumbling over like an unbalanced bowling pin.
Leaving Del to chat with the teacher, Libby smiled at the couples nearby as she tried to get comfortable. Several of the women were sitting cross-legged, a position Libby had abandoned months ago. When the instructor hurried off to greet more arrivals, Del dropped down next to Libby. He must have noticed her shifting and fidgeting movements because he raised his brows. “Why don’t you lean against me?”
“No, thank you,” she replied primly. “I’m perfectly comfortable.” She wasn’t, of course, but she finally found a halfway bearable position by tucking her legs to one side.
She tried to relax. All the other women looked so serene and well-dressed. Libby tugged on the hem of her shirt. She hadn’t been in the mood to shop for anything new. Maybe she should have worn her denim jumper, but she was so tired of the outfit, especially since a faint pink stain remained on the breast where she’d dropped the icing during her shower. Appreciating her dilemma, Christine had produced the blue pin-striped men’s shirt Libby now wore, declaring that it would do perfectly well as a maternity shirt when teamed with navy blue pants.
Libby hoped her friend was right. At least the shirt more than amply covered her. It hung well past her hips and she’d cuffed the sleeves neatly to her elbows. The only place the shirt was a little tight was across her breasts.
She nervously fingered the button there to make sure it hadn’t come undone and Del leaned closer, his warm breath brushing along her neck as he drawled, “That’s my shirt, you know.”
“No!” Taken by surprise, Libby’s eyes widened. “Christine said she found it at a thrift shop.”
“That’s her euphemism for my closet,” he said dryly. “She constantly pilfers my clothes and then conveniently forgets where she found them.”
“I’m sorry. I’ll return it as soon as we get home,” Libby said stiffly.
“Don’t bother.” Reaching up, he smoothed down her collar. She could feel the warmth of his hand as his knuckles brushed her cheek. “You look pretty in blue,” he said quietly.
Although she frowned and moved away from his hand, something inside her seemed to glow at the comment. Disturbed by the realization, she welcomed the distraction as Amelia entered the room again, followed by the couple from the doctor’s office. “Everyone’s here now, we’re ready to get started,” the instructor said, clapping her hands lightly to draw everyone’s attention while Ken and Barbie found a spot across the room to sit down.
“Why don’t we all take turns and introduce ourselves?” Amelia suggested, smiling brightly. “Include your due date and whether you’re expecting a boy or a girl.”
Libby’s heart sank. She hated doing this sort of thing. She concentrated on the other couples, trying to decide how much she’d say when her turn came. The women did most of the talking with an occasional comment from the men. Libby mentally categorized the couples as she listened.
The “Been-there-done-that” Benedicts, were having their fifth child and wore almost identical expressions of bored exhaustion. Next in line were Howard and Linda McLean, who resembled nothing so much as a husband and wife cheerleading team. After each of Linda’s breathless chants of information, Howard would chime in with a brisk, “That’s right!” pumping a muscular arm for emphasis. The next two couples looked alarmingly young, but both were married, Libby noted, her anxiety increasing as her turn approached.
When the woman next to her shyly finished speaking, Libby drew a deep breath. Before she could begin, however, Del spoke up. “I’m Del and this is Libby,” he said abruptly. “Our little girl is due in October.”
“Our boy,” Libby blurted without thinking. She bit her lip as his eyes gleamed with satisfaction, while across the way Ken and Barbie exchanged a knowing glance.
“Oh, are you expecting twins?” asked the female cheerleader.
“No!” said Libby horrified. Goodness, she wasn’t that big, was she?
Amelia must have noticed her dismay because she said soothingly, “Libby is one of the farthest along. She and Del are taking the class a little later than most.” The instructor smiled at the Pattersons. “Your due date is the next closest on our list.”
Barbie smiled complacently, placing a hand on her stomach, while Ken introduced himself and his wife. “I’m a dentist and my wife is a child psychologist,” he added, passing out their business cards. “It’s a good idea to have your baby psychologically assessed as soon as possible. The birth process can be traumatic. And, of course, you should have their teeth checked as soon as they come in. We now have special braces that—”
“Thank you, but we’d better get started,” Amelia said, interrupting his sales spiel. She then launched into one of her own, explaining the class would be covering “self-awareness, self-control through programmed exercises, and reduction of pain through education and knowledge of the labor and delivery process.”
She started with a lecture on the baby’s developmental stages inside the womb. Libby listened intently for a while, but soon found her attention wandering. She’d already read extensively on this topic—nothing new here. She glanced at Del. He was leaning forward, his gaze fixed intently on the teacher. Good Lord, he was even taking notes! He’d pulled a crumpled envelope from his pocket and was scribbling as fast as he could on the back.
Libby swallowed her rising misgivings. He was really getting into this stuff. When Amelia mentioned the benefits of breast over bottle feeding, he even gave Libby a nudge and an “I told you so” glance. You’d think he’d personally invented the process, she thought indignantly.
She brooded over his interest awhile, but soon more pressing matters occupied her mind. She needed to go to the bathroom. Was the woman ever going to stop talking? she wondered in growing alarm. To make matters worse, the baby woke up and began kicking her swollen bladder with disturbing frequency.
Finally, Amelia paused reluctantly for a break. Libby levered herself up and raced for the bathroom, managing to beat the other women to the single stall.
Emerging triumphantly a few minutes later, she returned to the classroom and headed immediately for the chairs. Even the cold, hard metal felt good after sitting on the floor for an hour, an opinion apparently shared by most of the other women who soon joined her. Only the cheerleader and Barbie disdained the relative comfort, returning to sit stiffly upright on the floor. All the men remained standing, clustered in small groups, but Libby noticed Del had cornered the teacher and appeared to be grilling her on some point.
Del didn’t have time to get all his questions answered, but by the time the break ended, he was definitely a proponent of breast feeding. When the instructor clapped her hands to herd her flock back to their pillows, he glanced around for Libby and spied her sitting on a chair, gripping the bottom on either side as if she thought someone might take it away. Striding across the room to her, he put out his hand and hauled her to her feet. “Come on. They’re ready to start again.”
She dragged her feet following him and, glancing back, Del suppressed a smile at the sight of her forlorn face. She wasn’
t enjoying this, he knew. During the lecture she’d shifted around repeatedly, trying to get comfortable. But he was thankful that they’d come. “Our” baby, she’d said-before the entire class. Satisfaction filled him and he tightened his grip slightly on her slim hand. For the first time, Libby had admitted in public that the baby belonged to him, too.
“You’ll like this next part,” he promised, helping her sit down again. “Amy said—”
“Amy?”
“The teacher,” he explained in response to her questioning tone. “She told me to call her Amy. Anyway, she said that for the rest of the evening we’ll be practicing relaxation techniques.”
Libby didn’t look reassured. If anything, her expression changed to one of trepidation. He led her to a fairly secluded corner of the room when Amelia directed in crisp tones, “Spread out, everybody. Now the first thing I want you to do is learn to relax at your coach’s touch.”
Libby acquiesced in the first exercise with fairly good grace, flexing and relaxing the muscles in her arm at his command. But the second exercise didn’t go well at all.
“Ouch!” he said, jerking away from her fingers on his arm. “You pinched me!”
“You pinched me first.”
“I was supposed to pinch you-Amelia said to. To help you learn to relax against the pain. And I certainly didn’t do it as hard as you did to me,” he added, rubbing his sore skin.
“I don’t care. I don’t want to be pinched at alland certainly not in preparation for more pain. What kind of perverted reasoning is that?”
He tried to explain it to her, but finally abandoned the attempt as Amelia clapped her hands again. “Attention, everybody. Our time this evening is almost up and I like to end the classes with a relaxation meditation and massage you can practice at home along with your breathing techniques. Mommies, lie on the floor-on your right sides, please!-and, coaches, sit next to them and follow my instructions.”
Libby didn’t want to lie down. Del could tell by the way her slim brows lowered over her eyes and her mouth turned pouty. But she finally did so with a sigh, turning on her side with her back toward him.
Miss Berry dimmed the lights and switched on a cassette. A familiar sound in Oregon-the rain trickling through the trees-filled the room. “Now, coaches, let’s begin with a simple massage of the shoulders. Gently work the tension from your partner.”
Partner. Del liked the sound of that. Whether she liked it our not, for the next couple of weeks, he was Libby’s partner in this baby business. Placing his hands lightly on her shoulders, he gently kneaded her rigid muscles.
Feeling her stiffen, Del’s satisfaction faded. So she didn’t like his touch. Setting aside the hurt frustration her action caused, he patiently persisted in the massage. Gradually she relaxed beneath his fingertips, and soon she looked almost asleep. Her thick lashes drooped heavily over her eyes, her hair tumbled lazily across her pinkened cheek. Even pregnant, her waist dipped inward when she was lying down, and his gaze slowly roamed the feminine curves of her breasts and hips revealed in the shadowy room as he worked.
“Move to the arms,” Amelia chanted softly, her voice almost blending with the background serenade of raindrops. “Gently massage down to the fingers.”
Libby had slim arms and delicate wrists. Faint blue veins pulsed beneath her skin there and he had the urge to kiss the sensitive spot.
“Don’t neglect the fingers…”
He didn’t neglect the fingers. He massaged the pad of her thumb and the hollow of her soft palm. He rubbed her small fingers, bending them gently.
“Let’s do the calf muscles. Pregnancy often causes sudden cramping in this area.”
He loved her legs. Long, slim, with nicely defined calves; ankles so small he could easily encircle them with his finger and thumb.
“Now the lower back,” Amelia instructed. “This is where most pregnant women feel the greatest strain from the weight of the baby.”
Del obediently moved his palm down to Libby’s hips and lower back, pressing carefully with the heel of his hand. She sighed a little, her eyes fluttering shut, and something inside him eased on a wave of tenderness. Wanting to comfort her, Del kept up the soothing motion. The span of his hand easily encompassed the width of her back, and he could feel the delicate ridges of her spine through the thin cotton of her—his shirt.
He smiled faintly. He liked it when she wore his clothes. She’d been wearing one of his shirts the first night he’d met her, when he’d inadvertently startled her in the hall as she came out, damp and fresh from her bath.
She hadn’t known that shirt was his, either. She’d clutched the neck in an instinctive gesture of feminine alarm. The material had pressed across her breasts, revealing the circular shadows of small dark nipples.
Had her nipples changed? he wondered now. Were they darker, bigger, sweeter, than they’d been before? The position in which she lay had caused the top couple buttons of her shirt to come undone, while a third strained across her plump bosom. His brooding gaze lingered there, craving a glimpse of the soft skin he’d kissed and caressed.
“Okay, Mommies, roll to the other side.”
Libby turned over, her movements slow and lethargic with the heaviness of relaxation. She looked tousled and sexy, her eyes drowsy, her lips red and full.
As she lay down again, the button across her breasts gave up the battle. Her shirt gaped open. Involuntarily, Del’s hungry gaze fastened on the plump curve of her breast. A nipple pressed against the thin lace of her bra in a rigid peak. Surprised at the small sign of arousal, his glance shot to her face.
For a brief moment, her unguarded gaze met his. Her eyes were slumberous, filled with remembered passion. Then she flushed, and her lashes fell, shielding her gaze as she reached up to clutch the front of her shirt closed.
Del’s body hardened and his gaze narrowed on her averted face. Had he imagined the desire he’d seen there?
He put his hand on her ankle. She flinched, then froze, like a little rabbit caught in a trap. Beneath the fan of hair on her cheek, her color deepened, and her breath emerged between parted lips in short pants.
His own breathing quickened in response. So she felt it, too—this desire that sparked between them.
Suddenly, the lights went on. Libby pulled free of his grasp and sat up. “That’s it. We’re done now.” She rose to her feet. Del did too, reaching out a hand to help steady her, but she avoided his grasp and hurried toward the door, holding her pillow in front of her like a shield.
Del remained where he was, watching her, a small smile curving his lips. No, we’re not done yet, Libby, he promised silently. We’re not done at all.
9
Was Del pursuing her?
The question flashed through Libby’s mind with increasing frequency and alarm during the rest of the week.
Most of the time she was able to scoff at the notion. Why would he be? He’d accepted the situation between them. He was satisfied with the financial agreement they’d reached, and was allaying his conscience further by taking her to the childbirth classes.
At the thought of the classes, her nipples tightened. She couldn’t help remembering how good his hands felt stroking her skin. It has been so long since she’d been touched.which was probably the reason she was overreacting. It wasn’t as if she were any kind of femme fatale, after all—especially almost eight months’ pregnant. She had three outfits to her name, her skin was blotchy and her breasts and belly were huge. Hardly any man’s idea of a dream lover.
No, she was imagining his interest, she’d tell herself. But then she’d look up suddenly from frowning over her knitting, or gazing out the window at the falling leaves, and she’d find his eyes fixed on her with the same hungry, sexual intent that she’d seen at that class—and so long ago during that storm.
Sitting on Christine’s bed, watching her friend pack for her flight that afternoon, Libby said, “I wish you didn’t have to go,” and then bit her lip. She hadn’t intended
to voice the thought. The words had slipped out unintentionally.
Christine looked up in faint surprise. “I’m sorry, too, Libby, but you don’t have to worry. I know you’ll be safe with Del here.”
As safe as a mouse in the care of a hungry cat, Libby thought ruefully. She glanced down at her stomach. A fat, clumsy mouse at that.
Christine added, “I hope he doesn’t get called back unexpectedly. His beeper’s gone off a couple of times, and it seems to me he’s been getting a lot of calls the past few days.”
Libby had noticed that, too. She’d answer the phone and a clipped, hard masculine voice would demand, “Mr. Delaney, please.” Del took the calls in the study, and every time he came out, Libby waited for him to say, “I need to get back right away. Something’s come up,” the way he’d done the morning after they’d made love.
“Where is he now? Working on his computer?” she asked. All the time he’d been gone, the computer had sat lifeless in a corner of the study. Now, however, Del had booted the system up, spending hours working in front of the blue-lit screen.
Busy pawing through a pile of hosiery to find the unruined pairs, Chris answered absently, “He went out to the hardware store to get a new faucet for the leaky one in the kitchen and was waylaid by Susan, who persuaded him to come over and take a look at her new Jacuzzi.” Glancing over at Libby, Christine wrinkled her nose with a wry grin. “She made it sound as if it were broken, but that’s just an excuse to get Del alone. Ever since her divorce, she’s been chasing him almost as avidly—but a lot more subtly—then Mrs. P. does for Dorrie Jean.”
Which put her own worries in perspective, Libby
thought. Feeling a sudden need to be busy, she refolded Christine’s favorite blue dress. Christine declared the thin blue sheath was uncrushable, but Libby