From Here To Maternity

by Cheryl Anne Porter

  His breath caught. “If you keep looking at me like that, Laura,” he warned, “we’re going to—”

  Her hand slid up his thigh, her mouth curving into a seductive grin. “End up in bed together?” She wet her lips with her tongue and added, “Soon, I hope.”

  Grant’s mouth opened. But no words came out. Finally, in a husky voice, he asked, “Oh, baby, are you sure?”

  “That I want you? Yes, I’m sure. Am I sure that we should do this?” A quick grin, one of some uncertainty, flashed across her delicately feminine features. “No, I’m not sure. But…I can’t seem to help myself, Grant.”

  “I know what you mean. And I know I should stay away from you.”

  She cocked her head at a questioning angle. “Why do you know that?”

  These looks she was giving him. He couldn’t think straight. “Because I…walked out…ten years ago.”

  “We’ve talked about this. You were just a kid. We both were. We’re all grown up now.”

  “I know. But we haven’t said anything about…now. Or tomorrow. Or the next day. If we do this, everything will be different. Between us.”

  “Aren’t I supposed to be the one worried about such things?” she teased.

  But Grant was serious. “Yes. You should. That’s the way this world works, it seems. But God knows, I’ve done everything I could to be near you this past month. That should tell you something.”

  “It does. But don’t tell me you’re going to give up now?” She gave another quick grin, then slid her hand farther up his thigh. “I like that you’ve pursued me.”

  “Yeah? Then why’d you run?”

  “I don’t know,” she said, shrugging as her gaze roved over his body. Grant’s stomach muscles contracted. “I was just scared, I guess. Scared I’d feel this way. And you wouldn’t But I didn’t run far.” She met his gaze. “Or for long, did I?”

  “No, you didn’t.” Amused, aroused, Grant shook his head slowly and slouched into the sofa. And it seemed like the most natural thing in the world for him to run his hand up under her sweater, caressing the warm, taut flesh that covered her rib cage.

  She stiffened, arching her back. A tiny moan of pleasure escaped her. Grant’s senses came alive. He’d done this a thousand times before, all those years ago. But now, tonight, ten years later, it was so much richer. And her skin still felt so inviting to his touch. Like hot silk. Emboldened by her response, he moved his hand up, found a bra-encased breast and caressed it gently. Her flesh was so full in his hand. So warm and heavy. Like a ripe fruit with a hard bud of desire in its middle.

  “Grant,” Laura whispered, raggedly. Her eyes closed, her breathing changed, became shallow, gasping, and her expression became more rapturous as Grant continued to stroke her budded nipple. “Please…”

  He felt on the edge. Hard. Ready. And it was then, even though no words had passed between them, that Grant knew that tonight and for every night to follow, he wanted to see this look on her face. With that decision, he slid his hand from under her sweater and pulled her to him, lifting her with him, carrying her in his arms, across the loft toward the other bedrooms. He had the sudden urge to try out that enticing sleigh bed he’d seen only this morning.

  GLISTENING with perspiration, splayed out naked on the queen-size sleigh bed, hopelessly entangled in the covers, Laura lay there, her eyes wide, her breathing slowly returning to normal. Which really seemed like such a waste, given the magnificence of her bed companion. Who even now, more or less at her side, sounded no better—or just as well-loved, maybe—as she did.

  “Damn…we’re good at…that,” Grant said between labored breaths.

  “We always were,” Laura reminded him, turning onto her side and snuggling against him, her head on his shoulder. Content for the moment, she draped a leg over his and smoothed a hand across his chest, reveling in the feel of the tight, warm skin overlying hard muscle and in the crisp ticklishness of his chest hair. Smiling all the way to her toes, she murmured, “You feel so good, Grant. I love everything about you.”

  Then Laura froze. Her eyes, which had drifted shut, popped open, and she felt cold all over. She’d said the L-word. It hung over them like a jagged icicle, drip-drip-dripping its truth on them. Holding her breath, she stared at her hand on Grant’s chest. And refused to think about his sudden stillness. They’d not spoken of love, of staying together, of commitment to one another. So why had she said it? Maybe because she felt it? Because it was true? And shouldn’t that be what was important? In a perfect world, maybe. But not this one.

  Still, she refused to accept that, lying next to Grant and feeling his chest rise and fall under her hand with each breath he took. Come on, wasn’t that where they were headed, toward love? Surely it was. Look where they were and what they’d been doing…and doing. She remained silent. She’d said enough already, in her estimation. But my, weren’t those wordless seconds really stretching out? Yes. Frighteningly, achingly so, actually.

  Then, slowly enough for Laura’s heart to rush through three or four more beats, Grant turned his head and stared into her eyes, his amber ones seeming to search hers for something. For what, she didn’t know. Evidence of love? Or perhaps it was sanity he searched for. Sanity regarding their situation, their separate lives, their differing worlds. Who knew? Well, he did. So it was his turn to speak.

  Or to turn more fully to her, to cover her body with his and kiss her deeply. Which was what he did, all without one word passing between them.

  Laura barely noticed as once more she experienced the slow, sizzling slide of his skin over hers, as once more she reveled in their differences, his hardness against her softness, his leanness against her fullness, his firmness against her gentleness. As once more she delighted in the tastes, the scents, the sweet saltiness of his skin, the heady wine of his penetrating kiss, the devastating tenderness of his touch, its underlying current of passion held in check, of power leashed so as not to frighten.

  As Grant moved lower on her, his hands and his mouth slowly playing her yearning body like a fine violin, as the heat once again built, Laura knew she could not have asked for more in a lover. But this was Grant, not just any mere lover. This man was meant to touch her. She’d been made for him. And he’d been made for her. Laura squeezed his shoulders with both hands. “Oh, Grant, I’ve needed you so.”

  “Me, too, baby,” he murmured seductively while nipping kisses across her belly. “Since the moment—” he slowly swirled his tongue around her navel, dipping into it. “—I first saw you—” he moved lower, cupping her buttocks in his hands “—over ten years ago.”

  And then his head went lower, raising her to his mouth. Suddenly, with a gasping intake of breath, Laura knew there would be no more words…only sensations, feelings, urges driven to the brink, passion coiled into a tight, hot bud that all too soon had her arching her back, gripping the sheets and making noises she’d never made before in her life.

  Grant was relentless, sighing, making some of the same noises, drinking her in, enjoying her, loving her. She could feel it, could feel his heat, his grip tightening on her wetness, her female bud engorging, cresting…until it happened. She called his name all the way from the bottom of her soul as he took her with him over the edge, into the abyss, into the dark fires of urges gratified, of yearnings slaked.

  For wonderfully agonizing seconds, Laura hovered there, quivering, every muscle locked, her entire being honed in on the delicious spasms that rocked her body, that undulated outward from her core, that burned through her soul like licking flames.

  And then, when she could take no more, Grant pulled himself up, kissing his way up her, swirling his tongue over her nipples, suckling her. He raised up over her, bracing himself. She drew her legs up and apart, and he entered her, sheathing himself in her. And she sighed with the sheer pleasure of it all as she wrapped her legs around his hips. For the third time that night.

  But for the first of many nights Laura hoped would come.

 
8

  LAURA STARED indulgently at Grant across the breakfast table. He was essentially ignoring her, but companionably so, as he devoured not only the morning newspaper—how do those delivery people get through, anyway, on a day when everything else is snowed under?—but also the huge breakfast her mother had prepared for them.

  There was no sense letting all that electricity and this good food go to waste, Vivian had declared. There was no telling when it might go off again and they’d all starve to death, if they didn’t freeze first. As if. Laura chuckled, pulling her thoughts to the guys across the table from her. That’s right. Guys.

  Because Grant, to further imitate this Norman Rockwell scene of American family life, was holding Tucker in his lap and commenting to the diaper-changed and cereal-fed baby about the various items he read, asking the tyke’s opinion on world issues. Laura knew that neither he nor she would have been the least bit surprised if Tucker suddenly rendered a considered opinion. But whatever he thought, he kept it to himself, seemingly content to bang on the round table with a wooden spoon.

  Laura chuckled softly. Quite the domestic picture, this. Here she was, in her gown and robe and thick socks, sipping coffee, ignoring her housecoated mother’s still-at-the-stove-and-cooking pleas to her to eat more. When only last evening she’d asked Laura if she was gaining weight.

  Mothers. There was no pleasing them, came Laura’s indulgent thought. Her gaze moved from Grant to the scene outside. It looked like what you’d expect to see in some Old Master’s painted depiction of Creation. Roiling gray clouds. Swirling winds. Chilling cold. Fourteen thousand tons of falling snow.

  All it lacked was a muscled arm and a questing hand coming out of the clouds, reaching for Man. Laura’s gaze slid to Grant. There was one man she wouldn’t mind reaching for, herself. Again and again. Grant suddenly looked at her, as if he’d felt the weight of her stare. He winked slowly, seductively. Laura bit her bottom lip hard to keep from giggling and drawing her mother’s attention their silly, lovesick way. Quite maturely, she again cast her gaze on the world outside her window.

  The raging snowstorm showed no signs of letting up. Twice during the night, the power had gone out, and the three of them—Laura, Grant and Vivian—had been up, checking on the baby, preparing the centrally located fireplace in case it got too cold. But through it all, the pointless getting up and the going back to bed—as if a power outage required them to do so—there was that one moment, somewhere deep in the night that Laura would never forget. It clung to the corners of her thoughts, like dust motes in an attic, making her wonder. Had she heard him? Had he actually said it?

  She couldn’t be sure, but she thought, just before she’d dropped off to sleep, that she’d heard Grant whisper into her ear, “I love you, too, Laura.”

  Or did she just want it to be true? Well, he’d certainly acted like it last night. Okay, so had she. And, boy, was she proud of her own performance, too. She’d made that man more than moan. She’d left him weak-kneed and hanging on to the bed when he tried to stand. In fact, for a while there, he’d been unable to articulate words containing vowels.

  Laura grinned, a private, leering grin she hid behind her raised coffee mug. Damn, I’m good, she congratulated herself. But she had to admit that it was because of Grant. Because she’d been with him. Because she’d wanted to give so much of herself to him. She’d wanted him, needed him…loved him. And now, no matter what happened today, at least, she had last night. It was a private, treasured gift she’d given herself, one she could take out from its hiding place in her heart and play with when she was alone. If she was alone. Again.

  “Pssst, Laura.”

  Laura blinked, sat her mug down and stared at Grant. He was leaning over the table, the baby still perched on one of his knees. She frowned. What?

  Grant spared a glance her mother’s way. Tucker did the same. Laura followed suit. Vivian had her back to them. Laura swung her gaze to Grant And to Tucker. Both of whom stared at her. Grant put his hands over the baby’s ears. Tucker’s sudden frown said he was insulted. “I can actually see what you’re thinking,” Grant whispered. “It’s written all over your face. Shame on you.”

  A flush of embarrassed heat rose in Laura’s cheeks. But despite it, she grinned wickedly at him. Leaning over the table toward him, she whispered, “That’s not what you said last night.”

  He chuckled, undressing her with his eyes. She was enjoying it until a voice called out, over the banging pots and pans, “I’m not deaf, you know. I can hear you. Just like I heard you last night. All three times. And I ask you, is this any way to talk with a baby in the room?”

  Laura sucked in her breath, jerking back and staring wide-eyed at Grant.

  “I just hope you two used some protection. You know, all that safe-sex stuff you hear so much about.”

  “Mother!” Laura cried, her cheeks ablaze with a crimson heat. Grant laughed out loud and sat the baby on the table, facing him. Tucker rewarded him by knighting him with his wooden spoon. Bonk, right on the end of Grant’s nose. “Ouch,” Grant yelped, rubbing his nose with one hand and steadying Tucker with the other. “All right, you win. What a tough crowd.” He turned to Vivian. “We used protection, Vivian.”

  “Every time?”

  Laura buried her face in her hands and heard Grant’s laugh. “Every time. I swear.”

  “Yeah? Where’d you get the condoms?”

  Laura jerked her head up. She couldn’t believe this! “Will you look who’s preaching safe sex? I mean, can we talk about Esther? Just accept, Mother, that responsible adults either carry protection with them or keep a supply on hand. Just in case.”

  Vivian turned ever so slowly, a grease-dripping spatula in her bejeweled hand. “Am I hearing you right? You, my first baby, keep a supply on hand?”

  Thoroughly embarrassed, particularly because Grant was laughing his head off, Laura answered, “I’m thirty years old, Mother. But I really don’t want to talk about it. Not with you. Please.”

  “Fine,” Vivian huffed. “But you leave your baby sister out of this. She was conceived in love. Not lust. But I’m not happy about this supply of yours.” She sighed. “Well, I’m glad you’re taking precautions for your health and all. Don’t believe everything you see on those commercials.”

  She couldn’t help herself. Laura took the bait. “What commercials, Mother?”

  “You know. The ones with the movie stars telling us—Ha! Like they’re so healthy. Forget TV. Pick up a newspaper, for God’s sake. Read it for yourself.”

  Laura took a deep breath. “What commercials, Mother?”

  Vivian gestured at her with the spatula. “You know the ones. Where the movie stars tell us to use condoms, so we can—What does that guy with the pointy ears say?”

  Every individual strand of hair on Laura’s head ached. Before she could stop Grant—she could only conclude that he must be out of practice after a ten-year absence—he asked, “Pointy ears? You mean like a werewolf?”

  Knowing what the poor slob was in for, Laura put her elbow on the table and rested her aching head in it.

  “No. That’s in real life,” Vivian said. “I mean on TV. In the future. You know. Oh, yeah. ‘Live long and prosper.’ That man. The one who can kill you with a pinch. That’s what the movie stars want.”

  “They want to kill us with a pinch?” Apparently, Grant hadn’t learned his lesson yet.

  Vivian huffed. “No, Grant That was just a euphemism. A synonym, I mean. What I’m trying to say is, they want us to live long and buy movie tickets so they can prosper. See what I mean?”

  Laura jumped at the opening given her. “Mother, since I met you, I haven’t known what you’ve meant So how can Grant hope to—”

  Vivian waved her hand, cutting off Laura and otherwise ignoring her as she continued. “So who are they kidding, anyway, Grant? They don’t use condoms. Or there wouldn’t be so many of them. Movie stars, I mean. But my point is, if you two keep using birth control, how’s Tu
cker ever going to have a baby sister?”

  Laura froze. That was her point? The ensuing and weighty silence was enough to melt Laura’s fillings. She peered at Grant through her splayed fingers. Sure enough, the man looked shell-shocked. Laura could not believe this conversation. And the worst part of it was that this open, healthy and frank discussion was about her sex life. With her lover, her mother and a baby present Over breakfast It was enough to put her on a psychiatrist’s couch for the next fifteen years.

  The electricity blinked off. Lights. Radio. Heat. Stove. Refrigerator. Off. Vivian squawked. Tucker screeched. Grant soothed. And Laura slumped in relief. Oh, thank you, kind snowstorm of the century, for hearing my plea.

  Well, not quite, apparently, because the electricity came right back on. Warm air rushed through the vents. The track lighting, suspended from the high and raftered ceiling, flicked to life. The bacon in the frying pan sizzled. And so did Vivian. “Don’t you think Tucker needs a baby sister, Grant?” she persisted, as if there’d been no break in their conversation.

  Laura stole a look at Grant. The grim set of his mouth told its own story as he gently reminded Vivian, “He may already have one, for all we know, Viv. He’s not ours, remember.”

  Vivian’s chin suddenly trembled. Her eyes grew moist. “I know that. He’s just such a sweet little—” She turned abruptly.

  Her heart melting, Laura instantly forgave her mother for bringing up such a sore subject Poor sweet Viv. There was nothing she loved more than a baby. And Laura wanted nothing more than to go to her mother and put an arm around her. But she wasn’t sure her legs would carry her. Because sitting there talking about babies brought the situation home again. She looked at Tucker and wondered when the knock on the door would come. What would they all do?

  Vivian turned, her eyes dry, her mouth set with stubbornness. “Well, he can’t already have a baby sister. So there. He’s just a baby himself. And it doesn’t take a rocket surgeon or a brain scientist to know his mother couldn’t have had another one yet Ha. Now you come here and finish frying this bacon, Laura. And Grant, give me that baby.”