by Metsy Hingle
Jack yelped and grabbed his toe.
“Oh my God, I’m sorry,” she said and followed him out of the pantry.
“It’s all right,” he told her as he limped over to the table and sat. He grabbed his big toe in his hand.
“Are you sure? Maybe I should take a look at it. You could have broken the skin.”
“It’s okay,” he insisted, but he continued to clutch his foot.
“How do you know? You haven’t even looked at it,” she pointed out and knelt down to examine his foot. “Now quit being a big baby and let me see.”
Finally he released his foot long enough to allow her to have a peek at it. There was a big red welt on his toe and she suspected he was going to have a nasty bruise. She looked up at him. “I don’t think you’ll be kicking a soccer ball around for a few days, but other than some bruising, I think you’ll live.”
“Thank you, Dr. Cartwright.”
She grinned. “You’re welcome. I’ll get you some ice to put on it to keep the swelling down,” she said and as gracefully as she could considering she had a mini-watermelon for a belly, she stood.
“You don’t have to do that,” he told her and reached out to help her stand.
The contact had her belly brushing against him and she was much too much aware of the dark hair on his naked chest arrowing down toward his jeans. She stepped back and tried to shake off the sexual images running through her head. “Sit down,” she said.
“But, Lily—”
“Sit,” she told him again and pointed to the chair. Once he had done as she instructed, she said, “Getting you some ice is the least I can do, considering I’m the one who put that toe out of commission in the first place.”
“I didn’t realize I married such a bossy woman.”
She smiled. “It’s too late for you to change your mind now,” she teased. “You’re stuck with me. Your mother already ordered us engraved thank-you cards.”
“Trust me, I haven’t changed my mind.”
The seriousness of his tone and the darkening of his eyes had her pulse jumping again. “Plastic bags?” she asked, unwilling to travel down that road again.
“Second drawer on the left.”
After retrieving one of the zippered bags, she filled it with ice, wrapped it in a dishtowel and then brought it back over to Jack. “Let’s see the toe, big guy.”
“I do own an ice bag, you know,” he advised her as he unclenched the fist holding the toe.
“Seeing as how you have every gadget known to mankind, I was pretty sure that you did. But this works just fine for me,” she told him and applied the makeshift ice bag to the reddened toe. Holding the cold pack to his foot, she looked up at him. “Since I doubt that you’re usually up at this hour of the morning, I’m going to guess that I’m the reason you’re down here. I’m sorry I woke you, I didn’t realize I was making so much racket.”
“You weren’t. The acoustics in here are state-of-the art. You could bang the pots on the wall and I wouldn’t hear it upstairs. The truth is, I didn’t even know you were in here until I saw the lights on.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Since you never mentioned anything about being a sleepwalker, what were you doing down here at this time of the morning?”
“Would you believe I was looking for a midnight snack?” He glanced over at the stove and sniffed. “Is that onion I smell?”
“No, I don’t believe you were looking for a midnight snack because midnight was about four and a half hours ago. And yes, those are onions you smell. And ham and bell peppers and a half dozen other things. I made an omelet.”
She lifted the ice pack, looked at the toe and was pleased to see that it wasn’t as swollen. “So whyare you down here?”
“I wanted to check on you.”
Puzzled, she asked, “Why would you need to check on me?”
“Well, you were up a little past ten and again around one to go to the bathroom. Then after you made your trip at four, you came downstairs. When you didn’t come back up, I got worried and thought I’d better make sure you were okay.”
Lily felt her face redden. “I didn’t realize I made so much noise.”
“You didn’t. I’m just a light sleeper and I…well, I was worried about you. I’ve been reading up on stuff about pregnancy. Do you have any idea how many women go into labor early? A lot,” he told her before she could answer. “And one of the main reasons is stress and let’s face it, I haven’t made your life exactly stress-free lately. If anything happened to you or the baby, I couldn’t live with myself.”
Oh, Lord, Lily thought. But the man was making it awfully hard for her not to love him. “Nothing’s going to happen to me or the baby,” she promised him.
He eyed her solemnly. “I’m going to hold you to that.” Then as though he sensed her emotions were running high, he sniffed the air and said, “That omelet sure smells good.”
She grinned, happy that the moment was over. “Would you like some?”
“Only if you have enough.”
“We’ll make it enough,” she told him. She got out two plates, served them both and poured them each a glass of milk. Then she retrieved the can of tuna and opened it.
“What’s that for?” he asked.
She dished out the tuna and carried it to the table, along with the jar of peanut butter. “It’s to go with my omelet.” She heaped tuna and peanut butter on her plate, mixed them together and arranged a forkful of the odd mixture with a bite of omelet. “Want to try it?”
“No, thanks,” he told her and she nearly laughed at his horrified expression. “This is a pregnancy thing, right? Just a crazy craving? I mean this isn’t a regular deal, is it?”
She laughed. “I’ve only discovered the combination since I’ve been pregnant. But it’s one of my favorites.”
“There are others?” he asked warily.
“A few. But I guess my favorite is potato-chip-and-banana sandwiches.”
“Potato-chip-and-banana sandwiches,” he repeated. “I can handle that,” he assured her and with a gusto every cook appreciated, he dug into the omelet.
When they’d finished eating and set the kitchen to rights, Lily was stuffed, relaxed and enjoying Jack’s company. She knew he had gone out of his way to put her at ease, just as he had earlier at dinner by telling her tales about his family and some of his embarrassing moments as a young man. It had been hard to imagine the formidable Jack Cartwright as anything but perfect. So listening to him made her appreciate him even more.
When she yawned for the third time, Jack stood and said, “Now that I’ve bored you to tears, do you think you can get back to sleep?”
“You didn’t bore me,” she assured him and yawned again.
He laughed. “Right.” He led her from the kitchen, turned out the light.
“It’s true. It’s our little angel here that’s the problem,” she explained. “Our baby is a night owl and thinks Mommy should be one, too. Of course, the darling doesn’t understand that I have to get up in the morning and there are no nap times for grownups.”
“You can sleep in this morning. And in case you haven’t heard, I’m a very rich man. So you really don’t have to work.”
“I want to,” she told him as they climbed the stairs together. She’d made that decision right at the start. The last thing she wanted to do was to allow herself to become dependent on Jack. Situations changed, people changed. She’d learned quickly in the foster-care system that she should never count on anything or anyone but herself. While Jack might have good intentions, sometimes those good intentions changed, too. They had with the Davidsons.
Jack walked her to her bedroom door, opened it for her. “I enjoyed tonight.”
“Me, too.”
“Goodnight, Mrs. Cartwright,” he told her and lowering his head he kissed her. The kiss was sweet, tender and over much too soon. “I’ll see you in the morning. And I’ll fix breakfast.”
Jack fixed breakfast that morning and the
next three mornings as well. A routine developed where he cooked breakfast, they both pitched in for the evening meal and the midnight snacks were under her direction. The best part of the day though came with the goodnight kiss at her bedroom door. Those kisses had grown deeper, longer and more passionate by the day, she admitted. She’d reached the point where she looked forward to them. The way she had looked forward to this one, she thought as she wrapped her arms around him and gave herself to the kiss.
Her breasts had grown more sensitive during her pregnancy. Beneath the thin robe, she could feel her nipples tighten as they pressed against his chest, sending that sizzle through her blood again. He cupped her bottom, pulling her closer, and the sensation of his arousal against her belly left her weak with desire. When he lifted his head, she was tempted to draw his mouth back down to hers.
“I’d better let you get some sleep,” he told her in a voice husky with desire. “And I’d better go take a cold shower.”
“Jack,” she called out when he reached the door of his room.
“Yes?”
“Nothing. I just wanted to say goodnight and that I’ll see you at breakfast.”
The disappointment in his eyes was clear. “Right. See you at breakfast,” he said and disappeared inside his room.
What was she waiting for? Lily asked herself as she climbed into her bed and reached for Bentley. The man was caring and considerate, honest and straightforward. How many men would get up all during the night just to be sure that the pregnant wife who won’t sleep with them got up to go to the bathroom? Probably none. Except Jack Cartwright. The truth was that Jack was flat-out wonderful. Everything about marriage to Jack Cartwright was wonderful.
And it scared her to bits.
She was falling in love with him, Lily admitted as she hugged Bentley and snuggled under the covers. Maybe she had loved Jack all along and had simply refused to accept it. Either way, the realization of just how important Jack had become to her terrified her. She’d been this close before to believing she belonged—with the Davidsons, all those times when she’d gotten a new clue that she thought would lead her to her mother. And each time, she’d had the rug yanked out from under her. Each time she had been left alone and lonelier than before.
Suppose he met someone? Suppose he fell in love with someone and realized what a mistake he’d made by marrying her? Suppose he wanted a divorce? It certainly was possible. No, more like probable, she amended and was crushed by how much just thinking of that possibility hurt.
She was being ridiculous, Lily told herself and punched at her pillow. Jack had made sure that both she and the baby would be taken care of financially. He might not love her, but he did love his child. And he wanted her. Somehow, she would have to find a way to make his desire for her be enough.
And what happens when the desire burns out?
She would go on just as she had gone on all the times before when she’d found herself alone. Only this time, she wouldn’t be alone. She would have her baby—Jack’s baby. Placing a protective hand on her stomach, Lily drifted off to sleep and she dreamed…
Lily ran. The hospital corridor was dark. Too dark. And it was cold. Why was the hospital so cold and empty? she wondered. She ran to the nurses’ station, but no one was there. Where was everyone? And where were Jack and her baby? She spied the sign indicating the nursery and ran toward it. That’s where her baby was. Her beautiful little girl with her red hair and Jack’s blue eyes was in the nursery. Wasn’t that what the nurse had said?
“We need to take her to get cleaned up, Mrs. Cartwright. We’ll bring her back in a few minutes,” the nurse had promised as she took the baby from her arms and disappeared out of the room.
“Jack, where are you going?” she asked when he started to leave.
“I’m going to call my parents. You just rest and I’ll be back.”
But he hadn’t come back. Not that day nor the next. And they hadn’t brought her baby back either. Frantic, she ran to the nursery and searched the babies in the window, looking for her little girl. But she wasn’t there. There was no Baby Girl Cartwright. Panic pumped through her blood. “Nurse,” she said, grabbing hold of the woman passing her. “Baby Girl Cartwright, she isn’t in the nursery. Where is she?”
The woman looked at her clipboard. “Oh, she’s gone. Her father took her home.”
Lily screamed.
Eight
“Lily. Lily, wake up,” Jack pleaded as he sat on the edge of the bed and caught Lily by the shoulders. He’d aged ten years when he’d heard the blood-curdling scream coming from the bedroom and he had never been so terrified in his life.
He still was.
Though she had stopped screaming, chalk had more color than she did. Her blue eyes were the size of quarters and filled with terror. And she was trembling so badly, he could have sworn he heard her teeth chatter. He hauled her into his arms and she clung to him. He kissed her head, stroked her back. “It’s all right. It was just a bad dream. I’m here,” he whispered, repeating the mantra over and over until the shaking subsided. Jack wasn’t sure how long he sat there holding her. It could have been five minutes. It might have been an hour. From the position of the moon in the sky, he suspected that dawn was still hours away.
Finally, she loosened her grip on him and eased back a fraction. “Thank you,” she said, her voice barely audible.
“Nothing to thank me for. I’m your husband.” She had a little more color in her cheeks now and while she no longer looked terrified there was a loneliness there that had a fist tightening around his heart. “Do you want to talk about it?”
“Not yet. I need to go to the bathroom.”
When she returned a few minutes later and crawled back into bed, she seemed to be over the worst of whatever nightmare had plagued her. “It’s going to be morning soon and you need your rest. Would you like me to get you some warm milk to help you sleep?”
She shook her head.
“How about some ice cream? I think I saw another carton of butter pecan in the freezer,” he said, hoping to somehow ease her by teasing.
“No. No ice cream. I’m okay now.”
But she didn’t look okay. She looked lost and alone and sad. Not just sad but that reach-inside-and-rip-out-your-heart kind of sad. It was that sadness that made his own heart feel heavy and helpless because he didn’t know what to do for her. In the days since their wedding, they had spent time together getting to know one another. They had shared meals, domestic duties and kisses so steamy that they would have made a monk turn to sin. But she had continued to keep him at arms’ length. He’d exercised a patience he hadn’t known he’d possessed when he left her at the bedroom door each night. He’d developed an abhorrence for cold showers, but he’d promised himself and her that they would not share a bed until she was ready. She gave no indication she wanted him to stay now—not even to comfort her.
Reluctant to leave her, but unsure what to do, he said, “I guess I’d better let you try to get back to sleep then.” He stood, picked up Bentley from the floor and tucked the bear in bed beside her. Leaning over, he kissed her gently on the lips. “I’ll leave the door open. Just call if you need me.”
“Jack,” she said and he turned. “Don’t go. I want you to stay.”
She didn’t have to ask him twice. He went to her, slid into the bed beside her and took her in his arms. He held her. It felt good to hold her like this, he thought and was content to just be close to her. If anyone had bet him a month ago that he could spend what seemed like hours holding a woman who he’d wanted to make love to in his arms and not become frustrated, he’d have taken the bet.
And he would have lost.
Lying in bed with his arms wrapped around Lily, he couldn’t help thinking how good it felt to hold her this way. Not only did it feel good, it felt right. The one night they’d spent together, neither of them had spent much time just cuddling. He’d wanted her too much and she had wanted him. The lovemaking had been explosive,
leaving little energy or inclination for anything more. There was so much more, he realized.
Jack wasn’t sure how long he lay there just holding Lily. Long enough for the tremors to stop. Long enough for her breathing to settle. She remained silent and he didn’t press her to tell him about the dream that had terrified her. He simply waited and trusted that she would talk when she was ready.