Her snarkiness amused him. “Things are going well,” he said gently.
Simone bit her bottom lip. “Dr. Fetter wants me to come in for the ultrasound tomorrow.”
“I know.”
“What if...”
He put his hand over her mouth and kissed her nose. “The ultrasound will make you feel better.”
“Or maybe not,” she mumbled against his fingers.
“Are we having the glass half-empty, half-full conversation?”
Her blue eyes glistened with tears. Like bluebonnets in the rain. He knew he was in trouble when he realized he was waxing poetic, even in his head.
Simone wriggled until he released her. She wrapped her arms around her waist. “You don’t understand. As long as I’m standing here with you in this kitchen, those three babies are alive and developing normally. I don’t want to go to the hospital and find out differently.”
He wondered if any of the other people in her life knew that beneath Simone’s facade of bravado and confidence lurked a sensitive, vulnerable woman. “I’ll go with you,” he said. “It will be fine. And if it’s not, you can lean on me.”
“I have to do this alone,” she insisted, her chin set in stubborn mode.
“No, you don’t. That’s ridiculous.”
“I’m serious, Hutch. It’s one thing for you to stay here and make sure I eat. It’s a whole other ball game for you to parade up to that hospital with me when everybody in the building knows who you are. I can’t deal with that, too. You can drive me there if you insist, but I want you to drop me off at the door and leave.”
His temper started to boil. “You’re being absurd.”
“Don’t patronize me,” she snapped. The tears spilled over now. “Leave me alone,” she cried. “I’m going to my room.”
He told himself pregnant women were at the mercy of roller-coaster hormones. Simone needed her space.
It made sense. The artificial situation in which they found themselves was beginning to fray at the seams. After the first night of his stay, he hadn’t made love to her at all. He’d wanted to, God knew, but he had felt the need to back up and reassess. He’d been sleeping in the guest room ever since. Alone.
If Simone really cared about him as more than a doctor and a friend, she would make the first move. But she hadn’t.
A crack of thunder right over the house made him jump. He was horny and frustrated and angry at himself for getting involved with a woman who had far too many issues at play.
The fact that she didn’t want him in the room when she had the ultrasound done was a red flag. He wanted to protect her and keep her from any kind of pain, physical or mental.
What Simone wanted was a mystery.
Her sandwich and soup sat uneaten on the counter. He zapped the plate in the microwave and carried it down the hall as a peace offering.
He found the bedroom door ajar. Simone sat in the middle of the carpet with a strange look on her face. He set the tray on the dresser and squatted beside her. “Is this some new yoga pose I don’t know about?” he asked lightly.
She raised the hem of her shirt, took his hand and placed it flat on her belly. “I have a baby bump, Hutch. I really do!”
Eleven
She actually did. Only someone who had studied her body as much as he had would have been able to tell, but it was legit. He stroked her stomach. “You do, indeed. A real baby bump. Congratulations.”
Simone rested her head against his knee. “I know it sounds stupid, but I was afraid nothing was there.”
“And you were deathly ill because...” He raised an eyebrow.
“I said it didn’t make sense.”
Being so close to her after a week of strained celibacy filled his body with a fine tension. He rose to his feet. “You still haven’t eaten lunch. I hate to beat a dead horse, but I’m not willing to see you back in the shape you were in before.” He reached out a hand to help her to her feet.
“I’ll eat, I swear. But Hutch...” She looked up at him, her eyes sparkling.
“What?”
“I’m feeling lots better.”
The look on her face spelled trouble for him. Especially because he hadn’t decided what he wanted from her or what Simone needed from him. “I’m glad,” he said, pretending to misunderstand her artless invitation.
“Are you going to make me beg?” She wrapped her arms around his waist and rested her cheek right over his heart—or what was left of it.
He’d spent hours wondering why this woman still had the power to move him. It was more than the past they shared, though that was part of it. It was also more than the fact that he felt protective of her as a mother-to-be in the midst of a high-risk pregnancy.
Even now, he was afraid to name the emotion that made him hold her close. He wouldn’t cheapen it by calling it lust. But he couldn’t say it was love. He’d loved two women in his life, and both relationships had ended badly. Maybe he was using Simone. Maybe she was using him. In the end, what did it matter? They were emotionally and physically entangled, for better or for worse.
“I assume you’re talking about sex?”
She leaned back and scowled at him. “Don’t be so stuffy, Doctor.”
“You still haven’t eaten your lunch.” Though he tried to stave off the inevitable, he was hard and ready. And he was pretty sure Simone knew it.
“Bring me the damned sandwich,” she said.
“And the soup.”
“Oh. My. Gosh. You’re going to drive me insane.”
He scooped her up in his arms and dumped her on the bed. “I’d say that’s a two-way street.” He liked carrying her. Some people thought doctors had a God complex. Hutch didn’t. At least, he didn’t think so. However, he would cop to being an inveterate caretaker. It was in his blood.
When he grabbed the food and turned back around, he stumbled. Simone had stripped off her top and bra and was starting in on the rest of her clothes. “You said you would eat,” he pointed out. It was hard to speak because his throat was so dry.
She crooked a finger. “I didn’t say when.”
Even a highly trained medical professional had his limits. He abandoned the meal tray so quickly it was a wonder he didn’t spill tomato soup all over Simone’s beautiful carpet. “Damn it, woman. Move over.”
* * *
Simone was giddy. For the first time in days she felt almost like herself. Even more important, she saw tangible proof of her pregnancy. The change in her belly was infinitesimal, but it was real. Without Hutch’s careful attention, she might have become so ill that she miscarried. Instead, he had watched over her day and night, despite the fact that she was pregnant under the worst of circumstances.
Her heart overflowed. Everything that had drawn her to him six years ago was still there: his patience, his sense of humor, his deep commitment to his calling. In some ways, she was the one who was different. And in the midst of that fresh perspective, she found herself falling more deeply in love with him than ever before.
In the years Hutch had been gone, Simone had grown and matured. Even in her misguided attempt to become a mother, she had found new meaning in her life. The babies she carried were a sacred responsibility.
If she could have her way, she would kneel beside the bed and propose to Hutch. Marry me. Make a family with me. But that would be so unfair. So she did the next best thing. She gave herself to him and demanded nothing in return.
She hadn’t truly understood what it cost him to stay out of her bed the past few days. Not until now. He was flushed and desperate, his body pinning hers to the bed as his teeth raked the curve of her neck. His intensity didn’t frighten her. She understood it in the marrow of her bones.
No force on earth could have kept them apart.
He handl
ed her roughly, with little foreplay. They kissed wildly. She wrestled with him and taunted him, for nothing more than the pleasure of being subdued. He manacled her wrists in one big hand and tried to mount her. She eluded him but didn’t get far. They rolled from one side of the mattress to the other, kicking the sheets aside in their frenzy. Hutch muttered her name along with a few choice expletives.
Laughing out loud, she bit his earlobe. “I love you this way,” she whispered. “Take what you want. Make me submit. Do it, Hutch.”
When he moved between her thighs and thrust all the way in with one deep push, she cried out. “Don’t stop. Don’t stop.”
He took her at her word. She had waved a red flag in front of the bull, and now he was crazed. He rode her hard. Never had she seen him so greedy, so dangerously male. Maybe she had wanted to make him snap. Maybe she reveled in his physical need for her.
Even so, his total absorption was shocking. And thrilling.
Her climax hit hard. Hutch groaned, his face buried in her hair. She clenched him with her inner muscles, wresting from each of them the last ripples of pleasurable sensation. Then he shuddered, his body went rigid and he slumped on top of her.
Time ceased to have meaning. The Grecian shades at her bedroom windows were open, letting the harsh midday sun flood the room. Hutch might have been asleep. She wasn’t sure. She didn’t know whether to let out an exultant sigh or to burst into tears.
When he didn’t move, she surmised that he really was out cold. It was no wonder. He’d spent the last week wandering the halls at night, making sure she was okay. The man had to be exhausted.
Silently, she eased out from under him and went to the bathroom to clean up. Afterward, she put her clothes back on and examined the cold sandwich and soup. The simple meal was a truce flag of sorts. Wrinkling her nose, she made herself eat three-fourths of it.
Perhaps it would have made more sense to go back to the kitchen and heat it up, but she wanted to be around when Hutch roused. She wasn’t about to climb back into bed to eat. Though there were two chairs in the bedroom, she didn’t like the idea of balancing the tray on her lap. In the end, she sat on the floor, legs crossed, and leaned back against the dresser.
He opened his eyes without drama. One minute he was dead to the world—the next he was completely alert.
“Did you eat?” he asked.
She shook her head at his single-mindedness and held out her hand, indicating what little was left of the meal. “As promised.”
Hutch nodded. “Good.” Without fanfare, he climbed out of bed, picked up his clothes and disappeared into the bathroom.
She was rapidly discovering that sex in the daytime was far different than sex at night. There was literally nowhere to hide. Not that Hutch had any apparent qualms about his nudity. Fortunately, she was completely clothed.
The urge to escape was humiliating, but she gave in to it, anyway. It was her house, her bedroom. Why did she feel the need to disappear?
In the kitchen, she rinsed her lunch dishes and put them in the dishwasher. Hutch still hadn’t made an appearance. Chewing her lip, she sat down in front of her laptop. Remembering how he had shut it without her permission should have made her angry. Instead, it made her sad.
Deep in her heart she wanted Hutch to be her date at the masquerade ball. Assuming, of course, she was well enough to attend when the time came. Unfortunately, she sensed that the two of them were fast approaching a showdown. They couldn’t go on as they were.
After giving the mock-up of the invitation one last edit, she hit Send. The card stock and envelopes had been selected days ago. The printer already had a list of the recipients and would take care of the mailing. After that, it was only a matter of how many invitees would RSVP with a yes.
Cecelia and Naomi were supposed to drop by tomorrow afternoon to finalize decorating plans, not only for the tables, but for the ballroom as a whole. Deacon had given them carte blanche to spend whatever necessary to make this a night Royal would never forget.
With that one pressing chore completed, Simone pulled up the Neiman Marcus website. She visited the flagship store in Dallas a couple of times a year, but hadn’t been recently. Fortunately, even though she had been too sick to travel, her personal shopper several hundred miles away had dropped images of four exclusive ball gowns into Simone’s shopping cart.
She clicked on them one at a time. Buying this kind of dress while pregnant might ordinarily have been a risky roll of the dice. But she had lost so much weight, she knew she would still be able to get into her regular size.
With the prospect of a late-stage pregnancy in her future, it seemed only natural to want to look her best on the special night that was rapidly approaching. Two of the dresses were black, another white and the last one was a vibrant red. Although the guests would be asked to wear masks, the evening was formal. No Tin Man and Dorothy or Darth Vader costumes for this crowd.
Royal’s elite would be out in full force wearing tuxedos and couture fashion. Both of the black dresses on her computer screen were beautiful and undeniably suitable for the occasion. But she didn’t feel a strong connection to either one. The white dress was sexy, but a little too bridal for an unwed mother-to-be.
That left only the red. With Simone’s jet-black hair, the vivid color would be dramatic in the extreme, and the style of the dress was perfect. The halter neckline would leave her shoulders bare. The back would plunge to the base of her spine. Though there were no adornments at all, the fabric was a slubbed-silk blend that would hopefully move and sway as she walked.
Only by trying them on could she decide for sure. She selected the red dress and added one of the black ones in case her first choice didn’t work. With overnight express shipping, she would still have plenty of time to shop for other options if neither of these fit well.
She was reaching for her credit card in her purse when Hutch startled her.
“Retail therapy?” he asked casually, dropping a kiss on top of her head.
“How do you do that?” she said.
“Do what?”
“Walk like a ghost.”
He shrugged. “Lots of night rounds. We learned not to wake the patients unless absolutely necessary.”
“Ah.”
He sat at the opposite side of the counter and stared at her. “We need to talk.”
She nodded glumly. “I know.”
“I would like to go with you to the ultrasound tomorrow.”
That wasn’t what Simone had expected him to say. She shook her head. “I’ve already explained why that’s not a good idea.”
“And I’ve already told you I want to be there.”
“Please don’t make this difficult.”
His gaze narrowed. “You’re the one who’s throwing up barriers. Are you saying it’s okay for us to sleep together but not to be seen in public?”
“Not at the hospital,” she muttered. She was still holding out hope that Hutch would be her date for the masquerade ball, although to be fair, they would all be wearing masks, so even then no one had to know Hutch and Simone were a couple. Sort of... Who was she kidding? The man had a serious presence and would be recognized—mask or no mask.
Usually in the wake of sexual satisfaction, men were relaxed and mellow. Hutch was livid. His jaw was carved from stone, and his brown eyes burned. “Okay then.” He reached for his own laptop, unplugged it and tucked it into the sleek leather briefcase monogrammed with his initials.
Simone frowned. “What are you doing?”
“I’m leaving.” He never even looked at her as he calmly gathered his pens and billfold and hospital ID.
Panic made her stomach cramp. “Why?”
“Don’t be naive, Simone.”
“Tell me,” she said, distraught. “The ultrasound is no big deal.”
&
nbsp; “I’m a doctor,” he said, the words colder than any she had ever heard him utter. “Of course it’s a big deal. But this is about more than ultrasounds, isn’t it? You’re making sure that no one but Janine knows we have any kind of connection. I was prepared to be a friend to you and these babies, but you don’t need any more friends, do you, Simone?”
She grabbed his arm as he started to walk out of the room. “I don’t want you to go,” she said. Her heart cracked along fault lines years in the making.
He shrugged her off. “You’re eating a suitable amount now. The nausea has subsided to manageable levels. There is absolutely no reason for me to remain. Or am I wrong?”
His gaze was impassive. Yet beneath his icy calm, she understood that he was daring her to do something. Anything.
The trouble was, she had no clue how he felt about her. Could she bear to have a relationship with him knowing the sainted Bethany would always be a ghost in their bed? And even if she could make peace with being second best, would Hutch ever want to be more than her friend? Was he interested in any kind of permanent role as stepparent?
Why would he be? He had the world at his feet.
During a split second when time stood still, mocking her indecision, she imagined and discarded half a dozen scenarios for her future. In none of them was there any real possibility that Hutch would be included.
So she tamped down her terror and her desperation and lifted her chin. “No,” she said quietly. “No reason at all.”
* * *
She had honestly thought she couldn’t sink any lower than the miserable days of severe nausea and collapse. But it turned out she was wrong. Watching a stern-faced Troy Hutchinson walk out of her house without a backward glance sent a knife through her chest.
The pain was so intense, she thought she might pass out. She clung to the counter, her breathing shallow and rapid, and tried to stop shaking. Life was so unfair. Why had Troy come back to her at such an inauspicious moment? Why did she still love him when he had left his heart in Africa?
Why had she ever thought her grandfather’s will was such a big deal?
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