McCallum Quintuplets

by Kasey Michaels

  “Uncle Zach wouldn’t really leave a baby in somebody’s tummy, would he?” Ashley asked.

  “I’m pretty sure he wouldn’t do such a thing. He’s the very best baby doctor. But we shouldn’t chance it, should we?”

  All three girls shook their heads.

  Affronted that she’d even suggest such a thing, Zach was slightly appeased when she complimented his doctoring.

  “Thanks for letting me intrude uninvited to dinner,” Annabelle said to Mitzy. “I know it was tacky, but your brother can be a bit stubborn when he sets his mind to it.”

  “A bit?” Mitzy laughed. “That’s an understatement.”

  Annabelle winked. “Most of the time I’m a fairly good match for that stubbornness.”

  Mitzy gave her a direct, woman-to-woman look, knowing full well Zach was watching and listening. “Yes,” she said softly. “I think you might just be a match for him.” She reached out and hugged Annabelle. “I’m so happy to have met you. You come again, hear?”

  “Thank you for the invite. I’d love to.”

  “You know, it’s not nice to whisper,” Zach said, giving his sister a dark look.

  “We weren’t whispering.”

  “Mmm,” he murmured, and bent to give Mitzy a kiss. “Thanks for dinner, Sis.”

  He held the car door while Annabelle got settled, then went around to the driver’s side. Cicadas sang in the trees, sounding obscenely loud in the stillness of the country. Zach rolled up the power windows, and the climate-controlled air-conditioning unit blew cool air against his overheated skin. The tightly sealed doors shut out the sound of the harmonizing insects as though he’d pushed the power-off button on a stereo.

  Pitch darkness surrounded them. This far out in the country, there were no streetlights to illuminate the way. Only the beams of his headlights and the green and amber lights of his dash.

  “How do you do that?” he asked when they were on the highway.

  “Do what?”

  “Get kids to mind you so well?”

  She laughed. “Years of practice. I might look like a softie, but my sisters said I had a certain look that made them feel guilty as all get-out and they’d hop to because they didn’t want to disappoint me—or find out what I’d do if I lost my temper.”

  “You have a temper?”

  “I don’t think so. I’m pretty easygoing. Fussing upsets me, so I try to steer clear of it—or find a solution to fix it before it gets out of hand.”

  “Sometimes arguing is healthy.”

  She shrugged. “It makes me a wreck.”

  “So, are you one of those people who says yes when they really mean no?”

  “No…yes…” She sighed. “Sometimes. I enjoy doing for others, but I do have my limits. It’s taken me a while to set them, but I’ve managed.”

  “Mmm, in your advanced years.”

  He saw her blond hair swing as she jerked to look at him. “I’ll pit my fairly well-adjusted psyche against your set-in-your-ways stubbornness any day of the week.”

  “Okay. I take it back. You have a bite.”

  She laughed. “That’s twice tonight you’ve accused me of being scary.”

  “How do you figure?”

  “Keeping the girls in line and biting.”

  “Your point.” He could practically hear her thought. Competitive. He smiled in the darkness.

  He usually drove in silence after a date, tuning out the chatter of his seatmate as she talked about so-and-so’s dress or gossiped about who was cheating on whom or the latest catty list of cosmetic-surgery touch-ups.

  This wasn’t a date, though. It absolutely wasn’t. It was two friends having dinner at his sister’s house. Still, Annabelle engaged him, made him laugh, made him come alive.

  When he pulled up in front of her apartment, he suddenly flashed on the last time he’d taken her home. By the slow, full smile on her face, she was remembering, too.

  She raised a brow. “Want to come in?”

  He shook his head. Damn, but he liked her sass. “I’ve got charts to review.”

  She opened the door and hopped out of the car, then taunted over her shoulder, “Chicken.”

  She didn’t look back, but he knew she was grinning. He waited until she’d gone inside, then put the car in gear and drove away.

  No one had ever called him a chicken. They wouldn’t dare.

  Yet Annabelle had just hit the nail on the head. He was chicken. Scared right down to his toes to be alone with her. She wrecked his self-control.

  Nobody had ever wrecked his self-control. He hadn’t thought it was possible.

  A WEEK LATER, Annabelle was getting frustrated. Zach was out of town a lot, and when he was in the hospital, he was so busy, they hardly ever spoke.

  She’d filled her free time with family and friends, but she was restless.

  And she’d gone on a baking spree last night.

  On her break, she went into the lounge. Brad Stallings looked up from where he sat, moaning over a bite of chocolate cake.

  “You made this,” he said, his hazel eyes filled with worship.

  “Sure did. It’s called Better Than Sex cake.”

  He groaned again. “Marry me and run away with me.”

  She laughed and sat down, trying to decide if she wanted to get a soda. One of the doctors was leaning into the open refrigerator, so she decided to wait.

  Brad scooted his chair next to hers, his widespread knees nearly touching hers. “Seriously, Annabelle. I want to go out with you.”

  “Going out and marrying are two different things. Make up your mind.”

  “I’ll settle for dinner,” he said.

  She realized he was serious. It dawned on her that she’d never given Brad a chance because of the crush she’d carried in her heart for Zachary Beaumont.

  What the heck, she thought. Zach wasn’t budging from this friendship-pact thing. Might as well have a night out with a nice man instead of sitting at home pining.

  Besides, Brad did meet her requirements. He had children of his own. He wasn’t commitment shy even though he’d been divorced. He’d told her himself he was the homebody type, and his ex-wife had been the one who’d wanted to gallivant. He was young and good-looking. And they’d never lacked for something to talk about.

  “Dinner sounds good, Brad.”

  “Great. Maybe I can talk you out of that Better Than Sex recipe.”

  The refrigerator door slammed, rattling bottles of soda. Annabelle looked up.

  Right into Zachary Beaumont’s dark brown eyes.

  With a bottle of water in his hand, he nodded to them both and left the lounge.

  Brad didn’t seem to notice anything amiss.

  Annabelle’s adrenaline was pumping like a screaming heart monitor.

  Darn him, acting like a dog in the manger when he’d been practically ignoring her. Was he jealous? Well, hmm. That could be advantageous.

  She took a breath, decided to let the chips fall where they may. “What time?” she asked Brad.

  “Seven o’clock? I’ll pick you up at your place.”

  “Do you need the address?”

  He gave her a sheepish grin. “I looked it up.”

  “Shame on you. I’ll see you at seven.”

  ZACH HAD NEVER felt jealousy before. He didn’t like it. This burning, gut-wrenching, vacillating between worry and anger, feeling sick at his stomach. His territorial, protective instincts were stirred up but good.

  He couldn’t keep his mind on anything but Annabelle out on a date with another man.

  Dammit, she’d said she was ready to get rid of her virginity. He’d done the honorable thing and politely declined—and been taking cold showers ever since.

  So, was she going to give it to that wet-behind-the-ears medical resident? Hell, the guy couldn’t even stay married for more than five years. He had no sticking power, obviously didn’t value a woman, believe in till-death-do-us-part.

  Zach drew up short. Did he beli
eve in that? His parents had had it. His sister had it. Annabelle’s dad had found it twice.

  He paced the study, oblivious to the computer monitor flashing that he had e-mail, the massive bookshelves filled with medical journals and paperback fiction, the open files on his desk.

  “Okay, Annabelle,” he said aloud. “You win. If you’re so all-fired determined to learn about making love, it’s not going to be with that smooth-talking octopus you’re having dinner with.” He snatched his keys off the hall table.

  “Give me the recipe for Better Than Sex cake,” he mimicked. “Yeah, right. All the better to taste you, my dear, said the wolf to Red Riding Hood.” He snorted. “Not with my lady, buddy.”

  ANNABELLE enjoyed Brad’s company, but her heart just hadn’t been in the date. Zach had effectively ruined it by hiding behind the refrigerator door—and invading her mind every five seconds, making it next to impossible to concentrate on her date.

  Wouldn’t you know. The man didn’t want her. Then he spoiled her chance to test the waters on a potentially good thing.

  Brad stopped the car in front of her apartment, put his arm over the back of the seat, toyed with her hair.

  “Your mind was somewhere else tonight.”

  Appalled that it had shown, she apologized. “I’m sorry. I really did have a good time.”

  He smiled softly. “It was worth a try.”

  He glanced toward her apartment, and Annabelle stiffened, hoping he wasn’t going to ask if he could come in.

  “Pretty hard to compete with Dr. Beaumont.”

  “Where in the world would you get an idea like that?”

  “Probably from Dr. B. himself, seeing as he’s coming toward the car looking like he wants to bash my face in.”

  Annabelle whipped around. Her heart lurched in gladness. Then she felt bad for Brad.

  “I’m sorry, Brad.” She already had the car door open. Zach had stopped on the sidewalk, hands in his pockets.

  “No need to apologize. I’ve seen you watching him. And I’ve seen him watching you.” He shrugged. “Good luck, kid. You deserve it. If things don’t work, though, I’ll be around.”

  She leaned down at the window. “You’re a good man, Brad.”

  “Get going before the guy has heart failure.”

  She smiled, straightened up and turned. Brad pulled away from the curb, but Annabelle didn’t move for several moments. Neither did Zach.

  At last she took a step, walked past him to the front door, her pulse drumming in her ears when she realized he was right by her side.

  Unlocking the door, she looked at him. “What brings you here, Zach?” she asked softly.

  “You.” His voice was just as soft, with an edge that held a warning she didn’t quite understand.

  “What if I hadn’t come home?”

  “Then I’d have waited…or found you.”

  “Did you come here because you want me or because you wanted to protect my virtue?”

  He stared at her, a muscle ticking in his jaw, his brown eyes intense.

  She wasn’t sure what got into her, why she felt the need to push him. “Maybe my virtue no longer needs protecting. Maybe we went to Brad’s place.”

  The muscle still ticked in his jaw. “I don’t think so.” His voice was barely above a whisper.

  “So sure of yourself, Zach?”

  He slammed his palm on the door, shoved it all the way open. Before she could catch her breath, he had her in his arms, carrying her over the threshold, kicking the door shut, shooting the lock home.

  “Yeah, I’m sure. You don’t look like a woman who’s been properly satisfied.” His mouth came down on hers. She expected aggression, anger even. She didn’t expect the incredible tenderness.

  It knocked down every one of her defenses. She wrapped her arms around his neck, poured herself into the kiss. This is where she wanted to be. In Zachary Beaumont’s arms. Lost in his kiss, his touch.

  At last.

  “Bedroom?” he asked, his voice unsteady.

  “Second door down the hall. Hurry.”

  His steps were quick, but once he lay her on the bed, time seemed to still into slow motion. He gazed at her, sat on the mattress beside her, stroked her hair, kissed her gently.

  “I’m scared to death,” he said.

  She gave a nervous laugh. “I think that’s my line.”

  “I’ve never been anyone’s first. Are you sure about this, Annabelle? Speak now, because once I put my hands on you, I don’t think I’ll be able to stop.”

  “I don’t want you to stop.”

  “Then we need to establish some rules.”

  She groaned. “You’re gonna mess up the mood, Zach.”

  “Then I’ll just have to get it going again, won’t I?”

  He was so self-assured, she shivered. She was just talking out of nerves. She didn’t think anything could ease the acute arousal she felt right now.

  “The rules are, this time’s for you. Watch me. Feel what my hands and body do to you. Tell me what you like and what you don’t like.”

  “But I don’t know—”

  “You will. You will.” He ran his hands over her, undressed her slowly, his gaze following every slow movement. Then he stood and removed his clothes, pausing, giving her a moment to gaze at his body.

  Her heart pounded. She felt vulnerable, frightened, aroused.

  Then he lay down beside her, took her face tenderly between his palms and kissed her. Just that. For endless moments he made sweet love to her with his lips and his tongue, worshiping, reverently, gently.

  In light of his patience, she expected a slow building of desire. Instead, it flashed out of control. Her hands fisted against the sheets, lifted to touch his body, urge him.

  He drew back, caught her hands in his, raised them above her head. “Uh-uh. No touching. Or this’ll be over before either of us is ready.”

  “I’m ready.”

  “For it to be over?”

  “No, doggone it. For you to get on with things.”

  He smiled, released her hands, used the tips of his fingers to map her body. From head to toe he stroked her, found points of pleasure she had no idea existed. He was a doctor. He knew how a woman’s body worked. There was nothing clinical, however, in the way he touched her.

  It could have been hours. She lost track of time.

  She was aroused to the point of pain, not thinking, forgetting the rules. She used her heel against the mattress for leverage, rolled him over, slid on top of him and gave in to her desire to feast. Her hands and lips were fevered. She didn’t need experience to know what to do. She let her heart guide her.

  Zach swore and flipped her over as though they were in a wrestling match—and perhaps they were.

  “You broke the rules.” His breathing was none too steady.

  She opened her thighs, pressed her fingers into his buttocks. “I guess you better do something about it, then.”

  He tried to go slow, was nearly out of his mind with pleasure. He carefully entered her, paused when she stiffened.

  “Easy.” He pulled back, determined to be gentle if it killed him. She took the choice out of his hands, lifted her hips and met him with a force that made him swear, made stars burst behind his closed eyelids.

  “Are you okay?” he asked when he was sure he could speak.

  “Better than okay. Make love to me, Zach.”

  And he did. With everything in him he had to give. Acutely aware of every breath and every moan, he gauged her mood, her pleasure, gave her more, holding on to his own control by the sheerest of threads.

  He felt her surrender, felt the pulsing of her body around him, swallowed her climactic scream with his mouth as he let her ride the crest, then found his own release.

  His heart was beating like mad when he suddenly realized he hadn’t used a condom.

  He shifted to his side, drew her against him. “Ah, hell, Annabelle, I forgot about birth control.”

  She stiffe
ned for just an instant, then continued to stroke her hand over his damp chest. “I’m safe.”

  No one was one hundred percent safe. He should have been feeling concern. Instead, something had shifted inside him. He could picture Annabelle carrying his child—or his children.

  Testing the waters—she was so strong he often couldn’t tell where he stood with her—he commented, “You know, multiple births run in both our families. We could end up having that ourselves.”

  Annabelle felt panic engulf her. She hadn’t told him about her flaw. She wasn’t the woman for him.

  She’d watched Zach with the children he held, watched how he interacted with her brother and sisters, how he’d responded to his nieces.

  The grapevine claimed he was a confirmed bachelor, but she didn’t believe it. There was a yearning in him that he probably didn’t even realize existed. But Annabelle had seen it.

  She was in over her head. Faced with having to confess her shortcomings—to a man she’d fallen irrevocably, totally in love with.

  She sat up, holding the sheet to her breasts.

  “Annabelle?”

  She was trying to form a sophisticated quip when Zach’s beeper went off.

  He tossed aside the tangled sheets, strode naked to his slacks, checked the number, then picked up Annabelle’s bedside phone.

  “This is Dr. Beaumont. I got a page.”

  He listened for a minute, then started snatching clothes even before he’d gotten the phone hung up.

  “What is it?” Annabelle asked, reacting to his urgency. She’d always been able to read him so well. After what they’d just shared in this bed, she imagined the connection was going to be even stronger. She wasn’t sure how she would stand it.

  “Car accident. Paramedics are bringing Layla Drummen directly to the clinic. She’s in labor and bleeding vaginally.”

  Annabelle hopped out of bed and grabbed clean jeans and a T-shirt from her closet. “You’ll need me.”

  “Yes. I do need you, Annabelle. And as soon as this crisis is over, we’re going to talk about what’s bothering you.”

  It was a threat, pure and simple. Zach wasn’t a man who’d take no for an answer.