by Diana Palmer
"What kind of mercy would she get from you, you...!" Harriett retorted.
"No," Dani whispered hoarsely, opening her eyes to see them squared off, glaring at each other scant feet away. They both turned toward her. "No," she repeated more strongly. "If you two want to brawl, go stand in the street. You can't do it here. I can't cope."
"I'm sorry, baby," Harriett said softly. "Are you all right?"
"I'm fine, thanks." She sat up, smoothing the wet cloth over her face while Dutch glared down at her with fierce anger in his dark eyes. His blond hair was slightly mussed, his handsome face harder than she remembered it. "Well, you needn't glare at me," she told him shortly. "I didn't get pregnant all alone, remember!"
Harriett had to hide a smile. "I'll leave you two to talk," she offered.
"We'll talk at home," Dani said firmly, glaring at
Dutch. "Where I can throw things and scream. The store
cramps my style."
She got up while Dutch tried not to grin at her fury. Glasses and all, she was something in a temper.
"Don't rush around; it isn't healthy," he said, taking her hand in his. He glanced at Harriett. "Can you manage for an hour or so?"
"Of course. Can you?" she returned. He couldn't help the faint smile. "Yes, Mama," he said mockingly. "I won't hurt your lamb."
He guided her out the door, letting her show him the way to her nearby apartment. It was up a flight of stairs, and he frowned as they climbed. He didn't like the stairs. "You have to move," he said when she'd unlocked her apartment and they were inside in the white and yellow homey confines of the living room. She turned and gaped at him. "What?" "You have to move," he said shortly. "You can't be walking up and down stairs like...that." He indicated
her belly.
"It isn't a that. It's a baby," she said firmly, planting her feet as she challenged him. "It's a boy, in fact, and I am going to call him Joshua Eric."
His face gave nothing away. His eyes went over her quietly, and for the first time in months he felt whole again. Leaving her had been the hardest thing he'd ever done. All the time he was away, he thought of her, longed for her, wanted her. He still wanted her. But she was pregnant. He didn't want a baby, he didn't want her pregnant. It brought back memories that were unbearable.
He hadn't even meant to come back; he hadn't wanted his life to change. And his worst fears had confronted him the instant he saw her.
"Do you have the divorce papers with you?" she asked calmly.
He sighed angrily and lit a cigarette without even asking if she minded. "You've put 'paid' to that, haven't you?" he asked, his voice as cold as his dark eyes. "How can I divorce you in that condition? You'll want child support, I imagine?"
He couldn't possibly have hurt her any more, not if he'd knocked her down. Quick tears welled in her eyes, and she glared at him through them. "Get out!" she shot at him. "Is it even mine?" he goaded, feeling trapped and straining at invisible bonds fiercely.
She picked up the nearest object, a small statuette of some Greek figure, and flung it at him. "Damn you!" He ducked and it hit the door, shattering into a hundred pieces.
"Get out of my apartment! Get out of my life!" she choked. "Oh, God, I hate you, I hate—!" The nausea hit her all at once. She turned, running for the bathroom, where she was horribly sick. She cried helplessly, oblivious to the tall man holding the wet cloth to her head and hating himself so much he wanted to jump off a building to make the guilt stop.
"I hate you," she whispered weakly when it was over and she could talk. Her head was leaning against the cold porcelain sink. She could hardly move.
"Yes." He bathed her face gently, her hands. Then he put the cloth aside and lifted her, carrying her into the bedroom. He laid her down and turned on the oscillating fan, positioning it so that it wouldn't blow directly
on her.
"Go to sleep," he said quietly. "Then we'll talk."
"I—don't want to," she murmured drowsily, but she was drained and overwhelmed and so tired. Her eyes closed, and seconds later she drifted off.
Dutch sat down on the bed beside her, frightened and sick at what he'd done to her. His eyes ran lovingly over her body, and without conscious thought he eased up the hem of her maternity blouse and moved the elastic of her skirt down, and looked. Her belly was slightly swollen, round and womanly. So that was what pregnancy looked like. He winced, remembering another time, another pregnant woman. But Dani wasn't like that, he told himself. Never like that. His lean fingers touched the soft flesh gently, hesitantly. Yes, it was firm. His child was in there. His child. A boy, she'd said. Could she be so certain? Of course, there were tests they did now. His big hand smoothed over the swell, pressing, and all at once something fluttered against his fingers. He jerked them back with a gasp.
Dani had woken with the first light touch of his fingers, and she found the expressions that flickered on his face fascinating. But that last reaction amused her, and she laughed softly.
His eyes darted to hers. "What did I do?" he asked softly.
"The baby moved," she said simply.
"Moved?" He looked back down, frowning. Hesitantly, he reached down again. She took his fingers and placed them against the side of her belly. She pressed them close, and it happened again. And he laughed. Slowly. Softly. Delightedly.
"When they get bigger, they kick," she told him. "The doctor says the more active they are, the healthier they are. He moves a lot."
"I never knew...." He looked up from her belly to her rib cage. His hand moved up to the bunched top and he glanced up at her face with the question in his eyes. "I've never seen a pregnant woman this way."
"I don't mind if you look at me," she whispered, fascinated by the way he was reacting to her. There was something in his face, a kind of tenderness. She wondered what had soured him on pregnancy, and why he hated the thought of a child.
He lifted the blouse to under her chin and his body stilled as his eyes sought the subtle changes in her breasts.
"You're bigger," he said quietly. "Darker...here." His fingers brushed an enlarged areole, making her tense with remembered pleasure.
"Little changes," she said, fighting for breath. "All that will increase as I get further along. It prepares me so that I can nurse him."
He felt a wild charge of emotion. It showed when he looked into her eyes. "I didn't think women did that anymore."
She smiled. "I want to do everything. I—" She laughed. "I love it. Being pregnant, I mean. I've never had anyone to fuss over, you see," she tried to explain. "Never had anyone of my own to worry about, to care about, to love. He'll be my whole world. I'll take care of him, and sit with him when he's sick, and play games with him when he's older. I'll take him everywhere with me, I'll—" She lowered her eyes at the expression on his face. "What you said, about child support. It's not necessary," she added proudly. "I make a comfortable living from the bookstore. I can take care of him. He'll be my responsibility."
He'd never felt so empty and alone in all his life. He stared at her belly, hearing the words and wanting all that tender caring for himself. But it wasn't possible. She didn't want him. She was telling him so.
He tugged the blouse back down. "You'll be a good mother," he said numbly.
"I'm sorry that you had to find it out this way," she murmured. "I would have written you, but I didn't even have your address."
He drew in a slow breath and got to his feet. He went to the window, smoking another cigarette. He looked so alone. So lost.
"You.. .weren't hurt?" she asked, averting her face so that he couldn't see her eyes.
"A few scratches." He stared at the glowing tip of the cigarette for a minute before his dark eyes went back out the window to the city traffic. He'd done nothing right since he got off the damned plane. He'd wanted to
talk about reconciliation, but when he'd found her pregnant, he'd gone off the deep end. It was because of the memories, of course; they'd haunted him for so long. Perhaps he'd b
lown the whole incident out of proportion over the years.
He turned back to her, uneasy at the way she looked. That woman, Harriett, had mentioned how tired Dani was. Yes, she was tired. Run down. There had been a radiance in her when she'd come into the bookstore, but it was gone now. He'd taken it away with his cold attitude and stupid accusations. He'd hurt her. Again. And he hadn't meant to.
"What I said, before," he said hesitantly, glancing at her. His hand, holding the cigarette, moved aimlessly. "I know the baby's mine."
"Do you?" she asked with an empty smile as she sat up. "I might have had a legion of lovers since you left." "I came back to see if we might salvage the marriage," he said after a minute, hoping for some reaction in her face, but there was nothing.
She looked up at him, schooling her features to remain calm. "And now?"
He shifted restlessly, pacing near the window, his blond head bowed, one hand in his pocket. "Now I don't know."
She swung her feet to the floor. "I haven't changed my mind, even if you've started to change yours," she said before he could speak. She looked at him with quiet gray eyes. "It's all I can do to manage carrying the baby and running my business so that I can support
him. I can't have any additional pressure right now. I hope you understand."
"You keep referring to it as a 'he,'" he said curtly. "He is a he," she told him. "They ran some tests." He felt odd. A son. A little boy who might look like him. He stared at her as if he'd never seen a woman before, studying every line and curve of her body.
"Don't look so worried, Eric, I don't expect anything from you," she mused, getting slowly to her feet. "Now, if you've said all you came to say, I've got to work to do. I'll give you the name of my attorney...." "No!" The word came out without conscious volition. They couldn't divorce. Hell, he didn't even want to think about it! She had his child, and he.. .wanted it! She clenched her fingers together and glared at him. "I won't live with you," she said stubbornly. His face hardened. "You will." "Make me."
He stared at her. Mutinous bow mouth, stormy gray eyes, flushed face. Pregnant. He started to laugh helplessly, a deep, rich sound like velvet.
"I like you," he said absently. "I honestly like you. No deceit, no tricks, no lines, no backing away from trouble. You're a hell of a woman."
She shifted from one foot to the other. No, he wasn't going to get around her that way. "Remember me?" she asked coldly. "Miss Frump?"
He put out the cigarette, still smiling faintly, and moved toward her with a gleam in his eyes that made her back away.
"Sexy frump," he murmured dryly. "Very pregnant, very desirable. And I don't want a divorce. I want you."
"I'm not for sale," she told him, moving backward until the wall stopped her. "Go away. Go blow up something."
"I don't blow up things, actually," he murmured, pinning her to the wall with a strong arm on either side of her. "I'm more into logistics and strategy."
"You'll get killed, anyway," she said.
He shrugged. "I could get hit by a car downstairs."
"Not quite as easily," she argued.
"I want you," he said quietly.
"Yes, I know," she replied softly. "But wanting isn't enough. You've already said you'd never fall in love again, so all you're offering me is your body, between wars. It's a gorgeous body, and in bed you're all any woman could ever want. But you're asking me to live with death, day in and day out, and I can't."
He drew in a breath and started to speak, but before he could she took one of his hands and pressed it slowly against her belly.
"I have your son under my heart," she whispered, pressing his palm flat against her. "I can't live with the fear of losing both of you."
He frowned. "I don't understand."
"Eric, I could miscarry," she said, her voice soft with a fear he was just beginning to sense.
"Is it likely?" he asked.
"I'm healthy. So is the baby. But there are no guarantees," she said, lowering her eyes to his chest.
"It.. .frightens you, to think of losing him?" he asked
hesitantly.
She looked up wide-eyed. "Of course it does!" He was remembering another woman, another time,
and he cursed himself for that lapse. Dani wanted the
baby. It was written all over her.
"I can't worry about him and you as well," she said
curtly. "And he deserves a chance. You're old enough
to make your own mistakes, but I'm responsible for
him now."
He stared down at her for a long time. Then he turned away with a sigh and lit still another cigarette.
"I've done it for so many years," he said after a minute, staring at the floor. "It's all I know."
"I'm not asking you to change," she reminded him.
He looked up. "We're married."
"We can get divorced."
"I don't want a damned divorce!" he burst out, his eyes black with anger.
She stood there staring at him helplessly, searching
for the right words.
He sighed angrily. "I knew you'd be trouble the minute I saw you," he growled. "A frumpy little bookseller with the body and soul of an angel. And you're in my blood like poison. I'd have to die to get you out of my
system!"
She lifted her shoulders and smiled ruefully. "Well, look at it this way, you'll never have to fight off other men."
He laughed softly, shaking his head. "Would you care to bet? The way you look right now..."
"I look pregnant," she said. "In two or three more months I'll look like a blimp."
"Not to me you won't."
He averted his eyes to his shoes. "Well, I'll go home and pack. And there are some people I want to see."
"Pack?"
He looked up. "I'm going to live with you," he said. "If you don't like it, that's tough. I am not," he continued, gathering steam, "going to have you working yourself to death and running up and down these damned stairs. Harriett's right. You need looking after. So I'm going to look after you. Until the baby comes, at least," he added. "After that we'll make whatever decisions have to be made."
She wanted to argue. But he looked very formidable. "But, your.. .your work...."
"To hell with my work," he bit off. He looked frankly dangerous. "I've got enough in foreign banks to buy this damned building you live in. I work because I like it, not because I need money."
"But..."
"Shh. Talking is bad for the baby." He crushed out his cigarette. "I'll get back Saturday."
Things were happening too fast. She was shell-shocked. She watched him walk toward her.
"Little gray-eyed witch," he whispered. He pulled her gently against him and bent to tease her mouth with his. "Open it," he murmured. "I haven't kissed you in months."
"I'll bet you've kissed other women," she said mutinously.
He lifted his head. "Nope." He drew his knuckles over her flushed cheek. "I haven't even looked at one. And yes, there are always women in the circles I move in. Beautiful women, with no principles and eyes like dollar signs. And all I could think of was how it felt with you, that morning when we made such exquisite love on my bed and created this little boy."
Tears burst into her eyes, startling him. "You know?"
she breathed.
"Of course. Didn't you?" he asked, smiling at her.
"You're more experienced than I am," she hedged.
"Not in that kind of lovemaking," he murmured ruefully. "I wasn't lying when I said I'd never experienced
it before."
"Do you mind very much, about the baby?" she asked, because she had to know.
He smoothed away her frown with a lean forefinger. "I have to get used to the idea, that's all. I've been a free spirit for a very long time. I've had no one."
"Yes, I know." She studied his shirt buttons. "Eric, you don't have to do this. You don't have to come
here...."
He stopped the sacrifi
cing little speech with his mouth, opening hers to a delicate, gently probing kiss that had her going stiff with desire all too soon.
His fingers tangled in the short hair at the nape of her neck and eased her head back against the hard muscle of his upper arm. His other hand made slow, torturous forays against her coUarbone, her shoulder, the side of her breast.
"Sadist," she whispered shakily as the magic worked on her.
He bit her lower lip gently. "Do you want to make love?"
Her eyes opened, looking straight into his face. "No."
He smiled, and his fingers brushed knowingly over her nipples. She flinched with sudden pleasure, and he laughed gently.
"Yes, you do," he murmured dryly.
"My mind doesn't want to," she amended, trying to save herself from the sensual prison he was trying to trap her in.
He kissed her eyes closed, and his hands slid to her stomach, cupping its firm warmth. "It won't make you miscarry," he whispered. "Not if I'm gentle enough. And I will be."
She trembled at the soft tone, and he smiled and pulled her into his arms, holding her.
"It isn't that," she whispered into his shoulder, eyes open and worried as they stared at the fabric of his shirt. "Don't make me care for you. It will make it all that much harder to let go. Just.. .just let me pretend that it's Mexico, and we're having a holiday. All right?"
He stood very still, smoothing her hair. "Dani..."
"Please!"
He sighed heavily and let her go. "All right. A holiday." His eyes dropped to her belly and he chuckled. "For the three of us."
"And—and no sex," she added, her eyes dark and frightened.
He searched them, seeing her fear of losing him. It bothered him, but he didn't quite know how to handle it. "Are you sure?" he asked. "We could enjoy each other."
"Yes, I know. But I don't want to."
She was imposing impossible limits on his self-control, but he couldn't turn his back on his responsibility to her. He shrugged, as if it didn't matter. "Okay," he said carelessly. "No sex."