The Baby Deal

by Alison Kelly

  He’d gone from thinking he held all the aces to finding he was the biggest joker of all time. The thought had him kicking the bike stand down more viciously than was necessary. Whatever way he looked at it, despite the fact he continually seemed to be making mistake after mistake where A.J. was concerned, and that her grace and poise made him achingly aware of his own shortcomings, she’d somehow become the most important thing in his life.

  ‘Reb? Reb, is that you?’

  Though startled by her appearance at the foot of the stairs, he managed to restrain himself from going on the offensive and demanding to know what she was doing wandering around in the dark, alone, clad only in a nightdress. The last thing he wanted was to get into another argument with her.

  ‘Yeah… It’s me,’ he responded inanely, distracted by the tantalising play of moonlight over her features. ‘Something wrong?’

  ‘The baby—’

  His heart met the soles of his boots, guilt at the way he’d ripped into her earlier tearing at him as he seized her shoulders. ‘What’s happened? Are you in pain?’

  She shook her head, her expression a tad vague before a luminous smile lit her face. ‘It kicked! Oh, Reb, our baby kicked!’

  The sheer delight in her whisky eyes as she said those words touched him more deeply than anything in his entire life. Our baby. Not my baby, or the baby or your baby, but our baby. Relief, pride, a thousand emotions he couldn’t name rioted within him.

  ‘Well, it wasn’t so much a kick as a flutter,’ she bubbled excitedly as he caught her wrist and drew her nearer. ‘But he’s been doing it practically ever since you left.’

  He didn’t comment on her use of the masculine term. ‘Maybe he’s angry with me for upsetting his mother, too. God knows he deserves to be.’

  She bit her lip, then lowered her head. ‘No, I know you were right,’ she said softly. ‘I didn’t consider that other people might need that job more than we did. And I should have known that in Vaughan’s Landing especially I wouldn’t get hired for any other reason than who I am. In this town people will expect me to stay perched on the pedestal even while they queue up to rock it, hoping I’ll topple off.’

  As he lifted her chin, his gut cramped at the sight of forlorn resignation in her eyes. ‘No one knows better than me what it’s like to be pigeon-holed by people,’ he said, gently grazing his thumbs over the curve of her cheeks. ‘And I shouldn’t have done it to you. I’m sorry as all hell for jumping all over you about taking that job. I should’ve waited to hear your side of things, but…’ He sucked in a fortifying breath before making the admission. ‘I guess my ego likes the idea of providing for you. Of knowing you need me to take care of you both and—’

  ‘Oooh!’ she exclaimed, her eyes widening. Snaring his hands, she gave him a radiant smile as she laid them on the small mound of her belly. ‘Wait… He’ll do it again in a—’

  Even if Amanda-Jayne hadn’t felt the next butterfly-soft internal flutter for herself, Reb’s awed expression would have identified the moment it happened, for the hard lines of that strong, handsome face softened in a way she’d never have imagined.

  ‘Oh, God.’ His words were a whispered prayer. ‘I…I felt it.’ The ebony eyes he lifted were filled with wonder, but as another embryonic nudge was delivered his delight manifested itself in a joyful laugh. ‘Oh, wow! That is so…so…’

  She chuckled, the bliss of sharing this moment with him surpassing anything she’d previously experienced. ‘So what? Incredible? Amazing? Beautiful?’

  ‘Yeah,’ he said huskily. ‘As incredible…’ his hands moved slowly outward to caress her hips and then draw her nearer ‘…as amazing and as beautiful as you are.’

  He took her mouth not with the passion she’d come to expect and enjoy, but with a new tenderness that dissolved all trace of the hurt he’d caused earlier. It was a tenderness that prompted both healing and hope. It was a tenderness that caressed not merely her heart, but her soul. The arm around her waist was firm and certain, but the touch of his fingers as they brushed up her neck and across her jaw was as light and hesitant as the first rays of dawn.

  Never had Amanda-Jayne felt more treasured.

  Never had she felt so happy and yet so close to tears.

  Never had she felt so loved…nor wished it were true.

  She surrendered to the languid sense of peace that began settling over her mind as his tongue drugged her with the deliciously evocative mixture of mint and tobacco that flavoured this man’s kisses. It was a taste she’d rapidly become addicted to and one she knew she’d never have the strength to willingly give up. To compensate her taste buds for his lips moving along her jaw to her ear, her tongue laved the strong corded column of his neck. Her nose brushed against the collar of his jacket, its leather offering a clear contrast to the heat of his skin, and in that instant she decided that if rightness had a scent it would be the unique blend of leather, aftershave, soap, grease and the essential maleness of Reb Browne.

  And his touch! Dear Lord, his hands wove a magic all of their own. Numerous times she’d been swept away by the transference of their passion, but never had they cherished her as they did now, moving over her with the gentleness of a shadow whilst illuminating her within with the force of a thousand floodlights. How was it that when her heart was racing like a locomotive, when she felt so physically aroused and impatient, she could also feel so mellow and content and more emotionally replete than she’d thought possible?

  Then it hit her… This was what she’d been seeking that night when she’d accepted his offer of a drink; what she’d tried to capture as she’d danced in his arms until the early hours of the morning. This aura of inner peace and confidence in her own worth was what she’d been chasing so desperately when she’d willingly accompanied him to his hotel.

  The touch of his hands gently massaging her belly forced her eyes open, but she was so mesmerised by his visual caress that it took several seconds to register she was sitting side-saddle across his bike. She had no idea how she’d got there and cared even less to move out of the cradle of his arms.

  ‘You know,’ he said huskily, his hands continuing their narcotic caress of her stomach, his lips placing a moist ribbon of kisses along her hairline, ‘if you weren’t so magnificently pregnant, I’d start this bike, drive flat-chat to an out-of-the-way spot I know next to Saddle Creek…and then I’d make seriously slow love to you until you, me and every one of all those stars up there were burnt out.’

  The words, blurring the line between tough guy and poet, sent tingles down her spine.

  She smiled up at him. ‘Can I take a rain check on that idea?’

  ‘Oh, yeah,’ he rasped, once again feasting on her mouth for long, glorious minutes, before carefully sliding her off the bike. Then, in one smooth, sexy movement, which emphasised the rigidity behind the fly of his jeans, he was off the bike and lifting her into his arms.

  ‘I’m too heavy—’

  ‘Shh, you’re perfect. The most perfect woman ever created.’

  The declaration, murmured against her jugular, sent a tidal wave through her bloodstream. At that moment hearing the statement from Reb was enough to make her believe it.

  When they reached their room he sat her on the edge of the bed and immediately began running his fingers through her hair, over and over. As her entire skeletal system started to liquefy she couldn’t decide if it was the most erotic relaxation technique or the most insidious torture. Her head lolled forward to rest against the solid hardness of his abdomen, and she inhaled hard for another scented fix of maleness and leather. She was dimly aware of him leaning toward the bedside table, then within seconds another familiar but not instantly recognisable scent teased her.

  Less than a heartbeat later, he was lifting the hem of her nightshirt, but the recall of what she wore beneath it prompted her to momentarily resist him.

  ‘I…I’m wearing a really ugly bra,’ she warned apologetically.

  ‘You won’t be for
long.’

  The words were no sooner spoken than his deft hands had discarded the nightdress; the bra went while she was again being wonderfully distracted by the flavour of his kiss. It was a distraction she greedily clung to, until the flattening of his hands against the flesh of her upper thighs caused her to pull away with a gasp—not because they were cold, but because they were so slick.

  ‘Your oil,’ he said, answering her unspoken question as he guided her back onto the mattress. Still fully clothed, he knelt on the bed, straddling her calves.

  ‘Y-your…clothes,’ she stammered, already fascinated by his action.

  He grinned. ‘My clothes are used to exposure to all types of oils.’

  That he’d deliberately misunderstood became a moot point as she watched him pour more of the herbal concoction into his palm. The action had her holding her breath as her sensual curiosity sky-rocketed to somewhere in the outer stratosphere.

  His studiously bent dark head reflected the glow of moonlight as he liberally applied the perfumed oil along the outside of her thighs, his touch erotically light in its repeated roaming from hip to knee and back again. ‘What’s it for?’ he asked in a voice too tight to be classed as conversational.

  ‘Stretch marks,’ she replied, swallowing down her embarrassment. ‘And to stop my skin getting itchy and…and dry.’

  ‘It works.’ The pads of his fingers continued stimulating her circulation in places far removed from her legs. ‘Your skin is like satin.’

  His hands roamed to the inside of her thighs, then in one smooth stroke moved to their apex to commence circling there with a promise which sent a wavelet of pleasure rippling through her. When almost immediately his touch returned to her knees, to label her body’s reaction as an anti-climax was to further torture a brain already having difficulty just keeping her heart and lungs functioning.

  He continued to rhythmically repeat the action until in her mind it was a physical chant… Down…up…around and around… Down…up…around and around and around… Down…up…around and around and around…

  It aroused.

  It tempted.

  It teased.

  It had her clutching at the sheets in both frustration and fantasy. It was simultaneously the most pleasurable experience of her life and the most nerve-racking. He was fully clothed and she needed to touch him. Worse, she needed him to touch more of her. All of her.

  When she tried to grasp his hands he moved them out of her reach. She uttered an earthy curse of defeat, but it fractured under her uneven breathing and lacked conviction. She was certain this qualified as the most exquisite form of torture ever dealt out to anyone, yet the desire and wealth of emotion in his eyes as he watched her made anger an impossibility. There was nothing he could have done physically which could possibly have made her feel more special or appreciated. The problem was, she wanted to give, not merely receive.

  ‘Reb…’ Her words hardly passed as a whisper. ‘Please… It’s…it’s supposed to go on…on…my stomach and…breasts.’

  His grin told her he’d seen through her ruse, but he tripped her heart when his face turned serious and he said, ‘I know. I watched you applying it the other morning.’

  It was a notion that left her trembling. ‘Y-y-you did?’

  His hands moved to her hips and he nodded.

  ‘I was in a meeting with a client and had come upstairs to get a sales catalogue I’d forgotten… I was about to call out, then I noticed the bathroom door was ajar. There was steam coming out and then I heard humming…’ He paused, his throat revealing an exaggerated swallowing action that a dry-mouthed Amanda-Jayne felt herself mimic.

  ‘A moment later,’ he continued, his words thick and huskily delivered, ‘I witnessed the most incredibly beautiful and the most physical and spiritually arousing event of my life.’ His head came up and his hand moved to caress her throat. Never had his handsome face looked so fiercely intent. ‘I was paralysed by poignancy of what I was seeing. Completely and utterly overpowered by the sight. Yet I swear, A.J., not walking in there was the hardest decision I’ve ever made.

  ‘You were standing gloriously naked, humming a lullaby with one arm cradling our unborn child and the other moving lovingly over your belly… The urge to do it for you…to take that oil and anoint you from head to foot and then make love to you, felt stronger and more instinctive than the need to take my next breath.’

  Even before his hand began to simulate her actions of that time, Amanda-Jayne’s heart erupted with joy. But when he lowered his head to reverently kiss her stretched, swollen belly it was as if the earth had fallen from its orbit. Tears filled and rolled from her eyes, but as he continued to rain kisses over her body, amid words of praise and adoration, burgeoning happiness and pride made her want to cheer, to laugh…to hope.

  Splaying her fingers through his hair, she was torn between the need to explore the images of a future she’d previously refused to allow herself to contemplate and simply seizing the pleasure of this moment for fear it would be gone too quickly. A thousand questions raged for answers in her coherency-depleted brain, but when she finally regathered some measure of composure she asked only one…

  ‘Reb…’ she said, her body revelling in the movement of his mouth and her fingers the silky texture of his hair. ‘Why…did you stop yourself from coming in?’

  The question instantly stilled him. He sighed heavily before answering.

  ‘Because,’ he said finally, his head still downcast, ‘at that moment I wanted you more…harder…and faster than ever before. There was a ferocity to my desire, to my need, that made me terrified I might inadvertently harm the baby. And,’ he said quickly, before she could voice a response, ‘and…’

  His lengthy pause, stretching beyond what could at best be called uncharacteristic hesitancy, sent a trigger of apprehension through her. Yet something told her not to leave well enough alone.

  ‘And…?’ she prompted, despite her misgivings.

  He lifted his head and reached gently to cup her cheek. ‘And I was afraid that I wouldn’t be able to control my lust,’ he admitted, ‘because God knows it wasn’t just a sexual lust that any female could’ve gratified or I could have dealt with myself… This was an…an emotional lust that could only be satisfied by the mother of my child. But I was terrified that the sheer potency—the urgency of what I was feeling—would reduce the whole thing, in your eyes at least, to a wam-bam-thank-you-ma’am exercise.’

  Relief had Amanda-Jayne’s heart thumping so loud she couldn’t hear herself think. Couldn’t formulate anything that might come out even remotely coherently. It wasn’t a declaration of love—his use of the phrase ‘the mother of my child’ was fairly generic compared to saying you—but the sentiment behind what he’d said, and his reason for doing what he had, had her spirits and her hopes soaring so high they must surely have reached heaven already.

  Spontaneous laughter bubbled up out of her, but she pulled his mouth down to hers for a kiss before he could produce more than a hint of a frown.

  ‘I’ve only got one question,’ she said. ‘Is the reason you’re still dressed some new-fangled braking system you’re testing on your libido for fear an eruption of your…er…emotional lust might harm the baby?’

  The comically sheepish face he pulled gave her the answer.

  ‘Well, in that case…’ she grinned ‘…I suggest you start losing the clothes real fast, or the only person who’s going to come to harm is you, Reb Browne!’ She shoved at his chest. ‘When I knock you out and start ripping them off you!’

  ‘Yes, ma’am!’ Wearing a mile-wide grin, he was peeling off his jacket even as he leapt from the bed. ‘Anything you say, ma’am!’

  ‘You can cut the “ma’am”, stuff,’ she said, enjoying his eager strip. ‘Because you’re got a while to go before we reach the wam-bam part…’ She waved the oil bottle. ‘You haven’t finished the lubrication job you started yet…’

  CHAPTER TEN

  AMA
NDA-JAYNE looked back on that night and regarded it as the time her brain had eventually stopped tuning out her heart and she’d finally come to accept that she loved Bad Boy Reb Browne with every ounce of her being, her spirit and her soul. Of course accepting a situation and celebrating it were two entirely different things, since Reb hadn’t said he felt the same way.

  Oh, he’d indicated that he liked her a lot, even cared deeply for her, but the words ‘I love you’ hadn’t been forthcoming. She might have been tempted to believe the concern he showed for her health signified much deeper feelings than mere friendship, had Savvy, Gunna and especially Debbie not routinely commented that he’d been equally solicitous of Debbie when she’d been pregnant. The only other way of interpreting his actions towards her was to view them as a deliberate attempt to drive her crazy!

  He’d forbidden her to lift anything that weighed more than a tub of butter. Refused to let her drive anywhere unaccompanied. Upbraided her whenever she went up or down the stairs at anything more than geriatric pace and asked her several times a day if she’d taken her vitamins, had her quota of milk and how she was feeling. This morning he’d expressed concern over the fact that she’d locked the bathroom door when she was in there.

  ‘What would happen if you slipped and knocked yourself unconscious in the shower?’ he’d asked.

  And he hadn’t been amused with her glib response of, ‘Not a lot, until the water went cold and brought me around again.’

  However, the good fortune she felt at just having a caring husband if not the loving one she craved was enough for her to accept his over-protectiveness with good humour.

  ‘That’s a knock-out dress—’ Reb’s voice was thick with amusement ‘—but I think you’re carrying a bit too much in front these days to fit into it.’

  Typically her heart did a jig at the sound of his voice before going into the splits at the sexy picture he made clad in grease-stained clothes, braced against the bedroom doorway. She wasn’t sure her intended glare was very credible when she said, ‘I could have sworn I mentioned I was becoming particularly sensitive to fat jokes these days.’