Ooh Baby, Baby

by Diana K. Whitney

  Simple wisdom, eloquently expressed by a deceptively complex man. Peggy couldn’t stop a fresh flow of tears.

  He brushed them away, smoothed back a tangle of hair. “I’d give anything I have to take those tears away,” he whispered. “It kills me to see you so unhappy.”

  “I’m not unhappy.” A husky laugh bubbled from her throat as if to prove it. “In fact, I’ve never been happier in my life.”

  He was plainly mystified by her response. “Women sure have a peculiar way of showing such things.”

  “Yes, we do.” She touched his face, stroked the roughened stubble of cheek and chin, saw his eyes widen in surprise. His hand stilled against her wrist, his thumb poised over the pulse as she used her free hand to trace the rugged outline of his jaw. “My mother always said that men and women were so different that she sometimes wondered if we were really all part of the same species. She told me that men didn’t feel things the way women did, that they weren’t capable of looking beyond their own needs. But she was wrong, Travis. She was wrong because she’d never met a man like you.”

  Unnerved, Travis shifted just enough that his raised knee brushed her outer thigh, then spun away as if singed. His Adam’s apple twitched. “I’m nothing special.”

  “You’re special to me,” she whispered, feathering her fingertips through his hat-tousled hair. It was soft, gliding between her fingers like strands of fine silk. The sensation was incredibly erotic, intimate. She indulged her hunger for more, tracing the sturdy ridge of his brow, the sharp strength of his cheekbones, the sexy softness of his sculpted mouth.

  A muscle below his ear quivered and his eyes glittered, reflecting sparse light with sensual intensity. Travis caught her stroking hand, brushed his lips across her palm. His eyes fluttered shut for a moment, and when he looked up at her, they were filled with need. “You’re special to me, too, honey, but—” Travis took a shuddering breath, laid her hands gently on her lap. “But you’re feeling kind of sad right now. It wouldn’t be right for me to take advantage of that.”

  “Do I look sad?”

  He gazed up and his jaw drooped.

  “Well?” Peggy touched the zippered tab at the throat of her robe, lowered it slowly. “Do I?”

  “You look—” he swallowed hard “—beautiful.”

  “Then, show me I’m beautiful.” The robe gaped open, exposing bare skin, a hint of cleavage. “Show me I’m special.” She leaned forward, clasped his dear face between her trembling palms, whispered against his lips. “I want to make love with you, Travis.” Then she proved it with her kiss.

  Chapter Fourteen

  The kiss was explosive, a fiery release from weeks of denial and self-imposed restraint. Stars whirled through Peggy’s mind, the fanciful fireworks of passionate poets and bawdy bards, a stunning surge of sensation blending desperate desire with aching sweetness.

  She clung to him, pulled him closer, thrilled to his instant response. Travis rose up, lurched forward, pressed her back against the mattress. Their mouths were moist and frantic. Hands sought skin, frenzied fingers memorized the planes of face, the tangled texture of hair.

  The kiss deepened, a burst of intimacy that sent liquid fire coursing through her veins, a molten heat of pure need that went beyond anything she’d ever experienced.

  It was a rhapsody of the soul, the erotic essence of romantic novels and sensual sonnets, of girlhood dreams and grown-up desires, a peculiar paradox of carnal chastity that was incredibly potent, unbelievably powerful, utterly profound. She could have devoured him, consumed every succulent fiber of his goodness, his masculine power.

  It was everything she’d ever yearned for, ever dreamed of.

  And then it was over.

  With a ragged gasp, Travis turned away, pushed himself upright. Peggy sucked air, opened her eyes and saw him stagger to a standing position beside the bed, swaying slightly and raking his hair. She propped up on her elbows, blinking blurred vision into focus. “Travis…?”

  His face contorted, a hand extended in silent plea. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have, I never meant to—” A shuddering sigh shook him to his boots. “I ought to be shot.”

  “What?” She struggled upright, sat on the edge of the mattress, trembling, craning her neck to look up. “I don’t understand, Travis. Are you angry with me?”

  “Angry? Oh, Lord, no, I—” He wiped his face with his hands, peered over his fingertips. “What I did wasn’t right, wasn’t right at all. Time was a man would be horse-whipped for taking such liberties with a lady.”

  If he hadn’t been so genuinely distraught, Peggy would have had a hard time holding back a smile at the quaint euphemism. “You were born in the wrong century, Travis Stockwell. In this day and age, ladies have the right to be the seducer as well as seducee. Which, I might add, is exactly what was happening here.” She stood, smoothed the shirt fabric that her grasping hands had wrinkled and angled a shy peek from beneath partially lowered lids. “I have to admit that I’m not exactly used to being the aggressor in these, um, situations.”

  Travis’s eyes glazed. “Situations?”

  “I was hoping to ravish you. Since we’re discussing it instead of actually doing it, I plainly haven’t succeeded.”

  It took a minute for the impact of her words to reach his eyes, which snapped wide open and stared in what could have been either disbelief or utter horror.

  Suddenly besieged by embarrassed doubt, Peggy fidgeted with the front of his shirt, avoided his stunned stare and found her fingers dancing around the first snap. It was a turning point, she realized. If she lowered her hands, remained mute, Travis would retreat quietly and never speak of this again. It would always be there, of course, a silent, sexual yearning stretching the folds of their friendship, a friendship that Peggy cherished deeply and didn’t want to lose.

  But friendship wasn’t enough. She wanted more, perhaps more than Travis was willing to provide. And there was desperate urgency in her need to share, to express, to give. Emotions surged forth with uncontrollable power, an unfathomable hunger to care for him, to nurture him. To love him.

  She stared at the shirt snap, oddly fascinated by its pearlescent luster encircled by a glint of gleaming silver. A tug would release it. A tiny, gentle tug.

  The soft metallic pop reverberated like thunder. Travis went rigid. For a moment, Peggy feared he’d stop her, but he didn’t.

  So she stared at the second snap.

  Pop.

  And the third.

  Pop.

  A ripple of smooth skin was exposed, slick and shining in the reflection of hallway light that sprayed into the darkened room. Peggy bit her lip, entranced by the muscular perfection, the masculine power, most of which was still concealed beneath the thin cotton. She fisted her fingers in the fabric, jerked the fasteners apart.

  Pop, pop, pop.

  Her breath caught in her throat, her gaze zeroed on the arrow of brown hair encircling his navel, slipping down into the waist of his low-slung jeans. Magnificent. She’d never considered the human body as a work of art, but Travis’s was truly superb, an exquisite sculpture of muscle and bone, of animalistic power and aristocratic grace that weakened her knees, sent her heart racing in anticipation.

  Gathering her courage, she laid her palms against his warm chest, felt the pounding of his heart through her fingertips. Her eyelids fluttered shut, allowing her to see with her touch, to absorb every nuance of polished contour, every subtle twitch beneath her seeking fingers.

  Then he suddenly took hold of her wrists, held them away.

  Startled, she looked up. Every trace of moisture evaporated from her mouth.

  Travis gazed deep into her eyes with an expression she couldn’t identify. It could have been desire; it could have been disapproval; it could even have been fear. “You don’t have to do this, honey. You don’t owe me anything.”

  “Is that what you think, that I’m trying to repay a debt?”

  He shuffled, kept his grip firm. �
�Well, no, of course not, only—”

  “Only it’s not called prostitution unless there’s an exchange of hard cash?”

  Travis couldn’t have looked more horrified. “I didn’t mean that, I swear to—”

  “Sh.” When he released her, she laid a gentle finger against his lips. “I know you didn’t.” She moistened her lips, shored up her courage. “This is a big step. I understand that, and if you’re not comfortable with a change in our relationship, well, I understand that, too.” She tried for a bright smile. Failing that, she settled for staring at the floor, feeling like a complete and utter fool. “Timing has never been my strong suit.”

  “Peggy—”

  “So, what should we do with that chicken? I can bake it, I suppose, and I can mash up some potatoes. I’m not too good with gravy, but—”

  Travis caught her shoulders as she rose to her feet and tried to swing past him. She turned her head to conceal the sheen of humiliated tears. “But I might have some cream of chicken soup or something.”

  Embracing her gently, Travis cradled her in his arms. Melting against him was probably the wrong thing to do, but Peggy couldn’t help herself. His warmth was so enticing, his tenderness so exquisite, that she automatically buried her face in the smooth curve of his shoulder. A relieved shudder caught like a tiny sob. He whispered something—she didn’t know what—and brushed his lips across her ruffled hair.

  “I do want you,” he murmured quietly. “So bad that every inch of me aches for you and my heart’s near ready to burst. I just want you to be sure that you won’t regret anything later. It’d kill me if we, you know, and then you were sorry after.” He slipped a knuckle under her chin, urging her to look up at him. “All I want is for you to be happy.”

  “You make me happy, Travis.”

  He caressed her cheek, absorbing the tears onto his fingertips, then lowered his mouth to hers. The kiss was sweet, soft, so tender that it made her heart ache. She never realized how lush a man’s lips could be, how honeyed and gentle.

  Travis tightened his embrace, and the kiss became more urgent, more demanding. Peggy’s body responded. Before she realized what was happening, her arms had magically slipped beneath his loosened clothing, and her hands splayed over the firm, rolling muscles of his back.

  The fire built more slowly this time, gently, without the frenzy of fear that had exploded within them only moments ago. Now there was time, time to explore and to savor, to cherish the depth of love that remained unspoken, yet was nonetheless real.

  Peggy stepped back, tugged his shirt out of his jeans and pushed it back to reveal lean shoulders, strong, corded biceps. He shrugged off the garment, let it puddle at his feet. He brushed the bodice of her velour robe, the one he’d given her only weeks ago. His fingertip traced the lace opening, paused at the zipper tab that was poised at the dip between her breasts.

  He took a massive breath, let it out all at once. “Are you sure it’s, you know, okay? I mean, the twins are only ten weeks old. I don’t want to hurt you or anything.”

  “You won’t hurt me.” She took his hesitant hand, pinching the zipper tab between his index finger and thumb.

  “Are you sure?”

  “The doctor gave me the green light weeks ago.” During her final postpartum exam. Peggy had thought the man insane to imply that she’d ever consider indulging in such activity again.

  Boy, was she indulging.

  The rasp of her robe zipper sent chills down her spine. She shivered, felt the soft fabric float away from her bare shoulders. A draft brushed her belly as the robe slithered down her torso, pooled at her feet.

  At her feet.

  Peggy’s eyes flew open in panic. Nudity, she suddenly realized, was a fundamental expectation of sex. There she was, clad only in an unattractive flapped bra and sensible cotton panties, beneath which lurked a small tummy pouch and a road map of silvery stretch marks.

  Since the twins’ birth, her body had about as much sex appeal as an inflated balloon. She crossed her arms over her chest, tried to suck in her saggy belly. “Umm, it’s chilly in here, don’t you think?” It was hotter than a glazing oven. “We’d be cozier in bed, and—”

  Travis gently uncrossed her arms, gazed lovingly at her slightly misshapen torso.

  “Less exposed,” she finished lamely.

  “You’re so beautiful,” he murmured, caressing her waist with his fingertips. “So soft and sweet and kind of, well…”

  “Squishy?”

  He blinked. “Ah, truth is that I was thinking that your skin was velvety as a healthy mare’s nose, but that didn’t seem romantic enough. Cowboys aren’t real poetic,” he added apologetically.

  Peggy smothered a smile, fought the urge to wrap herself in bedclothes. “I think it’s very romantic.”

  He cocked his head, smiling. “Then, why do you have the wild-eyed look of a calf being branded?”

  “Maybe because I feel like a darned cow.” When his smile faded into a mystified frown, she angled a hateful glance at the light spilling in from the hall. “I’m a bit self-conscious at the moment. If we could just close the door—”

  “Your body is beautiful,” Travis whispered. A startled glance confirmed that he was gazing at her as if she was the most precious person on earth. “It’s a woman’s body, full and lush, and incredibly sexy.” A gentle caress swept the bra straps over her shoulders, then he pinched the front fastener and the garment fluttered away.

  Eyes glowing with appreciation, he tested the soft weight of her breasts, traced tiny blue veins with his fingertips. “Freckles,” he murmured, clearly delighted with his discovery. “Freckles everywhere, all the way around them. I wondered about that….”

  The words drifted away as he brushed his thumbs over the darkened tips, and she shivered with sensation. When he bent to kiss each nipple, her knees turned to water, and she grasped his shoulders to keep from collapsing. He pressed his face to her belly, nuzzled her warmth and expertly removed her panties.

  Kneeling now, Travis continued to excite the delicate areas of her torso and inner thighs with his fluttering fingertips, his soft, stroking lips. “Red,” he whispered against the fluff of auburn at the apex of her thighs. “Like an autumn forest.” Then he parted her and tasted.

  Peggy gasped, clutched at him and would have collapsed on the spot had he not been hugging her hips. It was so exquisite, so impossibly magnificent, that she couldn’t suppress a cry of pure joy.

  He loved her until she trembled with ecstasy, until her body shook with explosive release. Then he lowered her to the bed, whispering sweet words that filled her heart, her mind, yet were indistinguishable from the plethora of sensation that ignited her body into a conflagration of desire.

  She felt the mattress dip as he sat to pull off his boots. There was a quiet thud, then another. He removed his jeans, tossed them aside and was crawling beside her when he suddenly frowned, turned away.

  Confused, Peggy propped on one elbow, saw him rifling through the pockets of his discarded jeans. When he found what he sought, he dropped the garment, fiddled with something, then turned back and took her into his arms.

  Peggy knew without looking that he was wearing a condom, and her heart swelled with love. She drew him to her, brushed her lips across his collarbone, felt the moist ricochet of her breath against his slickened skin. She was awash with feelings, with sound, smell, sensation, all blended into an incredible blur of exquisite sensitivity. Her mind whirled with silent whispers, soulful pleas.

  Love me. Stay with me. Promise you’ll never leave.

  Travis laced his fingers with hers, gazed deeply into her eyes. “I’ll always be here for you. Always.”

  I need you.

  “I know, honey, I know.”

  Then he moved over her, into her, and swept her away with the sweet fire of his love.

  * * *

  Travis lay awake in the darkness, watching Peggy sleep. She was cuddled against him like a trusting puppy, with her sweet
face nested against his chest. His arm was numb, but he’d have cut it off before he’d have disturbed her. She looked so peaceful, so sated and content. He loved the way her parted lips vibrated with each sleeping breath. She was everything he’d ever wanted in a woman, a lover, a mate.

  A mate, a lifetime commitment. Once those words would have sent him sprinting for the highway, sweating like a horse rode hard and put away wet.

  Funny, he mused, twirling a red curl around his finger. Not only was he still here, he’d actually made that commitment out loud.

  Always.

  That meant he’d never leave her, that he’d spend the rest of his life caring for Peggy and the babies, protecting them, making them happy.

  The strangest part of all was that he wasn’t frightened by that, nor did he fear the responsibility of taking on a ready-made family. In fact, he relished it, realized that there was nothing on earth he wanted more. Peggy and the twins needed him. For the first time in his life, Travis wasn’t frightened by that. He actually felt up to the challenge.

  Maybe it was time to settle down. Maybe it wasn’t.

  Not that it mattered. Travis couldn’t back out now. He’d promised Peggy that he’d never abandon her, that he’d never leave.

  A cowboy never breaks his promise.

  * * *

  Baby squeaks had barely evolved past the test stage when Peggy awakened. She cherished the moment, the warmth of Travis’s smooth chest beneath her cheek, the rhythmic heave of his breath, the erotic scent of him and of her, mingled to create the unique fragrance of their lovemaking. Her happiness was a tangible entity, solid enough to grasp, to embrace, to fill the emptiness. She felt whole, complete.

  Peggy rose slowly, taking care not to disturb her sleeping lover. Lover. What a beautiful word, possibly the most exquisite noun in the entire English language. She smiled, wishing she could touch his face, smooth his hair. But he needed rest, so she withdrew quietly, retrieved her robe from the floor and slipped it on.