by Bonnie Pega
“Please stay.”
“Zac—”
“That film festival is on, you know. We could watch it together, like you told Hannah.”
“I don’t know.”
“Jupiter’s Moon comes on in a few minutes,” Zac said slyly. “I seem to remember you saying that was one of your favorites. If you leave now, you’ll miss the first part of it.”
“I guess I could stay.”
“What do you want to do with the baby?”
Libby’s eyebrows went up. “You mean you’re not dying to hold her all night?”
“I could hold her for a few more minutes while you fix a place for her to sleep. Hannah wouldn’t mind if you used the bassinet over there.”
“She looks good in your arms,” Libby said wistfully as she went over to straighten the covers in the bassinet.
“Don’t get any ideas.”
“Hey, I was just stating a fact,” she said over her shoulder.
“You’d look great in my arms.”
“Zac—”
He sighed in exasperation. “Sorry.” There was silence for a moment, then Zac muttered, “Damn!”
“What’s wrong?”
“My pants leg suddenly feels warm and wet. Does that give you a clue?”
Libby grimaced. “I’m sorry. Here, give her to me.”
“With great pleasure.” He handed the baby to Libby and looked down at the large dark spot on his khaki trousers. He headed into the kitchen to get a paper towel. Or maybe a whole handful.
Libby changed Victoria and was tucking her in the bassinet when Zac came back into the room. She could see where Zac had apparently stuffed paper towels in his trouser leg to keep the damp fabric off his thigh. Libby bit back a grin at his disgruntled look.
“I don’t have anything to change into, so this will have to do.” He sat back down on the sofa and held out a hand to her. “Come here.”
“Um, isn’t it about time for the movie?” Libby hedged, going to the television and fiddling with the dials. “What channel? Oh, here it is.” The screen showed the opening credits.
“So come here and sit down with me to watch it.”
“I think the view is better from over here.”
She indicated a soft blue velour recliner.
“The view is great from here,” Zac said with appreciation as he watched the denim pull tight over her bottom as she bent over to tug at her boot. “If your feet hurt, feel free to take off your boots.” Please.
“Thanks. How’d you know my feet hurt?”
He hadn’t. He’d only hoped. “Well, the boots look kind of new,” he ventured.
“They are new and the leather hasn’t had a chance to give yet.” She sat on the edge of the chair and tugged at one.
“Let me.” Zac knelt in front of the chair and took a deep breath. Only sliding her panties off could have been sexier, he thought as he gently slid off one boot and laid it aside. With iron control he kept his hands from shaking as he massaged her foot through the sock for a moment.
“Mmm, nice,” she murmured.
He removed the other boot and massaged that foot, then slipped the sock off. He gently cradled her foot in his hand and rubbed the tension away, massaging each toe, then her instep, then her heel.
God, she had beautiful feet—slim and dainty, her well-manicured toenails painted shell-pink. “Have you ever worn red nail polish?” he found himself asking, vaguely surprised at the husky sound to his voice. His fingers lingered on her feet in a gentle caress.
Libby had closed her eyes in pleasure and opened them again at his question. “Why do you ask?”
“Just curious,” he said. “I happen to think red nail polish is very attractive.” He lightly ran his fingers over the sole of her foot. When she shivered in response, he did it again. She was ticklish. Not a lot, but enough to be sexy.
“The movie is coming on,” she said, her voice the least bit unsteady.
“Do you want me to stop?” He ran his fingers over the other foot, desire coiling like an overwound watch in his stomach.
“No. Yes, I mean, I don’t want to miss the movie.”
“If that’s what you want.” His fingers lingered a moment, then he stood, turning quickly so she wouldn’t see the heavy arousal pressing against his zipper. What was there about those slender little feet that made him long to get his hands on them—or on her?
“Come sit next to me on the sofa,” he urged. “Just for a little while.”
“I really ought to go check on the babies.”
“They’ll let you know if they need anything. Babies are good at that.”
“Maybe a snack—”
“Come here, Libby.” He held out his hand.
Slowly, almost reluctantly, she walked over to the sofa and put her hand in his. He tugged gently, and she sat next to him on the sofa. “This isn’t such a good idea,” she whispered. “You know what happens when we—when we—”
“Get too close?”
“You’re finishing my sentences again,” she complained, but smiled as she said it.
“Nothing will happen that you don’t want. You know that.” He twisted his body slightly so he could see her face.
“Zac, I’ve always wanted whatever happened to happen. That doesn’t stop me from genuinely believing that it’s not a good idea. At least not while we’re poles apart in our thinking.” She looked up to find him watching her, then looked back down at her hands, vaguely surprised to find them twisted together in her lap.
“Our bodies aren’t poles apart.”
“No, I’d say they’re more like an inch or so apart. But our wants are.”
“What I want is you. And you want me too. You know you do.”
“I don’t want to discuss what you or I want. I want to discuss what I don’t want. And I don’t want to discuss this anymore.”
“You want to try repeating that?” Zac said with a grin.
“No.” She couldn’t help smiling back. “I want to watch the movie.”
Zac took a deep breath. “If that’s what you want, then your wish is my command.” He sat back and draped a casual arm around her shoulder, pulling her back to rest against him. He made no further move.
After a few minutes Libby cast a suspicious glance in his direction. He merely met her gaze with a beatific smile. “Great movie.”
Libby turned her attention back to the television. So he had backed down as she’d asked. She wasn’t sure whether she was relieved—or miserable.
They sat, side by side, watching the movie in companionable silence. Even though part of Libby was disappointed that he hadn’t continued to try to seduce her, part of her appreciated his thought-fulness in giving her the time she believed might make things clearer.
Unfortunately, the more time she spent with Zac, the less clear things became. He didn’t have to touch her at all for the physical attraction to get in the way. All she had to do was hear his rough-soft voice or feel his chocolate-brown gaze on her. And lacking his presence, her imagination did an outstanding job of thinking of these things on its own.
Sitting next to him on the sofa was stretching her imagination to the limits. She was acutely aware of his arm around her and the way the fingers of his hand brushed her collarbone. Her imagination took it a step—or two—further and had those same strong hands stroking her breasts, sliding down over her stomach, cupping her bottom.
Even in the first flush of her youthful infatuation with Bobby she’d never felt like this. Libby drew in a deep breath, wriggled slightly, and tried to focus her attention on the movie. But it wasn’t easy when she could see only the mist of desire in front of her.
“Something wrong?” Zac turned to look at her.
That’s when she made her mistake. She turned her head and met his gaze head-on. When she saw the hunger displayed so blatantly in his eyes, she was lost. How could she fight the unfightable? How could she stop the unstoppable? With a sigh she surrendered gracefully to fate.
> Zac ran his free hand down the side of her face, then laced his fingers through her hair. He lowered his head to hers and kissed one corner of her mouth, then the other. He kissed the tip of her nose, each eyelid, and pressed a trail of kisses along her jaw. But he didn’t take her lips until Libby brought up her hands and threaded her fingers imperiously through his thick mahogany waves and opened her mouth to his.
With a groan he swept in, his tongue dueling and dancing with hers while he pressed her closer. He tugged her T-shirt free of her jeans and ran hungry hands over her back, then around front to cup her breasts through the sleek fabric of her bra.
When his thumbs found her sensitive nipples, she made a low sound in the back of her throat—a sound he caught with his mouth and echoed back to her. With a single snap he unfastened her bra and pulled it up to expose her breasts to his seeking hands. Libby shivered and closed her eyes. She didn’t want this, yet she’d never wanted anything more. And more than anything, she wanted to touch him. She needed to touch him.
She smoothed her hands over the front of his maroon sweatshirt, the soft cotton teasing her fingertips. His sharply indrawn breath encouraged her to explore further, and she let her hands roam over his broad, muscled chest, relishing the slight give of his firm muscles.
But soon even that contact wasn’t enough. She wanted more. Zac seemed to know what she wanted, and he released her just long enough to impatiently tug his sweatshirt free of his trousers and over his head, tossing it on the floor. He took her hands and placed the palms flat on his chest. “Yes. Touch me, baby,” he whispered. “Touch me too.”
He looked down and watched her hands glide over his chest, circling through the crisp curls of hair. He pressed her hand to him. “Feel my heart beat, Libby. Feel it race.”
Wordlessly, she did the same to him, showing him that her heart beat every bit as hard and as fast as his. Then she took her hands and ran them both back over his chest, covering each flat nipple with her palm. He reached out and did the same to her, cupping her breasts in his hands for a moment before laying his palms over her nipples. “Show me how you want me to touch you,” he whispered hoarsely.
Libby circled her thumbs around his nipples, then waited as he did the same to hers. She wasn’t leaking, she thought with vague surprise as she slid her hands to his shoulders and held on for dear life.
Slowly Zac eased her back on the sofa until her head rested against the arm. He kissed her breasts one at a time, then his lips traced a path down to the button at the waist of her jeans. He tried to slide it undone but couldn’t. “Damn button-front jeans,” he muttered with breathless humor against the skin of her stomach.
Libby squeaked out, “Sorry.”
“Don’t ever wear them again,” he ordered huskily as he managed to work the button open, then started on the next. The last button undone, Zac slid his hand inside the waist of her jeans and ran his fingers around the lacy edge of her bikini panties.
“Zac.” Her voice was a breathy whisper, a plea for him to end this torment—and to never stop.
He answered the plea by sliding his hand over the smooth skin of her stomach to the downy curls that guarded her womanly secrets. Libby arched her hips against his questing fingers. “You’re so hot, so sweet,” he groaned, and proceeded to investigate further.
An ear-splitting scream broke the silence, and Libby stiffened. “Victoria.” She scrambled to sit up, then fumbled with her bra and blouse before hurrying to pick up the crying baby. Zac sat up, dropping his head into his hands, but only for a moment, as Victoria’s cries were answered by a sudden wail from the bedroom. “Damn,” Zac muttered. He tugged on his sweatshirt and went to get his nephew.
It was as if the room had been wired for stereo. The babies cried in unison for the next half hour. Zac and Libby passed each other in the middle of the floor as they paced back and forth, wailing babies on their shoulders. No sooner had they gotten one baby quiet than the other would let out a howl and the first baby would join back in. Finally they managed to get them both quiet at the same time. Nicky gave a big toothless smile, burped, and spit up on his uncle’s sweatshirt.
Libby had to grin as first shock, then realization, then pure and utter disgust registered on Zac’s face. It was just as well that Libby couldn’t make out what Zac muttered as he put Nicky in the bassinet and stalked into the kitchen.
A few minutes later he was back with a huge wet spot on his sweatshirt. “I swear, it’s like a conspiracy or something,” he complained mildly when he came back into the living room. “Last time I saw Matt’s babies, one leaked on my pants leg, the other drooled down my back. Now Victoria and Nicky.”
This was the first time Zac had called Victoria by her name, Libby thought, even if it was in the context of a complaint. Was she beginning to make progress? “Speaking of leaking, I think Nicky’s terry suit looks damp. If you want to take Cupcake, I’ll change him.”
Zac looked at Victoria, who was still chewing on her fist and making little grunts and whimpers that threatened to turn into sobs. He then looked at Nicky, now happy and kicking in his bassinet, a big damp spot in front. He decided to take his chances with him.
His nephew really was kind of cute when he wasn’t fussing, Zac decided. He definitely had the determined chin and dark eyes of a true Webster. As Zac removed the wet diaper Nicky cooed and gurgled and kicked his legs in the fresh air. This wasn’t so hard, Zac thought.
“Look at him. He’s having the time of his life.”
“Um, Zac? There’s something you ought to know about little boy babies.”
“What?”
“It’s probably not a good idea to leave his—him exposed while you look for another diaper,” she warned.
“Hey, I’m on a roll now. He’ll be fine.” Zac went into the nursery and came out with a diaper and another stretch terry suit. He knelt down next to the bassinet.
“Hey.” Zac stared at the droplets glistening on Nicky’s legs and stomach. “How did everything get so wet?”
“Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” Libby smirked at him over Victoria’s head.
“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Zac muttered. He stood, reached down in his trousers, and pulled out the wad of paper towels he’d stuffed in his pants leg. With a sigh he blotted the baby, his knee, then the floor.
When he’d finished, he took a contented and yawning Nicky back to his room and tucked him in the crib. He left the door cracked so he could hear if the baby cried again. Libby, meanwhile, tried putting Victoria back in the bassinet, but the minute she put her down, the baby began fretting.
She looked up and met Zac’s gaze. “I’m going to try nursing her. I don’t think she’s really hungry, but she acts like she could use the comfort.” Sitting at one end of the sofa, she tugged up the bottom of her T-shirt. Zac sat at the other end of the sofa, watching intently.
Libby gave him an embarrassed smile, then turned away slightly, but Zac said, “No. Don’t. Let me watch. I’d like to watch, Libby.”
EIGHT
Her gaze met his and held as she unfastened one cup of her nursing bra. Zac’s eyebrows rose. “Neat trick. I didn’t notice they did that before, or I might not have bothered with the back fastener.”
A half-smile curved his lips as he watched Libby lower her flustered gaze to the eagerly rooting baby. Zac saw her place her fingers on her breast, positioning it just right. She looked up again as Victoria fastened greedily on her nipple. Zac looked from her face to the suckling baby and back, noting the warmth that glowed from her midnight-blue eyes.
He couldn’t look away from the scene in front of him—a loving maternal, yet strangely erotic scene. He had a sudden vision of Libby leaning back into his chest, his arms around her, while he held her breast for the baby.
“What does that feel like to you?” he asked softly.
“It—I don’t know—it feels good.” She stopped for a moment, as if searching for the words. “It makes me feel … warm and … connected.” She
sighed. “It’s hard to explain.”
“It doesn’t hurt? I mean, she sucks so hard.”
“I was very tender and sore in the beginning, but I got used to it after a week or two, and now it doesn’t hurt at all.”
Zac watched until he saw Victoria’s eyes close and her suckling become less ferocious, less regular, more intermittent. Libby traced the tip of a finger down the side of her baby’s face with so much love in her eyes, it almost hurt to see it.
Suddenly Zac thought he understood what Libby had tried to tell him before about setting an example. If he had someone who needed and depended on him the way Victoria needed and depended on Libby, he, too, would do whatever he had to for that person.
Maybe she was right that she and Zac were too different, that each needed something the other couldn’t provide. He wanted a warm, passionate, willing, and temporary lover. Libby wanted, needed, deserved permanence. Okay, so maybe she was half right. He knew that she was warm and passionate and he wanted her with an ache that went beyond physical. No doubt about it. She was right for him. Perfect.
Maybe it was only that he was wrong for her.
By the time Victoria had gone to sleep, the movie was almost over. Zac and Libby sat in silence staring at the television. Zac couldn’t have described what they were watching, not even if he’d been offered a thousand dollars.
Libby also seemed to be having trouble concentrating. She picked at the nail polish on her thumb, she twirled her hair, she twisted her birth-stone ring around and around her finger. Zac, watching her in fascination, wondered where her serenity had gone. He’d never before seen her without it.
His own head felt like a busy intersection in five o’clock traffic. Thoughts, ideas, memories, all rushed by each other stopping only momentarily. He pictured Meggy, Pamela’s daughter. He’d gone to Pam’s for dinner, but the evening had been a disaster. Meggy had whined and fretted and finally kicked Zac in the leg and shouted that she hated him before running to her room in tears.
There was a picture of Matt and Alice’s red-haired cherubs who’d screamed as soon as they’d been placed in their uncle Zac’s arms. And a picture of Nicky as he’d been earlier this evening, wailing inconsolably.