Baby by Design

by Paula Detmer Riggs

  His head still felt thick and dull as he opened the door and walked in. A cloud of steam enveloped him in a swirl of warmth, obscuring his vision. Quickly he closed the door, then turned toward the glass-enclosed shower. Through the mist he saw the pink outline of Raine's back, the plump white mounds of her lush bottom, the gracefully tapering slope of her spine.

  He felt a momentary surge of emotion, the soft, dangerous kind that he hated. The kind that made a strong man weak. After spending half his life in one war zone or another, he knew better than most that a weak man was a dead man. But a surge of sexual heat flooding a man's loins, now that was an emotion he could handle. Even seek.

  It took only an instant to strip, another to open the shower door.

  Raine turned quickly, her eyes huge as she backed into the tiled wall behind her. "Morgan, for heaven's sake—"

  "Oh no, honey. This is definitely for my sake."

  The stall was standard issue, but given his size and her protruding belly, it was a close fit. He felt the warmth of the spray on his face and the scald of desire running over his skin. Lord, but she was magnificent. A fertility goddess come to life.

  "Don't," she murmured, putting out a hand to keep him at bay.

  Afraid to push for more, he touched her face with his fingertips, a mere whisper of a caress before letting his hand fall away. He felt his muscles coil, ready to drag her against him. Eighteen long, endless, lonely months compressed into a stark, clawing moment of need. He let the hunger take hold, hot talons in his flesh, before summoning the will to beat it down.

  Timing, he told himself. He was supposed to be a master of it. It was all in knowing when to be patient, and when to push.

  "Turn around," he ordered with a patented Morgan Paxton grin that came harder than it should. "I'll wash your back."

  He saw the surprise come into her eyes, followed by a flash of confusion that had him smiling inside. He rubbed his itchy palm against his belly and took another loop around his impatience.

  "No thank you, I can manage," she said with stiff dignity that was spoiled somewhat by the ridiculous pink puffy thing in her hand that was presently mashed against his shoulder.

  "Didn't say you couldn't."

  He cupped her shoulders lightly and nudged her into a little turn. She planted her feet wide and resisted. He could have forced her, but that was neither his style nor his inclination.

  Patience and persistence, he told himself with a mental sigh.

  "Honey, didn't your mama ever tell you never to refuse a generous impulse?"

  She frowned, drew in a breath. "Morgan, why are you doing this?" she demanded as the warm water pulsed between them, a slick transparent curtain.

  "I thought that was pretty obvious, angel face. I want to be with you. Since you're in the shower, that's where I am, too."

  "That's nonsense," she sputtered, sliding sideways as though intending to slip past him.

  "True story," he said, blocking her escape by propping a hand against the wall.

  "Uh-huh."

  She moved one bare shoulder. He doubted she intended the slight movement to be provocative, but he had a sudden urge to drop a kiss on the sleek slope. Right where a little clutch of freckles spattered her collarbone.

  "You don't believe me?"

  She nudged her chin higher. "There's missing and then there's missing."

  "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

  "It means you only miss me when it's convenient for you to miss me."

  Morgan felt anger spike through the sexual hunger gripping him. Controlling it, he dropped his head and stared down at the water swirling into the drain between them.

  "I gotta tell you, Raine, for an intelligent woman, you can be damned stupid sometimes."

  She drew in another fast little breath. "Not stupid. Realistic."

  She lifted a hand to brush a lock of brown hair away from her forehead. "It's taken me a while to stop believing in fairy tales, but losing a child helped."

  He felt a hard slug of pain. Habit allowed him to absorb it without visible reaction.

  "I'm willing to cut you slack for sleeping with another man, though my old man would already have been loading his shotgun. I'm even fixing to forgive you. What more do you want from me?"

  "A divorce." The answer came too quickly, too forcefully.

  "No."

  Raine felt the numbness she'd gathered around herself like a shield begin to thin at the edges. She wasn't used to standing in a hot, wet shower stall with her tummy resembling a watermelon and a very large, very much in control naked man looming over her as though it were the most natural thing in the world. But then, Morgan was a master of the unexpected, she reminded herself. It was part of that famous style of his.

  "Morgan, this is silly. I have to get to work, and you…" She let her voice trail off, aware that she had no idea what he had planned. Annoyed, she waved a hand. "You need to find yourself another place to stay."

  "Sounds like you're kicking me out of my own house before I even have a chance to see it all."

  "This is not your house. I used the money I made from my renovation projects to buy it. I haven't touched a penny of your money for the last eighteen months."

  Emotion flared in his eyes. Unreadable, but dangerous. "Last I heard, Oregon was a community property state."

  Something in his voice told her she'd just made a tactical mistake, but before she pinned that down, his big hand was already slipping between her and the slick tile.

  "Morg—"

  His mouth came down on hers, cutting off her protest and her breath. She felt a jolt of heat, a rush of excitement, an unnamed emotion so fierce, it frightened her. He tugged her closer until her wet belly was pressed tightly against his hair-roughened abdomen. She felt the slamming of his heart beneath hers and the arrogant demand of his arousal where it jutted hard against the juncture of her thighs.

  No! her mind shouted, but her body was too busy reacting to obey. It happened quickly—a small niggling of memory that quickly bloomed into an ache to be loved. Her body yearned for his warmth, his touch, his possession. Her heart reminded her that he was her husband, her lover. The man she had promised to love and cherish forever.

  His arms were so strong, his mouth so tempting. He was a big, solid, aggressive male, bronzed and callused and hard, prone to making impossible demands, unwilling to bend. All that was female in her responded with a wild joy that startled her.

  She strained upward, circled his neck with her arms, awash in a longing that was stronger than reason, fiercer than self-protection. When she breathed in, the clean scent of his skin went through her like a shock wave. Familiar, comforting.

  Arousing.

  When her lips parted for his, she knew what he would taste like on her tongue. As her fingers caressed his slick, taut shoulder muscles, she recalled the strength of him. His skin was hot and familiar beneath her touch. Soap-drenched steam swirled with warm caressing hands around them, giving the small white cubicle a surreal enchantment.

  Morgan!

  He was all she remembered and more. When he was with her, her world sparkled. When he was with her…

  Morgan felt her grow rigid. When she pressed her palms against his shoulders and pushed, he knew he had to let her go. Shaken, breathing hard, he lifted his head and relaxed his hold. But he couldn't make himself release her. Not yet.

  "I wondered if it would feel the same when I kissed you again," he said, rubbing his palms over her wet shoulders. "Now I know. It's eighteen months better."

  With a small moan, she stepped back as far as she could, her breasts heaving. Her eyes had darkened and turned drowsy with desire, stopping his heart. She wanted him. He would bet his immortal soul on it.

  "I want your promise you won't do that again," she ordered, her voice thick and not quite under control.

  "No promise."

  Her eyes flashed. The display of temper reassured him. Anger he could handle. Even hatred. It was indifference he
feared.

  "Then I'll call the police and have you thrown out."

  He grinned. "I love it when you flash those big brown eyes at me, Raine. Gets me hot."

  "You bastard," she said, giving him a hard shove that caught him off guard. He crashed against the shower door, which flew open. Before he could catch his balance, he was sprawled on his butt on the bathroom floor. He snarled a curse that never would have made it past the network censors, then for good measure added a few more creative phrases.

  "Don't you dare laugh," he warned, but it was too late. Though she had her hand clamped to her lips, her eyes were sparkling with laughter.

  "Oh, my," she murmured in a choked voice. "Too bad your adoring fans can't see you now."

  Morgan felt the blood race to his face where it turned his skin as blistering hot as the fire his daddy had kept burning under his big copper still.

  "So much for sweeping you off your feet with my suave charm," he muttered as he picked himself up. He'd never been all that great at romancing the ladies when he'd been single. Eleven years of marriage had obviously turned him into an idiot.

  "Morgan—"

  "Finish your damn shower," he all but shouted at her before snatching up the clothes he'd scattered haphazardly in his haste earlier. She made him feel fifteen again and too small for his skin.

  "You asked for it," she said in a voice still shaky with laughter.

  "The hell I did."

  The smile faded from her eyes, replaced by a sadness that shook him. "For the record, I don't want your forgiveness. Nor do I need it. My life's my own now."

  "Don't bet on it, sugar." He bit off the words, then froze as they replayed in his head like a split-second tape delay. The words were his, but the voice was his father's—harsh and mean.

  He closed his eyes for an instant, then spun on his heel and stalked out.

  Chapter 5

  « ^ »

  Raine had always loved books—fat ones, skinny ones, old ones, new ones, fiction or nonfiction. She adored the astringent smell of the ink and the slick feel of the paper beneath her fingertips. An avid reader since the age of four, she'd moved into adulthood with a book always within easy reach, either in her purse or on her nightstand, and the passion had led her to seek a degree from Bradenton College in American Literature.

  By the time she'd graduated, she'd had three unpublished novels to her credit and the reluctant knowledge that she was far better at reading a novel than writing one. Still, her love of literature remained a constant, and second in line in her list of fond wishes was to someday own a bookstore.

  After Mike's death, she'd known she had to revamp her life or lose what was left of her sanity, so she'd gone home to Oregon, bought her adorable little house by the river and used the rest of the money she'd saved over the years from her renovation projects to open a small bookstore and espresso bar located in an old brick warehouse near Portland State University. In the beginning, most of the books on her shelves had come from her own library, collected during the lonely months of her marriage.

  Furnished in early funk, with a generous dollop of whimsy, the While Away Bookstore had become a gathering place of sorts for a certain fringe element. Many were students going to school on a shoestring budget who "rented" used textbooks from the huge collection Raine had amassed, paying only a token amount.

  Others were locals—senior citizens mostly, living on Social Security. Raine's "senior rate" was the most generous around. Fifty cents for a large latte and a quarter for a muffin she baked herself. Though she lost money every month on that part of her business, she considered herself amply repaid by the friendships she'd formed with her regulars. Many had become like family to her, especially some of the elders who claimed to have adopted her.

  Normally she couldn't wait to get to work every morning. She loved the little surprises each day brought. But when she'd left the house thirty minutes after Morgan stalked out of the bathroom stark naked and furious, she'd found herself heading for her neighbor Prudy's back door instead.

  For a little tea and sympathy, she'd told herself when she knocked.

  It was laundry day in the Randolph household, and Raine was waiting for her last load to dry. Prudy had offered hot carob and milk, nonfat granola bars and a welcoming smile. While Chloe watched TV in the living room, the two women hung out in the kitchen, two chubby ladies in maternity smocks, their friendship an invisible halo of warmth that filled the air around them, making Prudy's cozy kitchen seem even more homey and welcoming.

  Lulled by the warmth and sense of security her bond with Prudy always gave her, Raine let down all her defenses, entrusting her friend with the details of her disturbing joust with Morgan earlier.

  "It was awful, Prudy. Just awful. There he lay, like a lion, sprawled on my dusty rose bathroom rug, his face almost as pink as the cotton shag."

  "From embarrassment?"

  Raine sniffed. "Morgan, embarrassed? You've got to be kidding. He was furious." She shrugged. "And maybe a little humiliated. The mighty Pax, felled by a pregnant lady brandishing a pink net body scrubber. I whacked him as hard as I could. He staggered backward, lost his footing on some of the moisturizer I'd spilled, crashed into the shower door, and—" Raine waved her hand "—the next thing I knew, he was making like a Playgirl centerfold on my imported tile floor."

  "I hope you had a camera handy. Moments like that are too priceless to pass up."

  "A camera?" Raine blinked. "I was in the shower, Prue." She narrowed her gaze. "You're getting a good laugh out of this, aren't you? I came here for some sympathy, you know."

  Prudy clamped a slender hand over her mouth, her green eyes dancing.

  "It isn't funny," Raine scolded.

  "And then what happened?" Prudy asked, the knowing twinkle in her eye telling Raine she knew that she was getting a slightly edited version of the actual event.

  "I washed my hair. Twice."

  Prudy nodded sagely. "Of course. That makes perfect sense."

  "I always wash my hair when I'm upset," Raine explained. "I don't know why exactly. Just one of those peculiar customs that developed over the years. It's something about the scent of shampoo and the cascade of warm water on my scalp. It soothes me, somehow, no matter how rattled I am."

  "I'll have to try it sometime," Prudy commented dryly. "The ritual may have come in handy yesterday, in fact. Case modeled those red silk briefs I bought for him. I'm on restriction, you know, until after the baby comes. I took a shower to cool off. But shampooing my hair never occurred to me. It really works, huh?"

  Raine frowned. "You're making light of this. I shampooed because I was upset, not because I was—" She waved her hand again. "I'm over him, Prue. Totally. It was just unsettling, that's all, having him invade my shower like that. And then to have it end as it did, with him on my floor. Well, it got my day off to a rotten start, to say the least. When I came out of the shower, Morgan was gone. Vanished."

  "I'm sure his pride was smarting a bit," Prudy observed sagely. "If knocking him on his fanny didn't do it, shampooing your hair—twice—probably did the job. A man expects more of a reaction when he pulls a stunt like that."

  Morosely Raine dunked her granola bar into the cup of hot milk she'd been staring at for the last five minutes and listened to the sound of rain spattering against the patio outside the window. In her heart of hearts, she knew Morgan had elicited all the reactions any man could have hoped for, not that she'd ever admit it to Prudy.

  She'd felt his kiss all through her body. In her breasts, which had tightened and tingled. In the most intimate part of her, which had swelled with a need so hot, she'd all but begged him to touch her. To stroke and pet her, to fill her. Heat surged to her face at the memory of her body's betrayal. How could she possibly condone wanting a man she was determined to shut out of her life forever?

  "Is he gone for good, or just taking a walk to cool off?" Prudy asked as she cradled her mug between her hands.

  "In this rain?" Raine
glanced at the window, flexing her tension-tight shoulders. "Maybe he's been in the desert so long, he doesn't know precipitation will soak him to the skin."

  "Can I interpret that to mean you think he just took a walk?" Prudy asked.

  "His bags were still in the hallway, so I believe I can safely assume he'll be back."

  "Is that a positive or a negative?"

  "Nothing about Morgan is a positive."

  Raine started to take a bite of granola, only to have the sodden end break off and fall into the cup, sloshing hot liquid onto the scrubbed pine table.

  "There, you see!" she declared heatedly as she hastily blotted the spill with her paper napkin. "Nothing has gone right since he showed up."

  Prudy risked a cautious smile. She'd never seen her usually serene neighbor so ruffled. An interesting development, she decided, watching Raine scrub the table with short, jerky movements. There was anger there, to be sure, and impatience, making Prudy wonder if Raine were having second thoughts about the decisions she'd made over the last few months. Decisions that had both opened and closed doors.

  "Believe me, I know the feeling," she said, careful to keep her expression somber. "It was the same when Case was staying here with me when his leg was in a cast. He nearly drove me over the edge a dozen times."

  Raine wadded the now-sodden napkin into a tight ball before placing it to the right of her mug.

  "Four nights ago he was on the tube with a sand dune behind him, talking about holy wars and terrorists, and I was thinking how tired he looked and telling myself it was none of my business. The next thing I know he just … shows up."

  "Men are like that. Unpredictable." Prudy waved a hand. "It's the testosterone. Some men have more than their share."

  She thought of Case and smiled inwardly. Now there was an example of unpredictability. A man who'd sworn he never wanted to be a father, then doted on his little girl so much, he'd had to buy a new wallet with more places for photos. Even his partner had taken to calling him "Daddy."