Daddy by Accident

by Paula Detmer Riggs

  He watched her face, murmured her name, heard her sigh his own. His release, when it came, brought tears to his eyes.

  * * *

  Thirteen

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  A cramp in her left leg woke Stacy with a jerk, and she reached down to rub the knotted muscle, only to feel Boyd sit bolt upright next to her, his tanned body dark against the moonlit window. "What's wrong?" he demanded, his voice rust deep.

  "Charley horse in my calf," she muttered, struggling to reach past her belly.

  "Here, let me," he said, throwing off the sheet and reaching for her leg with one swift, determined motion. His hands were warm against her flesh, kneading gently yet with a skill born of experience and caring. She felt the painful knot relaxing and let out a relieved sigh.

  "Better?"

  "Mmm," she murmured, closing her eyes. In fact, it felt wonderful to have his hands on her, no matter the reason. Hands that were now stroking her leg instead of kneading tight muscles.

  "Your skin looks milky in the moonlight." His voice was hushed, oddly reverent, and she felt her heart soaring.

  "Yours is dark," she murmured, reaching out a hand to touch his shoulder. She felt him start, and his hand stilled. "Like rare soft leather over steel," she added, sliding her palm over the heavily padded shoulder.

  His breath hissed out in a low rush as he bent forward to brush his lips over her thigh. The muscles there quivered, not from pain but from pleasure, and her heart took off on a steady gallop. His fingers followed where his mouth had been, trailing liquid fire.

  "You smell like ripe peaches," he murmured, warming her skin with his breath. "Ready for eating." He nipped at her flesh, then swirled over the tiny imprint of his teeth with his tongue.

  Stacy felt her breath shudder out of her in a long drawn-out moan that had him glancing up at her. "Easy, honey. This is just the beginning."

  His fingers trailed higher, to the lace of the gown he'd packed for her all those weeks ago.

  "Beginning?" she asked before another wave of pleasure ran over her.

  "Since we're both so wide-awake, I figure we should put the time to good use." Slowly his palm moved over the full curve of her hip. "Unless you'd rather go back to sleep."

  Stacy drew a breath and pretended to consider, but when his fingers tightened against her softly yielding flesh, her answer came out in a ragged moan.

  Boyd shifted until he was lying next to her. He kissed her shoulder before easing her to her side. His chest was warm against her back.

  "I love touching you. Your skin is as smooth as this pretty little scrap of satin." His voice was a whisper in the silvery moonlight, mingling with the rush of her breathing while he trailed his fingertips over the thin material of her gown where it draped her belly, then moved lower to her thighs and back once more. The slow, lingering caresses were punctuated by the gentle nipping of his teeth at her nape, her shoulder, the soft flesh of her arm.

  Each time his hand traveled back up her body, he brushed the throbbing mound between her thighs, each stroke moving higher, until finally he trailed his fingers in a slow, sensuous figure eight around her full breasts. Her nipples tingled, distended, already aching for the hot, moist possession of his mouth, and she moaned. Gently, slowly, he eased closer until she was cradled against him, his hard thighs nuzzling hers. His arousal was hot and thick against her buttocks, so close to the moist sheath throbbing to welcome him.

  Stacy's breath unraveled into broken sighs as Boyd's hand moved slowly from one breast to the other, caressing her, cherishing her. When his finger slid beneath the lacy hem of her gown and moved upward, she held her breath.

  "More?" he whispered hoarsely.

  She managed a keening sound of assent that had him groaning.

  He skimmed a hand over the tops of her thighs before touching the tight coils of silky hair between her legs. No longer able to lie still, she moved restlessly, and the motion rubbed soft flesh against hard, wringing a groan from him that sent shafts of pleasure slicing through her. Without stopping to think, she undulated against him, feeling the demanding heat of his arousal burning her skin.

  The instant, fierce slam of need that went through Boyd took his breath and dammed the sudden groan in his throat. She was so soft, so womanly, so utterly giving. He felt humbled and fiercely protective at the same time.

  "So sweet," he murmured, cupping the thatch of silken hair with his hand. She moaned and pushed against his palm, breath puffing from her in ragged little gasps.

  The sound of her hungry need for him made fire pool urgently in his body, swelling his already pulsing arousal against the warm curve of her buttocks until he could feel each thud of his heart.

  Stacy's breath splintered into a low cry as Boyd slipped a long finger into her warmth, thrusting and retreating in a rhythm that tore at his control. Her back arched in a passionate reflex that pressed her hard against him.

  He felt her shudder, then gasp and call his name. Unable to hold back on the need clawing at him, he thrust forward slowly, teeth gritted against the urge to bury himself deep and fast. Instead, he made himself probe gently, rubbing with aching restraint against the hard little nub hidden between sleek, silken folds until he felt the tendons in his neck straining.

  Stacy twisted sinuously, desperate to absorb more of the wild, sweet pleasure that was beyond ecstasy. The man she loved was filling her so completely, then slipping away before she tipped over the edge. She curled her fingers into the pillow, her breath coming in panting sobs of frustration and need.

  "Is it good?" Boyd demanded, his voice a harsh rumble laced with strain.

  "Yes, oh yes," she whispered, her voice as ragged as the edges of release just beyond her reach.

  Boyd murmured her name on a groan as he unleashed a part of the savage need clawing at him. She was soft and yielding and hot, and he breathed a plea for patience into the damp, warm skin of her neck. One hand cupped her breast as he felt the tiny tremors tormenting him. The sound she made was as involuntary as the tightening of her body around him.

  His own helpless cry was lost in the haze of the greatest pleasure he'd ever known.

  Stacy woke with a smile on her face and a feeling of peace so complete she felt boneless. Enjoying a face-stretching yawn, she turned her head and cast a loving look on the naked man sprawled aggressively over a good two-thirds of the bed.

  It was early, not yet six-thirty, and the sun streaming through the open window was gentle on his harsh, dark face. His whiskers were tawny against the darker skin, and his hair had grown longer, tossed by sleep into a wild tumble over his broad forehead. Soft and thick, it was a fascinating mixture of sand and silver with highlights of the same dark gold that formed his heavy eyebrows and thick eyelashes.

  Tenderness filled her as she slowly extended a hand to trace the roguish cowlick above one temple. Though she was sure her touch was whisper light, he opened his eyes and looked at her with what she could only describe as a wary confusion in those grayer-than-gray eyes.

  "Morning, sweetheart." She loved the gravel in his morning voice and the guarded smile that settled into his eyes.

  "Good morning."

  "How did you two ladies sleep?"

  "So-so. I had my usual tussle with heartburn and Tory practiced Swan Lake." Smiling, she stretched a leg and arched her spine. She couldn't remember a time when her back didn't ache.

  He flattened one large hand over her belly and cocked one eyebrow. "So your little girl has gone from placekicker to prima ballerina, huh?"

  Stacy pressed her hand over his, enjoying the feeling of hard sinew and warm skin against hers, and nodded solemnly. "Much more feminine, don't you think?"

  "Yeah, but not nearly as interesting."

  "A matter of opinion, Dr. MacAuley."

  A frown worked its way into his face, creasing his forehead and darkening his eyes. "Not doctor, not anymore."

  She hesitated, then plunged ahead. "Fred Ivans doesn't think so,"

  Bo
yd lifted one eyebrow. "Fred? Since when have the two of you become so chummy?"

  "Since I've taken four of his phone calls in the past two weeks. Phone calls which I might add you've yet to return."

  Something dark and disturbing flickered in the depths of his eyes. "I've been busy helping Prudy fit cabinets made for a mansion into a space the size of a postage stamp."

  Stacy smiled as she pictured Boyd and Prudy squabbling over angles and shims while sharing a beer in the midst of sawdust and random bits of lumber. Neither had let her lift a hand, except to drink the glass of milk they'd forced on her, but both had insisted that she give her unbiased opinion. No fool, she'd agreed with them both.

  "I could call him back for you," she said as casually as an offer to iron a shirt. "Perhaps set up an appointment for the two of you to meet. Or better yet, why don't I invite him to dinner?"

  He shook his head. "You've got better things to do than entertain strangers."

  "But he's not a stranger to you."

  Even though he lifted a hand to play with a lock of her hair on the pillow, she could almost hear his protective walls clanging into place around his soul. "Let it be, Stacy. I'm not going back into medicine. That part of my life is history."

  Keep it light, she told herself firmly. Don't push him too hard too fast. "You're telling me you don't miss it?" she chided with a grin.

  "What's to miss?"

  "The satisfaction of helping others?" she suggested gently.

  He snorted derisively. "More like living with an exhaustion so thick even your eyelashes hurt and a stress level that would bring down an iron man." His voice was bland, his expression controlled as he propped himself on one elbow.

  She let her smile fade. Instead of bantering now, they were sliding into an argument she'd sensed had to happen sooner or later. "How about the thrill of relieving another person's pain?" she murmured, her voice utterly serious and filled with a certainty that had grown stronger in the month she'd lived with him in the same house. "Or maybe the joy of saving a life that would have surely ended if you hadn't been there?"

  "It doesn't always work that way, Stacy. If you're too tired, under too much stress. Distracted." He shrugged, looked away. "One wrong move and someone who should have lived dies."

  "But that didn't happen."

  "It might have. Could have."

  "You're afraid—"

  "Yes, damn it," he all but shouted. "I'm afraid. Now can we just leave it at that?" He sat up quickly and left the bed to stalk out of the bedroom. An instant later she heard the bathroom door slam shut, followed shortly by the drone of the shower turned to full blast.

  You can run from me but not yourself, my darling, she thought sadly before getting herself, in stages, out of bed as well. She refused to feel guilty for nagging him in so good a cause. Not only for Boyd himself, but for the patients he would be able to treat.

  Patients, she suspected, he would hover over the way he'd been hovering over her. Pampering her, bullying her, doing everything in his power to take care of her.

  No, Boyd was meant to be a doctor. And if he weren't so darn stubborn, he'd admit it. To her and, more important, to himself.

  After all, if he was so dead set against going back into medicine, why did he pore over the medical journals that came in the mail each month with the same intensity as a teenaged boy reading his first Playboy?

  Because medicine is in his blood, she answered, slipping out of the skimpy nightgown that had been her birthday present to herself last year. Because he loves it, the same way I love teaching, she added, jerking open one of the two drawers in his bureau that held her clothes.

  She dressed as quickly as her clumsy bulk would allow, then padded barefoot to the kitchen. The coffee was already brewed, thanks to the timer Boyd never failed to set as his last chore of the evening. As soon as she'd delivered the baby and stopped nursing, she intended to indulge in a veritable orgy of caffeine, she decided as she took her first greedy sip of her one and only cup.

  A plaintive cry from outside cut through her satisfied sigh. Obviously Sunny was awake and ready to chow down. Grinning, Stacy grabbed another quick sip before putting down her mug to open the door under the sink.

  "Greedy little freeloader," Stacy muttered as she scooped out a generous measure of dry food from the sack there. Twice since she'd found Sunshine on the doorstep, she'd had to buy more food. Boyd had scowled as she'd tossed a bag into their shopping cart, but so far, he hadn't uttered that first word about Sunny's future.

  Sunshine was circling the deck with impatient little steps when Stacy threw open the door and called to her through the screen. With a gleeful look and a twitch of her gloriously fluffy tail, the yellow tabby trotted quickly to her bowl.

  Stacy took a gingerly look to make sure her aggressive little huntress hadn't brought home yet another offering before opening the screen door. One morning she'd found a terrified mouse clutched between Sunny's sharp little claws. On another, a baby garter snake.

  Stacy had managed to coax Sunny to release the mouse. The snake she'd left to Boyd, who'd grumbled and growled something about women being the death of a man, an ungracious comment that Stacy had generously assumed he'd been directing at Sunshine and not her.

  "Today is shopping day, so I'll see if I can find you a nice little catnip mouse," she informed the kitten solemnly while filling the waiting bowl. And maybe a bed, she decided as she slowly straightened. Sleeping under the deck on an old towel was fine in summer, but Sunny would need a warmer spot in winter.

  Watching Sunny dive into the food, she recalled the day shortly after Sunny's arrival when she'd come across Boyd backing out from under the deck. Checking the posts for rot, he'd told her before hustling her inside.

  Acting on a hunch, she'd later found a moment to check those same posts and discovered the cozy little nest he'd made for the kitten next to the foundation's shelter.

  A lump formed in her throat as she went inside to start breakfast. The man was maddeningly kindhearted and generous to everyone but himself. Was it any wonder she was head-over-heels crazy for the guy?

  Drawing a ragged breath, she opened the door to the fridge and took out a carton of eggs. Crazy being the operative word, she reminded herself as she took a mixing bowl from the cupboard.

  She couldn't begin to count the reasons why falling in love with Boyd MacAuley would be a disastrous mistake. So she hadn't bothered.

  One by one she broke some eggs into the bowl. She would scramble them with ham, one of Boyd's favorites. To put him into a better mood, she told herself. Because on the way to the secondhand shop where she'd found a bassinet in fairly decent shape, she intended to tackle him about cleaning up the nursery.

  In for a penny, in for a pound, she thought, beating the eggs furiously with a whisk.

  "I'm sorry I was such a grouch." His voice came softly and close to her ear. Preoccupied with her own thoughts, she hadn't heard him come up behind her.

  She dropped the whisk and turned to face him. He'd shaved, she noticed, and actually brushed his shower-damp hair into something resembling a definite style. "You've got to stop wearing that sexy after-shave," she teased before inhaling deeply.

  "It's just soap," he said, parroting her words at the picnic.

  When she laughed softly, he slid his arms around her swollen waist and pulled her closer until they were belly to belly.

  "Can't be just soap," she responded, loving the feel of his arms around her.

  "Word of honor," he said before leaning down to brush a kiss over her still parted lips. "But I'm glad you think it's sexy."

  "Immensely," she murmured, giving in to the need to rest her head against his chest. Beneath the tight T-shirt she heard the steady thudding of his heart and wondered if he would miss her when she was on her own again.

  She would miss him terribly, she admitted, closing her eyes and hugging him harder. "Are you sure you're feeling up to this expedition today?" he asked between the soft kisses he
was pressing along her hairline.

  "I'm fine," she murmured, all but purring as his hands stoked her spine in a lovely, soothing massage. "Besides, the man at Grandmother's Attic has only promised to hold the bassinet for me until noon today."

  She felt a sigh run through him before he lifted his head. "Stacy, let me buy you a new bassinet. It'll be my gift to the baby."

  "No, but you can paint this one for me. A soft pearly white I think."