Once Around (23 page)

"
Don't worry," he said. "I'll be right outside the door."

He wasn
't. She stood there in front of the entrance to Sharper Image and scanned the crowd for Robert as a knot of anxiety formed in her throat. She told herself not to be a fool, that it wasn't as if she were stranded in Tibet or something with no money, and no way home. She was at the mall. He knew where she was. All she had to do was stand there, and sooner or later Robert would wander back again and join her.

There was no reason for the stomach pains that started up as the minutes passed
, no reason for the tears that burned behind her eyelids. She was a grown woman. She wasn't about to burst into tears in the middle of Bridgewater Commons just because her husband was off window-shopping.

The minutes passed
, and her imagination kicked into overdrive. Maybe something had happened to him. Maybe he'd gone out to the car for a minute and a carjacker had kidnapped him. Maybe he'd been hit over the head by a mugger trying to grab his wallet. Maybe he forgot Molly was with him and was halfway home.

They had one of their rare fights that night. He couldn
't understand why she was so upset, and she couldn't explain it to him.

I won
't leave you.

She
'd waited all her life to heat, those words.

He pulled into her driveway a little after midnight. Her heart was pounding so hard she wondered how the baby was able to sleep. You
'd think the sound would echo inside her womb like a trip-hammer.

"
Stay put," Rafe said as he unbuckled his seat belt. "I'll help you out."

He jumped from the t
ruck and walked around to open her door.

"
Thank you, but I can manage." She unbuckled her own seat belt and reached for his hand.

Instead of taking her hand
, he swept her into his arms and swung her to the ground.

She laughed in surprise.
"You must be very strong," she said. "Nobody's done that to me since I was ten years old."

"
Easiest way to get the job done," he said.

"
You're still holding me."

"
I wanted to make sure you had your sea legs."

"
Of course," she said, still smiling. "We drove here. That makes perfect sense."

"
I thought so, too."

I won
't leave you.

She pulled slightly away
, and their eyes locked.

"
I wonder if Jessy's home," she said, for lack of anything better.

"
I'll wait until you check the house."

Her breath caught. She hadn
't breathed normally since the day they met. "Why don't you come in for coffee?" she asked in as casual a tone as she could manage. "You have a long drive home. The coffee will help wake you up."
Stop babbling, Molly. You're making a fool of yourself. He knows what you're really saying.

He hesitated
, and instantly she regretted making the offer. He was looking for a graceful way out, and now she'd thrown a roadblock in his way.

"
Please," she said. "You don't have to stay. I make lousy coffee anyway."

"
I'd like a cup."

"
You would?" She coughed to cover up her embarrassment. "I mean, of course you would. If you need caffeine, you've come to the right place."

She had no idea what she meant. She had no idea if she were speaking English. She felt as
if she were having an out-of-body experience.
It's just coffee,
she told herself as she let the two of them into the house. Awkward conversation followed in the kitchen while she found the beans and the filter and the water and the heat required to, make magic. He'd take a sip or two, try not to grimace, then say good night.

Nothing had changed between them
, after all. They'd shared a few dances, the edges of a meal. Nothing life-altering or memorable for anyone but her.

Remember that
, Molly. Don't make that mistake.

"
Make yourself comfortable," she said, gesturing toward the living room. "The furniture's yours. You might as well enjoy it." Two weeks ago he'd found her an oversized chintz-covered sofa that dominated the room. How many hours had she spent dreaming about him on that sofa?

"
I'll help you with the coffee."

"
Oh, you don't have to do that," she said, aware that she was babbling. "There's nothing hard about making coffee."

"
I'll keep you company."

"
You don't have to—" She stopped. "Tell me to shut up."

He rested his right hand on her shoulder.
"Shut up, Molly." He said it softly, with more sweetness than she'd ever heard the words
I love you
spoken.

She started to melt.

He turned her around to face him.

"
Shut up, Molly." His voice was low, intimate. He cupped her face between his hands. His fingertips traced the contour of her cheekbones. Her eyelids fluttered closed for a second.

I
'm dreaming. This isn't really happening „

She
'd imagined his hands on her, his fingers warm against her skin, but nothing had prepared her for this.

His eyes never left hers. He didn
't say another word. He didn't have to. What he wanted, what she needed—it was all there in the heartbeat between them. The kitchen was dark. A faint splash of moonlight washed across the floor. The edge of the counter pressed against the back of her thighs. Could you smell desire? She thought she could, but maybe it was her imagination. Desire was foreign to her.

Terra incognita
,

What she did know was this: She wanted to press her face against his chest and breathe deeply. That would be enough. She would drink in his smell
, his touch, the sound of his heartbeat, burn the sensations into her memory, because nothing lasted. This least of all..

His thumbs found the corners of her mouth
, and she began to tremble. He traced the place where her lips met, easing his thumb between, and her mouth opened on a sigh of pleasure. She placed her hands flat against the wall of his chest and felt the power of her touch. He groaned and dipped his head down, brought his mouth to hers in a kiss of such stunning sweetness that she thought she must be dreaming.

Wet. Hot. Irresistible. Everything a
kiss
should be. She could live off that kiss forever. She wanted to memorize every detail, every degree of sensation. If this was all she would ever have of him, then she would make it part of her skin, part of her soul.

He cradled her face as if she were precious to him
, as if he could be satisfied by that touch alone.

She wanted his hands to slide down the column of her throat
, to slide over the curve of her shoulders, to discover the weight and contour of her breasts. She wanted to feel his warm, wet mouth on her nipple. She wanted to gather as much of him as she possibly could before she woke up and found that it had all been a dream.

It had to be a dream. She imagined his hands along her throat
, and they were there. He slid the skinny straps of her dress from her shoulders and kissed the marks they left behind. He drew his tongue along one of the depressions, and her legs went weak as a baby's. He caught her up against him and held her close. He was gloriously, undeniably hard. His erection fit against the swell of her belly. It pressed against her; she pillowed around it.

He lifted her
from her feet and sat her on the counter. Her skirt slid halfway up her thighs, and he parted her knees and settled himself between her legs.

The fabric of his trousers scratched deliciously against the thin nylon of her stockings.

The frilly edge of her garter belt showed beneath the hemline, and she reached to tug at her dress, but he captured her hand with his.

"
Let me," he said—part question, part statement.

She nodded.
Anything,
she thought.
Anything you want.

He slid his hand under her hemline
, and found the bare flesh above the top of her stocking. How could she have lived so long and understood so little about the nature of touch? She'd touched herself. She knew the firmness of her thighs, the softness of the curls. She knew these things but she knew nothing at all about the depth of pleasure possible.

It all felt like the first time.

She wore silky bikini panties to accommodate her blossoming belly. He cupped her through the delicate fabric and she could feel herself as she must feel to him—the heat and the damp and the unfurling. He found the center of pleasure with the pad of his thumb, and she bit her lip to keep from crying out.

He moved with a rhythm that matched her own
, a rhythm he had no way of knowing, since she hadn't known it herself until that moment. He pleasured her with subtle, increasing pressure, using both thumbs, building, building toward the unknowable. The unimaginable.

Then
, just as she was climbing into the stars, he dropped to his knees in front of her and buried his face between her thighs. She heard the hushed rip of fabric as he tore the panties from her body. She heard the sound of her heart thundering in the quiet room. He nipped the soft skin above the top of her stocking, toyed with her garter. He lifted her dress higher, above her waist, and tears formed in her eyes as he exposed her belly to his view. She wanted to cover herself, to shield her new body from him, but she couldn't move.

"
I don't always look this way," she whispered as he traced the faint blue veins with his tongue. "I--"

He said something. She felt the words against her skin. She didn
't need to know what they were to understand them. His kiss told her everything she needed to hear. .

The baby shifted
, a gentle stretch in its sleep. Rafe laid his cheek against the rippling surface of her belly and closed his eyes. She placed her hand on his head. His hair was silky and cool. She'd waited all her life for this moment, to feel this sense of connection. You could know someone's heart without knowing their history. You could tell that and more in a touch.

I
won't leave you.

She saw Robert
's face, hard and unyielding, when she told him she was pregnant.

Are you sure.? Could there be a mistake?

She saw him throw back the covers and climb from bed. She saw him pull on his clothes. She saw him walk out the door.

I won
't leave you.

She knew better than to believe that. They always left. Her father had. So had her husband. Why would Rafe be any different? Why would there be a connection between them that existed nowhere else?

She couldn't answer that with logic or reason. She could answer it only with her heart. The connection between them was real and it was powerful, and that connection was ripping down the fences that she'd put up to keep her heart safe. She was naked in every way that mattered, in ways that she'd never been naked before.

The first few months of her pregnancy had been filled with so much heartache and anger and stress that she hadn
't had time to appreciate the fact that her dreams Of motherhood were going to come true. When she finally had a moment to catch her breath, she was in her second trimester, ripe and fertile and so deeply lonely for someone to share this wonder with that there were times she thought her heart would break.

"
You can say no," he told her. "You don't have to be afraid."

She nodded. She didn
't trust herself to speak.

His hands were large and beautifully made. He splayed his fingers across
her belly, and the sight of his tanned hands against her pale skin struck her as almost unbearably erotic. The baby fluttered again, and she saw the look of wonder and delight in Rafe's dark blue eyes.

"
How does it feel?" he asked her, moving his hands in large circles, meant to soothe and gentle.

She didn
't have to ask what he meant because she knew. "It feels wonderful," she said, "as if this is how it's meant to be."

"
It doesn't hurt?"

"
Not at all. Sometimes he gets a little rambunctious, but it's all pretty wonderful."

"
You know it's a boy?"

"
Just guessing," she said. "He's such a good kicker, I figure he must be a future soccer player."

"
It's a. girl," he said, brushing his lips against the spot where her skin rippled.

"
You're an expert in these things?"

"
A girl," he repeated. He reached for her hand and placed it over her navel. "Feel the way she moves under your hand. A girl. No doubt about it."