Beginning with Their Baby

She turned and studied him suspiciously, but he seemed sincere. “Fine.” Her reply was less than gracious, but she wasn’t sure what to do with this man who took care of everything for her. She was used to taking care of herself and wasn’t sure how to feel now that Matt was taking over.

When they got to his car, Matt held her door open for her—a habit she remembered from when they’d been together. How had she managed to get herself hooked up with one of the last gentlemen on the planet? It boggled the mind, so she let it go—it was far too early to contemplate issues of that weight, especially when the benign dictator next to her was denying her caffeine.

Right before he pulled into traffic, Matt reached behind him and handed her a brown paper bag. She opened it and didn’t even bother to try and stifle her laugh.

“Trying to fatten me up?”

“I didn’t know what you’d be in the mood for. Besides, pregnant women need calcium and vitamins and—”

She clapped a hand over his mouth with a playful grin. “I get it. You spent the night reading every prenatal Web site you could find.”

He started to talk, but her hand was still over his lips. The motion of his jaw as he tried to speak had his lips brushing against her palm, and little shivers shot down her back at the sensation. She jerked her hand away. Maybe the baby wasn’t the only thing left of their previous relationship after all—yet one more thing she didn’t know how to feel about.

To give herself something to do, she reached into the bag and pulled out a fruit-and-yogurt parfait. “Thanks,” she murmured as she popped off the top. “This was really thoughtful of you.”

“No problem.” His voice sounded strained, but she was too busy digging into her breakfast to wonder why.

AS MATT PULLED UP TO a red light, he glanced at Camille out of the corner of his eye and nearly groaned. Her hair was a wild halo around her face, and the coffee and food had put a rosy tint in her pale cheeks, a tint that—combined with her hair—reminded him too much of what she looked like after a long session of lovemaking. His hands clenched the steering wheel as he felt himself harden, and he cursed the fact that she could arouse him so easily. But from the moment she’d opened the door to her motel room in her skimpy purple robe, he’d been remembering what it felt like to touch her.

To kiss her.

To make love to her.

In the few weeks they’d been together, he’d taken great delight in sliding his hands under that robe to caress her long, lean body. Seeing it again—on her—was like a slap in the face. Or a match to his libido.

Part of him had wanted nothing more than to grab her and lift her against him until her fabulous legs were wrapped around his waist and he was once again inside her. She was pregnant with his child, after all. It wasn’t like they wouldn’t have a future connection.

But at the same time, he didn’t want to go there. Or, at least, he told himself he didn’t. Camille had taken off without a backward glance once—what was to say she wouldn’t do it again? Especially if he pressured her for sex.

No, this situation was difficult and chaotic enough without adding extra stress into the mix. Better to just leave things alone for a while—no need to invite more chaos because he had a difficult time controlling himself around her.

The drive to the doctor’s office was made in almost complete silence—except for the soft murmurs of appreciation Camille gave every once in a while as she devoured the fruit-and-yogurt parfait he’d bought her. By the time they arrived at the tall glass-and-chrome building that housed his friend’s practice, a line of sweat was running down Matt’s back and he wanted nothing so much as to escape back to his simple, organized office.

Camille shot him an amused look as Matt pulled up to the circular driveway near the door. “I’m pregnant, not an invalid, you know.”

“I never said you were.

“Just go park—I’m perfectly capable of walking a few hundred feet. I spent the past few weeks doing just that in Italy.”

With Stefano. She didn’t say the words, but they echoed in Matt’s head anyway—a reminder of just how easy she’d found it to leave him—and replace him. Clenching his teeth against the thought, he murmured, “Humor me.”

“Look, Matt—”

“Camille, go sit on the bench. I’ll be back to get you in a minute.”

“But—”

“I know you’re a big girl. I know you can do this all by yourself. But the fact is, you’re not by yourself anymore. I’m a part of this baby’s life, too, so you might as well deal with it. Now, get out of the car.”

His tone must have been firmer than he’d intended, because her eyes widened in a very un-Camille-like fashion. But she didn’t say another word, just gathered up her purse and the trash from her breakfast and climbed from the car.

He was just thinking that perhaps he’d been a little too harsh when she slammed the door behind her so hard that his customized, lovingly restored ’68 Mustang shook from the impact. He grinned as he pulled away—had he really thought Camille could be so easily cowed?

After parking the car what felt like a mile away, he hustled toward the building—unsure what he would find when he got there. The Camille he knew was more than capable of taking off without him when she was annoyed—either heading up to the doctor’s office on her own or actually just taking off down the street. But when he got to the front of the building, she was sitting on the little stone bench near the front door, eyes closed and head resting against the wall behind her.

He paused for a moment, studied her. With her eyes closed and her face relaxed, she looked young and vulnerable—barely old enough to have a child, despite the fact that they’d celebrated her thirty-second birthday a few months ago, when they’d been together.

He didn’t make a sound, but she must have sensed him because her eyes opened and she sat up abruptly. He watched, fascinated, as her mask descended—the carefree, smiling face he’d grown to expect from her when they’d been dating. Why hadn’t he ever noticed before that she wrapped it around her like armor—just another way to keep the world outside from getting close to her? From seeing the real her.

A frisson of unease worked its way down Matt’s spine as he wondered, for the first time, if there really was more to Camille than he’d ever expected.

“I didn’t know the doctor’s name or suite number.”

And there she was, the woman who would as soon tell him to go to hell as look at him when he pissed her off, making sure he didn’t read too much into the fact that she’d waited for him. “Maybe I did that on purpose,” he answered.

“No doubt.” She stood and headed into the building, figuring—he was sure—that he would follow. Which he did.

“His name is Rick D’Amato—he’s in suite 370.” He punched the button for the elevator.

“And you went to grad school with him?”

“Not with him,” he said. “We were at Columbia at the same time—in different disciplines. Obviously.”

“Obviously.” She smirked. “You know, I just can’t see you in New York.”

“I like New York. There’s always something to do, something to see.”

“But it’s so chaotic.”

“There is that—but, hey, I have nothing against organized chaos.”

“Just unorganized chaos.”

“Exactly.”

The elevator dinged and he held the door for her with a smile. She had such a quick mind that it was easy to verbally spar with her—in the months she’d been gone, he’d forgotten how much he’d liked that about her. The fact that she never pulled her punches, and didn’t expect him to pull his.

“So, if you were in totally different disciplines—how did you meet Rick?”

“We played on the same intramural baseball team. He has a hell of a curve ball.”

“Something every obstetrician needs.”

“He’s a great doctor—graduated in the top ten his year at Columbia. Friend or not, I wouldn’t bring you here otherwise.” It was important that she knew that, that she understood how seriously he took her health—and the baby’s.

“Chill out, Matt. I was only teasing.” She headed up to the counter, pulling out her identification as she went.

He hung back, though it cost him. He wanted to take care of checking her in, wanted to take care of everything for her—for his baby—but as the receptionist handed her a clipboard full of forms, it struck home how little he really knew about Camille.