Making Babies

Elaine yelped and flailed her hands.

“Don’t move!” Mitch ordered with the same deep authority she remembered from the courtroom.

Unfortunately the wasp kept buzzing, so she kept flailing. Then the buzzing stopped, and her nose felt like an entire pincushion had launched itself at her.

“Ow!”

“Damn it.” Mitch pushed the door open in an effort to reach for her. It banged into her bare shin.

“OWWW!!!”

He swore more colorfully. “Sorry. Are you all right?”

“No, I’m not all right!” Elaine shook as she pointed to her nose. She could see the wasp if she crossed her eyes. “Get it off, get it off!”

“Stop hopping.” He grasped her elbow with a strong hand and pushed her a step back, following her into the room. Holding her steady, he examined her face from a distance of less than a foot. “It’s got you.”

She stared back at him; pain and exhaustion that was about a lot more than a wasp sting filled her to overflowing. “This newsflash just in,” she snapped, “I Already Know That.”

Mitch’s brows rose ever so slightly at her tone, but he didn’t seem offended. “Hold still.” Reaching up, he slapped the wasp and—inadvertently, she assumed—her nose.

“Hey!” she protested.

The wasp buzzed away, still alive and only a little worse for the wear.

“Duck,” Mitch ordered, using his hand like a racket to swat the insect out of the house. He slammed the door shut.

Turning back to her, he ignored the glare she attempted to give him. Her poor nose was starting to throb already. She cupped her hands around it.

“Where’s your bathroom?” he asked. Elaine pointed, and Mitch took her elbow, overriding her little tug of resistance.

He found the light switch and flicked it on, then pulled her in front of the sink to the medicine cabinet. “Are you going to put your hands down so I can see your nose?”

“No.” Her voice emerged muffled. Call her vain, but if sensation was anything to go by, her nose was swelling already, and she didn’t have the smallest shnoz to begin with. “It’s fine.”

Reaching up, Mitch drew her hands away from her face, gently but insistently. He had large hands; one easily wrapped around both her wrists and with the other he tilted her face and gazed at it, taking his time. “Not too bad,” he said finally.

Elaine licked her lips. “It isn’t?”

When he shook his head, she expected him to let her go, but he didn’t. He continued to hold her. His touch, however, was light. It was impersonal.

It was driving her crazy.

Elaine’s heart pounded far more than it should have under the circumstances, unless, of course, wasp venom was making her delirious. She knew she was staring at Mitch’s mouth, but felt helpless to look away.

And then the hand cupping her chin moved. He ran his knuckles lightly across her cheek. When he reached her jaw, his fingers unfurled to wander into the hair at her nape.

Oh, Lord, they had slept together. Elaine knew it the moment he touched the back of her neck. She couldn’t remember the last time a man other than Kevin had touched her there, except for Dr. Larson when she’d had swollen glands last winter, and he was seventy. Yet Mitch’s hand did not feel new or strange or even unfamiliar. She remembered it. Her body remembered it.

A shower of tingles raced down her back, along her arms and, incredibly, over her thighs. During the last few years of her marriage to Kevin, she’d forgotten she even had thighs. Mitch was barely touching her and suddenly she felt every pore.

“Where’s your antiseptic?”

Elaine licked her lips. “Where’s my—” She blinked, blurry with desire, but not too blurry to realize what he’d just asked. Her lips formed a confounded O. “What?”

“Antiseptic,” he repeated. “That sting is…pretty nasty.”

“Is it?” Her racing heart skidded to a dull, heavy thud. Embarrassment washed up her neck and face. What she remembered clearly from that night in the bar was the incomparable comfort of Mitch’s presence. The case had ended. Her marriage was over. Sitting in a bar, in her winter coat, in the middle of the afternoon, she’d felt more alone than ever before in her life. She’d tried hard not to show despair, humiliation, or any of the myriad emotions she’d felt. She’d tried not to look at Mitch’s face, so often shuttered and unreadable, but on that day almost…compassionate.

Then over the sound of waves crashing in her ears, she’d heard him say, “He’s not worth it, Elaine.”

He’d sounded so sure and so angry and so on her side.

That had to be the reason she’d agreed to stay. And why she had found herself, over an hour later, still sipping brandy and actually laughing at the awful jokes Mitch told her and which she was surprised he even knew. And why, when he’d said finally, “I’ll take you home,” she’d unresistingly handed him her car keys, bundled into the passenger side and had felt—for the first time since she’d realized her life was falling apart—safe.

But a moment ago, standing in the confines of her small bathroom, with Mitch touching her, she hadn’t felt safe at all. For an instant, with his brown eyes fixed on her, she had felt the thrill that something wild and unknown was about to happen.

Men!

Anger kindled in Elaine’s stomach. Tightly she said, “Your hand is on the back of my neck.”

Mitch frowned quizzically.

“Your hand,” she bit out again. “It is on the back of my neck.” And clearly that was an erogenous zone. “I can’t get to the medicine cabinet.”

“Oh.”

He let her go. Elaine’s neck felt cold and bare.

They did an awkward dance as she moved around him. Catching sight of her own face in the mirror, Elaine longed to sit down right where she was and weep. Her nose where the wasp had stung her was red and inflamed and now that her adrenaline was calming, she could feel the throb again. Every part of her felt like it had been stung. Glancing above her own head, she saw Mitch’s reflection as he watched her.

She shoved the sliding glass of the medicine cabinet harder than she needed to, but could barely see the contents through the tears filling her eyes. Not the damned tears again, she groaned silently, pressing her lips together to refuse the emotion. No, she was not going to cry over this…this…whatever it was. Stupid…hormonal…mistake.

“Excuse me,” she said tightly, without turning around. “Would you please… This bathroom is just not that large.” Nothing happened. He didn’t move. “Would you leave?”

Mitch frowned heavily.

Elaine waited with forced calm, hand on the Neosporin, until she heard him walk quietly across the tile floor and through the hall. Without looking, she reached out, grasped the bathroom door and slammed it as hard as she could. She had no intention of crying in front of Mitch Ryder, and she certainly wasn’t going to cry over him.

She had plans, born of her heart only. If she intended to get on with them, she had better get used to feeling alone. No doubt she was going to feel alone a lot in the coming months as she embarked on a journey usually traveled by two.

As for discovering what had happened the night she left the bar with Mitch, that was a mystery that would have to remain unsolved. What difference did it make? She didn’t need an affair; she didn’t want the headache.

What she wanted was a pint-sized headache who needed all the love she had to give.

Splashing cold water on her face, Elaine dabbed her nose with antiseptic, replaced the tube and closed the medicine cabinet. Time to get down to business. She had a pregnancy to get under way. And a possible ex-lover to get rid of. She didn’t want Mitch Ryder here one moment longer than necessary.

Mitch looked down at the oak floor, grateful for the dimness of the living room with the curtains closed. As if the dimness would keep him from having to see himself too clearly.