Baby Under The Mistletoe

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

SOLEIL HAD ALWAYS been a passionate lover, but her enthusiasm now was unprecedented. West almost laughed at the way she’d grabbed him a few minutes ago and dragged him in here.

He’d no more than blinked before she was unfastening his pants and he was kicking them aside. While part of him wanted to put on the brakes and slow them down enough so that he could savor the experience, the part of him that was actually in control wasn’t about to slow down anything.

He wanted her as badly as she wanted him, except he was pretty sure he didn’t have the same glazed look of determination she had.

Now he was fumbling with her shirts, trying to tug them off of her, except she seemed to be resisting.

“Wait,” she said, breaking their kiss. “I, uh, I’m wearing maternity pants…and panties.”

“So?”

Her look of distress turned to a wry grin. “I don’t want you to see them.”

“Why?”

“Because they nearly come up to my armpits.”

West recalled the fabric his hand had brushed over on the way to her breasts. At the time he hadn’t thought much of it, but now he laughed, imagining her distress.

“I don’t care. I’m aroused by you, not what you’re wearing.”

She cocked one skeptical eyebrow. “Oh, yeah?”

“Let me see.”

He tried to lift up her shirts again, and she swatted his hand away. But he grabbed her hand, then caught the other one in his hand and tried to grab her shirts again as she wiggled away.

“Let go. I’m going to the bathroom to get undressed.” But she was laughing now, a little too hard to fight him off effectively.

He backed her up to the bed and toppled her onto it, then climbed on her and pinned her hands over her head.

“Let’s see what we have here,” he said, taking his time about the big reveal.

Tears streamed from the corners of her eyes now, she was laughing so hard. “Stop!” she cried, but he wasn’t about to.

He grasped the hems of her shirts and pulled them up. Beneath was a big navy blue stretchy fabric panel that extended from her crotch all the way to the top of her rib cage.

“Wow,” he said. “Those are cool.”

She tried to pry her arms free, to no avail. “I hate you,” she said between giggles.

“And what do we have underneath?” he said as he tugged down the elastic waist of the jeans and found a pair of white panties with a waistline nearly as high as the pants.

“You are so dead.”

“Mmm, granny panties. Those are hot.”

“Dead! As a doorknob!”

“Why don’t they make pants like this for men, too? You can have a big meal and don’t even need to do any unbuttoning or unzipping to make room. I’m thinking these will sell big.”

“Yeah, the guys who wear them will never get laid again, so food will be their only pleasure anyway.”

He caught her eye. They were both smiling, and he could hardly believe he was so close to her now, touching her anywhere he wanted. He’d been trying not to dream of this for months.

He slid his hand up beneath her shirts again, brushing the underside of her breast with his fingertips. He watched as her eyes fluttered shut, and her expression went from amused to nearly rapturous.

Then he leaned in close and kissed her as he tugged down the waist of her pants, eliminating whatever embarrassment she might have felt by simply not looking.

When he let go of her wrists, she tugged her pants the rest of the way down and he stopped kissing her long enough to pull off her shirts and bra before she changed her mind.

Now she was naked before him. Her once-thin body had been transformed into a whole new landscape. Here a mountain range of full, lush breasts, there a valley of smooth skin, and beyond, a round hill where flat plains had once been.

“Beautiful,” he said, and it was true.

She was beautiful in a whole new way than she’d been before. She was an image as ancient as humankind, a lovely round fertility goddess in all her brown naked glory.

His erection strained toward her, ready to explore new territory. West didn’t want to wait another minute to remind himself what it was like to be inside her, but he also had never made love to a pregnant woman before, and wasn’t sure if any precautions were supposed to be taken. Was missionary position safe? Would he squash the baby? Would things be painful? He felt like an idiot even having to wonder.

She sensed his hesitation.

“What?”

“Is it okay to-”

“Of course it is.” She sat up, and before he knew it they’d switched positions, her on top, him lying on his back as she straddled his hips.

His erection brushed against her, and she let out a little gasp. She was hot and wet, fully aroused, as he was. He grasped her hips and eased himself into her as they kissed, and she moaned into his mouth when he began moving inside her.

Where their bodies met, he was overcome with sensation. And his breath grew shallow and gasping as they moved in sync with each other. He slid his hands up her sides, toyed with her breasts, brought them to his mouth, took her nipples between his teeth as he teased with his tongue.

He wasn’t expecting it when she came so fast. Before he’d even gotten used to having her on top of him, she began crying out, gasping as her body bucked against the orgasm.

He’d been trying to restrain himself a little, move slowly, make sure she had time to come, but she was apparently as pent up as he was, and when she recovered, he kissed her silent and began moving faster inside her.

Harder, faster, until his own orgasm was nearly upon him. He was coiled tight, ready to burst forth, when she came a second time.

Her cries, and the pulsing of her inner muscles against him, were the final nudge he needed for his own release, and he joined her in the gasping, quaking aftermath.

As she collapsed on top of him, he wrapped his arms around her and kissed her gently on the cheek. Spent, exhausted, the last thought he had before drifting off to sleep was that he loved Soleil Freeman. He loved her, and she was about to have his child.

There really wasn’t anything else to know, as far as he could see.

SOLEIL EASED HERSELF out of bed, cursing silently with each step she took toward the bathroom. Pregnancy sex might have had the lovely benefit of easy multiple orgasms, but it also brought with it a new set of problems, like how to avoid her lover ever seeing her ass when she had to get up and go to the bathroom.

Once inside, with the door closed, she washed up, put on her robe, then stared at herself in the mirror, trying to see what West saw.

All she saw were the same chipmunk cheeks and wary green eyes that greeted her every day lately. Her hair was sticking up in the back where it had gotten knocked free of a braid while they’d been rolling around in bed, so she smoothed it down and tucked it back where it belonged.

Still no clue about West and his obstinate insistence that she was different than all the other someones out there he might fall for.

He looked at her in a way that made her wholly uncomfortable. He looked at her as if he adored her. And how could she live up to such feelings? They’d only lead to heartbreak. She had to make it clear, once again, even though they’d had sex-even though it was hot and wonderful and all that-that they still faced the same issue of her not wanting him the way he wanted her.

She was a wretch. They’d made love, and all she could think of was how to stem the flow of good feelings? How about basking in the afterglow for a little while?

Soleil switched off the bathroom light, then eased the door open, peeking out to see if West was still asleep. She could see down the hallway and into the bedroom, where he still lay on the bed, his eyes closed.

She went back and lay down on the bed next to him, on her side, but before she could get up close and pretend to be asleep herself, he rolled over and looked at her.

“Hey,” he said with a sleepy smile.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you.”

Something about getting up close to him, within the range of his power over her, made her forget whatever it was she’d been so bent out of shape about in the bathroom. It was probably pheromones or something. He pulled her to him, and she sighed a happy little sigh as she let herself be enveloped in his warmth.

She’d chill out with him for a bit, allow herself the simple comfort of a hot guy on a cold day.

“What’s with the robe?” he said. “I barely got to enjoy the view.”

She rolled her eyes.

“You really do look beautiful pregnant,” he said.

Before she could stop him, he’d undone the belt of her robe and pushed it aside, revealing her right side, breast, belly and legs.

“Yeah, yeah. I’m not into the whole round, bulgy look.”

“You should be. Our baby’s in there. Growing inside your body. That’s pretty damn amazing. What’s not beautiful about it?”

He had her there. She didn’t know what to say. Anything that came to mind would make her sound like a shallow dolt, and really, he was right.

She may not have exactly welcomed the changes to her body, mostly because they were strange and unexpected and didn’t fit with her image of herself as a strong, capable woman who could bend over and reach her toes with ease.

She hated to think that she’d bought into even the slightest bit of beauty-industry brainwashing that told her she was supposed to hate herself unless she was a size two with flawless skin and smooth hair. But maybe she had let such ideas seep into her consciousness. This was America, after all-it was impossible not to harbor a few unhealthy notions about beauty.

During her brooding silence, West had started stroking his hand over her belly. “Have you felt her kick lately?”

“It’s more of a fluttering feeling than a kick. Not anything you’d be able to feel yet. But in a few more months, I hear she’ll be using my ribs for soccer practice.”

“I don’t want to miss that,” he said, his expression turning tense.

“Yeah. You’ll be in Colorado again…How much longer until your assignment there is up?”

“Anytime now. I’m waiting to get orders for an overseas assignment.”

Soleil’s entire being recoiled at the idea of West going to some dangerous unknown location. Surely it was just her pacifist upbringing. She didn’t want to see anyone go off to a war-torn country, and especially not the father of her baby. But…This wasn’t the usual sense of dread she got-this was stronger.

He noticed her reaction. “It’s terrible timing, I know. For this,” he said, nodding at her belly, “and for the situation with my dad. I’m not sure what to do.”

“Right.” Her voice, flat, to match the look in her eyes, probably.

“I know what you’re thinking. Why would I want you to pick up your life and move with me when I won’t even be around half the time?”

“I didn’t say that.” But, yeah, she was thinking it.

“I don’t have any good answer. I only know other military families make it work because they believe in serving their country.”

“You might note that I’m not exactly a duty, honor, country kind of girl.”

“I know. But some things are more important than our preconceived notions of what we will and won’t do, or what kind of community we fit in, aren’t they?”

Typical West, trying to bully her into seeing his point of view, rather than accepting that they disagreed.

Exactly why she didn’t want to have him in her life 24/7.

She tugged her robe back down to hide her exposed body and pulled it tight against her chest.

“I’m doing it again, aren’t I?” he said before she could compose a proper comeback.

“Doing what?”

“Trying to bully you into seeing things my way. I told myself I have to stop that, but…Old habits.” He smiled weakly. “I’m trying.”

Not much she could argue with there. He knew what he was doing to annoy the hell out of her, and he was trying to change it. Maybe they’d be able to work well as coparents, at least, even if long-distance.

“I appreciate that,” she said.

A sound from the front door caught her attention, and Soleil sat up, her ears straining to hear if it had been a key in the lock that she’d heard.

“Hello? Soleil? I’m home.”

“Oh, God,” she whispered. “It’s my mom.”

“We finally get to meet?” His wry smile suggested he was enjoying her discomfort a little too much.

“No! Not now!” She stood and hurried to shut the bedroom door. Before closing it, she called, “Hi, Mom. I’ll be down in a minute.”

“Why not?”

“Because she’s crazy, and I’m not ready for it. I’ll never hear the end of it from her, once she has specific details about you to grill me with.”

“She’s going to have to meet me sooner or later.”

He stayed on the bed, naked, looking as though he was in no hurry to get dressed.

Soleil stopped in the middle of tugging on her panties and jeans. “Fine, you want to meet her? Get dressed and come right downstairs. You’ll see.”

He chuckled. Taking his sweet time, he eased himself up and started gathering his clothes. Soleil put her bra and sweatshirt back on, smoothed her hair and began straightening the duvet to hide the evidence of their midday sex.

“Maybe I should take a shower first. Get cleaned up so I don’t smell all musky when I meet your mom.”

“Just hurry up. She’s going to eat you alive, either way.”

West pulled on his jeans and took the rest of his clothes with him to the bathroom, while Soleil went downstairs.

She found her mother in the kitchen, unloading a paper bag full of groceries-all meat and vegetables, of course.

“Weren’t you a vegetarian before you went on this cleansing diet?”

Anne turned and gave her a look from head to toe. “Smells like you’ve been-”

Yikes.

“Painting?”

Whew.

“Yeah, putting a second coat of paint on the baby’s room. It’s still not finished.”

“You shouldn’t have chosen such a dark color. Aren’t nurseries supposed to be pastel?”

“Yes, and if I were painting the room pink or lavender,” Soleil said in her sweetest voice, “you’d criticize me for gender stereotyping the baby.”

“Yellow is a good nursery color. I’ve always loved the effect of yellow on walls.”

Soleil turned on the kettle and started making tea. It was damp and cold outside, and the dreary weather was seeping into the house, into the room and into her mood all of a sudden. And her mother was not helping matters.

“Next time you paint a nursery, you can make it as yellow as you want,” she said as she tried not to clench her teeth.

“What’s that sound upstairs? Is someone taking a shower?”

“Yes, someone is taking a shower.” Soleil slammed the sugar container on the counter a little too hard, and the lid slipped off and clattered onto the counter.

From upstairs, she could hear the water shutting off. She had three minutes max before West would be down here getting tortured by the great Anne Bishop.

Her mother finished putting away the groceries and began to assemble a salad. She eyed the sugar Soleil was about to put in her tea.

“Do you know how bad for you refined white sugar is? And for your baby?”

“It’s pure evil, I know.”

“Are you going to tell me who’s upstairs, or shall I wait to be surprised?”

“It’s West, the guy who knocked me up,” she said, knowing how much her mother hated that phrase and relishing the sound of it as it tripped off her tongue.

Knocked me up.

So satisfying to say, and so perfectly crude, so base in its imagery. It was the perfect phrase to infuriate a feminist poet.

Though, for West’s sake, she probably shouldn’t have been trying so hard to get under her mother’s skin.

“Oh? So you two are still fooling around. I thought you weren’t a couple.”

“You know how us postfeminist girls are, always having sex without commitment. It’s exactly what your generation envisioned, isn’t it?”

“My generation did not ever envision intelligent women like yourself getting knocked up, as you put it. And we never expected those younger than us to be so entirely crude and disrespectful of all we worked for.”

“You were working so hard for the feminist cause when you cheated on Dad, weren’t you? It was all about sexual liberation and had nothing to do with your own fragile ego, did it?”

She hadn’t planned to say it, but now it was out there, hanging in the air between them like a rotten odor.

Her mother spun, pinning her with a dark look as she pointed a knife at her, ever the drama queen. “I will not stand here and be abused,” she said, her voice barely steady.

“Is telling the truth abuse?”

“The history of my personal life is my own business.”

“Oh? Does that mean my personal life is my own business, too?”

“Why are you so hostile?”

How like her mother to change the subject when the argument wasn’t going her way.

“I’m not answering any questions while you have a knife pointed at me.”

“And I’m not staying here if you’re going to abuse me.” She slammed the knife down on the counter.

“I thought you enjoyed pain. Or is that just what you claim in your writing because it sounds good?”

“Hello, ladies.” It was West, standing in the kitchen doorway.

He must have overheard part of their conversation, because he looked as if he was about to jump into shark-infested waters.

“Captain West Morgan, meet my mother, Anne Bishop,” Soleil said.

“Captain?”

“Yes, Mom. West is an air force officer,” she said, lapsing into her chirpy fifties housewife voice again. “He bombs innocent civilians for a living.”

Her mother’s expression neutral, she looked from Soleil to West. “How nice,” she said. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll be leaving now. If you care to stop acting like a monster, you can reach me via my cell phone. I’m going to find a vacation rental for the rest of my time here.”

“You don’t want to stay here? But why?” Soleil, blinking innocently, hadn’t managed to infuse her voice with anything resembling sincerity.

Her mother began packing up her groceries again, furiously flinging heads of lettuce and sides of meat into her shopping bag.

West watched the whole scene, bewildered. Probably not sure if he should be offended at her description of his profession or relieved that he wasn’t in the line of fire at the moment.

Without planning to, Soleil had rescued him from her mother, she realized. And, she understood, too, she actually wanted to be the villain in her mother’s eyes, for reasons she didn’t quite understand.

“Ms. Bishop, I hope you’re not leaving on account of me,” West said, stepping into the room now, his voice sounding confident. “I remember reading your poetry in college. It’s an honor to meet you.”

He’d read her angry feminist poetry…at the air force academy?

Soleil didn’t believe him for a second, but she kept quiet. She took the kettle off the stove before it started whistling and poured the hot water into a cup with a lemon-ginger tea bag.

Her mother could never quite hide her pleasure at being recognized as a renowned poet. She smiled stiffly. “Why, thank you for saying that. I’m sorry you’ve walked in on Soleil and me at our worst.”

“The scene’s not much different at my father’s house, between me and him. I think it’s the holidays-this time of year makes everyone tense.”

Her mother’s posture changed a bit, went a little less stiff.

“Would anyone else like a cup of tea?” Soleil asked.

No one seemed to hear her. Anne was staring at West now as if she was seeing him for the first time.

“I’ve always said the holidays are the most miserable time of year. All the pressure to be happy and normal, to make everything perfect. It’s unnatural, isn’t it?”

“Absolutely,” West said.

“I’m going to leave you two lovebirds alone. I’ll be packing,” she said, sounding a lot less tense.

“You don’t have to leave, Mom.”

“This is one less way we have to pretend everything’s perfect, okay? We’ll both be a little saner if we have a bit of space.”

Her mother left the room, and Soleil felt stung that suddenly she was the only one being childish. At the same time, she owed West. He’d saved her and himself.

She mouthed the words thank you. He grinned back at her.

“I’ll have a cup of that tea,” he said. “Oh, and before I forget, my mom asked me to invite you and your mother to her Christmas party this coming Saturday night.”

“That’s sweet of her.”

“It’s from six to whenever. No gifts or anything-just show up. She lives at the Redwood Shores condominium complex on the north side of the lake. She’s in unit seven.”

“I think I can remember that.”

“I was thinking, um, I’d like to come by the farm some more, you know, to help out around here.”

“That’s not really necessary. I’ve got the routine down, for the most part.”

Except she hated getting up early and at this time of year tended to be slack about farm upkeep.

“How about cutting yourself a break? You run this place on your own, you’re almost six months pregnant and you’ve got an eager farmhand willing to help out for free.”

He had a point there.

“Okay, if you really want to help out…”

“I’ll come by in the morning then,” he said, probably trying to seal the deal before she changed her mind.

As she’d feared, she was being railroaded, but for some reason she wasn’t able to muster up the will to protest.