Isn't it Romantic? Read online

  “The lady on the phone wants to know where we are.”

  Glancing up, Katrine noted Shelly hanging halfway over the seat. It occurred to her, even in this mind-numbing circumstance, that an eleven year old had no business witnessing the miracle of birth. But then, maybe if young girls were forced to confront the results of passion, there might be less teen pregnancies.

  Trey took the phone and gave directions as best he could. His tone was panicked and, reluctantly he handed the phone back to Shelly. “She said the level-headed kid who called should handle the instructions.”

  Shelly listened for a second, then asked Nadine if she could wait for the ambulance. A contraction gripped the panting woman and she shook her head to the negative.

  “She can’t wait,” Shelly said calmly. After a short pause, she instructed her mother to get behind Nadine and lift the woman’s shoulders when she pushed. “Trey.” Shelly swallowed loudly. “The lady says you have to deliver the baby.”

  Katrine paused in her scramble to position herself behind Nadine and glanced at Trey. His face reflected sick horror. With trembling hands he gently pushed Nadine’s dress up over her bent knees. The expression that crossed his face spoke volumes. No way could that be possible!

  He took a deep breath. “Okay, tell me what to do.”

  “First, I think you should open your eyes,” Katrine suggested.

  “Oh. Right.”

  “The lady says when the head comes out, gently cup it with one hand and rotate the baby’s shoulders to the side with the other,” Shelly instructed.

  Nadine began to pant again.

  “Here we go,” Katrine warned.

  “Lift her shoulders, Mom.”

  “The head’s coming,” Trey announced. “That’s it, Nadine. Just a little more. You’re doing great. There,” he breathed in relief.

  “Quick, turn the baby before the next contraction,” Shelly said.

  Trey hesitated.

  “Turn the baby.” Katrine sounded frantic.

  “It’s so small. What if I hurt it?”

  “Do what I said, Trey!” Shelly ordered. He obeyed.

  “Now, when the next contraction begins, the lady says to be ready to catch the baby.”

  “It’s starting.” Katrine saw the muscles in Nadine’s stomach begin to bunch.

  “Push, Nadine,” Trey instructed. “That’s it! I have him! Shelly, what do I do?”

  “What now?” she shouted into the phone, her calm obviously fading. “The lady says to use your finger to clean out the baby’s mouth, then to gently wipe your hand across it’s face to unblock the nose passage.”

  It took Trey a few seconds to complete the procedure. Nothing happened. “He’s not breathing!”

  “Help him,” Nadine whispered. “Oh God, please help him!”

  Shelly quickly relayed the frightening news. “Hold him up by his feet and give him a smack on the bottom!”

  Fear shot through Katrine’s body. She saw Trey lift the baby. It looked so small … so lifeless.

  “My hands are too slippery,” Trey ground out in frustration. “I’m afraid I’ll drop him without both hands. Shelly, lean forward and give him a smack.”

  Without hesitation, Shelly complied. Silence, then a small chocking noise followed by a full-fledged wail of outrage, and life entered the cab. A miracle in the making.

  “Ahhh,” the air left Katrine’s lungs in a relieved rush. Her eyes began to water. “Just listen to that, Nadine.”

  After gathering the squalling infant in his arms, a look of pure wonder spreading over his tense features, Trey glanced up and smiled at Nadine. “He’s perfect.”

  “Let me have him,” the woman begged.

  Trey leaned forward and placed the baby on her stomach. Katrine oohhed and awed with Nadine as they counted each tiny finger, each tiny toe.

  “Have you ever seen anything so beautiful?” Katrine asked, meeting Trey’s warm regard.

  He shook his head slowly, his gaze never leaving her face. “No, I’ve never seen anything more beautiful.”

  Her pulse quickened. She and Trey shared something miraculous today. Could she look at him from this moment forward without remembering the tenderness in his eyes when he gazed down at Nadine and Charlie’s baby? Judging from his easy mannerisms with Shelly, Katrine thought Trey Westmoreland would make a wonderful father. For only a moment, she resented the fact it wasn’t their child he ogled with such … longing.

  Yes, she assured herself, longing seemed to be the correct word. Would Trey want children of his own someday? Still captured by the warmth of his eyes, Katrine decided the beauty of what they’d just experienced had seduced her. Forget her earlier assurance that witnessing birth would douse the flames of passion. Something stirred in her veins, primal and instinctive. The need to mate.

  “Ah, what?” Charlie muttered.

  The spell held for a second longer. Katrine recognized the answering spark in Trey’s heated stare before he removed his jacket and covered Nadine. Their ordeal wasn’t over. Sirens blared as the ambulance pulled up beside the cab. “Later?” he questioned softly.

  Katrine felt her throat constrict. Did she dare agree to the blatant invitation in his eyes. “Yes, later.”

  Chapter 11

  As she fidgeted with the keys to the front door, a weary Trey, and a recently over-educated Shelly trudged along behind Katrine.

  “The security system,” Shelly warned.

  “I remember,” Katrine lied. She hadn’t been able to think of anything but ‘later’ since leaving the hospital. She punched in the code and jiggled the key. Her hands shook. Warm fingers closed over hers.

  “Let me,” Trey suggested. “It’s been a rough day.”

  “Next to delivering a baby, ice skating seemed boring,” Shelly decided in a flat voice.

  Trey laughed. “I believe you’ve found your calling, Doctor Shelly. You were great, Kid.”

  “Don’t call me kid,” Shelly grumbled.

  “Why? You are one,” Trey continued to tease. “You’d better get to bed before you drop where you stand.”

  Shelly nodded while he swung the door wide and handed the keys back to Katrine. “I could probably sleep through a tornado.”

  A pause followed her admission. One in which Katrine dropped her keys. She and Trey almost bumped heads as each bent to retrieve them.

  “I’ll just go,” he said, the decision sounding more like a question than a statement. “I’m a mess,” he indicated his clothing.

  “You can take a shower here,” Shelly politely offered. “Mom can wash your shirt and fix you a cup of coffee.”

  Meddling child. Katrine pasted a brave smile on her lips. “It’s the least I can do for the hero of the day.”

  Her flattery caused a thoughtful frown to settle over his lips. The intensity of his gaze when he turned those too-blue eyes on her made Katrine’s knees weak.

  “Are you sure?”

  Sure? No, she wasn’t sure! If she let Trey inside the house, Katrine knew straight where it would lead. To bed. Her emotions had been batted around all day. She felt vulnerable, hungry for his touch, driven to bond with him. Inviting Trey in was emotional suicide.

  “I’m sure,” her voice cracked.

  His smile suggested he doubted her sincerity. “I’ll come inside for a while. But, I could use something stronger than coffee.”

  “I–I think I have a bottle of scotch in one of my cabinets. It belonged to … well, will that do?”

  “That’ll do,” he answered. “For starters, anyway.”

  ———

  Scotch splashed over the sides of her glass as Katrine hurriedly poured herself a drink. What am I doing? I have a maniac in my shower! And worse, I’d like to be in there with him! I’ve definitely lost my head! Taking a deep breath, she lifted her glass, snatched up the bottle and moved into the hallway where the lower level bathroom was located. Outside the door, on the knob, hung a shirt in dire need of a washing. She draped the sh
irt over one arm and tried to stare a hole through the door. Was he undressing?

  Perhaps he’d already taken his clothes off. Katrine wished she had the nerve her heroines possessed. One in particular, would have simply placed her hand on the knob, twisted it, and found out.

  ———

  “That’s it,” Trey coaxed under his breath, watching the knob turn slowly. “Open the door and step inside. Prove I didn’t imagine what your eyes were telling me earlier.”

  Jeans unfastened, chest bare, breathing labored, he waited. The turning ceased. Trey slowly let the air escape his lungs. “Tease,” he accused softly, then walked to the shower, adjusted the water temperature to cold, slipped out of his jeans and stepped beneath the chilly spray.

  A frigid blast of rationalism. That’s what I need. He should have left when Katrine displayed misgivings concerning her earlier promise. Women like her always went back on the deal. So perfect on the outside, so shallow within. “No thank you,” he mumbled, soaping his body.

  He continued to mentally berate his irrational behavior while climbing out of the shower. I might have done something really stupid tonight. Something almost as crazy as glancing across that cab and wishing for one insane moment he’d see the wonder on Katrine’s features again someday. Watch her face tilt up to his with the same awe-struck beauty while she nestled their child in her arms. It didn’t make sense, and yet, it seemed so right at the time. He, Katrine, Shelly, together. A family.

  Trey shook his head, scattering drops of water. “She’s all wrong for you,” he assured his reflection, grabbing up a towel. “You’re thinking with the front of your pants. Do you think you can just hit and run so easy?” He didn’t like the idea.

  “Give in to her,” he said, pointing a finger at his image, “and you’re borrowing trouble. One night might not be enough. What if you want her again tomorrow night, the one after and the one after that? Next thing you know, you’ll open a drawer in her bathroom, and there’s your damn toothbrush!”

  Opening a drawer, Trey noted a new toothbrush lying beside a tube of toothpaste. He snatched it up. “This isn’t mine,” he assured his reflection before opening the box.

  ———

  He’d finished his shower, that much Katrine knew by the steady water pressure flowing into the washer. She shook soap into the machine and closed the lid. What now? Her gaze traveled upward. Maybe she could just hide down here in the basement until his shirt washed and dried, then extend it to him on a long stick. No, she worried. The shirt was white. It’d look like surrender.

  “I should have let him leave,” she repeated, unconsciously taking a sip of the scotch. The taste made her wince and she sat the glass down.

  Carl had liked scotch. Boring, hairy Carl. It occurred to her the question of whether or not Trey had a hairy chest would soon be answered. Of course, accompanying that chest would be the hot look he turned on her countless times at the hospital. The one that made rational thought impossible.

  “Are you down there?”

  Oh no, he’d found her. “Y–yes,” Katrine croaked.

  Her eyes fastened on the stairs. His bare feet came into view, then thankfully jean-clad legs. Uh-oh. Skin. Flat-corded stomach, broad shoulders, very little hair. She was in trouble.

  “When I didn’t find you in the kitchen…” Trey’s voice trailed. He paused on the bottom step. “Why are you looking at me like that? What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing.” She whirled around to face the washer. “Not one damn thing,” she said under her breath. Katrine had seen that chest before in her dreams. In her novels, she covered it with dark hair because Craig Martin, her editor, insisted women liked a hairy-torsoed hero. Unfortunately, she didn’t.

  “Mind if I have a drink?” Trey walked toward a table obviously used for folding laundry where her glass and the bottle sat.

  Katrine continued to study the knobs as if they held all the most renowned secrets of the world. “Go ahead. I–I only brought one glass.”

  “We’ll share. That shirt’s probably a lost cause,” he said when the silence between them stretched.

  Okay I can’t avoid looking at him any longer. Katrine turned. Muscles rippled when he lifted the glass. After taking a sip, he winced slightly the same as she’d done. “Charlie was certainly the proud father once he woke up, wasn’t he?” she blurted.

  “He acted like a total idiot.” Trey laughed. “Cooing and clucking over the baby, then puffing up like a toad. You’d have thought Nadine didn’t have a thing to do with the birth.”

  “Now, she was the strange one.” Katrine bravely placed herself beside him. “I thought Nadine wanted to kill Charlie while she was in labor, but after he regained consciousness, she gushed and cried all over him. ‘Just look Charlie, look what we done’,” she mimicked Nadine.

  “Yeah, she was something,” he said with a soft smile. “I guess she’s forgiven me a little.”

  “I’d say she’s forgiven you a lot,” Katrine countered, taking the glass he offered her. “You puffed up nicely yourself when Charlie and Nadine decided to give the baby your name.”

  A tinge of red crept into his cheeks. “That kid owes me big time. ‘Ferguson’ was their original choice. What kind of torture is that to inflict on anyone?”

  “It isn’t so bad,” she admonished. “But, Trey, I think that’s a sort of heroic sounding name.”

  “You do?”

  “Umhum.” She nodded while taking a drink.

  He frowned. Katrine had the distinct impression he didn’t feel as if she’d complimented him. She noted the smell of toothpaste on the glass in her hand.

  “I guess you found a toothbrush?”

  “Oh, yeah. Since there weren’t any women’s things scattered around, I assumed—”

  “Don’t worry about it,” she interrupted. “Shelly showers in there sometimes, but we both have a private bath upstairs and plenty of toothbrushes. Consider that one yours.”

  “It’s not mine,” he barked, then immediately wanted to smack himself on the forehead. He sounded so defensive, so paranoid. Her earlier admission she found his name heroic sounding rattled him, nor did he like the way he fought himself to keep his hands off her. Trey felt certain the talk he had with himself upstairs hadn’t done a damn bit of good. “I meant, you can soak it in peroxide and use it again. I’m sure I don’t have anything contagious.”

  She sat the glass down. “I’m glad to know that.”

  The words hung between them. Glad as in ‘good, now we can quit reminiscing and do what we’ve been thinking about doing all afternoon’, Trey wondered. Or did she simply wish him good health? An awkward silence settled over the basement.

  “Today must have brought back memories for you,” he said, retreating to safer ground. “With Shelly,” Trey clarified when her expression seemed blank. He expected a smile of remembrance to soften her features. To the contrary, she tensed, her eyes filled with tears.

  “As I said earlier, I had a cesarean. When the monitor showed fetal distress, they knocked me out. I’d lost John only seven months before. Once I knew the baby was all right, I felt relieved I didn’t have to experience a natural birth. I’d already been through so much pain. Today I saw what I missed by not being conscious to hear Shelly’s first cry, to hold her in that glorious moment of discovery. I felt cheated. I wanted to snatch the moment back—to relive it again.”

  “Life’s full of pain and unfairness,” he said quietly, pulling Katrine into his arms. “I’m sorry for you, but more for John. He never met the daughter who carries his name. He’d be proud of her.”

  She lifted a tear-stained face to his. “He would, wouldn’t he?”

  Trey nodded, his gaze caressing her trembling lips before he bent to taste them.

  ———

  For Katrine, it seemed natural to come together in the sadness of loss and the celebration of life. Her fingers touched the smoothness of his chest, reveling in the warmth of his skin. When her nails grazed the circl
e of his nipple, he groaned. His response unleashed something dormant in her, a desire to test the boundaries of her own sensuality, a need to rekindle the flame he’d built between them the night they met. She wanted passion, irrational and overwhelming. Bravely, her tongue stole inside his mouth to explore, to taste him as he tasted her.

  “Katrine,” he warned hoarsely against her lips. “I don’t know what you want from me, and as much as I hate to point this out, I don’t think you know, either.”

  But she did know. “I only want this moment,”

  Katrine whispered, trailing kisses down his neck. “I want you to set me on fire. I want to feel your skin next to mine and not just imagine what it would be like to make love with you.”

  “Dammit,” he swore softly. “I can’t think straight with your mouth on my throat, with your hands roaming all over me. Katrine, this isn’t rational behavior.”

  She sighed impatiently. “I’ve never done anything impulsive or spontaneous in my life. Trey, do you want to be rational or do you want to make love to me?”

  Her head tilted back, a result of his hands in her hair. Their eyes fused.

  “To hell with logic.” He crushed her lips with urgency. The sweater around her hips inched up her stomach until he pulled it over her head. Skin met skin. “Mmmm,” they both sighed with pleasure. Trey lifted her from the floor, never surrendering her lips.

  “Oh,” she gasped over both the feel of his arousal pressed intimately against her and the jarring thud her bottom made when he deposited her on top of the washer. He cupped the fullness of her lace-clad breasts, his thumbs teasing her nipples erect through the thin fabric.

  “You’re beautiful, Katrine. You fit so perfectly in my hands,” he whispered against her ear.

  “Get it off,” she pleaded, struggling with the straps of her bra. “I want to feel your hands on me, your mouth.”