to society again, and he’d just found out he’d fathered a child.
She stared again at the powerful neck and short hair in front of her eyes and the way the thick strands clung to his skull like heavy silk. Resisted the urge to move her hand from around his chest to touch it as she didn’t want to wake him, but her fingers curled.
She could imagine her baby having hair just that colour, though, of course, hers was black like her dad’s as well, so the kid didn’t have much choice. But she would think of it as his father’s hair. Would he have Rayne’s eyes and mouth too?
Imagine.
A long slow pulling sensation surged in her belly from under her breasts down to her pubic bone, growing tighter and then after a while easing off. Just one.
Braxton-Hicks. Practice contractions. Not painful. Just weird, as if the baby was stretching out straight. But she knew it wasn’t. Soon they would come more frequently. Maybe for a couple of hours at a time and then stop. For a few days probably. She’d told other women this so many times, but it was strange when it was yourself you were reassuring.
This time she’d welcomed it without the accompanying flare of nervousness she’d been fighting for weeks. Giving birth was a job that needed to be done and now that Rayne was here the time was right. Whatever happened, whatever her birth journey was meant to be, Rayne would be there to share it all. The best Christmas present of all.
Rayne woke an hour later, straight from dreaming about Maeve. Like he’d woken nearly every day for the last nine months. Except this time he really had her in his arms, his hands really were cupping her glorious breasts, her taut backside really was snuggled into his erection, which was growing exponentially with confirmation of the contact.
They must have rolled in their sleep.
She murmured drowsily, not yet awake, and languidly backed into him a little more. Unconsciously, his hands slid over her belly, pulling her closer.
The little person inside that belly nudged him and he recoiled in startled appreciation of where his actions were leading. ‘Sorry,’ he murmured, and slid his hands down to the sides of Maeve’s abdomen, but Maeve was having none of it. Took his hands and placed them back on her breasts. Wriggled into him.
‘Have mercy, Maeve,’ he whispered in her ear, but he couldn’t help the smile that grew on his face. She wriggled against him again and he groaned. Slid his rear end across the bed to make room for her to shift and turned her to face him. ‘You are a menace.’
‘And you feel so good against me,’ she whispered back drowsily. Then tilted her face for a kiss, and there was no way he could resist those lips, that mouth, or keep it to one kiss. And the gentle salute turned into a banquet of sliding salutations and memories that resurfaced from all those months ago. How they matched each other for movements, timing, a connection between them that had him pulling her closer, but the big belly in the middle made everything awkward, yet erotic, and he must be the most debauched man on earth to want to make love to this woman who was so close to giving birth.
As if she’d read his mind, she said, ‘If we don’t make love now, you’ll have to wait for ages.’
He really hadn’t thought of that. ‘Maybe we should wait.’ But he seriously didn’t want to. And she obviously didn’t. Nine months of fantasy and the woman of his dreams was demanding he make love to her.
No-brainer really.
In the Maeve fog that was clouding his mind he wasn’t really sure what he’d been thinking to knock her back before.
Still in the fog, he slid from the bed, ripped his T-shirt off his head in one movement and kicked off his briefs. Knelt back down and dropped a big kiss right between Maeve’s awesome assets. Geez, he loved her breasts.
He slid his hands around her back and unclasped her bra. Sighed as the two gorgeous spheres eased out of the restraining material like big, soft plump peaches. The circular areolas surrounding her nipples were dark peach, highlighted for a tiny baby to find easily, and he skimmed his fingers across in awe while she watched him with a womanly smile as old as the ages.
He swallowed to ease the dryness in his throat. ‘They say pregnant women in the third trimester of pregnancy have erotic dreams and surges of erotic desires.’
‘That’s very true,’ she whispered, pulling him closer and tilting her mouth for him to kiss again. When they paused for breath there was no concept of stopping. But he was doing this right, and gently, and he wanted to show her just how beautiful she was in his mind and in his heart. ‘Then we’d better take our time.’
Labour and birth
WHEN MAEVE WOKE up Rayne was gone. But the contraction tightenings weren’t gone. That darned love hormone.
She did not want to have this baby on Christmas Day. It was okay for baby Jesus. He’d never been materialistic, but Maeve knew how she’d feel about the one day of the year that belonged to everyone, in her corner of her world anyway. But it was her own fault.
Still, she could not regret this afternoon in Rayne’s arms. She smiled a long, slow, satisfied smile. Regret definitely wasn’t the word that sprang to mind.
Revel, ravish, rolling around with … Scraping the bottom of the barrel there, but reaaaalllyyy amazing just about covered it. Her skin flushed at the thought of how wonderful he’d been, so unhurried, showing her a world of gentleness that had brought tears to her eyes. He had paid homage to her body, coveted her belly, and just plain loved her, something she’d missed so badly as her body had changed, and he had banished for ever the idea he wasn’t the man for her.
Which was an excellent thing if she was about to have his baby.
Another contraction followed on the thought. That love hormone again.
She glanced at the clock. It was seven-thirty in the evening. Almost sunset. Less than five hours until midnight. ‘Hang in there, baby.’
She climbed awkwardly out of bed. Pulled on a robe and gathered something light to wear for the evening. Something comfortable like a sarong. They’d probably sit out the back or go for a leisurely walk along the lake. Another contraction tightened her belly, this time with a little bit of discomfort.
They were still not lasting long but she guessed she wasn’t going to go too far from home. At least there was no car journey involved, like there would have been if she lived in the city. Here, they’d just pick up Tara from the room down the hall—she grinned at that, same house—then walk across the road to the birth centre. It was all pretty streamlined, actually. Almost a home birth without the organising of equipment involved.
Rayne would be stressed. Simon would worry. But she would be calm. Could be calm now because she deputised other people to do the worrying and from this moment on she would have faith in her body, in a natural process she was designed to achieve. It was exciting really. And Tara would be there. She giggled. She hoped Tara had digested her lunch by now.
She thought about giggles. That’s right. In early labour you apparently felt like giggling. The fact labour had finally arrived after all the waiting. Happy hormones. She grinned in the mirror. Actually, she did feel like giggling. Even the fact that she knew this would pass onto harder and stronger contractions was funny. At the moment, anyway. No doubt she’d change her mind later.
She slipped out of the bedroom door and into the bathroom with a smile on her face. She could hear the rumble of Simon and Rayne’s voices coming from the kitchen. The thought made her feel warm. She would not have believed the change in her world in the last day. It was like she’d been released from her own prison. That thought put her feet back on the ground. She shouldn’t joke about it. Rayne really had been released from prison.
She hung the robe on the hook at the back